#Redemption ≠ humility

[zuko-always-lies]

On all those "Azula needs to be humbled before any redemption is even considered" takes

Stop it. Get some help😊

[bitin-and-barkin]

Keeping him in line

Warnings: Gunfucking, facefucking, shoe humping, sub Dutch, he's like super pathetic honestly, humiliation (Dutch Receiving), degradation, gender neutral reader, dom reader, the reader is SO fucking mean, Dutch deserves it tho, masochism, pain kink, anal, smut, all consensual dw, I like to think this could've stopped the downfall of the gang

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Thinking about being an "old friend" of Dutch.

Used to go out robbing with him back in the day, until some crap went down. He thought you died, and you thought the same for him. But after the blackwater incident, a long overdue meeting happens when you both try to rob the same train.

Thinking about him "Inviting" (practically begging) you to join him, even though you both know you're doing damn well on your own.

Thinking about once you graciously agree, he's consulting you for every little thing, saying something along the lines of "let me consult the missus/mister" before he plans any jobs, finally taking SOMEONE'S advice other than his own. Treating you like Hosea, like himself. A higher up, a leader, despite you having never set foot in this gang in over 10, 15, years.

Thinking about him insisting that you don't have to do any of the "dirty work" if you don't feel like it. Barking orders at others to "take care of it" while dragging you back to his tent for no reason at all, other than to just smoke and drink and chat about everything and nothing.

Thinking about others being weirded out and slightly jealous of all the praise and approval you get from him, with even Molly questioning if he's sweet on you. Everyone is thinking it, that maybe he had something going on with you in the past. But, even when he was with Annabelle? He had never treated her this kindly.

Thinking about him catching glances at your fingers while you handle your gun, the way you draw it and shoot in the blink of an eye. Watching your hands move as you play poker at camp, making everybody else at the table go broke.

Thinking about him watching the way your chest heaves in and out after a gunfight. Watching the way your silver tongue talks them into money and out of trouble, even better than he or Hosea can.

Thinking about him stating he needs to "take a break" with Molly due to him "needing some time alone" while she watches him talk to you the same way he used to chat with her, but with actual longing in his eyes.

Thinking about you talking to him, almost down to him, with a certain smug look on your face as he looks at you with a certain devotion on his. You calling out the flaws in his ideas and plans, doubting him, doing things that would get anybody else labeled as a traitor. But not you. Anybody but you. As when you do it? All he can do is sit there and take it.

Thinking about you pushing him down by the chest where he sits anytime he does something or says something that you don't like. Knocking his drink out of his hand in front of everybody when he gets too out of line.

Thinking about punishing him for his behavior at night, taking long drags of his cigar and putting it out on his arm as you grip his hair and shove his face into his bed as you fuck him into the sheets.

Thinking about you leaving bruises on his neck after you choke him too hard for being too mean to one of his boys or after one of his infamous plans fuck up once again.

Thinking about making him rut up against your boot as you face fuck him, saying he isn't deserving of even touching you, and if he wants release he has to work for it himself. Stating that your shoes better be shining when he's done down there as he rubs his dick against your spurs, desperate for friction.

Thinking of you fucking him with his own gun after he begs you for more, with you degrading him for getting a hard on. Asking him what the Pinkertons, what his gang, would think if they learned that Dutch Van Der Linde himself is no more than a common whore. One barely good enough to fuck. Saying that maybe you should turn him in, that way you can use the money to buy a whore that actually does what they're told.

Thinking about him crying into your lap as he begs for release, and all you do is laugh at him and shove him off, leaving him alone and aching after you climax and he doesn't. Knowing that he needs this punishment to keep him in place.

Thinking about him palming himself for the rest of the night and choking himself with a tie you got him a long time ago, fucking himself stupid with your gun which you left in his tent. But it's not enough. Such a greedy boy. It's never enough for him.

That's why you have to keep him in line. It keeps him sane.

[mai-komagata]

ok it isn't that i don't want to redeem sauron. in real life i hope if there is a god the apokatastasis is real. but like if we are making a ranked list of people who who should be redeemed in the rings of power show, i see scenes like halbrand stealing that sigil from that old man and leaving him to die or stabbing his orc children adar loves so much and worked so hard to make good again, or throwing mirdania over the railing, and im like, well, we can put sauron last on the list. he clearly doesn't want it. liking one powerful blonde woman gives you zero redemption points -- that doesnt even count as *trying*, that is just having eyes. its like you guys don't know how the ancient magic works at all.

[the-ever-evolving-queendom]

I feel his speech is still relevant to this day. Now more than ever I think the world needs to hear what he has to say.

@moonchildsthoughts longer version that I found. @voraciouskingdom

[dragon-deez-ballz]

like DBZ is so loosely based off of JTTW that literally Vegeta fits as Sun Wukong better than Goku

[ryanranney]

The Wheat from the Chaff

Hear the wind of unrighteousness howl But fear it not within For the chaff rise up at its blowing Looking upon themselves as greater Knowing not they scatter away By their very own pride made so But the wheat has weight and merit Feeding nations, tribes and tongues Serving life and spirit and growth Falling back into the basket of worth Free and unbound to the wicked By their humility made…

[iboluwatise]

The Nativity Story and God’s Greatest Gift to Humanity

The Nativity Story is the grand revelation of God’s eternal love and redemptive power. It is the moment where heaven touched earth and God’s glory wrapped itself in human form. Through Jesus Christ, God unleashed His greatest gift to humanity. A Saviour reclaims our brokenness. He invites us into His family and breathes hope into our weary souls. The Meaning of Christmas: A Divine…

[mindfulldsliving]

The Rock of Our Redeemer: A Path to Spiritual Stability

In the Book of Helaman, we encounter a cycle that seems all too familiar even today—a dangerous loop of pride and humility. This cycle, often referred to as the "Pride Cycle," serves as a profound lesson on the human condition.

Building on the Rock of our Redeemer: Insights from Helaman 1-6 The Book of Helaman presents a turbulent period filled with political unrest, bands of robbers, and widespread rejection of prophets among the Nephites and Lamanites. Yet, it’s not just about the chaos—it’s about resilience. How did individuals like Nephi and Lehi remain spiritually strong as their world crumbled? The secret lies in…

[trueconservativepundit]

What the Nativity Event Teaches Us (Luke 2:1-20)

By Donald Whitchard Genesis 3:15, Numbers 24:17, Isaiah 7:14, Isaiah 9:6-7, Matthew 1:18-25, Luke 2:1-20   Summary: The birth of the Lord Jesus Christ is the centerpiece of civilization.  It is also an illustration about the promises of God, our obedience of God, the accessibility to God, and the tragedy of rejecting God.   “AND it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar…

[dawnlizjones]

No Tide Pens Back Then

My biological mother was a fabulous 1960’s stay-at-home suburban homemaker.  (My beautiful stepmother was also, I just hadn’t met her yet!)  Now, granted, Mom didn’t waltz around in a dress, heels, and pearls like the old black and white reruns.  But she could clean and cook with the best of them. And, wow could she sew!  She made play clothes for me, and she even made beautiful formal gowns for…

[kelegerauthor]

'Prudent's Income'

'Prudent's Income'...Then Paul said to him, 'God will strike you, you whitewashed wall! You sit there to judge me according to the law, yet you yourself violate the law by commanding that I be struck!'….Acts 22:30-23:5

Prudent's Income go graciously into the night hear the words of 'patient' 'be gentle with your self for I am fighting within' it is the main ingredient that brings what is intelligent to the surface of relevant when asked for knowledge‒ its very wise instrument it is given‒ without impairment when you take what is given ‒after your needed persistence refuse its enlightenment because of your…

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

Doomed to Repeat the Same Mistake: The Canticle of Leibowitz

Note on the text: I used A Canticle of Leibowitz as written by Walter J Miller Jr and published in 2006 by Eos

The theme, or rather the question, of eternal recurrence, of whether mankind is forever doomed to repeat its mistakes over and over again for all eternity, is at the core of this thought provoking novel. And the answer, at least according to Miller, is yes. Perhaps not on an individual level, but when talking about mankind as a whole it appears that we are stuck in a state of eternal recurrence.

Knowledge is an incredibly interesting thing and is, in many ways, the central character of this story. Because if to know better is to do better it means that mankind has the ability to learn and make a different choice. But if eternal recurrence is true, than it means that learning is, at the very least, irrelevant because humanity is doomed to make the same choices it did before. 

This takes place in the future, starting in the 26th century stretching all the way to the 36th. When the book starts we learn that there was a nuclear war in the mid 20th century (this book was originally published in 1959) which resulted in the complete breakdown of civilization and the death of some 90% of the population. Most of those who survived live in small communities that populate a planet that has essentially become a desert wasteland. The monastery of the Albertian Order of Leibowitz is the site of the most of the action. Their somewhat legendary founder, Saint Isaac Leibowitz, lived in the immediate aftermath of the nuclear war, called the “Flame Deluge”, and, in an attempt to preserve the culture and knowledge of the world that had just been destroyed, Saint Isaac wrote down all the scientific knowledge of the time and created what would become a series of religious texts called the Memorabilia. The order of monks which he founded is dedicated to preserving all that knowledge and passing it down. 

Knowledge is a strange and powerful thing. It’s one thing to understand what something is theoretically. It’s another thing entirely to understand how that thing works in the real world, and to truly know what something is means that you not only know what it is theoretically but that you understand something of how it works in the real world. Saint Isaac has been dead for over 600 years by the time the book starts and a lot of legends have built up around him, the founding of the order, and the nuclear war which destroyed everything. It is said that because of man’s inflated ego, God commanded a certain sect of people to “devise great engines of war which had never been seen before on Earth” (61). Every prince upon receiving these weapons was warned not to use them because of the great calamity which would ensure. But each prince ignored the warning and thought: “If I strike but quickly enough, and in secret I shall destroy those other [princes] in their sleep and there will be none to fight back; the Earth shall be mine. Such was the folly of princes and then followed the great Flame Deluge” (61). This story, and it’s message of humanity’s ability to destroy itself because of its arrogance and greed, will rear up its ugly head time and time again throughout the course of this story. 

It’s interesting that the first character we meet is Brother Francis. He is, in many ways, a really unassuming character. But it’s in his unassumingness, his humility, that he becomes a good foil for the characters who come later. When we meet him he is on a retreat in the desert and he has a mystical experience in which a mysterious man leads him to underground fallout shelter which houses a lot of “first class relics” pertaining to Saint Isaac, including a bunch of books that were written in his own hand. Now remember it has been 600 years since Saint Isaac died. 600 years since the founding of the Order which bears his name. In the mind of most of the monks there, it has been 600 years since the age of miracles. To say that the monks are skeptical when they hear about what happened to Brother Francis is an understatement. They think that all the stories of what happened in the past, all the miracles that supposedly occurred, are just that: stories. Most of them don’t even understand or care about what is actually in The Memorabilia. They don’t understand the science because it belongs to a world that died 600 years ago. It would be like us reading a science textbook from the 1400s. So they keep pushing Brother Francis to deny what happened and admit that he made it all up. However, Brother Francis, who isn’t an idiot and understands how ridiculous and unlikely it all sounds, keeps insisting that he “cannot deny what [he] saw with [his] own two eyes” (46). It’s likely that when he was growing up he assumed just like anyone else that these stories were just stories and that the knowledge inside the Memorabilia was antiquated at best and absolutely useless at worst. But he allows his experience in the desert to change him. He allows that experience to change the way that he looked at the Memorabilia and its contents. He all of a sudden starts to believe that the knowledge contained in those books might actually be worth something and he spends the next fifteen years creating beautiful copies of the books and doing everything he can to make sure that it is not forgotten. That ability to allow himself to change, to allow what he experiences in in the desert to challenge his preconceived notions about the world, is what sets him apart from other characters in this book. He refuses to ignore what is happening around him. Like I said, it’s his unassumingness and humility that makes him a good foil for the characters that come after. 

Now we jump to the 38th century and, thanks in large part to the Memorabilia, people have rediscovered how to build nuclear weapons. Now humanity has the chance to see if it has learned from its mistakes and can make the right choice. Unlike those “princes” of the past, these people know from experience what it means to live through a nuclear war. The question is, will they use what they have learned to make a different choice or will they allow the same old evils of avarice and pride to push them to make the same mistake again. Can humanity resist the allure of nuclear power?: 

Are we doomed to do it again and again and again? Have we no choice but to play the Phoenix in an unending sequence of rise and fall? Assyria, Babylon, Egypt, Greece, Carthage, the Empires of Charlemagne and the Turk. Ground to dust and plowed with salt. Spain, France, Britain, America- burned into the oblivion of centuries. And again and again and again (264).

There is a new abbot of the monastery named Jethro Zerchi who, reflecting on the story we heard in the beginning, certainly hopes that the “princes” of his time will be able to make different choices: 

Back then, in the Saint Leibowitz time, maybe they didn’t know what would happen. Or perhaps they did know, but could not quite believe it until they tried it like a child who knows what a loaded pistol is supposed to do, but who has never pulled the trigger before. They had not seen a billion corpses. They had not seen the stillborn, the monstrous, the dehumanized, the blind. They had not seen the madness, the murder, and the blotting out of reason. Then they did it and then they saw it.

Now- now the princes, the presidents, the praesidiums they know- with dead certainty. They know it by the children they beget and send to the asylums for the deformed. . . . Now they have the bitter certainty. They cannot do it again. Only a race of madmen would do it again (275).   

He prays and hopes that those in power will now have the ability to keep their pride and greed in check and not use nuclear weapons again. It says something about the depth of Miller’s level of pessimism regarding the human race as a whole that the people in his book choose to wage nuclear war on each other again. More than that humanity has decided to invade other planets, and Miller sees it as inevitable that the human race will “succumb again to the old maladies on new worlds, even as on Earth, in the litany of life and the special liturgy of man” (243). It is the theme of eternal recurrence writ large: humans will always be who they are, they will always do what they do. Individuals, like Brother Francis, may change, but because human nature cannot fundamentally change therefore the human race as a whole cannot change. Humanity is doomed to keep on doing what it has done before- to our detriment. God I hope he is wrong. 

[camelidae]

If you like cows, ponies, sheep, horses, noble paladins and their faithful steads, mysterious entities dispensing heroic powers, small-town bickering, redemption arcs, wobbly-kneed bravery in the face of dire peril, snaggly-toothed possum monsters, bovines learning lessons about humility and the importance of civic cooperation, mayoral elections, wishing wells-

-well, wow! Those are really specific things to like, but hey, me too! If you want to see all of those things in one book, do check out The Grandest Tales of Clementine, and consider supporting the Kickstarter. The Kickstarter ends July 31st, and I’m really hoping it will fund so I can bring this book into the world. There’s a digital option there as well, if you want the budget friendly version!

[ritik3630a]

Why is apologizing important in relationships, even when we know things may never be the same again?

Apologizing can be one of the hardest things to do. It requires humility, vulnerability, and a willingness to admit that we may have caused harm to someone else. However, as difficult as it may be, apologizing is always the right thing to do.Even when we know that things may never be the same again, it is important to apologize. Apologizing is not just about admitting fault or taking…