#clergy in black

[greentrickster]

After that horrible discovery at the Manga-ka's, Nagiri's been avoiding Kantarou for months and he's not in a good space. After a year in Shin-Yokohama, learning of the future he's found himself in and making friends, Bob is in a pretty dang good space, but he remembers what came before too well to ignore it when he sees someone running in fear... especially if it turns out they may be hungry.

[idk-i-am-just-a-weeb]

Something i'll never stop finding funny is the fact some people think Jesse's real name is reverend, and I can't help but think about what if that was an actual name people would name their children.

Teacher: who can tell me what 2+2 is?

A tiny little boy: * raises his hand *

Teacher: yes reverend?

Reverend: Four horsemen shall soon take us to the day of judgment.

Teacher: correct! :D

[yourdailyqueer]

Thandeka

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: 25 March 1946

Ethnicity: African American

Occupation: Minister, theologian, scholar, entrepreneur, activist

[y-rhywbeth2]

...suddenly wondering if dragons can have albinism. Probably? Dragon species are recognisable by more than their colour, but wow could you get into some accidents thinking that dragon at a glance is a white when it's actually a red dragon sans pigmentation.

[pastormike1976]

Quote attributed to Betty White with a personal reflection at the end.

[milkywayan]

mfw i am 14h into DAV and have not heard any reaction of the chantry to what is going on / heard any andrastian have their worldview shattered

[greentrickster]

Okay, hello, yes, I love this SO MUCH, LOOK AT THIS, EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS RIGHT NOW, PLEASE AND THANK-YOU, HOLY FUCK!!! Lookit those colours, they’re so rich and vibrant, it gives a really warm, intimate feel that balances also the cool colours of the character and the night sky, that’s so hard to do with characters and settings that have a lot of cool blues, but @aroshi-wish​ has done a masterful job of it, lending a sense of privacy and closeness to what’s really a very open space! When people talk about mood lighting, this is what they’re talking about!!! And that tiny little pop of the brighter red for their eyes that helps ensure the characters don’t get lost in the background while also blending well with it - amazing!

And the line art itself! Not only do the characters beautifully convey the tenderness of this shared moment in the story, it’s absolutely wonderful, those soft expressions as they look at each other, even without context I’ll wager you can feel how important they are to each other, but also see that their feelings for each other aren’t quite the same, the subtle gratitude in Bob’s expression versus the slight sorrow in Northdin’s. And the extra-long scarf pulling double-duty of adding an extra sense of weightlessness to Bob while also beautifully highlighting their joined hands-?!? You know this is the sort of thing that makes me want to scream loud enough to shatter the void, right?!?!?! (I would be doing so right now, but, you know. Restraining orders.)

And all that would be just plenty and enough to make my day, but then. THEN. These two absolute mad lads have to go and get in on the religious themes that are a key part of both Bob’s backstory and the fic itself and set this entire ding-donged picture up like an actual painting of a Saint, complete with a red full moon standing in for the typical golden halo (since we’re dealing with the patron saint of vampires), Bob’s posture looks so reminiscent of those you see angels and saints in, like he’s descending from on high, and- wait. Wait a moment. (squints at Bob’s sweater and Northdin’s vest) AROSHI, DID YOU USE THE SAME COLOUR FAMILY FOR THOSE TO GIVEN A FURTHER SUBTLE INDICATION OF THE CONNECTION THESE TWO SHARE?!? FUCK THE RESTRAINING ORDER!!! (screams loud enough to shatter the void)

My gods, the care and detail put into every aspect of this piece is wow, just wow, I adore it, thank-you so much, both of you, I’m going to print this out and eat it!

TL;DR: What a pretty picture that I’m being so incredibly normal about! ^U^ <3

Collaboration with @aroshi-wish (I did the line art, Aroshi those amazing colours!) for @greentrickster ‘s wonderful fic That Which Was Lost - in which a vampire lord and an ex-exorcist (also now a vampire) walk into a church, and don’t quite manage to keep their feet on holy ground for very different reasons than you’d think.

Image ID under the cut:

Keep reading

[holysaintscathedral]

Filep Motwary

[shimizysam]

Miki's fanfic is completed!

I wrote a fanfic of Miki in Kyuushi.

If you’re interested, I hope you can read this!

This note contains afterward of my fic. That means you should read my fic before you proceed below the description, right?

Afterward

I wanted Miki to be spoiled by Yoshida and Bob.

Here is Miki’s backstory by Bon (even though that’s kinda au)

I read it and knew that Miki had a lot of hard experiences. I’ll say that’s an au again, however, it contains what original Miki actually experienced, like:

—He was grown up in poor conditions.

—He had only his gramma and his younger brother Nozomi, not having any parents, in his childhood.

—He became a workaholic after his bro got sick in his youth.

—He became a friend of Shinji when he was in high school.

—He was desperate when he realized that he was no longer needed by his bro and Shinji.

—He nearly died when he saw a hallucination of his father.

…that's why I can’t quit being one of Miki's fans, dude!!

Well then, after a several branches, he made himself as right now, like:

—He got a serious injury on his neck when he just started working as a vampire hunter.

—He read Shinji's manga, which encouraged him to create Mutsu in Aijyameshi (Shinji's famous manga in Shin-Yokohama).

—He was at home when his grandma collapsed.

—He was punched by Nozomi, who said, "Thanks for ever, but I'm an adult and I'm saying you don't give me money now. Rather, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, YOU IDIOT!!!!!!"

—He began living in a useful mobs' apartment with financial assistance.

—There was a person who could assist him when he chased a truck.

That's why I can’t quit being one of Miki's fans, dude!!!! (again)

These were said by Bon:

In my fic, I planned to write after Bob came to Yoshida's room, but the flow of the story didn't go so well and I didn't have motivation to write, I canceled the after story. Still, I guess they played video games, ate tasty dishes, and talked about trivial topics.

I forcefully solved any problems to say, "He was really tired." lmao

but I suppose his N-value is very low even now. In my headcanon, his N-value will be incredibly declining when he gets exhausted.

In my opinion, he felt severe guilt when he found he hurt his friend because caring for other people is his life. Thus, what he did to Yoshida was like a body blow or fatal scars to Miki's mind.

I didn't ever expect him to sob, that's the same as Miki himself and Bob thought. I didn't mean to make him cry since he is a 35-year-aged man, but I never regret it!!

He wouldn't be the way all the same if he was against other people or if he wasn't so shattered.

Yes, next: Yoshida.

He exists for real, but in Kyuushi, he is one of the mobs.

In real life, he allows himself to be a half-free resource. Thereby, Bon could get him to appear in his manga.

In Kyuushi, he is the boss of Vampire Passionate Kiss. His hobby is playing games and making giant dishes. He has three cats, maybe he is 40s.

In my fic, after he argued with Miki, he went home and fretted. He tried to distract himself from his concerns, taking care of his cats and making too many dishes. But he couldn't, so he left a kit.

I hope he has a habit of drinking in order to flee from his bad memories, but the fluency of the story was jammed, so I didn't write it.

Finally; Clergy.

He acted kind of the adviser of my fic since he is usually taught by Miki and Yoshida. He is somehow one of the old vampires, I guess he could deal with many problems he confronted in human age.

I haven't made a complete interpretation of his character yet, so if I can, I'd make a fic of him.

Anyways, thank you for reading it or my fic!

[reasoningdaily]

A large choir sings as the Rev. Otis Moss III, senior pastor at Trinity United Church of Christ, leads the service, January 15, 2012, in Chicago, Illinois.

(RNS) At Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, members and neighbors buy fruits and vegetables from a black farmers market and work in an organic garden named after botanist George Washington Carver.

They recycle their church bulletins, plan to renovate their building with a “green” roof and have purchased 27 acres for a community project that will include an urban farm.

“By any greens necessary,” the Rev. Otis Moss III, the church’s pastor, likes to say.

When it comes to African-American churches and a focus on the environment, Moss and his congregation are the exception rather than the rule.

Moss said many of his black clergy colleagues are less interested in conservation and tell him: “That’s your thing.”

Black congregations have tended to focus on their members’ basic needs — getting jobs, rearing children, pursuing higher education.

Environmental matters have been a lower priority, said the Rev. Dianne Glave, author of “Rooted in the Earth: Reclaiming the African American Environmental Heritage.”

But although often reluctant to get on board, African-American churches are being encouraged to be advocates for conservation and environmental policy. And some have already answered the call. At a White House event this week (Feb. 25), three black clergy spoke at panel discussions on environmental justice and climate action.

The Rev. Lennox Yearwood, CEO of the Hip Hop Caucus, which works to engage young minorities on policy issues, takes part in marches on the birthday of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. that challenge the fossil fuel industry. As churches were once urged to stop divesting in businesses supporting apartheid in South Africa, he encourages congregations to divest from oil, gas and coal industries and invest in clean energy instead. In early March, he’s the speaker at a Washington church event linking climate change and civil rights.

“There’s always many African-American leaders who are vocal,” he said. “I think the question is how we get the base of the congregations as vocal.”

He and other experts — many who are in the younger generation that has followed civil rights veterans — say they are working to bridge a gap between environmentalists and African-American churchgoers. They counter notions about lack of money and time to deal with seemingly esoteric issues by emphasizing how attention to the environment can reduce energy costs and lead to healthier eating habits in neighborhoods with no grocery stores.

The Rev. Ambrose Carroll introduced a 10-minute video on black churches and environmental issues at his Berkeley, Calif., church in early February. It linked climate change to adverse affects on the black community, such as children with asthma. A fellow of Green For All, which fosters diverse networks to support green industries, Carroll hopes the video will be a tool to reach out to denominational leaders and seminarians.

He also plans to connect with environmental groups that have more successfully brought white churches on board with their efforts.

“They haven’t really been able to translate that message to why it’s important to people of color,” said Carroll.

That’s why GreenFaith, a national organization that builds environmental leadership through congregations, drafted Yearwood to lead a Black History Month webinar to discuss “eco-leadership and divestment” with African-American churches.

“We have found that the best ways to engage African-American congregations on these issues is through the lens of financial stewardship and health,” said the Rev. Fletch Harper, executive director of GreenFaith. His organization recently enlisted an African Methodist Episcopal congregation in New Jersey that it expects will be the first black church to complete its certification process, which includes making the buildings, worship and programs more environmentally friendly.

Since 2008, the Rev. Michael McClain, a National Baptist Convention, USA, minister, has worked in five Southeastern states, building black congregations’ awareness of climate change and its adverse effects on poor people and people of color. As the regional field coordinator of Creation Justice Ministries, a spinoff from the National Council of Churches, he’s organized trips to Capitol Hill so clergy can lobby for cleaner air and a reduction in carbon pollution.

At local, regional and national gatherings of black churches, he has sounded this warning: “An unhealthy congregation would soon be no congregation.”

Moss, the pastor at Trinity United Church of Christ, said some are beginning to listen when he talks about the economic payoffs from connecting with farmers and reducing the costs of operating a church building.

Last year, the megachurch cut down on thousands of bulletins it prints for Sunday services by getting congregants to start using a mobile app instead.

“We’re trying to make all the connections,” Moss said. “Green is an act of social justice.”

[greentrickster]

...all my TVDINT fics are consolidating into a single, unified setting, and, given what the first one is (some slightly humourous slightly soft M-rated RonaDora fun), what the next four are (Clergy/Bob character studies and interactions), and what the current one I’m writing is (which is me accepting that the only way to fix things after chapter 316 is to turn Kantarou into a Pomeranian, trust me, I’m a professional), it does feel just the tiniest bit absolutely buck-wild.

But I guess that’s the TVDINT setting for you. (shrugs)

[ravenkings]

Bernie is wrong. He has always been wrong and is still wrong. The flaw in his theory is what he deems the “wealthy elite” versus what everyday Americans consider them to be. Voters don’t see all billionaires as the elites. They see college-educated liberals on the coasts, some of whom are billionaires, as elites.

Bernie-style populism didn’t land because billionaires figured out long ago they could undermine it by being socially right-wing, and the working class would forgive their wealth and privilege. That’s why this same demographic is willing to make it rain for grifters like Joel Osteen and Pat Robertson. That’s why they worship the wealthiest man on the planet like a God and consider him some real-life Tony Stark. People dismissed Donald Trump as a shameless attention-hungry New York oligarch until he called Mexicans rapists. Then he shot up to the top of the GOP primary polls. The working class didn’t think much of Elon Musk until he said “pronouns suck.” Then he became their hero. A scion of working-class Pennsylvania lost his US Senate seat last week to a hedge fund manager from Connecticut. West Virginia elected their richest man to the Senate after electing him governor – as a Democrat and later a Republican. Ohio tossed out their longtime Democratic senator, known for his strong support of labor rights, for – literally, no joke – a used-car salesman.

You can’t tell me the working class in America thinks being a billionaire alone is what makes one a “wealthy elite.” There are significant factors at play here Bernie is either oblivious to or purposely ignorant of.

In college, a professor once told me that Communism never succeeded in the United States because we are too religious and proud as a country. Religion, traditions, and culture were never widely discredited the way they were in Europe and Asia, where the clergy and nobility kept the bourgeoisie in figurative chains for centuries. The relative ease of social mobility made America unique compared to its Western counterparts. Historically, American progressivism has been focused on expanding social mobility – initially limited to only white men – to identity groups who had been denied it at the start: blacks, women, and immigrants. We have done it, with various amounts of success. While it may seem counterintuitive, Americans pride themselves in being the nation that pioneered the idea that wealth and status can be achieved through ingenuity and hard work and not just based on a lucky roll of the genetic dice, as it was in the Old World. It doesn’t mean we don’t have generational wealth in our country; we do, but since it isn’t the sole way to achieve wealth and power, we don’t care nearly as much about destroying all of it. Further, we will happily endorse it if the oligarchs and the aristocrats vow to promote and protect the social values we care about and the social hierarchy that benefits us.

It’s one of the reasons I believe Bernie could never beat Trump. If you ask working-class people what they want: an anti-immigrant, anti-intellectual billionaire or a Vermont socialist backed by kids from Harvard and UC Berkeley who hate our traditions and customs, the working class will always back the billionaire.

–Nick Rafter, "Bernie Sanders Can Take a Seat"

[yourdailyqueer]

Jide Macaulay

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 4 November 1966  

Ethnicity: Nigerian

Nationality: British

Occupation: Priest, activist

[cxrrodedcoffin]

✟ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 ✟

Kinktober fic 2: Charlie Mayhew ✟ Blasphemy + Church Sex

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!charlie, priest!charlie (duh), aspiring nun!reader, tattooed!reader, religious themes (obvi), catholicism, extremely blasphemous activities, mentions of mental health facilities and sobriety, mild religious trauma mention, baptism, submersion in holy water, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex in water + in a church, fem + afab reader, breath play, hickeys, nipple play, cream pie, mentions of scars, use of “father” as an honorific in both a professional context and sexual context.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

When you first visited the church to inquire about taking your vows as a nun, you weren’t sure what to expect. It had been so long since the last time you’d set foot in a church, but the moment you crossed that holy threshold a childhood full of memories came rushing back to you.

The church was not a place you ever thought you’d consider your home again once you reached adolescence, but now, after a decade of poor decisions and enough casual sex to put an end to global inceldom if you so wished, you found yourself back in a house of worship for the first time since childhood.

A six month-long stint in an in-patient psychiatric treatment center had been the catalyst, your first extended period of time being both sober and celibate since your teen years forcing you to face some hard truths about the way you’d been living your life.

You decided to see if there was any ounce of the faith you blindly held as a child still left somewhere deep in your subconscious, seeking out the nearest convent you could only a few weeks after your discharge from the facility.

Each step you took down the arched corridor to the church administrator’s office brought back flashes of the past, both bitter and sweet, the kaleidoscope of colors fanning in from the stained glass windows drawing a familiar sense of melancholy you had half-expected to reappear.

One thing you certainly were not expecting out of this visit was to meet one Father Charlie Mayhew. The curve of his jaw was the first thing you caught a glimpse of as he stepped out of the administrator’s office, the striking momentary glimpse of his side profile nearly knocking the wind out of you.

You squeaked out a faint “Sorry!” as you took a step back, your eyes locking with his. His cheeks creased in a charming smile, the black fabric of his clerical shirt pulling taut over his muscular forearm as he held the office door open for you. Your mind finally registered the flash of his white tab collar at his neck, prompting you to straighten up as a sign of respect.

“Thank you, Father-”

“Mayhew.” He finished, giving you a gentle nod as you returned the smile and slipped past him through the door frame. It was a small encounter, mere seconds of interaction, and yet you couldn’t shake the image of his smile from your mind for the rest of the day.

That was six months ago, and in the time since, every interaction you’d had with him had only worsened your attraction to him. He was equal parts charismatic and enigmatic, sharing fascinating details of his hobbies and interests and how they brought him closer to God, yet remaining at an arm’s length, keeping parts of himself closed off from you as well as the rest of the clergy.

Today was the day you were to begin your official commitment to your religious journey, ready to begin the years-long journey to take your vows. There was one final requirement you had to complete, needing to amend the oversight your parents had made in never getting around to having you baptized as a child.

You’d spent the majority of the day working on your studies, doing everything you could to distract yourself from the nerves growing in your tummy over your baptism ceremony. You weren’t nervous about the ceremony itself, it was a private ritual to be held before only God, you, and the priest performing it at an hour late enough that most of the convent would be fast asleep. The only problem was that the priest performing your baptism was none other than the man you’d become desperate for, Father Mayhew.

You had completed your post-dinner stroll around the campus, the sun set well below the horizon as the moon rose high in the sky. It was almost time, and when you returned to your dormitory, you stripped from your robes and hopped into a cold shower the moment the door shut behind you. Cleanliness was next to Godliness afterall, and the heat in your cheeks caused by your wandering mind needed to be quelled before facing the man at the center of your wildest fantasies.

When you had finally calmed yourself to a manageable level you stepped out of the shower, quickly wicking the water droplets off of your skin before pulling the flowy cotton nightgown over your bare body. You didn’t bother with undergarments, knowing they’d be just another layer of soaking wet fabric you’d have to peel from your shivering body in likely less than an hour.

You made your way down the hallway of the dormitory, your simple black ballet flats clicking gently against the sleek tile floor. After what felt like forever, you finally arrived at the connecting door of the chappel, pausing momentarily to gather your nerves one last time. The large wooden door creaked as you slowly pushed it open, moonlight shining through the tall stained glass portraits lining the walls of the hall. The flicker of candlelight pulled your eye to the baptismal font, flames dancing in the reflection of the pool.

Charlie stood tall, his hands folded behind his back as you slowly closed the space between you, stopping when there remained only a foot of space.

“Good evening, Father.” You greeted, barely above a whisper. He returned the greeting and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on your damp hair. You realized it was the first time he’d seen it completely uncovered since that first day you met six months ago, and you had to fight the urge to attempt to cover yourself. You were supposed to be in as natural of a state as possible in order to properly cover yourself in God’s protection, that was why you agreed to a full immersion baptism in the first place. There was no need to hide yourself from him tonight.

“Let’s begin.” He extended his hand to you, giving a reassuring smile as he guided you to the edge of the basin, taking each step into the lukewarm water. When you reached the center of the small pool, you observed the way the water level barely reached his knee but was fully up to your upper thigh, making your height difference glaringly obvious. You shivered, not only from the slight temperature of the holy water around you, but also the intimidation that his stature brought as he looked down at you.

“Cross your arms over your chest, please.” He instructed, taking a step closer to you so his torso was mere millimeters from being flush with yours, his right arm wrapping around your waist to cradle your lower back just above your tailbone.

“I’m going to do a short reading, then guide you to fall back into the water. You’ll only be under for a second, and I’ll pull you back out.” His voice was low, dulcet tones pairing beautifully with the atmosphere the dim lighting of the room created and you felt that familiar sin rising between your thighs, unable to remove your gaze from his immaculately sculpted facial features. You nodded in understanding, holding your arms across your heaving chest, hoping they disguised the evidence of your rapid heart rate and increasingly labored breaths.

“The Lord will cleanse the baptized from their impurities and idols, and give them a new heart and spirit. Through faith in Christ's death, God makes the baptized one with himself. May our sister lead a life worthy of her vocation, and preserve the unity of the Spirit.” He chanted, executing the sign of the cross before his free hand wrapped behind your shoulder to cradle you, exchanging a slight nod before you shut your eyes and allowed your body to fall back, holy water engulfing every inch of you for only a moment.

His strong arms lifted you out back out of the water, helping you find your footing on shaky knees, all the while your eyes remained shut. You hadn’t anticipated how sheer your shroud would become once it had taken on water, the lightweight linen clinging to every curve and contour of your body. Your whole frame shivered, painfully aware of the fact that your nipples were glaringly pert against the soaked fabric.

“You can open your eyes.” His hands remained around your waist, squeezing slightly with the lighthearted words as he waited for your response to finally being cleansed and fully protected.

Charlie couldn’t deny that his natural desires were running rampant at the sight of you, all wet and shivering on trembling legs like a fawn who’d slipped through the ice of a frozen lake, barely making it back to shore. Your nightgown was exceedingly translucent as it clung to your most intimate parts, the dark outline of your tattoos being what shocked him the most despite the allure of your breasts.

He hadn’t anticipated a girl with a face as angelic as yours could possibly be hiding markings such as these beneath the long sleeves he’d only ever seen you in. But then again, he doubted you’d ever anticipate the deep scars that adorned his back either. You weren’t the girl who had chosen to get those tattoos anymore, but he wondered if the girl you were now still had such a strong penchant for pain.

When you finally opened your eyes, ready to face the embarrassment of your exposed chest, you were surprised to find Father Mathew’s gaze not fixated on your breast, but rather your arms. You were so used to your tattoos, they barely even registered in your mind when you saw your reflection in the mirror each morning, so you had completely overlooked the fact that no one in the parish knew about them.

“I-I was a very different person when I got them.” You stumbled over your words, feeling a strong sense of insecurity about the way you’d dishonored your body in the eyes of the church.

“I find them to be an exquisite decoration of the temple that is your body, you know I don’t believe in the enforcement of many of the strict rules of the old church. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.” His right hand left your hip, finding your arm and lifting it to his mouth, plush lips placing firm kisses over the prominent vein at the base of your wrist before making his way further up, following the trail of your tattoos.

You mewled like a frightened kitten, so incredibly touch starved after a year of celibacy that you thought you might cum just from the heat of his mouth against your sensitive skin. As he pushed the sopping wet fabric of the bell sleeve further up your arm, your eyes fluttered shut, knees going weak again. You couldn’t believe he was touching you this way, even just chaste kisses along your limbs forcing the heat in your core to reach a boiling point. You couldn’t do this.

“Father, stop.” You tried to be as stern as possible but it came out as nothing more than a halfhearted sigh of defeat, your eyes pulled into a desperate plead. You wanted more, needed him so deep inside you that he might fill the God-shaped hole in your heart, but you were preparing to take a vow. That was the whole point of this, the very reason you were here with him in the first place.

“Now that you’ve been baptized, you are cleansed of your past sins and will be forgiven for those you commit going forward. We are and always will be sinners.” The look in his eyes was nothing but carnal, all reservations you held melting away with his insight.

“Fuck it.” You replied, a bit of the old you peeking through for a split second. Hearing that filthy word leave your cherubic lips set something off in him, causing him to drop your wrist and use his strong grip to pull you by your waist until you were completely flush with him, his mouth quickly finding yours in a kiss so forceful you wondered if your lip would bruise.

His hands were everywhere, squeezing and groping at your tender flesh through the fabric, almost fighting with the garment as it clung to your skin. You quickly grabbed for the hem still floating against your thighs in the water, peeling it as high up as you could before being forced to break away from him to pull it over your head. The sheer weight of the soaked gown was almost too much for you to lift, your arms shaking as you attempted to move it over your head.

Charlie took the bunched fabric from you, lifting it the rest of the way so you were finally free, completely nude in front of his still fully dressed state. You felt more vulnerable than ever before, so exposed in such a holy place, all the while he still held all of his modesty beneath his sleek black clerical shirt and slacks, barely saturated by the low water level.

“Good lord, you’re straight out of a renaissance painting.” He eyed you up and down, admiring every detail of your trembling body before his eyes settled on your breasts. His mouth began to water, the need to have his mouth on you again overwhelming his every thought. He closed the space between you once more, pushing you until your back hit the side of the pool.

“Up.” He mumbled against your neck, slender fingers gripping into the flesh of your hips as you jumped, his firm hold guiding your ass up onto the ledge, your feet dangling in the water. He pushed your thighs apart and pulled you to the very edge, just teetering on the slick tile. He took a step back, ripping the tab collar from his neck and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. You instinctively began to close your legs, his eyes boring into you like a beam of sunlight.

“Keep them open.” His tone was more stern, hand reaching out to push your knee to its previous position.

“You hold heaven’s gate between your thighs, angel. Give me a chance to take it all in.” His voice was like smoked honey, smooth and intoxicating simultaneously, his nimble fingers expertly undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt before peeling it off of his toned arms. He made quick work of undoing his slacks, pushing them along with his underwear down his thighs, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach before bobbing teasingly between his muscular thigh.

You had to fight your jaw from dropping at the sight, his cock just as mesmerizing as the rest of him, all flushed pink and dripping, his shaft taking a slight curve to the right, prominent vein running down the entire length of the left side, and the blushed tip glistening with precum. He nearly laughed at the look on your face, pushing the sound down in his throat to prevent any misinterpretation of his amusement.

He was enamored by you, this anomaly of a woman, equal parts innocent and sinful, all wrapped up in a package he couldn’t resist any longer. He sank to his knees, creating a wave in the water around him as he crawled those last few steps to you, still barely submerged up to his waist.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, sucking hungrily on the plush skin in a trail leading straight to your pussy, blushed purple and red bruises blooming in his wake.

When he reached your cunt, he took a deep breath and exhaled a slow stream of air over your labia, observing the way your breath hitched and your stomach muscles tightened, reactive like a born again virgin.

He gave no warning, practically diving into your folds, tongue lapping hungrily at the nectar dripping from your entrance, like Samson drinking from the rock basin after nearly dying of thirst.

His large hands held your thighs apart with a determination you’d never felt, the pads of his manicured fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. Your hands moved to his perfectly quaffed hair, undoing the gelled style with the run of your dainty fingers through it, finding the tresses at the nape of his neck and pushing his face closer still to your cunt.

He was relentless, alternating in broad strokes and pointed flicks against your clit until your thighs shook, teetering dangerously close to both the edge of the pool and your first outsourced orgasm in over a year.

He replaced his right hand with his shoulder against your thigh to keep you spread wide open, his index and middle fingers broaching your entrance only to be quickly wrapped in your tight warmth, your neglected walls clinging to any stimulation they could get. One, two, three curls of his fingers against the velvety soft patch inside of you had you riding his face without inhibition, your cries of pleasure dulled only by your own hand clamped over your open mouth.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had cum that quickly, his actions drawing an unceremoniously fast reaction from you and you almost felt betrayed by your own body, unable to control your own sober actions for the first time in God knows how long.

“Need to feel your perfect cunt around my cock.” He panted through labored breaths as he finally pulled away from your overly sensitive clit, the bottom half of his face glistening just the same as your cunt.

He rose to his feet, taking you by the hips again and helping you back into the water, a chill running up your spine at the change in temperature. Your feet had barely touched the tile at the bottom before he was hauling you to the steps, gently pushing down on your shoulder to sit on the middle step.

“I want to see your angelic face while I ruin you.” He took your ankles in his grip, forcing your legs up to your chest as he knelt on the step below yours, aligning the head of his shaft with your weeping entrance. He brought his right hand up to the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jawline before dipping lower, his fingers wrapping firmly around your throat as he entered you fully with a single thrust. You gasped, the corners of your mouth pulling into a devilish smile at the sudden show of control, reveling in the feeling of his thick cock stretching your tight walls.

The holy water around you splashed with every rock of your connected hips, surrounding the place you were intertwined most intimately. Charlie dipped his head down to your chest, taking advantage of the way your back arched away from the edge of the step to take your pert nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first until it devolved into hungry grazes of teeth and flicks of his expertly trained tongue. His grip on your throat tightened, his forearm pressing down on your other breast as he braced himself against the tile with his free hand.

You threw your head back, crying out in soft whimpers as he moaned against your breast, the upward angle of his thrusts causing the head of his cock to repeatedly hit the soft, sensitive spot deep inside of you, bringing you hurtling toward another orgasm.

“Come on, angel, show God how good this carnal sin feels.” He pulled away from your nipple just long enough to groan out the most blasphemous sentence you’d ever heard in your life, and you almost screamed from how hard he thrust up into you, swearing he had hit your cervix.

“Please, Father!” You moaned, pawing at his back, feeling the raised skin of his scars against your gentle fingertips. You made a mental note to inquire about them after, too lost in the feeling of him drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm to ask questions in the moment.

He rose back up from your chest, an animalistic open-mouth smirk on his face as he squeezed the sides of your neck tighter still, the lack of blood flow to your brain giving you a high you hadn’t quite experienced before. His eyes burned into yours, locked in a gaze you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to break as he gave a few more brutal thrusts into your aching cunt, finally reaching that euphoria you’d been craving from the moment you met him.

“Oh, God!” You cried out, watching the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as you clamped down around him, forcing him to slow his pace inside of you. His hips began to falter, your cunt milking him relentlessly until the coil snapped, spilling his warm load deep inside of you. Watching the way the vein in his temple strained as he groaned above you gave you the same sense of satisfaction, knowing you could bring him to such a vulnerable state before the God you both served.

When you’d both caught your breath he pulled out of you, milky white cum swirling into the water. You’d almost feel ashamed if it weren’t for the afterglow you resided in, head still spinning from the deliciously pleasurable acts you’d just participated in.

“I have to drain the pool and refill it for tomorrow’s morning Mass, and you need to be back in your dorm before Mother Superior wakes up.” He stated matter-of-factly as he took your hand and helped you out of the pool, still shivering in the cold night air.

“Can we do this again?” You questioned meekly, apprehension setting in as you felt him pulling away from you.

“I’ll come by the dorms tomorrow during your lunch hour.” He squeezed your hand, giving a final reassuring smile as he handed you your now partially dried gown, nodding toward the door before you exchanged goodnights. You spent the rest of your night laying in your bed, slipping in and out of sleep, too distracted by your anticipation for what was to come to ever slip into a proper slumber.

—

tagging my maywhores <3 (i just came up with that what do we think??): @xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore

please comment or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my charlie mayhew fics going forward!!

[pastormike1976]

Words I overheard about loving yourself more than your drama. #pastormike1976 #youareawesome #dontforgetit #words #overheard #loveyourself #selflove #drama #authenticself #tardis #doctorwho #whovian #coffee #coffeebreak #coffeelover #blackcoffee #love #loveislove #compassion #allmeansall #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #gay #mercy #hope #joy #progressive #progressivepastor #progressiveclergy

[slightly-knot-insane]

omfg congrats on your blog! truly deserve it

meanwhile let me get this outta my horny ass

stressed with work, you pray to any god who hears to take your troubles away

demon hears and demon takes

Thank you so much! I hope you'll enjoy my little snippet for you.

[m!demon x gn!reader]

New Acolyte

You've never wanted to be a part of a strict religious cult. You were basically sold into it since your parents were too poor to feed and educate you. And now you spend your best years serving gods you don't even believe in. Even worse, you've been promoted to an acolyte and you run around and serve other members like a slave. You're the youngest and most disobedient - there is always work for such as yourself.

You sigh in front of the altar. Every evening you wipe it with a damp cloth and put three candles on top. Candles are sacred and can only be lit by higher members of the clergy. They pray every morning using these precious candles. They apparently have mystical powers and can fulfil wishes. High priests know what is the best for the clergy and what people need the most so only they can ask for favours from gods.

Your mouth twists into a scowl. What about what you need? These gods don't care that you desire so much more than these dark halls and chanting. This is no life to live!

Checking behind yourself to see if you're truly alone, you light the three sacred candles and kneel, saying your personal prayer. A truly blasphemous one. You are willing to do whatever it takes to escape this life. You don't care which god - if they even exist - does this.

"Just get me out of here!" You hit the floor with your fists, staring into the flames. They flicker once, twice, and a strong gust of wind blows them out.

"I hope you don't mind I'm no god." The voice behind you is deep and husky reminding you of lions purring. "But I can help you with your wish."

You don't dare turn around. Cold sweat covers your brows. You are in danger - something truly sinister is one step behind you. A long red arm emerges in front of you and gently takes you by the chin. "Turn around, young acolyte."

You have to obey. You fall on your soft behind because you tremble too much, but now you can see the creature that visits you. A tall, lean, creature. His eyes are fire and charcoal and his toned body a sinful shade of fresh blood. And he is completely naked.

"You said you would do anything to get out of here." His voice is strange, as if multiple people speak and echo. "I have a request." You are still trembling but you nod your head.

The demon's black and red cock (which you tried oh-so-hard not to stare at) erects as if on command. It is bigger than any human you've seen while sneaking around. So shiny and smooth. "Have you done this before?", he asks you.

You blush. "Only in dreams."

Demon smiles and two rows of extremely sharp teeth make you shiver. "Come here, and let me teach you."

You obediently crawl on the floor and reach the demons legs. His cock smells surprisingly nice, something like burnt caramel. You lick it - unfortunately it doesn't taste like any candy but it's not too bad either. Your inexperienced tongue twirls around the tip and you hesitantly plant kisses along the shaft. Demon strokes your head. "Very good. Now lick your palm and use your hand as well."

You nod again and do as instructed. Your hand moves up and down, jerking off the demon, and your pulse speeds up. It's not only excitement; you feel hot, like you have a fever. Your head and chest are burning. "Good little acolyte." Demon's voice is soft and he is towering you, a happy and terrifying grin on his face.

You are too hot! You have to remove all your clothes or you will melt! Without letting delicious demon cock fall out of your mouth, you remove all your robes and underwear. It barely helps - your skin could ignite any second! But it doesn't matter - this cock, this wonderous organ, exquisite limb - is all you can think about. Making it more wet, making it more hard, pleasuring it faster, more skillfully. Demon moans and his voices echo for a long time. "Acolyte..."

Some ethereal invisible hands touch your hot skin. They fondle your neck, back, nipples, stomach, slide between your thighs. You've never been touched like that. You shake from delight, never for a second letting go of that cock, working on that shaft with all your might. Demon's breath hitches and your mouth gets filled with sweet demon seed. Some of it end up on your naked body and you notice it's red like wine. The invisible hands are gone and you are left without release and soiled, excitement rushing through your veins. You need more.

"Please... Please... Take me... Don't leave me here..."

Demon smiles and touches your cheek with his sharp nail. "You are my acolyte now. I promised you new life. I'm not going anywhere without you."