#as if its for your own pleasure christian

[bookwyrminspiration]

I've been sharing 50 shades quotes and moments hand selected to be humorous and ridiculous, but I believe I've given you all a false impression of the book as bad in just silly ways, just funny quips. What I haven't shared are the subtly homophobic and stereotypical characters of color and inaccurate mental health portrayals (including suicide), among other issues:

the one hispanic character smokes weed illegally (this is used to paint him negatively) and tries to force himself on ana, saying the most basic spanish phrases to remind you he's hispanic; there are only three other characters of color I can think of, all black, one is a black kickboxer and christian's trainer (always making quips and antagonizing him while they fight), one is the kickboxers brother, and the other is a personal security guard christian fires and whom ana says she doesn't really like (when she's never had that kinda problem with any other security personnel); one character is introduced as "small, dark, and gay. I loved him immediately" and is an overdramatic hairdresser; the most "normal" queer character doesn't have the fact she's dating a woman revealed until her very last appearance in the series, and she's already very infrequent (ana also happily notes that this means Ros won't be ogling her husband); Christian's mother is described as looking "relieved" when she finds out he isn't gay like she assumed; the author conflates Multiple Personality Disorder (an outdated term for Dissociative Identity Disorder, but that's what they use) with schizophrenia as if DID is someone experiencing schizophrenia; when a character attempts suicide christian asks and I quote "why would she do this to me?"

I'm making jokes at the expense of the books, but I've been generally not sharing the genuinely unpleasant aspects. they're all fairly small, but they are numerous. I'm sure there's details I'm forgetting at the moment as well. so if you wanted to read it ironically with me, there's also all this to contend with

[axelsagewrites]

Ragnar Lothbrok*Pet

Pairing: Ragnar x f!captured reader

Kinktober Day twenty-four: thigh riding/dry humping with Ragnar Lothbrok – after taking a Christian girl prisoner he decides to show you the pleasure a heathen can feel

Word count: 1491

Warnings: talks of religion, religious corruption, religious guilt, teasing, heavy flirting, mini crisis of faith ig, being ragnars pet/prisoner, making out, thigh riding, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

“She is a Christian,” Floki whispered in Ragnars ear as the pair studied the girl presented to them, “We should get rid of her, not drag her around with us. She will only slow us down,”

While Floki’s eyes bore into Ragnars skull the kings’ eyes lingered elsewhere. They had taken your village some days ago when one of his men found you hiding in the forest. The sight of you on your knees, even if it were to pray to a false god to survive, was enough to convince Ragnar.

“I should like to keep her,” he said, watching how your lips wrapped around the words you mumbled, “Untie her hands,” he commanded one of his men as Floki sighed.

“What is it with you and your Christian pets? At least keep her hands bound,” he tried to reason but Ragnar just shook his head. He knew you wouldn’t run.

A couple of weeks had passed of successful raiding and gold was beginning to pile up around him. Ragnar sat at the makeshift feast they had decided to throw after taking another village however his eyes were once again on the Christian girl who sat across from him. At first you used to flush under his gaze, a sight he enjoyed and often tried to tease out by whispering pretty words in your ear.

Ragnar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, “What are you thinking about?” he asked, your eyes snapping up to meet his.

“That I may sleep soon. The night is growing long,”

“That is an excellent idea. Perhaps I should join you,” he said, smirking at the way you began to stutter and flush, “Tell me something. Where you married before?”

You paused for a moment before answering, “No, why?”

Ragnar shook his head, “well I heard,” he said, leaning in closer and grinning as you did the same as his voice dropped to a whisper, “that it is only the married ones who get fucked,”

“I-well-I- yes it would be a sin otherwise,” you stuttered out, face growing hot as Ragnar poured himself another glass of wine. “I’m not even supposed to talk about…that,”

“Why not?”

“It is a sin,”

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious child.

The awkward smile worn on your lips made a real one grow on his face, “Because god said so,”

“Have you spoken to god,”

“Well, no,”

“Then how do you know?” a frustrated sigh left your lips that made Ragnars grin widen. He was getting to you and enjoying every moment of it. he leaned in closer once more, whispering for your sake more than anything,” Why would a god create something so beautiful then not let you appreciate its wonders?”

“It is a sin,” you clung to the excuse, realising you did not know why either.

The laugh that left his mouth however caught you off guard and your lips twitched, almost forming a smile at the smile on his face. That was until he spoke again, “Perhaps we should sin together one time,” he said, standing and grabbing his cup of wine. Before he could leave, he sauntered over to whisper one last thing in your ear, “And the idea of you falling apart on my cock is enough to make me believe in my god,”

A few more weeks had passed and soon you would be heading back with the raiders to their land. Despite still being wary of many of the men some, Ragnar specifically, had grown on you. “Where will I stay when you take me back with you?” you asked one night as you began to brush through your hair.

Ragnar glanced at you as he began to unlace his boots. While he had unbound your hands, he had insisted on keeping you in his tent, thankfully on your own bed, thought you wondered if this was for his entertainment or safety, “I will find somewhere for you,” he answered simply before reaching to pull his shirt over his head.

Despite seeing this sight many times, the way his muscles flexed, and his tattoos gleamed against his skin made a tingle shoot through your spine. “So, I won’t be a slave? Or is it a thrall you call them?”

Ragnar paused for a moment, his eyes scanning over you, “You need not worry little one. I will take care of you,”

A moment passed before you allowed yourself to smile, “Thank you Ragnar,” you said and a small smile crept onto his lips as he settled himself above his sheets, his eyes scanning over you.

“Come here,” he said, nervousness washing over you, “Trust me,”

You paused at first before standing from beneath your covers. Your underdress was the only thing to cover you now as you crossed the tent. Ragnar patted the spot beside him and cautiously you sat down, picking at your thumbs. His hand closed over yours, “You’ll make yourself bleed,” he said, and you just nodded as his eyes continued to study your face.

“Has anyone ever kissed you?” he whispered.

You swallowed before answering, “Once,” you said, tempted to pick at your skin but somehow resisting, “But I wasn’t very good at it,”

“Perhaps you should try again,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he moved to rest his forehead against yours.

“Perhaps you could teach me,” you whispered, a spark lighting in his eyes, “if I am to go back to your land perhaps it is time I Learned your ways,”

“All our ways?” he asked, his hand reaching over to run his fingers lightly up your thighs making you shiver, “Is that what you desire little one?”

“Would it be so wrong if I did?” you asked and the way your wide eyes gazed into his made Ragnars cock begin to harden.

His hand trailed slowly up your leg, torturously so until it arrived at your hip. You gasped when he grabbed it, pulling you over to straddle his thigh. “Ragnar- “you gasped, when he bent his leg up, propping you up on his strong thigh, “What are you doing?”

“Teaching,” his hands reached for your hair, pulling your lips down onto his. This was far different from the last time someone had kissed you. this was rough and needy and made whines leave your throat as one of his hands moved to your hips.

You couldn’t even question what he was doing before he began to move your hip, making you grind down onto his thigh. The way you whimpered made Ragnar wonder if Odin himself had blessed him. Ragnar guided your hips and soon your body took over, rubbing your clit against his strong thigh as his hand squeezed the flesh of your hips.

When he pulled his lips away yours chased after his making a chuckle leave them before he began to kiss down your jaw. “You don’t need to be quite little one,” he mumbled against your skin as a soft moan left your mouth, “No one will judge,”

His lips soon found the crook of your neck, kissing it in a way that made a knot in your stomach tighten. Since your hips now moved of their own accord his hands were free to travel up your frame, taking your tits in his hand and making you gasp as he squeezed them softly.

He felt his cock twitch at the feeling of the Hardened buds beneath your shift. His fingertips trailed slowly around your nipples at first, enjoying your needy whines before he finally began to roll them between his fingers.

“Oh god,” you moaned as he pinched them gently, but your words just made him want you more and groan against your skin.

It didn’t take long for a tight feeling to spread across your body, “What is happening to me?” you asked but it came out as more of a whine.

“Enjoy it little one,” Ragnar said, his lips moving to kiss your check, “Let yourself let go,” he said before your lips slammed onto his even catching yourself by surprise. Your moans allowed him to slip his tongue in, the kiss becoming messier and more desperate as you grinded against his thigh.

He felt your body jerk and Ragnar smirked into the kiss knowing what was about to happen. Your lips broke apart only for your head to fall in the crook of his shoulder, “Oh god,” you began to moan again before you felt your peak wash over you like a tidal wave.

sensing your body tensing and hips slowly Ragnar reached for your hips, moving them for you so he could watch you ride out your peak on his thigh. Curses left your lips before you finally slumped into his chest. Ragnar let out a small chuckle, letting his leg lay flat and holding you against his chest. Ragnar had defiantly made the right decision he thought.

[elexaria]

religious!johnny mactavish x afab! reader smut bc i said so

ONE LAST POST I SWEAR and then i will sleep except not rlly bc its 8am and i have to get ready for a virtual meeting RRR

ANYWAYS.

cw — afab! reader, nothing too spicy, foreplay, pnv, religious corruption ig?? idk, johnny is just too damn horny for his own good and hes a good christian boy n all but…. pussy go brr

johnny had always been devoted to his faith, going to church with his wee grandma ever since he could walk n talk. swears to himself and the big man in the sky when he came of age that he’d wait for the one, he’d save himself for marriage as god intended him to do.

you were agnostic at best, but that was fine to him. you respected his faith, you even attended church with him when he occasionally goes! a loving, supportive partner — that’s all he could ever ask for.

well, not really.

see, you’re so damn pretty. such a pretty thing, all snuggled up in the crook of his arm as you two lay in bed, watching a movie before you’ll eventually go to sleep. he told you from day one that he wants to wait until marriage, it’s important to him. and you respect that! you do occasionally find yourself pouting whenever your friends gloat about their sex lives, and you just kinda have to go “ahahaha yep, still haven’t gotten fucked by johnny yet. still ain’t married—“ awkwardly, and they playfully tease you about it but they don’t care. you’re in the most healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, they love him!

but i digress. his fingers gently stroke along the length of your arm, as they always do. he’s a bit of a fidgety fella, it’s the ol’ adhd, he tells you. so his fingers dance around the fabric of your tshirt, the texture is satisfying to the pads of his fingertips. the movie continues on, and you giggle at a snarky quip someone makes. it makes his lips twitch up into a small grin, the sound of your giggle. his fingers are still absentmindedly touching around, and that’s when he accidentally grazes your boob.

and oh my god.

wait, what? it’s nothing like he’d ever felt before— he slyly looks down at you, to see if you’ve caught on. and with another sneaky swipe, that confirms it. his blood is running hot, and my god he can no longer concentrate. two fingers run across the swell of your breast from underneath your tshirt, you shiver as you look up at him. and god, you had never seen him look like that before. flared nostrils as his breathing grows heavy, his jaw clenched. “johnny—“ you mutter as he now begins to slowly paw at your soft breast, and it makes you whine at how good it feels to be touched like this.

"it's no like we're daein' anything serious here, aye? just some light pettin'." johnny justifies to himself as he mumbles into the crook of your neck as his hand darts under your shirt, groaning at the soft mounds of fat that jiggle with each grope. how much you whine and gasp as he pinches a peaked bud between his fingers. his cock is rock hard, screaming for attention. but he stops, borderline panting as he looks down at you. he looks guilty, but he has to restrain himself. he’s saving himself for marriage, remember?

you shyly scuttle off to the bathroom to finish yourself off, the tap running to hide the obscene squeals you make as you sit on the bathroom floor, one hand pressed over your mouth while the other rubs intricately tight circles around your throbbing clit. meanwhile, johnny’s stroking his cock just from the thought of what had just happened, groaning as he spills himself into a tissue.

he swore he would keep his virginity in tact for when you two finally got married.

"i'm savin' masel' for marriage, ye ken." he mutters as his fingers stroke the glistening folds of your puffy cunt, sucking the air through his teeth as his fingers coax every last tantalising moan from you as he fingers you, your hands wrapped around his cock as you mutually pleasure one another.

“it’s no sex,” he justifies to himself as you suck his cock, eyes half-lidded as one hand cups the base of his shaft, the other cupping his swollen, full balls with a wanton gaze in your eyes. “fuck, ye have no idea whit yer daein’ tae me.” he growls, fucking into your mouth slowly as his cross pendant thumps against his hairy chest with each buck of his hips.

“it’s just the tip, yeah?” as his heart races, his swollen tip rubbing into your clit, and you swear you’re fit to burst when just the tip, like he promises, slowly sinks into your pussy. he grips onto the pillows besides your head, his eyes glossed over as he tries so hard not to cum right then and there. his breathing is rugged, his pupils narrow as he slowly sinks himself deeper inside you. you both moan together, sweat glossed foreheads pressed against one another as you two join in a debauched union.

“fuck me— ye feel fuckin’ divine.” he growls as he pulls out, slamming his hips right into you with a snarl. “gonnae cum so fuckin’ fast, baby girl. fuck, look at ye.” he says between rugged breaths, eyes bearing right down at you as you tighten and pulse around his cock, eyes fluttering as you cum right then and there. fuck, the wait— or lack there of it — was worth it. with a couple of lazy, sporadic thrusts, johnny spills himself inside you with a primal roar, his knuckles white as he grips the sheets while your velvety vice of a pussy milks him of every last drop of the thick ropes of cum churned from his now drained balls.

in the haze of it all, johnny groans as he pulls out, his eyes fixated on the sight of his cum dripping out of your puffy cunt. his fingers crook up into you, gently pumping his essence right back inside of you. “better have a wee chat with the big man upstairs about this. fuck, no that i could resist this. christ, look at the sight of ye.” he chuckles, his thumb grazing against your swollen clit with an affectionate smile.

“i mean, fuck me, am gonnae marry ye so fast if it means i get tae do this all the time.”

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Of Lust and Sex on Tolkien lore: Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Many fellow fans have complaint there’s a trend among the Tolkien fandom to de-sexualize Galadriel, but folks, this is not exclusive to her character. This is, actually, an on-going theme on how many see Tolkien’s world and work, in general, and it runs deeps.

There’s this weird headcanon that, just because Tolkien was catholic and a “gentleman”, the world he built is somehow devoid of sexuality or sexual matters, and asexual in itself. Nothing wrong with that, except we have countless examples of “sexual stuff” happening in the legendarium, from characters lusting after each other, to actual sexual assault. Just because Tolkien didn’t write explicit sex scenes (let’s say like George R.R. Martin, who devoted himself to try subvert Tolkien) doesn’t mean is not there. Not everything needs to be “in your face” meaning explicit.

Firstly, Tolkien cared enough about sexuality to write several essays on the matter, namely about the Eldar sex culture and customs. It’s clear that the Elves try to be the “perfect Catholics” on his lore, and this reflects on their views of sex = marriage, premarital sex is frowned upon, repression of sexual desire, adultery is unthinkable, and divorce is forbidden. The Eldar sex culture is purity culture in a nutshell. And it reflects Tolkien’s own views on the subject:

Later in life when sex cools down, it may be possible. It may happen between saints. To ordinary folk it can only rarely occur [...] Faithfulness in Christian marriage entails that: great mortification. For a Christian man there is no escape. Marriage may help to sanctify & direct to its proper object his sexual desires; its grace may help him in the struggle; but the struggle remains. It will not satisfy him – as hunger may be kept off by regular meals [...] No man, however truly he loved his betrothed and bride as a young man, has lived faithful to her as a wife in mind and body without deliberate conscious exercise of the will, without self-denial.   [...] Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament [Marriage].... There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man's heart desires.  Tolkien Letter 43

In Tolkien lore, there’s a strong connection between sex and morality. This is clear on the most iconic romances on his legendarium: Beren and Lúthien, Aragorn and Arwen, etc., which follow the medieval tradition of Chivalric romance: adventures of knights, courtly love, codes of honor and chivalry, trials and tribulations in the pursuit of love and glory.

“Courly love”, in the European tradition, is a highly idealized portrayal of human romantic relationships, that emerged in the medieval courts of the continent. Is a form of ritualized love between a knight (Beren/Aragorn) and his lady (Lúthien/Arwen), characterized by restrain, discretion and devotion.  Tolkien himself talks about this, as well: 

It idealizes ‘love’ - and as far as it goes can be very good, since it takes in far more than physical pleasure, and enjoins if not purity, at least fidelity, and so self-denial, 'service’, courtesy, honor, and courage. Its weakness is, of course, that it began as an artificial courtly game, a way of enjoying love for its own sake without reference to (and indeed contrary to) matrimony. 

It’s clear Tolkien sees the lustful side of relationships as something sinful, but does this equal “evil”? No, because his characters (including the Elves) and the legendarium are complex, and this is not a pure Good vs. Pure Evil world, as Tolkien says himself: 

Some reviewers have called the whole thing simple-minded, just a plain fight between Good and Evil, with all the good just good, and the bad just bad. Pardonable, perhaps (though at least Boromir has been overlooked) in people in a hurry, and with only a fragment to read, and, of course, without the earlier written but unpublished Elvish histories. But the Elves are not wholly good or in the right. Tolkien Letter 154

For Tolkien, is more about being on the “right side of History” (let’s put it this way) than being an immaculate hero. His characters are complexed and nuanced:  

There are also conflicts about important things or ideas. In such cases I am more impressed by the extreme importance of being on the right side, than I am disturbed by the revelation of the jungle of confused motives, private purposes, and individual actions (noble or base) in which the right and the wrong in actual human conflicts are commonly involved. If the conflict really is about things properly called right and wrong, or good and evil, then the rightness or goodness of one side is not proved or established by the claims of either side; it must depend on values and beliefs above and independent of the particular conflict. A judge must assign right and wrong according to principles which he holds valid in all cases. That being so, the right will remain an inalienable possession of the right side and Justify its cause throughout. (I speak of causes, not of individuals. Of course to a judge whose moral ideas have a religious or philosophical basis, or indeed to anyone not blinded by partisan fanaticism, the rightness of the cause will not justify the actions of its supporters, as individuals, that are morally wicked. But though 'propaganda' may seize on them as proofs that their cause was not in fact 'right', that is not valid. The aggressors are themselves primarily to blame for the evil deeds that proceed from their original violation of justice and the passions that their own wickedness must naturally (by their standards) have been expected to arouse. They at any rate have no right to demand that their victims when assaulted should not demand an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth.) Similarly, good actions by those on the wrong side will not justify their cause. There may be deeds on the wrong side of heroic courage, or some of a higher moral level: deeds of mercy and forbearance. A judge may accord them honour and rejoice to see how some men can rise above the hate and anger of a conflict; even as he may deplore the evil deeds on the right side and be grieved to see how hatred once provoked can drag them down. But this will not alter his judgement as to which side was in the right, nor his assignment of the primary blame for all the evil that followed to the other side. In my story I do not deal in Absolute Evil.  Letter 183 

This is why, in "Rings of Power", Sauron can be in love with Galadriel and still be the villain he is. Tolkien doesn’t deal in absolutes, and Sauron is not pure evil, either.

And if people can’t wrap their head around nuanced and complex ideas, it’s not Tolkien's fault, really. This concept that “evil can love” (and it doesn’t make it any less evil) is absolutely fascinating to me, because I wholesome agree with this. Folks have this idealized notion of love (even Tolkien himself talks about this), like it’s only valid if it’s Beren and Lúthien. When it’s not. “Lord of the Rings” is meant to reflect our “fallen” world; and, in our world, tyrants and dictators can love, and have families, and still be genocidal monsters. Their ability to feel romantic love has no direct connection in how they treat their subjects. This is why Tolkien says that “good actions” on the wrong side don’t excuse it nor make it any less evil.

This is not “Harry Potter”, and Sauron is not “Voldemort” that can’t never “know love”. Tolkien was a college professor at Oxford, a renounced linguistic, the father of the modern fantasy genre, and a classic of World literature, he would never write just a basic concept.

This leads me to the idea that “Elves are not wholly good”, and that, they too, can be sinful, and that doesn’t make them “evil” (= on the wrong side). We see this with Galadriel in Tolkien legendarium; not only she commits the sin of pride, and greed, but also lust.  

In "Unfinished Tales", Tolkien tells us: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. In Letter 43, Tolkien defines what he means by “a lover” (in general): “engaging and blending all his affections and powers of mind and body in a complex emotion powerfully coloured and energized by sex”.

So, it’s safe to assume that Galadriel was having sex with Celeborn before they were even married (premarital sex). Probably that’s why he had no quarrels with the wild John Boorman script of her and Frodo f*cking in the middle of the woods.

Galadriel doesn’t care about the Eldar sex customs, because, of course, she doesn’t, she's above that, being Noldor royalty and her own authority. Which makes sense with her “repentant sinner” character arc in the legendarium, actually.

Because, as Tolkien, told us: “in The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom', though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour” (Letter 183). And “sin” is considered a transgression against divine law (aka God); an offense against religious and moral laws.

Tolkien was religious, but he wasn’t a Catholic priest, and he was well aware that women have sexual desire, and some are, indeed, promiscuous and have no problems acting on it: “You may meet in life (as in literature) women who are flighty, or even plain wanton — I don't refer to mere flirtatiousness, the sparring practice for the real combat, but to women who are too silly to take even love seriously, or are actually so depraved as to enjoy 'conquests', or even enjoy the giving of pain – but these are abnormalities, even though false teaching, bad upbringing, and corrupt fashions may encourage them” (Letter 43). Pardon the language, but Tolkien was, after all, a man of his time. 

The “Higher Beings” Nonsense 

This is one of the occasions I completely disagree with Charlie Vickers when he calls Sauron a “higher being”. He probably means it in sense he’s a Maia, a demigod or an angel in Tolkien lore, but his use of words can cause some confusion. Sauron is, in no way, shape of form, an “higher being” (in the Christain sense): he’s a literal demon, a satanist, a follower and a servant of Satan himself, in Tolkien legendarium. Demons exist in the lowest frequencies of existence in Christian theology.

Tolkien makes this very clear on his letters: Melkor/Morgoth is Lucifer/Satan on his myth, he straight-up calls him “diabolus” (Letter 153). It should be obvious enough on his entire character: he’s the one who corrupts God’s creation and is the symbolic archangel/Valar (like Lucifer was). Him being dragged in chains and imprisoned until the end of time also parallels a biblical event.

Sauron is the chief satanist demon in the lore, the #1 servant and follower of Morgoth/Satan: Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron; in which Evil is largely incarnate, and in which physical resistance to it is a major act of loyalty to God (Letter 156).

And here, too, there’s a weird attempt of de-sexualizing these characters (mostly Sauron) in the Tolkien fandom. Despite the fact almost everyone recognizes the Christian inspiration here, and the Devil being seen as the creator of all kinds of sexual depravity, deviation and promiscuity in the world (according to Christain faith); the same way Morgoth was responsible for "corrupting" Arda. Apparently, sex had nothing to do with this corruption, according to some. Odd, to say the least, when Tolkien gives us descriptions of “indominable lust” on both characters (Morgoth and Sauron).

Them being magical and demonic creatures might indicate they have the ability to control whenever they want to reproduce or not. We know from the lore that Morgoth bound himself to his physical form because of his non-stop corruption of Arda. 

On Note 5 (“Vinyar Tengwar”) of “Osanwe-kenta", Tolkien writes: 

The things that are most binding [to Valar and Maiar] are those that in the Incarnates have to do with the life of the hroa itself, its sustenance, and its propagation. Thus eating and drinking are binding, but not the delight in beauty of sound and form. Most binding is begetting or conceiving.  We do not know the axani (laws, rules, as primarily proceeding from Eru) that were laid down upon the Valar with particular reference to their state, but it seems clear that there was no axan against these things. Nonetheless it appears to be an axan, or maybe necessary consequence, that if they are done, then the spirit must dwell in the body that is used, and be under the same necessities as the Incarnate. The only case that is known in the histories of the Eldar is that of Melian (...)  'The great Valar do not do these things: they beget not, neither do they eat and drink, save at the high asari, in token of their lordship and indwelling of Arda, and for the blessing and sustenance of the Children. Melkor alone became at last bound to a bodily form...' 

This might suggest that Morgoth became bound a physical form because of his “great lust”. "Begetting and conceiving” might, indeed, mean more than just standard reproduction, because Morgoth did “begot” with creation and mastery of several races and creatures. However, the only other example of a Ainur (in this case a Maia) getting bound to a physical form in the lore is Melian, when she became pregnant with Lúthien (after reproducing with her Elf love, Thingol). 

* Trigger warning: Mentions of Sexual Assault *

Then we have the fact that Morgoth might have been a serial r*pist. In “Myths Transformed” section of “Morgoth’s ring”, Tolkien has Morgoth r*ping Arien, the Maia who ruled the sun, and was “the most ardent and beautiful of all the spirits that had entered into Eä with [Varda]":  

. . . afire at once with desire and anger, [Melkor] went to Asa  [The Sun] and he spoke to Arie, saying: 'I have chosen thee,   and thou shalt be my spouse, even as Varda is to Manwe,   and together we shall wield all splendour and majesty. Then the kingship of Arda shall be mine in deed as in right,  and thou shalt be the partner of my glory.'  But Arie rejected Melkor and rebuked him, saying:  'Speak not of right, which thou hast long forgotten.  Neither for thee nor by thee alone was Ea made; and  thou shalt not be King of Arda. Beware therefore;  for there is in the heart of [Asa] a light in which  thou hast no part, and a fire which will not serve thee.  Put not out thy hand to it. For though thy potency  may destroy it, it will burn thee and thy brightness   will be made dark.'    Melkor did not heed her warning, but cried in his wrath:  'The gift which was withheld I take!' and he ravished Arie,  desiring both to abase her and to take into himself her powers.  Then the spirit of Arie went up like a flame of anguish and wrath,  and departed for ever from Arda; and the Sun was bereft  of the Light of Varda, and was stained by the assault of Melkor.  And [the Sun] being for a long while without rule . . . grievous   hurt was done to Arda . . .  until with long toil the Valar made   a new order. But even as Arie foretold, Melkor was burned   and his brightness darkened, and he gave no more light,   but light pained him exceedingly   and he hated it.    Nonetheless Melkor would not leave Arda in peace . . . 

So, yes, Tolkien really had the Devil r*ping the Sun... Can this be a parallel Sauron and Galadriel’s scene in “Rings of Power” Season 2 finale? When Sauron ravishes Galadriel's soul using Morgoth's crown? Since Sauron said he would make Galadriel a “queen as fair as the sea and the sun”, in 1x08? No quite. But more on that later.

Then we have the infamous Lúthien episode. There is an on-going debate on Morgoth’s intentions in this scene, but, in my opinion, and taking in consideration the incident with Arien, the “since he fled from Valinor” bit might indicate his intention was, indeed, to r*pe Lúthien. 

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this “evil lust” Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ���Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

“Nay,” saith Melkor, “such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see,” and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil.  Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Almost every servant of Morgoth either came to resent him or were absolutely terrified of him. The most notorious case being Sauron himself, as he went into the hiding after his spectacular defeat in Tol-in-Gauhoth (at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, the Hound of Valinor), probably to escape being punished by Morgoth.

“Rings of Power” already had Sauron talking about the unbelievable tortures he endured at Morgoth’s hands, and taking into consideration all of this… well, those “r*pe of Mairon” dead dove fanfictions might be on to something here.

Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?

Sauron’s entire dialogue in this scene can be interpreted as that of a r*pe survivor, actually: we have the dissociation element of “sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game"; and the self-guilt of “no, you chose it” (which is something many victims of sexual assault go through).

And then, we have the fact that the “feminization of hyper-masculine Mairon” was a consequence of his corruption by Morgoth, as I’ve already talked about in this post.

Tolkien himself talks about the Christian devil in terms of sex and lust, so it’s odd why the Tolkien fandom plays mental gymnastics trying to equalize Tolkien’s use of the sin “lust” with “greed” (these are two different sins in Christian theology, even though they are connected). 

The devil is endlessly ingenious, and sex is his favorite subject. He is as good every bit at catching you through generous romantic or tender motives, as through baser or more animal ones. Letter 43

Greed vs. Lust in Tolkien Lore

Indeed, Tolkien uses the sin “Lust” in connection with "Power" and "Jewels" (Silmarils/One ring/gold), but this might be a metaphor for sexual temptation, as well. Mainly because of his Christian inspiration behind the whole story.

Some examples of Tolkien’s usage of the word “lust”, that might be interpreted as “greed”:

The oath of the sons of Fëanor becomes operative, and lust for the Silmarils brings all the kingdoms of the Elves to ruin."  "But also they [rings of power] enhanced the natural powers of a possessor – thus approaching 'magic', a motive easily corruptible into evil, a lust for domination."  "Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, 'neglected by the gods', he [Sauron] becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves)."  Now Sauron’s lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor

"Also so great was the [One] Ring's power of lust, that anyone who used it became mastered by it..."  The Númenóreans attempted to take the Undying Land by force of a great armada in their lust for corporal immortality.

“Greed” is the disordered desire to consume (wealth, power); while “Lust” is the disordered desire to possess (something or someone). Lust is “consumption” and “action”, while greed is “hoarding” and “possessing”. Someone who is greedy wants more and more of something (not necessarily do anything with it); while someone who is lustful wants to do something with the thing it desires.

But “desire” that is not acted upon in Tolkien lore is not sinful, nor it’s a transgression of God’s (Eru) laws.

“The Original sin” (or “The Fall") is central to Tolkien world-building: “The dislocation of sex-instinct is one of the chief symptoms of the Fall [of Adam and Eve]”. And this means is that Lust is the “original sin”, and the gateway to sin, and from where all other sins originate.  

St. Paul writes "cupiditas radix malorum": “the root of all evil is cupidity". This is motivated by the fact that Eve ate the forbidden fruit because "she saw it, was beautiful". This explains why Christians have such a bad view of sex, especially when it’s not restrained by marriage.

There is lust for the forbidden fruit (the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil that Adam and Eve were instructed not to eat in the Garden of Eden). This is when “sin” is first introduced into the world, leading to their banishment from paradise. The themes here are: disobedience to God, and succumbing to temptation (Devil).

And it’s the serpent that inflames Eve's lust, and "Rings of Power" wasn't even being subtle here (even the OST for this scene is called "The Fall of Galadriel"): 

“Lust”, in his biblical/catholic sense, is the misuse of the body, sexually. The opposite of “lust” is “temperance” and “chastity”. “Lust” is disorderly sexual desire, and the subordinated enjoyment of sexual pleasure (against God’s law). It’s not just promiscuity, but extra-marital sex, as well.

In the Bible, “lust” is thematized by adultery (because marriage is a sacred sacrament, and acting against it, it’s breaking God’s laws, hence being a “deadly sin”). We also see this sin in connection with “idolatry” (one of Sauron’s crimes in Tolkien lore), when characters (such as Solomon) take foreign wives, symbolizing the forsaking of one’s partner for another.

But the catch here is: Eve wanted to eat the forbidden fruit. She wanted to bite into it, it was consensual. She was tempted, and she succumbed to temptation, to lust.

This pretty much goes hand with hand what I wrote on my “Of sin and sinners” post, that made the purity police gone wild. Galadriel and Sauron’s dynamic is not only hyper sexual, but it’s being consummated as well, and that’s why Galadriel gets banish from Valinor.

Sauron ravishing Galadriel using a sharp object parallels another Christian event (demonic version): the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

Beside me, on the left, appeared an angel in bodily form…. He was […] very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest rank of angels, who seem to be all on fire…. In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he pulled it out I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul content with anything but God. This is not a physical but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it—even a considerable share.

This is, essentially, a description of a Catholic saint having an orgasm. The “lorebros” wanted the Virgin Mary that never was, and “Rings of Power” delivered. Iconic. And that probably provides the subtext to this unhinged expression over here:

Happy with ourselves, are we?

So, yes, in the end, Sauron did take Celeborn’s woman as foreshadowed by Season 1 with the “clams” scene in Númenor (1x03). And now that his blood is inside of her, stuff is about to get wild.

[mrigasiras]

Uttara Bhadrapada is the sign of the renunciant. Its sister, Purva Bhadrapada, is fiery, loud, and extravagant. However Uttara Bhadrapada is Purva Bhadrapada's cooled down counterpart. Its natives are mystical and mysterious, often times hard for most to pin down.

Taking place in mid sidereal Pisces, it is the point where one must be spiritually surrendered to the mysterious tides of the 12th house. I have noticed many notable mystics and nuns have it prominently, as well as higher ups in society. Uttara Bhadrapada is stripped down, and because of this, ascends the ranks, spiritually and materially.

When you meet with God, you cannot take your possessions and your loved ones with you. To accumulate wealth, one must be able to hold themselves steadily, not acting upon impulse or emotion. One must surrender their ego completely, taking "I" out of the picture, not doing things for their immediate rewards, but for the liberation of their soul, letting the tides of divinity instead lead them.

The great Christian mystic St. Theresa of Avila had Uttara Bhadrapada ascendant. She coined the term "Dark Night of the Soul". The period when God seemingly abandons the spiritual aspirant, and allows for the heart chakra to be churned and opened, removed from sense pleasure. When one starts to act with their spirit fully taking the reigns.

I think that is also why their actions can be incomprehensible and strange to many. They have fully detached themselves and are now acting from divine channeling. I have noticed Uttara Bhadrapada art can be quite abstract and strange.

There's an inner strength and "toughness" that I sense with them. They seem to be quite sure of themselves, but not in a gaudy way, like Purva Bhadrapada might tend to be at times. They have been through the purging flames and now are acting from their own cultivated inner wisdom.

They are often times skeptical and rooted, knowing where they pull truth from. I've noticed that in films, Uttara Bhadrapada natives tend to play the characters who sense when things don't add up, and want to actually get to the bottom of the truth.

Salvador Dali, Uttara Bhadrapada moon

St. Theresa of Avila, Uttara Bhadrapada ascendant

Hildegard of Bingen, UB moon

Sufjan Stevens, UB moon

Bill Gates, UB moon

Leonard Nimoy, UB moon

Harry Houdini, UB sun

Debbie Harry, UB moon

[nataliawrites]

Crowning Glory // Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Princess of the Netherlands!Reader

Max prided himself on his control. His job depended on it. His life depended on it.

Even when he briefly lost control — and he really doesn’t regret the infamous pushing incident — it was always of his own doing.

Until you came into his life.

A knock on the door to his driver’s room started Max. It was race day and it was rare for him to be bothered when he was preparing on his own. A home race meant that everything was heightened. The adrenaline thrummed deeper. The cheers were louder. The Orange Army was nearly blinding in the stands.

“Max,” the familiar voice of his team principal filtered through the door after another knock, “I have someone who would like to meet you.”

“Can’t we do this later, Christian? I know you know my routine by now.”

“Just open the door. I think you’ll be happy to change up your routine this once.”

Max heaved himself off of the small couch and went to send the Brit and whatever guest he brought along away so he could continue to focus on the race in peace.

He opened the door, prepared to shut it in a second, but stopped short when he saw who was standing next to Christian. The guest in question was wearing an elegant summer dress in a bright shade of orange sure to be similarly reflected upon thousands of Dutch fans around the track.

She was also the subject of his long running teenage crush. A crush he thought he had gotten over until he was staring open-mouthed at her right in front of him.

“Hallo,” she takes the initiative to greet Max considering he was still making somewhat of a fool of himself in front of her, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Max bends into a hasty bow, unsure of the protocols for meeting someone he had only ever seen on the news and the pages of magazines, “Your Royal Highness, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one intruding on your preparations,” she waves his apology off. “I just wanted to stop by and wish you luck before the race. It is my first time attending a Grand Prix in-person but my family and I have been fans for a long time and started following your career when news of an incredibly promising young driver racing under the Dutch flag first made its rounds.”

“I-thank you, Your Highness. I am honored.”

“Well, I will leave you to continue getting ready. Mr. Horner promised me a tour of the garage. Good luck again, you do your country proud.”

Max remained frozen in the doorway, watching the heir apparent walk away with the Red Bull team principal, bodyguards seemingly materializing from the walls to surround her as they made their way into a public area of the F1 Holzhaus.

Max managed to get you out of his head once the race began. The second he got into the car, nothing else mattered. Everything beyond the track ceased to exist as he pushed the car to its limit and passed the chequered flag for yet another home win.

But when it came time for the podium ceremony, there you were front and center, ready to present trophies to the three drivers. Max swore he could feel a spark travel up his arm as your fingers brushed his while handing him the trophy. “Well done! Tonight we celebrate.”

Turns out the celebration was a far cry from the ones he was used to. Instead of a club, Red Bull team members were invited to join you at a nearby royal residence for dinner and drinks. Max listened to you explain why from his seat next to you at the long dining table as you waited for the first course to be served, pleasantly warm from champagne already, “I used to love going out. Tried to have a typical university experience, you know? But I was almost kidnapped last year and despite security stepping in on time I have been forbidden from doing so again. Too much risk.”

And there it was. The reminder of just how different your lives wore despite both being Dutch public figures. One day Max will retire and can live a relatively normal life if he so chooses while you will ascend to the throne and lead a kingdom.

He didn’t exactly pity you — royalty was royalty at the end of the day — but he did sympathize with the constraints that it placed on you and how you lived your life.

Max clears his throat, “I’m not exactly sure how this whole thing works but I would love to take you out.”

He waits for a response and nervously cards his fingers through his hair when he doesn’t get one, “only if you want, of course, Your Highness. I have a sailing boat on the coast not too far from here. It’s not a yacht, though you are welcome to join me on that too if you are ever in Monaco, but I promise that it is peaceful and private. I just thought you would like to get away from all this,” he gestures around the room of mingling Red Bull staff and dignitaries, “for a little.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hhmm?”

You ask again, “are you sure?”

“Sure about what? That I would like to take you on a date? Quite sure.”

“Any privacy we have won’t last long.”

“I know.”

“The press can be brutal.”

“So I’ve learned. I don’t particularly care.”

“There are rules …”

“I will learn them.”

“Okay,” you finally allow a shy smile.

“Okay?”

“Yes, Max. I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But if we are to date you have to call me Y/N.”

“Gladly … Y/N,” he tests out how your name feels on his lips for the first time.

“Oh and you will have to meet my parents.”

That gives him pause. “Your parents?”

“Yes.”

“As in the King and Queen.”

“Yes.”

“I have to meet the King and Queen?”

“It’s all still a bit old fashioned, I’m afraid. We will need their approval.”

You’re quick to reassure him when you see how quickly the color drains from his face, “my father is a big Ferrari fan but he has a soft spot for you. You need not worry.”

“Your father is the King.”

“Yes.”

“My King.”

“Yes. And he’s my father. You’ll have to get used to it if you see us going anywhere.”

“Right. Of course …” A few seconds pass. “But he’s the King.”

You pat his hand where it’s splayed on the table, “you’ll be fine.”

[ebonyslasher]

Spicy Alphabet: Jason Voorhees

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Such a sweetheart. He's eager to clean up after. It's a bit sloppy at first but he gets the hang of it. Tucking you into the bed and laying right beside you when he's done to cuddle. He does everything out of love and necessity. Of course you won't be able to move after THAT session. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's quite proud of his torso, it's a powerhouse. His torso is the one thing he'll allow himself to look happily at in the mirror. Those abs and back muscles were a blessing.

You? He doesn't have one. Everything about you is a blessing from God to him. There hasn't been an inch of your body he's neglected. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This may sound strange, but it depends on your relationship development.

Married? Cream pies oozing out of you every time.

Engaged? Cum shots on different body parts.

Even if you can't physically get pregnant, Jason feels like creampie always equals possible pregnancy. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There's nothing dirty about this pure man. How dare you! Until he kills……then he's pretty messy.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not experienced at all. Pretty sure he grew up evangelical Christian. They don't like even kissing until you get married. He's awkward, uncomfortable, and shy. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Let's avoid laughing until he gets super comfortable with sex. He might think you're making fun of him. Once he's more confident in himself, he'll also laugh at the weird sounds and awkward transitions.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His pubic hair has its own ecosystem. You swear you could discover some new animal species in there. He'll groom if you ask him, or even let you trim him yourself. But if you like the ecosystem, be ready to become an ecologist 🌱

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Exceptionally romantic. There are times where it gets so overwhelming, it makes you cry. That and the incredible orgasms he gives you. Actually, you can't tell which reason made you cry the most.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Nah. He will just come to you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

As long as it's gentle, he's into BDSM elements. Mostly bondage and you dominating him. Big scary guy likes to be put in his place, figuratively, by his small, cute s/o. It helps him unwind from his killing sprees. Once married, he will have the strongest urge for breeding.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

If you are okay with it, on a bed near the lake. The moonlight shines down on you both, exposing the glisten of sweat on skin.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your existence is enough to turn him on. But he gets especially hard when you take charge and take care of him, doting on him like the loving spouse you are.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that will hurt you. Also, anything that he finds degrading for the both of you like; scat, piss play, or spitting 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves to give, give, givvvvvvvveeeee!! Oh, you'll be screaming in pleasure when he goes down. His tongue and the amount of saliva he produces makes you feel like you're sitting in his heavenly water. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Scared to go rough, so he's slow and sensual. Later on, he'll allow some rough moments, but they are very quick. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Would rather have a full love making session. Quickies remind him of the teens who he kills for having pre-marital sex. There's no love in the action to him. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No. He'll try something new for you. But he has his hard limits.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Although he's a powerhouse, he delivers so much emotion through his movements during lovemaking. He can last 2-3 good rounds before he's tapped out. He needs to emotionally recover.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sex toys? He's neutral. It depends on what it's being used for. He likes using them on you more than on himself. With bondage (and other related items) , he would rather be on the receiving end.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is not unfair! He'll give you what you want. He's a sucker for you 💕. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud. He grunts a lot. Sometimes whimpers. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You were teaching him how to tie knots one day with some colorful rope you ordered. His hands were used as a demonstration. After running through various techniques, you noticed his arousal poking out. That's when you both discovered he likes being tied up.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Anaconda. Not kidding. He's soda can thick, 10.5 inches long. He has a small curve to the left.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Low, on his own. You're the deciding factor on how high his sex drive is. He tries to match you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes he will quickly fall into slumber after caring for you. Other times, he's energized by the session. So he'll go out and check the camp.

[allegraforchrist]

Can I enjoy movies, tv shows and certain characters while living for Christ?

I’ve been thinking about this since Saturday evening. I was watching the first two Deadpool movies, and just saw Deadpool and Wolverine yesterday, and something in my Spirit became upset. Even though I like Marvel, and I appreciate the comedy and action of Deadpool, it doesn’t mean I agree with his character and his morals. I don’t appreciate his profanity, or using God’s name in vain, and most of the grotesque sexual undertones of his jokes. Even though I like his character and storyline, I don’t like him. I don’t deny I am a fan of the films because it’s a break from what the Marvel universe is, but I try not to idolize him over my love for God. I appreciate the creativity of his character, and even the effort put into the franchise by the directors, producers and writers, but it shouldn’t desensitize me from the reality that it’s still vulgar and profane.

I like Deadpool, but I don’t like Deadpool. If you understand what I mean.

I found that, even though you may like something, you must not like it more than the Holy Spirit’s discipline. You can appreciate something, without agreeing with it. You can watch things by your own volition, but don’t watch it if it desensitizes your Spirit and obedience to God. Remember your eyes are the lamp into your Spirit, this goes for your ears as well.

I also want to make mention that a lot of Christians watched the Deadpool and Wolverine movie and said it blasphemes against Christ. Kind reminder that, Deadpool on multiple occasions has used God’s name in vain, so if you didn’t pick it up then that he has little regard to respecting Christ and God, you’re taking offense - at first- in the wrong film. Second, when he referred to himself as “Marvel Jesus”, I was uncomfortable too at first, but then I realized that while it may come across as a joke, the writer’s inadvertently admitted that only Jesus has the power to save anyone, and this case, Wade Wilson needed that kind of power to save his universe and the people he loved. So by my understanding it wasn’t an offense meant to be taken, it was an off-putting compliment essentially. Next, Wolverine wasn’t crucified the way Christ was, he was nailed to an X as a form of torture to the defeat of the X-men in the Apocalyptic time, with the sea of skulls being the millions of deaths of people and mutants. Christ saved us, by punishment and humiliation. Wolverine was tortured because he couldn’t save anyone.

I’m not making excuses as a Christian, I saw these images at first and also took offense, even anxiety, towards them. But once I let myself calm down and actually evaluate the intention and purpose of those images, I realized that I’m taking offense to the wrong things. As Christians, we are so eager and busy to defend Christ, and even get angry toward persons and things that do blaspheme Christ, that we misdirect the same offense towards other things that we completely miss the true message or intention of. We live in an insensitive sinful world, that’s sensitive to the Holy things of God. If we can practice catching ourselves out, as quickly as we are to catch others out in their wrong, I think we’d be a lot more disciplined and obedient to God. But we’re not. That’s why we need God and His son to guide us. To teach us. To call us out on our poor offenses against the Holy Spirit. To make the tough choices and reflections on what we desire and enjoy. Yes, we have a choice everyday, to live and Glorify God, and to do what we like. But it doesn’t work that way, you can’t drink from the cup of demons and the cup of Christ. You can’t say you love God but then hate people when they make characters or movies swear against Him. You can’t love God and be eager to love the world and its temporary pleasures. You can’t love God and hate correction. You can’t love God and ignore only the minor things that build you closer to Him, or tear you away from Him.

I can feel in my Spirit, yes I do like Deadpool but I know I can’t love it and physically I can’t because there’s just as much sin in it as there is entertainment in it. Just like Spider-man, I like Spider-man, but I can’t love it more than I love God. More than I love Jesus. And I need to honor that because my life and love is for God, and God only. I can’t compromise my purpose in God, for my pleasure in the creative.

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890 @choicesficwriterscreations

(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[sgiandubh]

Hello how are you? I follow several shippers' blogs and I noticed that every now and then some bloggers publish hateful messages they received. My question is about mental health: how do you deal with it? I understand that your presence here is relatively recent, but have you ever regretted something?

Dear Mental Health Anon,

This is the kind of submissions I welcome with all my heart, because they are benevolent and witty. Forgive me already for what I suspect will be a long answer. It is not the pleasure of hearing me talk that prompts them, but the sincere intention to answer deserving asks as clearly, fully and honestly as I can.

The short answer is : I am fine, Fall is slowly coming and nights are starting to be really chilly. There's some light rain tapping on the roof of my flat and I will spend my week-end wandering around some of my favorite places on Earth. And now, onwards to the consistent and interesting ask of yours...

The worst trolling message I have ever seen in this fandom is the one I am immediately going to post below, because I think it should serve us all as warning and reminder. It was posted on a blog I have been reading from the beginning of my long lurking days on Tumblr: @cb4tb is one of the most balanced and articulate people in this corner of the Internet. I remember being shocked by its cold and very coherent violence. The feat of a casebook sociopath, who thinks her asks in Spanish (I am 200% certain about it) and who has an appalling command of English grammar. Written on Christmas' Eve and on purpose:

Compared to the alarming slander @cb4tb got (whatever for is a mystery, she is non conflictual and posts very witty business insights) on a day that should be completely taboo for every civilized human being (you don't need to believe in God to respect one of Christianity's most important celebrations), whatever hate I could get in here is definitely subpar. Most of it did not make it on my page and went straight to the bin. But it's not always easy: I am as human as you, Anon, and sometimes I feel personally insulted and revolted by the smugness and pettiness of it all. However, I must immediately add their hate never made me give up an inch of my convictions. They are the result of a long interval of watching and pondering, coupled with my own observations I gladly share with like-minded women all around the world. That often hits a nerve or bruises overinflated egos on the Other Side. So be it: I am not here to be meek and obedient, if I never was meek and obedient in real life. I am here to bring clarity and build trust, which incidentally resonates very closely to what I do for a living. That probably rates me as a moderate on the shipper spectrum, in the sense that by complete design I put aside some divisive topics I firmly chose not to discuss. I am not interested to bring attention on me, in here, and the least thing I'd like is to be a vector of discord. So that would also rate me as a peacemaker of sorts - and yes, that sounds perhaps pretentious, but I believe it is needed, especially now.

I only felt a clear intention to threaten me twice, both in DM. The first time it curiously came from one extreme fringe of the shipper community and I brushed it off, because it was an empty, almost ridiculous threat. I politely denied and that was it - two persons blocked me and there were no other consequences to it. The second time, an anti came to confront me on an irrelevant point, with a very aggressive undertone. I blocked and almost forgot about it. If you have it clear enough in your mind that such things cannot be avoided and, at the same time, you know that your own moral compass is not compromised, these details will not affect you. At all. I confidently promise you that. Last but not least: if you are not great with compartmentalizing, don't step in the arena. It can seriously ruffle your self-esteem and it's not worth it.

So this is how I deal with it: I focus on what I have to say (does it bring something new? interesting? positive? thought-provoking?), on the way of saying it (above all, be kind and gracious to every other shipper) and on the right moment to say it (only when I am honestly sure I can do it with no unwanted consequences). But I will stand in solidarity with any shipper (any single one of them) who is humiliated, belittled or disparaged, with not a single shred of fear in the world. And I would also fend for myself if necessary, if I am getting over-the-top slander: all the other yapping, I ignore. Sometimes (often, even) it's more interesting to watch.

And if anything else fails, I go for a long drive and have a coffee at the seaside or simply open a book or listen to some Bach or call Someone. Or take this little big guy out for a lazy walk in the park:

You ask me if I regret anything. Absolutely not. I have received more than I could ever give, in here. I have met spectacular women and men, I have grown very fond of and feel very close to. I have had the immense satisfaction of sharing their secrets, their worries, their plans and this means trust, in my book, for which I will never tire saying how grateful I am. I also strived to respond in kind and I mean to honor this unwritten contract. Last but not least, I have watched this community slowly dusting off months of sadness and perhaps starting to open up again.

And all of this makes me damn proud of who we are, Anon. Thank you for dropping by! You are always welcome on my page.

[prinxlegolass]

Smut War Fic: Exit Wound

Well, this wasn't a war I was going to sit out. Please enjoy my 6th fic. First attempt at smut, but as you have already seen from my TrAuMa meme, it also has a lot of angst in it. I hope you enjoy it x

Rating: Explicit

CW/TW:

These are expanded upon further in the summary if you'd like to also read that for context, but take care of yourself :)

- Demon in Snake Form / Goddess in Human Form Sexual Encounter. Both are aware of what the other is, and both can consent

- Slight dubcon due to magic, feeling highly connected to someone and a sense of not being in control as a result, more so due to an inherent primal instrinct. All beings are acting on free will and are able to consent for the smut bits

- In the epilogue, a character describes a murder he witnesses without gory detail (the victim is not Aziraphale or Crowley). The nature of the murder is patriarchal and of spiritual colonisation in nature, but there is no sexual assault / motive. The fic can be read without the epilogue if you're curious but want to skip this subject.

-Angst ending

- Snake bite, snake sex and descriptions that could trigger claustrophobia

Summary

Hell sends Crowley to 5th Century Ireland, much to his chagrin, to investigate a mysterious source of power. Uphill from a deep rainforest he finds an ancient structure with something far more ancient and far more powerful than any blessing or curse he’d seen before.

This is a story of love, of loss, coming home, and everything that never was. Join me for a re-telling of an Irish Celtic Myth that has been sanitised and long-forgotten. Taking place in one hundred years into Early Christian Ireland, it weaves themes of spiritual colonisation with the ineffability of a great plan and the parts of us that are never truly lost.

But this is a smut war - and you can expect a sexy divine being, human sex and snake sex; not just hemi-penes, but hemi-clitorae! Sex magic rituals being used as a sensual tool for transformation and rebirth; and plenty of vulva pleasure and gratification.

There are three (because it’s a magic number) sexual configurations - demon in snake form / Goddess in human form, Snake / Snake, Human / Human. That culminates in a healing and surrendering love.

The epilogue features angst with an unhappy ending. As you can imagine, the resistance to Christianity did not end well for the Irish Pagans. In the epilogue, one character describes witnessing the murder (no sexual assault) of another. But the story stands well enough on its own without the epilogue if you want to skip this part.

5,014 word count

Excerpt:

“I’ve been waiting for you, Crowley.”

“Who are you?” Crowley hissed. His aggressive exterior betraying the powerlessness he felt to draw nearer.

“I am many things, Crowley. I am one of many mothers; both death and rebirth. I am the inhale and the exhale; the dawn that rises after the cold, hard winter; I bring joy and I am feared; and soon, none will remember…”

Crowley inched forward, concertina twinings marking the dirt, barely sensing the heat of the fire in the woman’s lure.

“Your name!” He growled insistently.

“You already know it, Crowley. Look deep inside you, my beloved serpent,” was her soft response with kind eyes. Crowley flicked his tongue at the fingers of her extended palm. The woman’s skin was steeped in the essence of her words; the taste of finely plucked sycamore seeds carried lovingly by the wind to pre-destined soils. Tears doomed never to fall filled Crowley’s heart as the thread that connected him to this woman tugged him closer on her arm; the most he had ever touched or been touched by a human in his snake-form. Only she wasn’t human, was she? A foreign name Crowley had always known moved from the back of his mouth to dance on his tongue.

“Caoira…”

Green eyes smiled through tears at the demon’s whisper.

“Yes my dear. It’s me. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Crowley’s thought-form longed to ask questions. About knowledge, that began before words; curiosity, that existed before symbols; and meaning, established before sounds. But he had already found his answer in her eyes. Another Almighty; new and much more ancient. A Goddess.

Crowley’s body took over once again, unable to resist the draw to her. Climbing her arm and shoulders, his tongue could not cease flicking, planting forked kisses on her neck. Quivering, he meandered down her shoulder, elongating his form to drape around her. Powerless over the compulsion to place his chin on every part of her body, Crowley’s tail vibrated in her lap and Caoira breathed sighs of joy in his scaled ministrations.

Fingers that had borne the very wells of the earth stroked the obsidian pearls of Crowley’s back, before coming to delicately caress the ridges of his snout and brow. Crowley flinched in the touch, haunted by memories of the fall; of centuries spent curled around the cooling magma of igneous rock. Curled around any form of connection to replace the Almighty’s as his wings burned.

 

Coos of Caoira’s attunement honeyed Crowley’s ears, and with no way of crying, sweating or spitting it out; his serpent-form became fevered with fury for what had happened to him. His body flailed in twisted, hissing reverberations in the centre of the Goddess’s crossed legs. In his uncontrolled anguish, Crowley felt his jaw unhinge and his fangs hook into Caoira's thighs, breaking her skin. Punishment for his other mother, who had placed a similar hook in his heart only to cut the cord in the end.  This time, he was never letting go.

Read more on AO3

Thank you:

Goskiagarkowska2 on pixabay for the image. A huge thank you to @sohoscribblers who have been amazing friends since I joined their group. Big thanks to @azeutreciathewicked @aidaran-alha @playdohangel and @rhosmeinir for the Betas x

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Thank you for letting me try again on this, I did, in fact, not save any of what I wrote.

TW: Mentions of religion, specifically christianity.

Everyone likes the Seraphim, but what about the Cherubim? Those guys can get 15 feet or taller! And if I calculated right, their cocks could be around 4 feet long if they have one. I imagine they don't have a gender or sex but can make whatever genitals appear on their body whenever they want. Cherubims are God's right hand entities. They sing for him at his throne and worship him constantly. They have many wings and many hands.

So imagine this. (Excuse any spelling errors)

You're in the woods just chilling and reading a book. You enjoy being away from people and just soaking in the calm cool of the forest.

Meanwhile, a Cherubim I'm deciding to call “The Entity” had been watching you for a while. It decided that you were its favourite human and it started to develop a crush on you. It would spend its very little free time watching you, admiring how adorable you are. But today was a day it decided it really wanted to go down and meet you. The Entity looked around, mass is in a few hours, surely it could make time for you.

You placed your book down, about to go find something else to entertain yourself when with a flash of light, The Entity appeared. But you weren't scared, something told you not to be. You looked up at it in awe, admiring its otherworldly large body and the plethora of wings and arms that cover the horrors known as its face.

With the simple movement of one of its arms, it scoops you up into its hand easily. You your body adapt the the lack of warmth its body produces.

“Hello…” You say nervously. It does a small wave in return with one of its different hands. The Entity wants to talk to you but its voice might corrupt your mind and make you go brain dead. With two of its other hands, it begins picking at your clothes, trying to remove them. It wants to see you in your full vulnerability since you've already seen it. You blush heavily but let it do whatever it wishes.

Unfortunately, it can't make it past your shirt. The Entity points at your body, attempting to ask you to remove your clothes and you strangely understand what it asks. You begin undressing, holding onto the hand that's holding you for support. It strokes your head gently with an index finger as you remove each article of clothing.

When you finally finish stripping down for it, it leans back against a large and sturdy tree and places you on its lap. You watch as four giant hands began moving you around and inspecting you. The fingers are very gentle and curious, they touch you gingerly, being sure not to force entry into any of your orifices. Your breathing quickens and your heart flutters. All you know is that you don’t really mind what will happen next.

New Earthly emotions ignited within The Entity. It’s a strange, sinful emotion that claws into its soul. An emotion that makes it want to take you to its own personal pocket dimension and please you for all of eternity. But instead it slips a pinky finger down in between your legs and begins stimulating you.

You let out a soft moan as the pleasure, feeling the giant finger stimulate your genitals. The pleasure builds up more and more, your lust just pouring out. Something about the experience was far from anything you’d feel when fucking someone or masturbating. It was like with each strike of pleasure your mind would corrupt a little bit more. The world started making less sense and every human concept was starting to become minuscule. You buck up your hips and began thrusting them in an attempt to intensify the grinding but it doesn’t work very well.

After a while you eventually cum, letting out a loud moan. The Entity loves your sounds and wants to hear them for the rest of eternity. It pulls away its hand and happily absorbs your fluids. It peers down at your lewd expression, your human pleasures slowly corrupting its mind. Its attention then moves towards the space between its legs. The Entity doesn’t have a sex but can morph whatever genitalia it wants anywhere it wants. After thinking through the almost infinite options of reproductive organs The Entity could choose, it decided on a penis. It’s something your feeble human mind can comprehend.

It’s dick emerged from between its legs. And oh wow is it a sight to behold. It’s about as long as you are tall, assuming you’re 5’5. It gently picks you once more, flipping you onto your stomach. The Entity them begins thoroughly inspecting your ass. It wanted to try and penetrate your with its dick but decided not to since it doesn’t want to break your fragile body.

“Y-You’re not to put that in m-me, are you?” You ask, still shaking from the mind scattering orgasm you just experienced. It doesn’t speak but you get the vibe that it’s not going to try to penetrate you so you just give a nod. After a few more moments of The Entity letting you recover it lifts you up with one hand and splits your legs open wide with the another. It admires you for a moment before putting you down on its dick.

It’s not trying to push into you somehow but rather just grinding your genitals together. You moan out loudly at the feeling of the giant dick grinding against all of your sensitive parts. You figured it would hurt at least a little bit but there’s no pain and the pleasure is slowly fading away. Everything just feels white, so raw and eternal that you just can’t process it. Have you been here for only a few minutes or years? You can’t remember.

It felt itself becoming more sinfully corrupt with lust and want every time it grinded your body against its dick. At this point The Entity was just using your body as a toy to stimulate it.

You don’t mind. The angelic skin rubbing against yours, it has no texture or shape to you anymore, you have no idea where you even are. Eventually after enough stimulation, The Entity releases. It’s cum is nothing like you’ve ever seen before and the affect on you is like drugs. The shimmery fluid hitting your skin and drenching your body is intoxicating. Its feathers ruffle at the feeling of climax but settles soon enough.

You smile up at your newfound lover, you’ve never understood something so well before. Everything you ever knew before just doesn’t make sense but the angelic being cradling you with two of its many hands is now connected to you. You’ve forgotten your name, all you know is that it loves you, and you love it back. You understand everything about it now, and it understands you.

Words from a language you don’t understand spill from your mouth. “Show me your face.”

It denies, it doesn’t want you to go blind, insane, or both. You nod and cuddle into its hands.

After an unrecognisable amount of time goes by, it sits you up and caresses your face very gently. It’s time to go, but you’ll definitely be seeing each other again. It lays you down on a soft patch of grass. You curl up on yourself as you watch it leave to a place you don’t understand yet.

Bonus: You gasp awake, was it all a dream? Suddenly the real world is starting to make sense again and everything you just experienced is becoming impossible to piece together. You try to grip onto it but it’s gone, but nothing feels right anymore…

Your mind has changed.

You get up, wobbly but able to walk. Eventually people find you. They say things that seem unreasonable.

“Are you okay?”

“Where are your clothes?”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Is that the person on those missing persons flyers?”

“Excuse me? Are you Y/N?”

After the police evaluate you and the hospital gets you cleaned and dressed, you’re interrogated.

“Y/N,” a police officer says. “You’ve been missing for three months…”

That night when you sleep, you thought you’d have a nightmare but instead, a familiar hand gingerly scooped you up.

.

[bloodsappho]

These crosses all over my body

Remind me of who I used to be

And Christ forgive these bones I’m hiding

From noone successfully

Wrestling with God, secrets that can’t be hidden, flesh and bone. Themes established from the very outset. Of course we wonder what are these crosses, these secrets. As we will hear, violence haunts the protagonist. She is abused, she fights back, she kills. So are the crosses decorative sigils, testaments of faith worn around the neck and fingers? Are they cuts and bruises and batterings? Are they deep, inner wounds, bleeding out silently? Are they self inflicted cuts, scored with a razor into her wrists and thighs?

Self-inflicted razor wounds go much deeper than the pop-psych logic of “self-harm”. Particularly prevalent amongst young women, they attest to a body-mind that wants to open, to bleed, to have its own limits annihilated in a rush of pleasure and pain. Mortification of the flesh is particularly common in Christian culture, self-inflicted punishment for sinful thought and deed, attributed especially to women.

Camille Paglia:

“The artist makes art not to save mankind but to save himself. Every benevolent comment by an artist is a fog to cover his tracks, the bloody trail of his assault against reality and others.”

Later

“Art advances by self-mutilation of the artist.”

Hemingway claims “to write is easy, you just sit down and bleed”. Bowie claims “to be an artist is a ridiculous thing. It makes much more sense to earn money, look after your family. I don’t know why anyone would do it.” Self experience attests to artists sitting in frozen cold apartments, unable to eat properly, following a voice that nobody else can here. Addicts and artists often go hand in hand.

“These crosses all over our bodies”, the stacked wounds and traumas of war against the everyday. The great mistake of Amero-boomerist art criticism to assume that such wounds and traumas are the fault of oppressive power structures themselves. Such power structures exist to keep violent nature in a straightjacket, a state of affairs that the artist simply cannot abide by. The only advice that can ever be given to someone who is thinking about becoming an artist is “Give up now”, because the path of crucifixion is not something that can be chosen or rationally debated.

Many cultures and esoteric paths offer Gods of ecstasy and vision who undergo violent metamorphoses and stand at the crossroads of life and death: Jesus, Dionysus, Shiva and Osiris just a few. Of course the Christ myth is an evolution of the Dionysus myth, but the Christian Universalist reading comes out of Jewish linguistic totalitarianism which wants to banish the erotics of masks, idols and personas. The multiplicity and polymorphism, not to mention the perversity, of the various robes of the dying God is anathema to the priest line that wants to establish strict loyalty and sexual submission.

Judaism today has evolved to be a champion of the erotics of the eye, with many of the great figures of Hollywood Jewish artists trained in Romanticism and Expressionism who fled central Europe when the Nazis came to power in the 1930s. It is in fundamentalist Islam where we see the nightmare of Abrahamic totalitarianism most clearly, with women wrapped in rags and virgin girls offered as the heavenly reward for total submission to God.

Michael Jackson, one of the most influential and biggest selling artists of all time. One hardly ever hears his name mentioned save in scorn, and yet his traces are everywhere — the songs and dances of every popstar of the last 20 years are unmistakenly scorred by his influence. Jackson is frightening because he is, we might say, trans-everything. Massively androgynous, morphing from black to white, physically and musically, adult and child, his career is a violent and unceasing metamorphosis. He was under the knife as much as under the camera, a vanguard of celebrity plastic surgery taken to extremes, to many an angel and to many others a satanic freakshow.

The artist, condemned to create beauty at the monstrous intersections of life.

[actiwitch]

The Gods' myths sometimes include horrific or immoral aspects. That doesn't mean we should behave as if those myths dont exist!

(A Pagan perspective)

(tw: sa, misogyny)

When we are faced with myths that no longer fit in modern moral views (such as so much SA in Greek mythology alone there's a whole Wikipedia page on it) we should not shy away! Even if we don't like or approve of it, it's a part of the Gods' history and mythos.

All mythology is written by humans, and as such is unavoidably a product of its time. The way that anyone (including modern pagans) interprets the Gods as entities, or any interaction with them, is limited within our own culture, time period, and personal beliefs. By examining both the beliefs of the present and the past, we can decide for ourselves how we see the Gods while considering the context their myths were written in.

Even within one time period or similar group of people, such as modern pagans today, interpretations of the Gods can vary widely.

Zues is a cheating rapist. He is also a powerful god of the skies, lightning, and order.

Lucifer is literally the devil. An evil liar full of sins. And yet he is enlightening, independent, and honest.

Freyja is constantly associated (some say reduced) to sex. She uses her body for her gain, and is quite canonically called a slut. At the same time, she's the goddess of women! Of female power, both in mental skill and physical strength. She leads the Valkyries.

Loki is dark and deceptive, bringer of Ragnarok-- and he's a deity of change and freedom.

And neither is wrong. In mythology, both are true.

The Gods, all their aspects, and all the texts we have of them are complicated, complex, multifaceted, and interpretive- of course, there will be various understandings within pagan practices. No one view is superior to the other. Our understandings all exist on a scale, or rather some sort of mashup, of how important and what importance we attribute to various myths and aspects of deities.

When I worshipped Hera, I did so in two 'versions'. 1. Hera as resistance against men and abuse. I found solace and connection with her in powerful womanhood and female rage. I prayed to her before attending a pro-choice rally. And 2. Hera as a symbol of deep love, power, and marriage, and commitment. I lit her candle when my partner was over or when I needed a confidence boost.

These aspects never felt conflicting to me. Separate, maybe (I certainly wasn't thinking of any cheating or abuse in mythology as overlapping with the love and commitment)- but just part of one THING. Of Hera and everything surrounding her.

To many other deities of various 'immoral' aspects, these conflicting elements aren't just both present but often integral to their presence and worship.

Lucifer is often worshipped in rebellion. In healing from oppressive Christianity and finding light and understanding in that darkness.

Freyja is sexual! One of her many aspects. (which by the way, should not be seen as immoral. looking at yall, bs tumblr feminists) There is pleasure, joy, and power to be found in reclaiming that part of women we are told is shameful.

Loki is so much at once. He is outcast and destructive, and within that he spurs necessary change and chaos. So many pagans look to her as a symbol of queerness in the broadest sense and in facing the necessary chaos of growth.

TLDR: Don't just ignore aspects of mythology that feel uncomfortable (obviously unless something like trauma is involved). There is a lot to learn both from understanding the time and context their myths were written in as well as self-reflection on how certain myths or aspects of deities fit (or don't fit) within your practice.

[the-trans-folk-witch]

The Green Devil of the Ozarks: The little green fairy of... moonshine?

It was 2005. I was with my grandfather in an old shop similar to "dick's 5 and 10" outside of Branson, Missouri. This is where The Green Devil caught my eye.

My grandfather frequented little old fashioned stores like this. He loved collecting all kinds of gadgets. Old movie posters, salt water taffy, and soda parlor paraphenalia. It was heaven on earth to him in this little corner of the world that was stuck in an older Ozark time. His house wasn't too dissimilar to a crackerbarrel gift shop. All kinds of wooden toys and dolls. He loved his little knickknacks. But on that day he found it. A copy of an old French absynthe poster with "the little green fairy" smirking at the viewer. He had to have it. It was being sold for $8! frame included! If only the seller knew the true value of it. Or how it's mere existence was breaking so many copyright laws.

Maurin Quina, as it's named, is a French apéritif advertisement painted by Leonetto Cappiello in 1906. The drink was made illegal soon after its creation. But this poster is now being reused today. It was not well known in the US at all back then. Not even in the 2000's. but my grandfather being a moonshiner, absynthe fan, and art history drop out, knew all about it.

My grandfather was not as religious as the rest of my family. But he sure prayed to God when he was trying to avoid the law. He was selling homemade moonshine without any sort of license or proper knowledge of sanitary practices. It was an arte form he learned from his father that I never had the pleasure of learning.

He decided to hang this new poster up in his storm cellar where he kept his aging bottles of various liquors. Over time it developed A life of its own. My grandfather would kiss his hand and place it on the poster of the little green fairy after every jar was sealed or sales were made. I Don't think he saw this as devil worship so much as just a simple good luck ritual. Not too disimilar to his high school basketball team kissing the image of their mascot before a game. He always practiced these superstitions even though he didn't seem to really believe in them.

Fast forward to today. I'm an Ozark trad witch. So of course I now work with this image as if it is the devil himself. He is a devil that rules spring and summer. Drunkenness, poison, lunacy, fairies, and nature. He is associated with law breaking, alcohol, healing, harming, and fertility. With Easter coming up He is on my mind heavily. A time I feed him red dyed eggs symbolizing the blood of christ and the blood of good Christians. I feed him this with intentions of causing those which share the eucharist to lust. Poisoning the church so to speak. I attend mass in spirit form and dip my blessed turkey wish bone down in the communion wine. The turkey is symbolic of love in the Ozarks. And the wishbone is horned like the stang, and my devil. Midnight mass on Easter is filled with drunkenness and sex. Those consuming this spiritually poisoned wine are consumed with lust for others in the church. An orgy ensues in the great house of God. Only for all members to awaken Easter morning with no memory of the incestuous rituals performed with their brothers and sisters in christ. To do such things in the house of God and not confess them (due to not remembering) is damanble. This is my goal as a witch. To bring the witches Sabbath to the church and to pervert the souls of good men.

By turkey wand and lustful stang I complete my work in the devils name.

A call to the Green Devil:

"Envy is his name. Drunkeness and poisoning are his arte. He is Lord of the little people and plants alike; come little green fairy and bring your lust and your lunacy. Green devil rise from the roots below like a serpent. Green devil come down from the tree tops like a booger in the night who takes its flight. Join me in this witching hour oh beast of the green and hear my call to the wild. By my witches flame may it be so."

Look out for a post on the black and red devils later this year. Our horned one changes with the seasons

[fruitsoxs]

behind the church

pairing(s); priest!wolfwood x (GN AFAB)reader summary; you're caught smoking by wolfwood, leading to a new form of repentance warning; smut, 18 + !NSFW MINORS DNI!, blow jobs, face fucking, a bit of degradation, its a bit rough, oral m!receiving wordcount; 1.9k notes; i...have no explanation for this one. sorry i didn't get this out in time for ww wednesday !

You sigh and lean back against the brick wall, behind the church. You take a breath in, inhaling the smoke from your cigarette before exhaling it into a small cloud of smoke. Usually nobody comes  back here, making it the perfect place to take a little smoke break.

“What do we have here?” a voice asks. You immediately whip around, cigarette still placed between your fingers. Your eyes widen when you see Wolfwood looking over at you with his arms crossed. When he sees your terrified expression, an amused smile stretches across his face. 

“Never thought you’d be the type to smoke…” he says walking closer to you. He leans against the wall next to you, eyes focused on the sunset in the distance. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, then shrug. He doesn’t seem appalled. Then again, Wolfwood has always been a lot more chill than the other Priests. You’ve slipped up a few times and swore in front of him, without that man even flinching. 

“It’s…a guilty pleasure.” you tell him nonchalantly. 

“It’s not very Christian of you.” 

You pause. What should you say? Is the man trying to preach to you? He leans back and loosens his tie. He seems to read your mind, because the next thing he says is “Not that I can judge you.” You relax a little. “Yeah well, I’m not very good at that.” You answer. 

“So then why do you attend church?”

“Are you looking for a confession? Don’t we usually need a big box for that?” “It’s not exactly that kind of church.” He mumbles, grabbing the cigarette from between your fingers. He brings it up to his own lips, and takes a deep breath in. “I’m just looking for a conversation with my favorite church goer.”

You feel your cheeks light up at his words. His favorite? You watch as he smokes your cigarette, almost unsure of what to do or say. Finally you look away. “Well, I used to come to church out of habit…” you admit with a shrug. 

“Used to?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“I…well I have another reason to attend now.” You try not to let your blush show as you admit to this, hoping that your boldness pays off. He lets out a deep chuckle and turns to you. “And what’s the reason?” he asks, despite obviously knowing already. 

“Well, there’s this new Priest that started a couple of months ago. And I find myself…kind of drawn to him.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets the cigarette fall to the ground and smashes it with his shoe. He turns to you, looking down at you with an intense look in his eye. “Oh really?” he asks, voice deep. There’s something different in his eye now. He takes a step forward, head tilted down so he can keep your gaze.

“Well, it just so happens that this new priest has had trouble keeping his eyes off of you too.” he admits, reaching out. You find yourself unable to breath as he puts his hand on your cheek, swiping your lips with his thumb. 

You’re not sure who leans forward first, but suddenly your lips are against each other. The kiss is desperate and sloppy. You move your lips against his in a steady rhythm, gasp as his other arms wrap around you to pull you tight. He uses your gasp to shove his tongue into your mouth. You moan as your tongues twirl around each other. 

When you pull away to breath, you can hardly believe that it just happened. You look around to make sure nobody walked in on you. Wolfwood laughs and strokes your hair gently. “Relax. Everyone is distracted right now. It’s just you and me out here…” 

You let out a sigh in relief.. “I’ve always wanted to do that…” you tell him through bated breath.

“And what else have you been wanting to do with me…?” he asks, a hungry look in his eye. 

If only he knew of the fantasies that whirl through your mind every time you see him. Things no person should think of holy man. You’ve thought of him in every position. But what do you want to do to him the most? You look around at the secret little spot you two have as an idea pops into your brain. You know exactly what you can do to him here. 

You lean in close and whisper softly. “This.” before you fall to the ground in front of him. 

You sink to your knees swiftly, eyes focused up on the man standing above you. “You-” his voice breaks the moment you reach your hands forward caressing his legs. A smile breaks out onto your lips. “I?” you ask, your hand moving up. Just before it can reach its intended destination, you stop and let it drop down again. You repeat this motion a couple times, watching his needy face turn red everytime you graze his bulge. 

“You are such a tease…” he whispers, biting his bottom lip. He’s fully leaning against the brick wall behind him, using it to keep him standing straight as your fingers brush against him. 'I'm just confessing my sins, isn’t that what you wanted?’ you ask, leaning forward. Your eyes never leave his. 

“You need to do more than confess at this point.” he whispers eagerly, reaching down to grab your hair in his fist. You let out a light moan as his fingers curl around your hair. He punishes your head forward so it smashes against his bulge. You take a deep breath in as your face presses against the fabric of his dress pants.

“How will I ever repent, father?” You mumble against him, making his groan. “You can start by using that goddamn mouth of yours for something good.”

“Such bad language from a priest?”

He lowers his other hand, grabbing your head to press you as tight against himself as he can. “Shut it.” he hisses through his teeth as his hips rock forward. You let out a gasp, but make no effort to pull away. You’ve got him right where you’ve always wanted him. 

He lets go of your head so you can back away for a minute, your fingers working his pants open immediately. You unclasp his belt, and pull open the front of his pants. He works with you, pulling down his pants so his cock springs free. 

It’s long and thick. Your mouth almost waters from the sigh of it, especially as you watch the priest slowly wrap his hand around himself. He pumps himself a few times, his gaze hyper focused on your parted lips and red cheeks. “You just gonna stare?” He asks, pressing the tip against your lips gently. Already the salty taste of his precum floods your senses. Your body moves before you can even think, hands lifting to grasp the shaft. He lets you take over, dropping his hands to his sides. Slowly, you move your head forward, opening your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, holding your breath as you slide your lips down. He lets out a choked moan, his legs shaking as he tries to hold back from thrusting his hips forward. You can tell how bad he wants it, but you want this moment to last.

You’ve been dreaming of getting on your knees, and you are planning to enjoy every minute now that you are finally here.

You slowly slide your tongue over the length of his cock, bobbing your head back and forth. You pull back for a second, before pushing down as far as you can go. Letting out a choked sob, you deepthroat him. He whispers what sounds like a prayer, as he forces himself further down your throat. You gasp and choke, pulling back. 

He looks down at you as you wipe the spit from your lips, his eyebrow arching. “Are you okay?” he asks, a little softer than before. You nod, taking a deep breath. “Better than okay.” you whisper back. 

As soon as he knows you’re okay, he gets back into it. He grabs your head again, pressing you close to his dick. “If you want me to stop, tap my leg three times, okay?” he coos. You nod, and he presses your mouth down on his cock again. Clutching onto you so you can’t pull back. He thrusts into your mouth, enjoying every choked noise you make. He can’t get enough of how your throat closes around his cock when he presses it in a little too far.

Your knees are starting to ache. So is your jaw, but the pain is nothing compared to the bliss. Hsi cock stuffs your mouth. He moves it back and forth with force, bringing tears to your eyes. You’re left a moaning mess, completely at his disposal. 

“Fuck.”

He mumbles as he fucks your face. His hands dig into your skull, pulling your head forward and back as he pleases. “Such a dirty little sinner.” he groans out. “You look so good like this.” He grips onto your head as he presses himself as far back as he can go. “You take me so well.” His voice is hoarse now, it seems like he’s barely hanging on.

He pulls back, and slams back into your mouth again. Then again, and again. Your eyes roll back as tears start to fall down your face. “You look so good like this.” he grumbles as he pounds into your mouth. 

Suddenly, his hot seed is spilling down your throat. You gag and choke as you swallow the bitter tasting cum. “Just like that. Swallow it all.” he lets go of your head, hands now caressing your tear soaked face. “So good.” 

He pulls his dick out of your mouth, wiping away the tears from your face. His touch is soft now, almost like he’s afraid he’ll break you. He doesn’t know that he already has, and you loved every second of it. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Hm?”