#Open Priesthood

[idealog]

[stripesysheaven]

i finally finished evil cbs i’m going through so much right now

[artbysarf]

Yaheld Communion outfit concepts

[blueskittlesart]

In defense of the original, while I do agree the episodic vibes were a bit much at times, and it was something I kinda had to work my way through slowly rather than binging all in one...

I do kinda prefer the more gradual approach to laying out the information; getting to know both the setting and who Vash is as a person and the different facets of both, before getting the context that lets it all click into place. Plus the main quartet having ample time to grow together so that later developments have stronger emotional weight.

I will agree that Knives definitely suffered in focus, and I am interested in how Stampede handles him, but admittedly he wasn't really what I watched Trigun for in the first place. ^^;

yeah my gripe is less with the way the setting and characters were handled and more with the way the. actual plot was handled. it honest to god felt to me like they realized about halfway through their run that they didnt have enough episodes left to get the backstory in in a cohesive way so they just shoved it all into one episode and pretended that that explanation didn't create more questions than it answered. you spend 20 episodes teasing your audience like "ooooh what is vash?? clearly hes not human!! clearly there's something going on!!! don't you want to know whats going on?? keep watching and you'll totally understand whats going on!!" and then your big reveal is that. He Is Not Human. which is something that any idiot who has watched the last 20 episodes has already figured out. the question the audience ACTUALLY has at that point in the runtime is what, EXACTLY, is vash, and what the context is behind the conflict he and knives are in. the backstory episode explains that Knives Is Here, and it gives context to the setting and everything, but it pissed me off that it STILL didn't answer the actual mysteries i cared about, i.e. vash's real identity and the thing with the gun and his fucking arm and knives's motivations and everything. maybe that gets answered in the last episode that i neglected to watch but personally I prefer a story where i UNDERSTAND WHAT'S GOING ON by the time the final confrontation hits. with trigun it got to a point where vash was going out for the final battle with knives and i STILL didn't know who vash was, who knives was, where they came from, or what the hell their motivations were. that just made that final confrontation seem so wholly uninteresting to me that i didn't even feel like watching it. it was like "hey look vash is fighting a cardboard cutout that he is Afraid Of. Why? lmao idk man. probably has something to do with that weird spaceship that shows up in one whole episode before this point. not going to tell you how tho." I think some writers have this tendency to think that mystery = good writing and that not revealing anything to your audience will consistently draw them in for more, but that only works for so long. after 20 episodes of virtually net 0 information it got to feel like I was being strung along and like my questions were never going to be answered, so I gave up on the show in the final hour. Again, i'm not saying it was BAD necessarily and i understand the context in terms of writing and production that led to the show being produced that way but i think it really noticeably suffers due to the fact that it refuses to give the audience ANYTHING but crumbs of information for about 80% of it's runtime. that being said. i did genuinely like a lot of it. it has its moments. im not trying to discourage anyone from watching it or anything lol i just think stampede is a little more successful in keeping the viewer engaged in the story throughout by constantly feeding you bits of information and actually answering your questions as they become plot-relevant.

[ahaura]

OH MY GOD SO THOMAS *DID* TECHNICALLY CHOOSE SATAN FOR THE LATTER HALF OF HIS LIFE?

OH MY GOD??????????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[downhillrepose]

an old love

overview : father charlie mayhew reunites with an old lover he was head over heels for before he began his journey into priesthood.

pairing : father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

word count : 1152 (and it’s still ASS)

a/n : this is my first fic so please excuse.. everything… while i try to figure it all out! xx

it was an early sunday evening when father mayhew was interrupted while planning his next sermon. the doors to the church pushed open, the loud hinges and heaviness of the door stirring him from his concentration.

father mayhew looked up from his altar to the entrance of the church, not necessarily surprised to have someone else join him in the holy place, but startled nonetheless by the sudden intrusion.

a frazzled young woman stumbled in, her wide eyes looking around to the tall pristine ceilings and stained glass windows before settling on father mayhew’s tall figure on the stage.

though a sin, father charlie swore his heart stopped beating when his eyes finally settled on the woman in his church. could it really be? no… no, it’s not possible.

“charlie?”

charlie’s eyes widened beyond belief, definitely sure this time that his heart stopped beating. “Y/N..? is that.. you?” his voice was breathless, rough with disbelief.

“oh, charlie,” you beamed, quick steps scurrying over to the altar, stopping short before the steps. “i’m so glad to see you..” your eyes raked over his attire, “oh! i’m sorry, father charlie.”

frozen, charlie just stared at you before he somehow got the courage to say something. “Y/N.. what are you doing here? it’s been..” he trailed off, not wanting to say how long it had been since he’d seen the woman he fell in love with.

“forever?” you finished for him,

“yea, forever,” he gulped, slowly moving from behind the altar to descend the steps. his eyes never left your frame.

your gaze followed him as he made his way toward you. the closer he got, the faster his heart beat. is it about to come up his throat?

“i’m sorry to barge in on you like this it’s just that i got word that you were here and had to see for myself,” you softly smiled. how are you smiling right now? how are you not in complete and utter pain like he is?

charlie just blinked, finally in front of you now.

“right, i have to explain myself, god, oh! GOSH,” you corrected yourself, hand over your mouth. “i’m so sorry, i’m an idiot.”

this finally made charlie’s face lighten up, you hadn’t changed at all. “it’s okay, Y/N, really,” he felt his lips tug upward. you were still the cutest thing in the entire world.

you just blushed, embarrassed. “i.. i just finished my degree abroad, you know...? anyway, when i got back home my dad said that you were a priest now and i… well, i had to see you. couldn’t believe it.”

charlie raised a brow, “how come?”

you clasped your hands in front of you, “nothing, really, i just always envisioned you to be out of this old little town.. traveling.. doing whatever your heart desired. like you said you would…” your gaze flicked to the floor, your shoes suddenly very interesting.

charlie hummed, “no, i couldn’t leave this place.. trust me, i tried.” charlie’s gaze suddenly turned to a dim one. a dark, glum cloud seemed to hover over his head.

you raised your head at that, eyes locking with charlie’s once more. you opened your mouth for a moment before abruptly closing it. you contemplated for a moment before forcing a smile on your face.

“well i’m just happy to see you, charlie” your eyes flickered over his face, almost as if you were trying to imprint the image of him in your mind so you would always have it.

charlie didn’t say anything at that. he opened his mouth just to close it, too. he shook his head slightly, hand coming to comb through his hair.

“are you sure?” he clenched his jaw.

your eyes widened at that, flinching at his brazenness. “of course i am, charlie..” your hand moved to his arm before hesitating, tucking your hands behind your back in tight fists.

charlie saw this, his jaw clenching even tighter, he was sure his teeth would fall out. “i’m sorry it’s just hard to believe when i’ve been here the whole time.”

“charlie..”

“no, Y/N, what are you doing here? really?” his tone became defensive, building a wall around his heart right in front of the woman who helped him tear it down all those years ago.

you didn’t say anything, eyes wide looking up at him.

“i never left, Y/N.. i never left…” his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes hardened in faux credence.

your lower lip quivered, looking away.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what? for abandoning us? or for never coming back?” charlie bit out. according to his beliefs, charlie should forgive, but something inside him still ached from when you left, it wasn’t that easy.

“everything, charlie.. everything.” your eyes were glistening with tears when you looked back into his. charlie’s heart sped up at the sight, hand itching to take your face in his palms.

as the first sob of yours was let out, charlie couldn’t stop himself, pulling you into his arms and into his warm chest.

“shh, shh, baby.. don’t cry.” his hand caressed the back of your head and neck, head coming to rest atop of yours.

your heart clenched in your chest. “i’m so sorry, charlie.” the words were slightly muffled against his chest, but he knew what you said.

palms coming to cup your cheeks, he wiped your tears with his thumbs, eyes locked on your red and watery ones. “shh, it’s okay..”

you shook your head, “no, it’s not.”

charlie’s eyes softened even more, if that was possible, “sweetheart… come here.” he brought you back into his arms for another embrace.

“missed you so much, charlie, i just.. i couldn’t face you after what happened. please. you knew i missed you, didn’t you?” you raised your face from his chest, neck craning up to look into his eyes.

“well, i do now…” his ring covered hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “just wish you came back sooner.”

your eyebrows crinkled up again, “i know, i’m sorry i just thought you hated me and i couldn’t bring myself to face you.”

charlie brought his forehead to yours, “oh, sweetheart, i could never hate you..” his palm caressed your cheek. you leaned into his touch, releasing a heavy breath.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, the silence of the church engulfing you, making it seem as though you were the only people in the world.

charlie broke the silence first, eyes soft looking down at you, “what do you say we get something to eat? that diner is still open, and you can tell me everything..”

you softly smiled, sniffling, “i’d like that a lot.”

with your arm locked in charlie’s as he led you out the church doors, he realized something:

a million years could go by without seeing or hearing from you, but his connection and devotion to you will never falter. ever.

so… that’s it! im so sorry the ending is so rushed and just. bad? im sure grammar and the present and past tense verbiage was annoying asf pls forgive me :,,) im new to writing (writing my own stories i mean) and am open to criticism! constructive pls..

[laligraves]

three a.m.

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2.4k summary: You seek guidance from Father Miller after you find your fiancé cheating. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, NSFW, joel can speak spanish, pre/no outbreak, some proofreading, reader can sit on Joel's lap (he's a big, strong man), no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, fingering, oral (f! receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, slight power imbalance (joel is a priest), all consensual

a/n: my first joel miller fic 🤠🫣

The incessant knocking wakes him up from his sleep. Joel swipes at his eyes, turning his head to peer at the digital clock on his nightstand. 

“Three in the mornin’?” he groans. “¿Quién será?” [who could it be?]

He throws off the blanket and stands from the bed, walking through the hallway towards the side door. The rain hits the windows hard, echoing throughout the empty church.

Joel takes a look through the peephole and swallows hard once he sees who stands on the other side. He watches as you lift your hand and knock on the door again. You’re shivering, only wearing a short dress that's soaked in rain water. 

“Sweetheart, what’re you doin’ out here at this time of night?” he asks in shock once he swings open the door. 

Joel catches you before you can fall as you stumble inside, wrapping his arms around you at the sound of your cries. 

“Father Miller, I just–I didn’t know where to go or what to do,” you stammer, “Nicolas cheated again! He said–he said I was failing him as a woman.” 

Joel can barely understand the last sentence. Your voice cracks, fat tears rolling down your face and mixing with the rain drops. Joel gently shushes you and brings you to his bedroom. 

He knows he shouldn’t. It crosses a boundary that can get him excommunicated from the church if anyone were to find out. But it’s the only room with a functioning heater and towels to get you warm. 

His heart hammers against his chest and his hands shake slightly as he sits you down on the couch. He’s angry, feeling a surge of violence that he hasn’t felt in years. 

That idiot fiance of yours has been more trouble than he’s worth. Having you move across the country, away from all your friends and family, and keeping you isolated in this tiny town. 

You’ve tried to build a community here. Every Sunday you sit in the second pew towards the far left and attend every bible session to bake sale the church has to offer.

Nicolas is more interested in sleeping with half the town while his beautiful fiance tries to build a home and a future. 

It’s not Joel’s place to tell you to leave him. If anything, he should be offering his services to make you a better, more understanding future wife. At least that’s what the church would want. The very idea makes his stomach churn. 

He gave an oath to the priesthood. This would be his life until his last breath. But the moment he laid eyes on you, Joel wondered if God had sent him a test. 

“What am I supposed to do?” your small voice breaks through his thoughts. “I left everything for him. I’m making this place my home–our home. And he’s more interested in chasing girls than building a life with me.” 

Joel sits next to you, bringing up a towel to wipe at your wet face. The scent of fresh rain and your perfume makes him dizzy. 

“Do you remember the first time you told me about the problems you two were havin’?” 

You give a jerky nod. “Five months ago, Father.” 

“Five months ago,” Joel repeats. “Your wedding is 3 months away, mi niña. Do you think he has any plans on changing?” [my girl]

Tears well up in your eyes. It hurts Joel to hurt you like this. Fuck this place, fuck this oath, he thinks. Joel will not allow this man to ruin your life. Even if it means you return back home and he loses your presence in this church forever. 

“N–no, I don’t think he’s going to change,” you whisper. 

“I think it's time for you to take a good look at what the future might bring. Do you want to raise a family with this man? Do you want this man as the father of your children?” 

Joel wraps his arms around your trembling frame as you begin to cry again. Your body shakes from the sobs and your tears wet his sleep shirt. His hands glide up and down your shoulders, warming your body. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually your tears cease. You pull back slightly and look up at him. He takes a quick glance at your glassy eyes and down to your puffy lips. 

“I haven’t been completely honest,” you whisper. “There–there’s another reason why Nicolas is angry all the time.” 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” 

“He thinks… he thinks I spend too much time with you–with the church,” you stammer. “He’s got this idea that I–that I have some sort of… infatuation with you.” 

“It’s normal for men to feel jealousy. That’s why we must work to–” 

“He’s not wrong.” 

You interrupt Joel, taking the opportunity to glance at his lips. Joel realizes just how close you two are on the couch. You’re at his side, his arms still wrapped around you and your faces only inches away from one another. 

“Mi…” Joel whispers, “mi niña, you’re confused. You’re hurt. You don’t know what you’re saying–” 

You're quick to stand from the couch and throw off the towel. Joel thinks you’re going to agree, that you’re going to grab your things and walk out from his bedroom before he decides to do something stupid. 

But you simply kick off your shoes and straddle his lap. Your tiny dress rides up the moment you sit down. His body jolts from the shock but you’re quick at grabbing his hands to place them on your thighs. 

“I made up my mind, Father,” you murmur, “I’m breaking up with Nicolas. And I’m moving back home.” 

His heart pinches at your words. You’re leaving. 

“I think that’s a good idea–” 

You slide your hips forward, placing your pussy right over his cock. Joel chokes on the rest of his words, suddenly aware of the clothes he’s wearing. Only his pajama pants and your panties stand in the way. 

Joel tries to say your name in a stern tone, but you bring your face closer to his and he forgets why he wanted to push you away in the first place. Your lips touch his in a soft kiss. 

He’s gentle at first, cradling your head to keep you in place while he presses his lips on yours. Joel licks at your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue then plunges it inside your mouth the moment you gasp. 

He licks at you, grasping your chin as he tastes you, bites your bottom lip, gives you his tongue to suck on. Your cunt grinds down on his cock in desperate circles and your fingers tug at his hair. 

His cock swells in his pants but he does his best to control himself. Joel can’t remember the last time he came, probably right before he joined the priesthood many years ago. 

Joel yanks down the straps of your dress and latches onto your nipple the moment your tits are bare. Your chest is still slightly cold from the rain but he uses his mouth to warm you up. 

You throw your head back and whimper as he bites and sucks at your tits. He’s ravenous, wishing he could eat you alive from how soft and plump you are in his mouth. 

Joel keeps one hand on your hips to keep you steady in his lap but uses the other to slide into your panties. He’s not sure who moans first. You, at the feel of his fingers swiping through the heat of your cunt, or him at how slick you are. 

“Oh God,” you whimper. 

He lands a quick slap to your ass with his other hand. 

“No blasfemes, niña,” he growls. [Don’t blaspheme, girl]

“I’m so–sorry,” you whimper, grinding down on his hand that continues to tease your slit.

“Stand up,” he orders. 

You quickly follow his command, shivering slightly from the excitement. 

“I want you,” he whispers, “since the first– fuck, I–I won’t do anything more unless you say you want this.” 

“I do, Father–” 

“Joel, just Joel,” he corrects you, wanting to hear you say his name.

“I want this, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever you give me.” 

He tries not to show any reaction to how you whisper his name, choosing instead to watch as you strip. He drinks in the sight of your naked body. You're beautiful, way too perfect for any man. 

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, gliding his hand from over your breasts to your tummy. “Get on the bed, I want a taste of that pretty pussy.” 

You follow his orders and wait, ass up face down on the bed. He yanks off his pajamas and before he can get on his knees to worship your cunt, Joel glances at the bible on his nightstand. 

Perdóname, Señor. I can’t–I won’t stop this, he prays silently. Have I not given my entire life to this church? Do I not deserve this? [Forgive me, Lord] 

Your cunt glistens in the dim light. Your slick trails down your thighs, making a sticky mess. Joel’s mouth waters at the sight and before he knows it, he’s licking through your folds. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” Joel murmurs as he runs a finger up your thigh. “Wet little cunt just f’me, ain’t it?” 

“Just for you, Joel,” you whimper, voice muffled by the blanket. 

He buries his mouth into your pussy. Joel drinks, licks and consumes the essence that drips from you. It’s everything he imagined and more. 

In his years of devotion, he’s never come close to breaking. There’s been countless women–single, married, widowed–who throw themselves at him.

But he’s never been interested. He’s been loyal to the cause and to his word. You’re someone he wasn’t expecting. A temptation wrapped in silk dresses and pretty smiles. 

Joel doesn’t know what this means, what will happen now that he’s broken his oath. He can’t find it in him to care that much. Not when you're screaming his name as he sucks your clit and pushes his finger into your tight cunt. 

Your slick covers his face, practically drowning him from how much he devours you. Joel brings a hand down to squeeze at his erection, trying his best to calm the blood coursing hot through his body. 

“Joel, please,” you cry into the blankets, “I’m so close!” 

He writes his name with the tip of his tongue on your clit, over and over again. He slips a second finger in your cunt and slowly fucks them inside of you. 

You stiffen, then scream out his name as you cum. A rush of sweet wetness gushes from your pussy and covers his face. Joel attacks, drinking and tasting every drop that he can get. 

Your hips grind in small circles on his face until you drop down in a tired heap. Joel doesn’t let you go, following your cunt with his mouth and licking up the slick from between your thighs. It's not until you give him a slight nudge to his head that he stops. 

“Joel," you whimper, almost out of breath, "fuck me, please?” 

How can he say no when you ask so nicely? He stands on shaky legs and tugs at his cock as you flip over onto your back. 

“Need me to fuck you, niña? Need me to fill up that tiny hole?” 

“Please, please, please,” you chant. 

Joel brings your knee up to your chest and positions that angry, red tip of his cock at your entrance. He swipes it through your folds a few times, gathering up the slick and teasing your hole. 

Just when he knows you’re about to pout for more, he plunges in. You gasp, your hands immediately gripping the blankets and your mouth dropping open. Joel stays still, consumed by the tight heat that grips him. 

This is probably the closest thing there is to heaven on earth, he thinks. 

“F–fuck, Joel,” you whine, “you’re–you're stretching me.” 

He leans over, pressing soft kisses on your nose and cheeks while you adjust to his size. With enough strength back in his body, Joel slowly pulls out. When he’s halfway, he thrusts right back in. 

“So perfect,” Joel groans as he picks up the pace, “such a sweet little cunt.” 

He reaches somewhere deep inside of you that has you shaking and whimpering in his hold. You can barely form a sentence, only chanting more and please. He fucks you into the mattress, using you thigh as leverage while he pistons in and out of your cunt. 

You grind down, matching his thrusts and using your inner muscles to grip him tight. Your cockdrunk face and the mess between your thighs makes it difficult for him to focus. 

“¿Te gusta, mi niña?” Joel groans, “Should I finish inside of you? Make you mine?” [you like that, my girl?]

“Yes, yes–oh God, please,” you cry, “please cum inside of me!” 

Joel moves faster, clumsy and harsh in how he fucks you. He folds you practically in half as he meets your mouth in a rough kiss. You're cumming again, tugging at his hair until it stings while your pussy squeezes his length in a bruising grip.

His orgasm catches him by surprise. White heat licks at his spine until it spreads like wildfire through each cell in his body. Joel drops his head into the crook of your neck and repeats your name over and over again. 

He spills deep inside of you, marking every inch of your cunt in his seed. Years of celibacy make this moment so intense that he has no choice but to fill you up with every drop.  

He drops in a sweaty heap right next to you. No words are spoken for the next few moments, only the sound of your breathing and the pitter patter of rain on the glass windows echoes through the room. 

“I guess I should get going–” 

“No,” he interrupts in a rush, “stay. For the night. I’ll take you home in the morning.” 

“What if someone sees?” 

“They won’t,” Joel says, knowing full well there’s a church meeting in just a few hours. “I’ll make sure they don’t.” 

“Okay. I'll stay,” you whisper, already falling asleep. 

He's careful in how he cleans you, not wanting to move you around too much and wake you. He throws the washcloth in the hamper and stretches out next to you. Joel doesn't fall asleep, more content in watching you in his bed.

[avelera]

(Meta) Fortiche's Use of Religious Imagery in Viktor's Arc Was Intended to Convey Sinister Undertones

So I'm gonna put my Art History TA hat on for a second and say I've seen a lot of the connections made between Viktor (Arcane) with the religious imagery referenced in his arc, which is inescapably present and intentional, and I feel like its worthy time for a reminder that Fortiche, the animation studio for Arcane, is based in France

So on the one hand, it would be impossible to develop as an artist in France and not have a ton of exposure to religious art and iconography, which is very obvious in just how much Renaissance art and Catholic iconography is referenced with Viktor. (Never mind how well it works as a visual language for the mysticism they imbued into the rise of the Machine Herald in general.)

There's a great thread about all the art referenced here:

But on the other, if I can just put my history nerd hat on as well for a second I'd also like to point out that there's also subtle (and not so subtle) sinister undertones to the religious iconography for Viktor, even before he does anything overtly evil. Like, even when he heals Huck back in 2.02, I think we're meant to feel at least a subtle sense of wrongness to the "triumph" of that scene and the swelling religious chorus.

I was reminded while watching those scenes that an element of the French Revolution (also referenced in the opening credits of Arcane with Jinx waving the flag, so I think it's fair game to consider in discussions of the meta themes of the show) that is sometimes overlooked in the US when we learn about the French Revolution is how much the rage at the aristocracy was also aimed at the Catholic priesthood, since those two institutions were deeply intertwined as oppressive forces against the French people.

Basically, I think if you consider a French studio referencing Catholic religious imagery in their show (used to depict Viktor's rise to mystic power which will in turn lead to his eventual disillusionment with humanity and him dooming the world if he isn't stopped) you're missing out on some delicious shades of nuance and subtle foreshadowing if you don't know that a French studio's use of Catholic imagery could, in itself, be intended to add a subtle sense of impending evil because Catholicism in that country has also historically represented a system that is oppressive towards individual freedoms.

Now of course France's relationship with Catholicism is complex and it isn't just a simple case of Catholic Imagery = Evil Stuff is Happening Here, but I would point out that if you watched an American show and a character was crowned king in the first act to a manically cheering crowd, it would absolutely be fair to wonder if the crowning of the king had sinister undertones, because of the US's history and how the country was established in part as an escape for monarchy. On a cultural level, we see kings as bad things in the US, and likewise in France, Catholicism as an institution and Catholic imagery have some very complex and often evil associations.

TL;DR If you don't consider that a French studio might have used Catholic imagery specifically as visual hint and foreshadowing that Viktor's arc was going to be about him turning evil, then you're missing out on some very fun and tasty meta associations in the Arcane show.

[r0ugesun]

Guilty as sin

“What If the way you hold me is actually what’s holy?”

warnings — nsfw, religious imagery, Catholic guilt, finger fuck!ng, blowjob, misuse of the confessional, porn with plot, slow burn ooc(?) aemond

Pairings: Priest!Aemond x Reader

Synopsis: Father aemond, a devoted Catholic priest, is steadfast in his vows until a beautiful new parishioner, you, begins visiting his confessional regularly. Each visit is filled with whispered confessions of sin, making it increasingly difficult for him to keep his promise of celibacy and his composure and commitment to his faith. As your confessions become more personal, Father Aeomond finds himself battling intense feelings of desire and guilt, questioning his faith and the very vows that define his life. he grapples with his sacred duty and the forbidden attraction that threatens to consume him.

“Father hear my prayer, witness my devotion”

In the hushed stillness of the dawn, Father Aemond knelt beneath the towering crucifix, where the desolate visage of Christ hung suspended in eternal torture. His hands, gently held an emerald rosary, pressed together in fervent prayer, he whispered supplications into the fabric of the divine. The bright, golden glow of countless candles bathed the church in a holy luminescence, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. The smoke of frankincense and myrrh swirled through the air, mingling with the first few rays of light shining through the stained glass.

It’s been years since Father Aemond was sent away to the priesthood by his mother to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to leave his home, but seeing his mothers furrowed brow desperate tears in her eyes at having lost his brother Aegon to Satans grasp, he hung his head low and allowed her to place her boundless hope and faith onto him he didn’t want to disappoint her, he didn’t want to see her pained expression of seeing another son following the same dark path.

He found succor in the Lord and he was content with placing all his sorrows onto him.

Meditation prayer and penance

that’s all he needed, nothing more nothing less, he’d place everything in gods hands and in turn the Lord provided.

“May your will be done through me your faithful servant, amen”

Father Aemond rose slowly from his knees, He brushed off his cassock, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet sanctuary.

With a deep breath, he moved towards the grand wooden doors at the entrance, his worn keys jingling softly in his hand. As he walked sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on him as he turned the heavy iron key in the lock, preparing to welcome the day's congregation.

Father Aemond stood at the front of the church, watching as the congregation filled the pews, familiar faces offering him warm smiles and nods, the small children hid behind their mothers skirts unnerved by his eyepatch and tall slender figure, he didn’t mind it too much, the congregations quiet murmures creating a gentle hum that echoed off the stone walls.

His eye swept over the crowd, offering silent prayers for each familiar face. Just as he was about to turn towards the altar and begin, the heavy wooden doors creaked open again, and a woman stepped inside. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen in his humble parish.

She was beautiful—sinfully beautiful. Her h/c hair was covered by a delicate red veil that cascaded down her back, and her eyes, there was a hint of sadness to them, they looked slightly tired and weary but it did nothing to blanket her beauty, she scanned the room before settling on him. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her presence commanding attention without a word.

Father Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, a feeling of unease mingling with an inexplicable attraction. He watched as she took a seat near the back, her gaze never leaving him. Shaking off his discomfort, he reminded himself of his duty and the sanctity of his calling.

As the service began, he couldn't help but glance in her direction, the mystery of her appearance nagging at the edges of his thoughts. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why did she come?

He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the service.

Father Aemond sat in the dimly lit confessional booth. He had been here countless times, offering absolution to his parishioners, guiding them back to the path god wanted for them. Yet today, something was different.

The screen softly slid open, revealing the shadowy outline of a woman. You spoke soft and melodic.

“Bless me father for I have sinned”

Aemond’s heart quickened. He didn’t recognize the voice. It must belonged to the new parishioner, the beauty he had seen at Mass, your presence both a distraction and a source of deep unease for him.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“It’s been….years, Father,” you admit. “I have strayed far from gods light”

He could feel your gaze, even through the screen, and it unsettled him, he grasped his rosary tighter in his hand.

“Tell me what burdens your soul my child”

You hesitated, then began to speak of your sins

Your voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Father I-I have sinned greatly, I’ve left my husband and my home”

Aemond felt a pang of surprise.

“Why did you leave him?”

Your voice began to shake.

“For years, I endured his anger, his cruelty…. H-his indiscretion’s…. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave or I feared I would lose my sanity.”

Aemond’s heart ached for her.

“I found comfort in the arms of another man. I’ve committed adultery…. I gave my body to him… thought it would ease my pain and loneliness, it did temporarily but now I just feel more alone than I’ve ever had.”

Aemond’s breath caught. The vivid images her words conjured plucked at his own hidden desires. Flashes of your face contorted in pleasure, your thighs trembling under his hips…. He clenched his rosary even tighter, forcing himself to remain composed.

“Adultery is a grave sin,”

he said, his voice heavy.

“But God is slow to anger and quick to forgive. True repentance can lead to forgiveness.”

“I wanted to feel loved, Father,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I want to feel held, I cannot push away these desires and it scares me.”

He could hear the sob in your voice, the shame. And yet, the way you spoke, the unintentional seductiveness in your words, made it hard for him to think clearly.

“The important thing is to seek forgiveness and to resist these temptations.”

He said trying to keep his composure

“But what if I can’t?” You asked, your voice filled with despair.

“What if my desire is too strong? What if i seek…comfort again?”

Aemond’s pulse quickened.

“You must pray for the will to resist falling into your desires, true pleasure is in Gods light, you will never be alone in his arms”

Was he saying this to you or himself?? He didn’t know anymore.

“Thank you, Father. your words comforted me”

As you left the confessional, Aemond remained, his head bowed. He exhaled a shaky breath His heart was a storm of conflicting emotions—guilt, longing, and a desperate need for penance. He whispered a prayer, not only for you but for himself. For the strength to resist, for the grace to overcome his own lust, and for the will to remain steadfast in his vows.

He looked down at his hands, the rosary he was holding was now dripping blood from his hand.

Over the next few weeks Father Aemond found himself anticipating your presence more than he cared to admit. You continued to attend mass regularly, your beauty a fresh assault on his vows. Your confessional sessions grew longer and more personal, the line between priest and penitent eroding with every shared secret. Aemond knew he was endangering his sacred duty, still he found himself in your company once again.

In the church gardens, the air was perfumed by the rich scent of roses, you often walked together after your confessions. Your conversations ranged from mundane topics to the profound, each exchange drawing you both closer.

As you walked, the setting sun cast a warm glow over everything.

"You've become such an important part of my life," you admitted, your voice vulnerable . "I feel like I can tell you anything."

Father Aemond's heart pounded in his chest. "You know I'm here for you," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and something deeper. "Always."

You stopped walking and turned to face him, your eyes searching his. "But what about you, Aemond? Who do you talk to? Who listens to your confessions?"

He hesitated, the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on him. "God always listens to my confessions, always." he replied.

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to gently touch his his. "Yes but, even you should have someone listen and answer.”

Your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself unable to look away from her eyes. "I… God answers me in his own way y/n” but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

You sighed and caressed his hands with your thumb, adding insult to his already aching heart.

“What a beautiful rosary” you said not wanting to press further, something he was thankful for

“Thank you it was a gift from my mother” he said, you gently touched the emerald beads making his heart flutter.

He took in your form with his good eye, you were…. Divine, if we were made in gods image then you were surely carved from his best parts, he thought.

his lips parted slightly and he felt his cheeks flush and in that moment, he knew there was no turning back. The guilt and shame surged, but so did a deep, undeniable love. Father Aemond grit his teeth, he prayed,but this time, it was not for strength to resist you, but for forgiveness.

Father Aemond sat alone in the dimly lit confessional booth, the flickering candles casting long shadows on the walls. It was late, and the rain outside had started as a gentle patter but had now grown into a relentless downpour. The usual steady stream of parishioners had come and gone, leaving him to his thoughts.

He wasn’t expecting anyone else to come tonight. The storm would keep most people indoors, and he welcomed the quiet solitude to reflect and pray. But as he sat there, he heard the heavy church door creak open. He straightened, surprised that anyone would venture out in such weather.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty church, growing louder as they approached the confessional. The door to the adjoining booth opened and closed softly. Father Aemond held his breath, recognizing the familiar presence even before you spoke.

"Aemond, it’s me," your voice trembled

"Y/n you're drenched," he said, concern lacing his tone. "Why are you out in this storm?"

"I had to see you," you replied. "I couldn't wait."

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "What is it, my child?"

There was a long pause, thunder clapping loudly and the rain pounding against the church windows. Then, your voice came, barely above a whisper.

“Father Aemond I’ve sinned greatly”

you said voice cracking “my thoughts wander at mass….I’ve been having indecent thoughts….thoughts about a person who’s shown me kindness and I can’t stop these feelings”

you recall how father Aemond would lick his pointer and middle finger before turning a page of the Bible during his sermons, making you instinctively rub your thighs together in the pews.

“I-I’ve been….relieving myself while thinking of him…these desires are consuming me”

Father Aemond's heart raced, and he felt his cock beginning to twitch. He knew what he should say, tell you to resist these carnal desires but he didn’t, he couldn’t.

“Continue” he said trying to keep his voice from shaking.

You continued, your voice breaking. "I know it's wrong but…but I-i” you tried to stop the sob that escaped you, but the shame was too much.

“You what??” he said desperately.

“Father aemond I'm in love with you”

He could feel your desperation, your vulnerability. The rain outside seemed to echo his own inner turmoil, a tempest of feelings he could no longer suppress. He tore open the small wooden panel that separated you both, revealing your tear-streaked face and thin dress clinging to your skin.

You looked up at him shocked, before you could speak he pulled you up and kissed you harshly.

In that moment, all his vows, all his promises seemed to dissolve under the intensity of your kiss. Hungry wet kisses echoed in the booth until he pulled away from you, you stood facing each other, gasping for air the dim light casting a halo around your wet figure.

"I love you too," he admitted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I've tried to fight it, but I can't."

He closed the distance between you again, and pulled your wet body flush against his, the warmth of his body against yours was a sensation he'd only dared to dream of. As he pressed his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, he felt his cock harden, he lifted the skirt of your dress quickly and started fingering your wet folds.

“I wanted this for so long..” he said quietly.

“A-Aemond!” You cried out, this encouraged him to speed up, he rubbed fast circles around your clit, Causing your thighs to shake in pleasure.

Aemond captured your lips again, it was urgent and breathless, filled with all of the desires he tried so hard to resist. It was a surrender and a claiming all at once, he was unraveling, your melodic moans more beautiful than any hymn, the taste of rain on your skin felt like the holy water that sanctified this union.

He couldn’t take much more he needed to take you fully, he pulled his cock out from his breaches but before he would shove himself inside you he breathed out,

“Do you truly want this?….with me?”

You looked into his eye, there was so much love and desperation and you just wanted to be loved, you didn’t want to be alone anymore, even if it meant straying away from gods kingdom.

“I want this…with you and only you”

He didn’t waste anytime, he flipped you around and ripped your soaking wet dress from your body, you moaned in approval, you felt him lining his cock against your entrance, you held your breath in anticipation, shuddering when you felt his lithe hands grip your hips…. and then he was fucking you, in and out, in and out.

Both of your moans filled the air, intertwining and harmonizing like a choir, each note a blend of passion and desperation, the melody you made together resonated through the empty church.

The pleasure you felt when you felt the drag of his cock slamming in and out of you was what you could only describe as divine, you looked back behind your shoulder and moaned louder, he looked like an angel like this, you thought, his white hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead and his face held an almost pained expression like one of the saints in the stained glass windows.

He groaned “just like that, just like that take me in all the way”

He plunged himself deep inside you, relishing in the tight embrace of your pussy. With one hand, he lifted your leg, gripping your thigh as he fucked into you with increasing urgency. Your body, overwhelmed with ecstasy, couldn’t hold back any longer. You cried out his name in bliss, feeling the tension snap.

Finally, waves of pleasure crashed over you, your clit pulsing in delight as you let out a passionate moan. You writhed on his lap, riding the high of your climax, before slowly and shakily detaching yourself from his cock and sinking to your knees.

Aemond gazed down at you panting, his chest heaving with desire. He tenderly caressed your cheek with his thumb and brushed a strand of your hair from your flushed cheek, his touch loving and possessive. You were down on your hands and knees for him, not in prayer but in a fervent act of worship of a different kind, one he eagerly accepted.

You took his cock into your mouth, locking eyes with him intensely. A low groan escaped his lips as he couldn't resist gripping your hair, his desire palpable, he tried to stop his hips from bucking into your mouth but when you moaned around him he couldn’t help himself. You continued your ministrations bobbing your head up and down increasing your speed when his moans grew louder.

“Y-Y/n I’m close”

He gazed at you with fervent desire in his half lidded eye as you took him deeper, this made his cock twitch, igniting a fire within him. You looked so beautiful like this, you closed your eyes and moaned deeply, the sight was too much for him unable to contain himself any longer, he surrendered completely, he moaned out your name, pouring his hot cum into your eager mouth, which you gladly swallowed.

As both of you were panting, breaths mingling in the air, he gently pulled you into his lap, cradling you close against his chest. His touch was tender yet possessive, as he kissed your forehead softly, his hands caressing your back in a loving embrace.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice laced with concern, he held you close, your knees drawn up against him.

You lifted your head from his chest, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “I’m okay” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your hearts, He kissed your forehead in reply.

the storm outside seemed to grow louder, The windows rattled as though struck by an unseen hand, furious and unyielding.

Aemond pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, the enormity of what he had done crashing down upon him. The storm's fury seemed to intensify, the thunder rolling like the wrath of god himself.

He looked into your eyes, filled with love and fear, with the storm raging outside. He held you close, as if seeking solace in your presence, each flash of lightning a reminder of his failure to his sacred duties. The rain, once gentle and purifying, now felt like a torrent of divine tears, weeping for the sacred vow he had shattered.

“Forgive me, father” he pleaded in his head “For failing you, for failing y/n.”

You gently squeezed his hand, as if reading his thoughts. Neither of you could predict the future, but as the storm eased and sunlight broke through the clouds, he knew deep down that everything would be alright as long as you were together.

Thank you for reading I hope you liked it :> sorry if too ooc

[smallgodseries]

No one ever expects her to be happy, but she is.  She is comedy and catharsis, she is merriment and murder, and she is a bucket of blood balanced over a half-open doorframe, ready to fall upon the first person to push it open.  Her laughter is a constant and a genuine delight, and she is truly glad to be here.

And yeah, she’s had her moments.  Sometimes the newest “hot young things” to join her priesthood think she needs to be taken more seriously, and they bring their own opinions to the sound stage, their own angles to the shoot, and you get a batch of gospels that are humorless and hard.  But the pendulum always swings back, whether or not there’s a pit beneath it.  The House of Usher always falls, and people remember it more clearly when it falls in hope and joy than when it falls in grim inevitability.

She wants to be remembered.

Some people say she’s one of the ascended, a former mortal who loved the genre she now represents so purely and so absolutely that she woke one day after dying and found herself divine.  This may not be true—this probably isn’t true—but Marquee encourages the theory, if only because it would be a sort of horror movie in and of itself.  Human woman dies, wakes up divine but also condemned to spend eternity in a waking horror movie?  Oh, the pathos!  Oh, the drama!  Oh, the sequel potential!

Other people say that she’s the natural end result of all those midnight movie festivals, the pinups of Elvira, and the dulcet tones of the horror hosts whispering through the night, and those people may be closer to the truth than anyone can understand.  It doesn’t really matter either way.  Marquee is a sweet, sunshine soul who guides her little slice of creation with an unwavering hand, and she’s going to keep doing that no matter what people want to say about it, or her.

But she does suggest you keep the lights on.

Because that sound wasn’t the wind.

[robin-evry]

Yuu as quetzalcoatl plssss

Sure, I've been wanting to do a Quetzalcoatl Yuu for so long but I've forgotten about it due to doing yōkai!yuu, anyway ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐙𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐋 🐲🍃

Quetzalcoatl (/ˌkɛtsəlkoʊˈætəl ) (Nahuatl: "Feathered Serpent") is a deity in Aztec culture and literature. Among the Aztecs, he was related to wind, Venus, Sun, merchants, arts, crafts, knowledge, and learning. He was also the patron god of the Aztec priesthood.[5] He was one of several important gods in the Aztec pantheon, along with the gods Tlaloc, Tezcatlipoca and Huitzilopochtli. The two other gods represented by the planet Venus are Tlaloc (ally and the god of rain) and Xolotl (psychopomp and its twin).

Quetzalcoatl!yuu is the reincarnation of the now dead Aztec and Mayan creator god Quetzalcoatl. After they committed a sin, they were punished by having their title of god stripped from them and rebirth into a dragon.

Quetzalcoatl!Yuu often find solace in being outdoors, especially in open spaces where the wind can freely blow. They love high places, like cliffs or tall towers, where they can feel close to the sky. Sometimes, they take Grim with them, using their wind magic to let him "fly" safely alongside them, which Grim secretly enjoys despite pretending to be unamused.

Much like Quetzalcoatl’s association with nature, animals, especially birds, seem naturally drawn to Quetzalcoatl!yuu It’s not unusual for them to be surrounded by birds when outside, much to Grim’s annoyance as he feels like he’s being ignored. They, however, loves the company of animals and often feeds them small snacks during breaks.

Originally students believed they were a beast man of bird descendants due to them showing their wings of. And was shocked that the fact they are a dragon.

Pretty free spirited, and carefree, you can find them on a branch of a tree enjoying the sunlight.

Quetzalcoatl!Yuu has a habit of performing small rituals or prayers to honor the elements they’re connected to, particularly the sun and rain. On sunny days, they’ll raise their hands to the sky, thanking the sun for its warmth. On rainy days, they’ll quietly hum a song of gratitude for the water that nourishes the earth. Some students think these habits are a bit strange, but those close to Quetzalcoatl!Yuu find it peaceful and respectful.

Lilia has heard about their legend during the time of his youth, during their first upon meeting he introduced himself as well calling them by their old title during their time as a god before their exile to live amongst humans.

A thousand years ago the god Quetzalcoatl commited a sin and their title of god was taken away from them, as their punishment is to be reborn and memory of their divinity to be erased, and is to be reborn to live amongst in the human realm without recalling their former life. Quetzalcoatl was their old name before exile and after their rebirth to be a dragon they were given a new name the one they used today. They were reborn with a new name without a single memory of their former incarnation. But their former ability and specks of the divinity are still inside. Their former self is gone

A natural magic user, but their affinity is usually wind magic, Quetzalcoatl!Yuu can levitate and glide through the air effortlessly. They sometimes use this ability to sneak into hard-to-reach places, or to get a bird’s-eye view of events around the campus. They use ancient wind magic which is more powerful than modern magic it's capable of making tornados, weather,etc.

During moments of danger, especially in fights or magical conflicts, Quetzalcoatl!Yuu instinctively summons powerful winds to shield their friends. This defensive ability has saved Grim and others on several occasions. The wind itself seems to respond to their emotions, swirling more violently when they’re upset or determined to protect someone.

Quetzalcoatl Yuu might be skilled in healing magic, capable of soothing injuries and illnesses, bringing balance and renewal to those around them.

Their uniforms have some feathers elements to reflect on their ability to fly as well their ability of the wind. As well a connection towards their dragon form.

Adopted multiple pets during the course of their lifetime. Their current familiar is a serpent-like familiar, symbolizing their connection to their dragon form as well as their previous life, which assists them in both combat and everyday tasks, often offering advice or helping with spells.

Quetzalcoatl!Yuu and Riddle’s relationship is one of mutual respect, but it can be tense at times. While Riddle appreciates their wisdom, he sometimes struggles with their laid-back approach to discipline, on the other hand,they understands Riddle’s need for order but tries to show him the importance of flexibility and kindness.

They are fascinated by wind chimes and often keeps several handmade ones around their dorm room. These chimes are decorated with vibrant feathers that represent their connection to their divinity. The gentle sound of the wind blowing through the chimes is incredibly calming, and many of the other students come to their room to relax when they’re feeling stressed.

Their dragon form would likely be massive, stretching around 50-60 feet ( 50-100 meters) in length, with a wingspan of about 70-80 feet (21-24 meters). This would make them one of the larger and more imposing beings in Twisted Wonderland, though their graceful, feathered appearance softens some of the intimidation. Their size reflects their ancient, powerful nature while still allowing them to move with elegance. ( By far Quetzalcoatl!yuu dragon form is much more massive than the other dragons in twst as well other dragon!yuu )

Instead of traditional scales, their body would be covered in vibrant, colorful feathers, especially around the neck, tail, and wings. These feathers would shimmer in hues of green, gold, turquoise, and red, mimicking the colors often associated with Quetzalcoatl in mythology.

Quetzalcoatl!Yuu’s dragon form would have a long, serpentine body, making them appear more fluid and flexible in the air. Their movements would be smooth and graceful, often gliding through the sky as if swimming through water, reflecting their deep connection to the wind.

Their large, feathered wings would be majestic and powerful, capable of summoning strong gusts of wind. These wings would allow them to travel quickly across the skies, with feathers that rustle gently even when they’re stationary, as though always in tune with the wind.

Despite their massive size, Quetzalcoatl!Yuu is incredibly graceful in dragon form, often flying above Night Raven College at night, watching over the students. They use their wind magic to remain silent, so only those who are extremely perceptive, like Lilia or Leona, may notice the gentle breeze signaling their protective presence in the sky.

And this is how malleus managed to find out about another dragon in NRC, he was walking around at night and filling a gust of wind. He looked up and saw Quetzalcoatl!yuu dragon form floating in the sky and the moon shines to reveal their body is filled with beautiful feathers, this leaves him awestruck.

It’s said that if someone is ever gifted one of Quetzalcoatl's!Yuu feathers from their dragon form, it brings luck and protection. These feathers, which fall naturally from their wings during flight, are often picked up by students who believe in the legend. However, Quetzalcoatl's! Yuu only intentionally gifts feathers to those they feel deserve a special blessing, making it a rare and meaningful gesture.

Quetzalcoatl!Yuu avoids using their full strength unless absolutely necessary. Though they are capable of summoning massive storms or devastating winds, they believe in resolving conflicts peacefully. Their dragon form is rarely used for combat, but when they do fight, their power is awe-inspiring, capable of knocking back even the strongest opponents with a single flap of their wings.

When Yuu transforms, all manner of birds and animals are drawn to their dragon form. Birds will often circle them, and even creatures on the ground feel a sense of calm in their presence. It’s as if nature itself recognizes the majesty of their former divinity within them and shows respect by gathering around them in harmony.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods and Clergy: Bhaal (OBSOLETE)

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | X | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

I did an updated and much longer version here; this one is significantly less detailed and lacking.

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful, and more importantly: money is power, provides a shield against repercussions when caught, and opens doors), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

-

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church - and thus all of the temples - in a region is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The head of a single temple is a Primate or Primistress. The Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

-

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

-

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

[filurig]

ive had a vague idea about crakam (nattramn) religion for a bit and then finally i saw something which inspired me to actually design a littel of them. More details...

the reality of the glaris legend is probably all mythology but there could have been an event in crakam history which inspired it (honestly, probably involved a basilisk if it did)

crakam settlements will always have a "priesthood district" in which everything is specifically built to be accessed both by foot and wing. however, its pretty normal for the rest of the settlement to be more catered to winged crakam. the one exception is "craftsman districts" in which some craftsmen crakam clip their wings for non-religious reasons.

priests have an important role to play in crakam holidays, and also usually works as craftsmen outside of religious duties - there is a bit of a "holy" connotation to very finicky craftsmanship which sometimes warrant the clipping of wings (for better maneuverability with the hand claws) because of the glaris myth

glaris priests often spend periods every day meditating deeply - there is a belief that this is what ensures that the settlement-wide visual illusion "spell" stays in effect - and it does actually have an effect on the spell's strength!

glaris priesthood roles are often restricted to crakam, but there have been instances of basilisk priests as well - if a basilisk resembles the eurasian jay, it's seen as a good omen and if that basilisk wishes to join the priesthood they will be welcomed with open arms. a "jay basilisk" being born in a crakam settlement will often result in strong pressure from the crakam for them to join the priesthood.

crakam aren't monotheistic, but most crakam settlement are sworn to glaris. there are other gods that some settlements have sworn themselves to.

culturally, brown and blue are colours highly associated with holiness among crakam because of the glaris order

in the pareidoliaverse ive decided there is an additional pine species cultivated by crakam which is Even Bigger than normal pine called "ramnfura". this is the pine which the myth refers to.

[transtheology]

According to Matson, 39, his “disclosing,” as he describes it, is a moment years in the making. He offered his story as indicative of the often difficult path for trans Catholics, including those seeking life as a religious — a category that includes brothers and nuns.

“I am currently based in the Appalachian mountains of eastern Kentucky,” he wrote in an email to friends and supporters on Sunday. “I live in a hermitage at the top of a wooded hill, which I share with my German Shepherd rescue, Odie, and with the Blessed Sacrament, which was installed in my oratory shortly before Christmas.”

[...] Matson approached a canon lawyer to discuss his options and was told that only two aspects of Catholic life were categorically off the table: marriage and the priesthood. According to Matson, the canon lawyer recommended being upfront about his status as a transgender man in any vocational conversations with church leaders and mentioned the role of a diocesan hermit, which could prove less challenging than enlisting with an existing religious order.

[...] What followed was roughly a decade of searching and no small amount of rejection. Living in the United Kingdom while pursuing a master’s degree, and later a Ph.D. in theology, Matson entered a vocational discernment program and approached the Jesuit order to ask if he could join.

“They said, ‘No, we just don’t see how this would work for us,’ which was crushing, because that’s where I felt called,” Matson said.

[...] “I thought, well, if I can’t find a religious community to sponsor me, maybe what I need is a bishop,” Matson said.

A priest friend recommended different bishops to contact, beginning with Stowe, who was emerging as a leading voice among Catholics calling for a more tolerant approach to LGBTQ+ people. In 2020, Matson sent Stowe a letter, conveying his status as a transgender man, his vision for an artists’ community and his pull to religious life.

Stowe wrote back immediately, expressing his openness.

“It was an enormous relief,” Matson said. “I was in tears. I felt my hope revive.”

[...] Matson vented his frustrations to Stowe and his spiritual director, saying he wanted to speak out. But he said he was advised to first “build a foundation” in religious life for several years.

During that time, Matson had an experience that shook him. Attending a friend’s play in his religious habit, he was approached by a student who identified as trans and nonbinary. After asking if Matson was a monk, the student said they were raised Catholic, but that their parents had rejected their identity, and the student felt like they “don’t have a place in the church anymore.”

Matson responded by saying there were people in the church who would support the student, and Matson prayed with them, asking God to show the student how they are “wonderful the way you’ve made them.” The student, Matson said, grew emotional, thanking the hermit profusely and saying, “No one from the church has ever affirmed me for who I am.”

[...] As for ever leaving Catholicism itself, Matson bristled at the idea, calling the church “my family.” “I’m Catholic,” he said. “I became Catholic after I transitioned because of the Catholic understanding — the sacramental understanding — of the body, of creation, of the desirability of the visible unity of the church and primarily because of the Eucharist.”

At the very least, Matson said, he hopes going public will spark dialogue about his fellow transgender Catholics, a discussion he believes can enhance unity among the body of believers.

“You’ve got to deal with us, because God has called us into this church,” he said. “It’s not your church to kick us out of — this is God’s church, and God has called us and engrafted us into it.”

[candycandy00]

Character: Sukuna

AU setting: Church

spice level: NSFW

Mood: writers choice

Kinks: Non-Con(however would it be alright if it's consensual non con?), daddy kink, breeding, spanking, Size difference and Praise

(Could it be Fem reader? Thx !! :))

Father Sukuna’s Discipline - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic

I might have added a couple kinks and took some liberties with the CNC kink but I hope you like it! 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Sukuna as a Priest. Probably very offensive to Catholics (I know nothing about Catholicism so please look over any errors). Breeding. Spanking. Sort of CNC. Dubcon. Daddy kink (he’s a priest so Father is used instead of Daddy), light bondage. Size difference. Rough sex. Praise. Dividers by @benkeibear. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored!

You stand in the drafty hallway outside Father Sukuna’s office, shifting from one foot to the other. He’s angry with you. He definitely saw that you were late for morning prayers, and he happened to be walking by when you flubbed reading the study verses to your students. As a new nun working in this Catholic school, you should be providing a strong example for the students to follow. Instead, they giggle when you try to scold them. 

Father Sukuna, the headmaster, has had to discipline you several times now for your careless behavior and mistakes. You appreciate that he’s taking the time to give you such personal attention, but his punishments can be… severe. 

And so you take a deep breath before knocking lightly on his door. He calls for you to come in, so you twist the brass doorknob and push the heavy wooden door open, then step inside. 

The room is large, with high ceilings and tall windows along the back wall. The air is chilly, despite the low fire burning in the fireplace. You flinch when the door slides closed behind you, feeling like you’ve been sealed in.

There’s a large wooden desk in the center of the room, and behind it sits Father Sukuna, looking at you over the top of his reading glasses and closing the Bible in his lap before placing it on the desk. 

“Do you know why I asked you to come?” 

His voice is deep and smooth. His black priest robes do little to conceal his muscular form. As he pulls off his glasses, his unusual red eyes seem to shimmer. His handsome face is lined with black tattoos, remnants of his former life before joining the priesthood. 

You fidget beneath his piercing gaze, thinking, far from the first time, that it’s a waste for someone like him to be a priest. Sensuality seems to ooze from every pore on his body. Every little move he makes, every word he utters with that voice, makes you think impure thoughts. 

“I was late this morning,” you say, looking at the floor. 

“And?” he prompts. 

“And I messed up my reading of scripture.”

“Twice,” he adds. 

You nod pathetically. “Yes, twice.”  You raise your head then, meeting his eyes. “I beg your forgiveness, Father! I’ve only been a nun for six months now. I’m having a hard time adjusting.”

He stands up from his leather chair and walks around the desk to stand in front of you. This close, you’re very aware of how tall and big he is, how he towers over you, how he could throw you around like a rag doll if he wished. You can smell his cologne, a deep musky scent with contrasting cherry blossom undertones. 

“It seems that you need more discipline, Sister. Did you come prepared?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your face burning with shame as you reach your trembling hands down and grip your robe. Hesitantly, eyes on the floor to avoid his face, you slowly pull the fabric up to your waist. 

Just as he instructed, you’re wearing no panties, only black silk thigh high stockings. Even with your soft thighs pressed together, he can definitely see your bare pussy, shaved the way he demanded. 

“Ah, so you can follow instructions after all,” he says, and you glance up at his face to find him grinning widely. It’s an expression wholly unbecoming of a priest. 

You watch as he steps back to his desk and uses one arm to knock everything off it with a single swipe. Then he pats the desk and says, “Climb on, and get in position for your punishment.”

You drop your robe and move over to his desk. He lifts you up and sits you on it, then you nervously maneuver yourself to be on your hands and knees. Your limbs are shaky as he walks around behind you and jerks your robe up again, letting it bunch up at your waist, leaving your lower half bare. One of his large hands sets upon your naked ass, then rubs down it, tracing your shape. 

“As for what we discussed earlier… are you still certain?” he asks. 

“Y-yes,” you say. 

Two days ago, Father Sukuna proposed giving you “special discipline” to help you improve as a nun and turn away from your careless, sinful behavior. He said it would be intense, possibly painful and embarrassing, and that you would have to consent to allowing him full access to your body, using it however he sees fit. He gave you those two days to think about it. Today, you gave him your answer. 

Now, with his eyes roaming over your exposed flesh and his warm hand squeezing the fat of your ass cheek, you don’t regret your choice, even if it’s humiliating. Because you truly do want to be the best nun you can be, and… being touched by a man like him, so tall and so intimidating, with those wild tattoos, makes your body quiver with excitement. So many nights you’ve laid in your bed, shamefully touching yourself while thinking of him. 

He gave you a word, what he called a “safe word”, for you to say if you decide you can no longer handle the discipline and want to stop. Otherwise, he said, he would continue no matter what you say. The very thought of being completely at his mercy both frightens and thrills you. 

Stepping around to the front of you, Father Sukuna pulls your rosary from your neck and winds it tightly around your wrists, binding them together and forcing you to lean more on your elbows than your hands. This makes your position slightly more unstable, and leaves your ass elevated higher than the rest of you. 

He moves out of sight for a moment, and returns holding something in his hands. It’s a large wooden paddle with several holes drilled into it. Your eyes widen as you stare at the threatening object. 

“Years ago, before I became Headmaster, this paddle was used to punish misbehaving students. We don’t do that anymore, but we keep the paddle around. Sometimes it’s effective to just have it lying on the desk when talking to an unruly student.”

He slaps the paddle into his open palm, resulting in a loud thwacking sound that makes you jump. “The holes supposedly make it sting more,” he tells you, that unnerving grin spreading across his face again. 

Moving to your side, he holds the paddle up, looking down at your glassy, wide eyes, then he swings it downward, smacking the harsh wood against your trembling, vulnerable ass. You cry out in pain, feeling the burn of the holes, instinctively trying to scoot away. 

Father Sukuna uses his free hand to firmly grip your shoulder, holding you in place, before bringing the paddle down again. This time the sting is enough to bring tears to your eyes and a scream from your throat. 

But he remains merciless. 

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Three more hits, each one hard enough to make your body jump from the desk. Your ass burns. It has to be totally raw by now. 

“Father, please! Forgive me!” you weep, your knees nearly collapsing, your face now buried in your forearms, your hands clutching the rosary that has them bound together. 

Father Sukuna pauses and sits the paddle on the desk beside you. He uses his now empty hand to grip your sore cheek, kneading it, making you whimper. 

“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, and you struggle to comply, scooting your shaking knees further apart. He leans over to look, making you flush with heat and embarrassment. “Such a sinful body,” he says. “You’re absolutely dripping.”

“I’m so sorry, Father!” you cry, desperate to close your thighs and hide your shame, but knowing better than to anger him. 

You feel his hand slide down, and then his fingers dip into your wet folds. You shudder, fighting the urge to try to pull away. He laughs as his fingers brush over your clit, making you twitch. “Such a fuckable little cunt,” he says, and you glance back at him over your shoulder, shocked by his words. 

“Father?” you ask, trying to ignore the feeling of his fingers stroking you. 

“Hmm? Do my words concern you, Sister? I find that hard to believe when this soaked pussy is practically begging to be fucked. Do you want that? Do you want to be fucked by my huge cock?”

“I… I don’t…”

He suddenly withdraws his hand, picking up the paddle again in one smooth motion and then slamming it back down on your raw, stinging ass. This time it hits so low that it connected with your pussy. You squeal and jerk, and Father Sukuna holds the paddle up to his face. “You’ve gotten it all sticky,” he says. 

After sitting the paddle back down, he reaches down with both strong hands and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. He grabs your bound wrists by the rosary and jerks your arms above your head, then forces your legs even wider apart. He pulls your whole body down toward the end of the desk, making your robe ride up even further, nearly exposing your chest. 

He uses one hand to pull up his own robe and open the black pants underneath. “I fucked countless women before becoming a priest,” he says, his voice deeper than usual. “I thought I got it all out of my system. But fuck it, I’m still a man. So I’m gonna ruin this cute little pussy of yours.”

His tone of voice, his manner of speech, they seem different, rougher. “F-father, please,” you beg, “be gentle with me!”

He pulls a massive cock from his pants and lines it up with your entrance. “Not a fuckin’ chance!” he says, then immediately shoves himself all the way in. 

You gasp as you feel yourself being completely stuffed, his hands firm on your waist, keeping you steady as he pounds into you. “Please forgive me, Father!” you sob out. 

“Huh? Forgive you for what?” he asks, that maniacal grin on his face. 

“F-for being so sinful!” 

He laughs before he leans down and extends his tongue, licking a stripe up your crying face. “No need to apologize. Your tight pussy feels fucking incredible! This sinful body of yours is a blessing!”

You feel dazed, out of your mind, as his cock repeatedly slams into you. You have no idea what’s right or wrong anymore. You gaze up at him through teary eyes. “Is… is this part of the discipline? To make me a better nun?”

He reaches one hand down to stroke your clit, making your hips buck off the desk. “Yeah, I’m making you a better nun!” he grunts. “I’m making you my personal little slutty nun!”

You can’t take anymore. Your mind and heart are so confused. Only your body seems to understand Father Sukuna’s discipline. So you let go, you let yourself fall over the edge, and you scream out his name as you cum around his cock, clenching him with everything you have. 

His grin only gets wider, his red eyes gleaming, as he fucks you even harder. And when you finally feel him pulsing inside you, followed by a gush of his hot sticky cum filling you up, you lose all strength, going limp on the desk beneath him. 

Once he’s bottomed out, he pulls back and looks down at you. “Good girl, taking my cock so deep. I’ll forgive your mistakes this time,” he says as he buttons his pants and pulls his robe back down. His voice is returning to his more formal tone. “But if you don’t show more grace as an employee of this school, I will have to discipline you again.”

He reaches down and unties your hands, then gives your rosary back to you, leaving you speechless and stunned. You quickly recover and scoot off the desk, jerking your robe back down to hide the cum dripping down your thighs. 

“Thank you, Father,” you say with a quivering voice as you hurry out of the room. 

[serpentface]

Question for Faiza: what does the average day for an Odonii priestess entail?

We wake before dawn, and most of us spend the morning working around the temple. We maintain the shrines and grounds so- tending the hearths and burning the offerings, collecting water from the spring, feeding the lions. And there's always lay visitors milling around the temple while we're doing all this, but our attendants take care of the general public interfacing so. We can mostly focus on our duties.

There's always going to be some pregnant women or the odd soldier stopping in, so you might give out blessings once? Twice? On any given day. Rarely any more than that. But sometimes, you'll be right in the middle of something important- it's always when you're in the middle of something - and then, suddenly, in wanders an entire troupe. And you hear them before you see them. They'll have brought every single weapon and piece of armor they own, so they're clanging loud enough to wake the dead. And you'll just be standing there thinking, well, this is going to be my entire morning now.

...But it's very important work of course, attending our soldiers. Give a man Odomache's blessing, and he fights more bravely alone than twenty without.

Once the temple closes, we usually spend most of the afternoon just preparing the amenchalme. So- grinding the maize, then blessing the maize, then grinding the salt, then blessing the salt, then mixing the wine, then blessing the wine, then mixing the oil, then blessing the oil... It's a little tedious, I won't lie. But I think this is our most important duty, in a way. Out of every rite we perform, day in and day out, this is the one that serves all our people. The amenchalme that blesses a whore's nameless bastard daughter at birth and the amenchalme that blesses a great lord at his wedding is the very same, made by the very same hands. So when I see priestesses shunting the task off to initiates so they can go nap on the grounds or play with their muskets...

I digress.

So, when the rest of our duties are complete, we end the day with training. This is mostly practicing the six dances. Ideally, every Odonii in the temple should be assembled and practicing in unison. But in practice, there's usually some stragglers. So you'll be out in the yard and everyone is following the same drumbeat, but you'll see one group dancing the spear, another dancing the musket, and then another who's already finished and running laps around the grounds just to kill time.

Our core duties are over at sundown, and we're free to do as we please. Dinner is served at the temple, so most of us will spend an hour or two in the hall, you know, socializing, having a little wine, unwinding. I like to go down to the ocean after dinner, when I can. I prefer the quiet.

Uh, so that's an average day for the vast majority of us. It varies throughout the year, of course. Things get busy when we're approaching festivals. Or during wartime. And I'm a senior Odonii and liaison to the Usoma, so-. My duties tend to be considerably more complex, year-round. Sometimes I miss those long afternoons just mindlessly pounding maize, haha.

---

Notes:

-Temples to Odomache are open to the public from dawn until noon, and closed throughout the rest of the day. The temple consists of a great shrine that is publicly accessible by all, inner walled grounds that are prohibited to the public outside of certain festivals (tame lions are kept here), private spaces only Odonii and temple staff can enter (the Odonii's quarters and bathrooms, a dining hall, library), and ritually private spaces that only Odonii can enter (an inner shrine reserved for internal cult practice that is forbidden knowledge for non-Odonii)

-Odonii-attendants are high ranking servants to the priesthood. They start out as child servants given to the order by their fathers who perform most of the basic labor (this is a very attractive position to poor families in particular, as the family is paid until the child comes of age, and the child themself can acquire a degree of security and potential for class mobility that is otherwise difficult to attain). Those who choose to remain with the order upon adulthood (they have no choice in the matter beforehand due to children being under full legal jurisdiction of their fathers) may eventually graduate into attendant positions. This is a well paid and esteemed job, with attendants managing most of the practical logistics of maintaining a temple and interfacing with the public.

Servants to Odonii are only women and eunuchs. Those considered male are forbidden from this role (which entails entering some ritually private spaces, and sometimes seeing them naked in the course of bathing/being armored, etc) - the Odonii's body is sacrosanct and an analogue to the power and the security of the Wardi nation and God Itself, and the male gaze is considered uniquely dangerous to a metaphysically vulnerable female body and thus to be fundamentally violating of this sacred state.

-Outside of certain festivals and rituals, Odonii only perform blessings for royalty, soldiers, and pregnant women. Odonii also bless soldiers' weapons and armor.

-Amenchalme is the basic material used in public rites for blessing and purification. The finished product is a paste that is daubed on the body to give blessings, and consecrates animals/humans for sacrifice. It is exclusively produced by Odonii, but used in a broad variety of contexts.

-'Nameless' in the context of 'nameless bastard daughter' means not having a family name - ie an orphan of unknown parentage, or not being claimed by one's father, and therefore not having access to and the protection of the family as the foundational social unit in Wardi society. Namelessness itself is stigmatized, and its implications invariably entail ostracization and lowered status. Faiza saying 'whore's nameless bastard daughter' is her conjuring up like, the lowest possible status Wardi citizen she can imagine.

-The six dances are the core weapons-dances used in rites and for combat training, centered around the key weapons techniques- spear, sword, handgun, musket, spear and shield, sword and shield. Bow dances are still practiced by most soldiers (given that firearms are limited enough in access to have not fully replaced them) but are no longer part of the Odonii's core retinue.

-Faiza privately ascribes to a niche quasi-atheist strain of Wardi philosophy that posits that God fully died during creation and can no longer directly affect the world, and thus does not believe that the majority of rites her Entire Life is built on performing have any intrinsic divinely sourced effects. She is very good at not letting any of this slip, but tends to frame the benefits of rites around their practical effects (ie- soldiers who believe they are protected by God fight more bravely).

Her emphasis on the importance of amenchalme as is partly rooted in sincere conviction that all* (*Imperial Wardi citizen) people should receive the practical benefits of the state's religion regardless of class and she finds the ubiquity of the substance to be an equalizer, and partly because she absolutely believes in bad luck, ghosts, and evil spirits, and amenchalme protects people from those.