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fieldsofplay · 2 years ago

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Michael Gorwitz’ Top Albums of 2022

25. Daphni – Cherry

Hello and welcome to 2022. You made it. We made it. Things kinda seem like they’re getting better, no? So what better way to kick off this annual survey than with a perfect little dance record, Daphni’s Cherry. Daphni is the pure dance alter-ego of Dan Snaith, better known as Caribou (and once upon a time, Manitoba). So if you ever wished the song craft would stop getting in the way of albums like Our Love or Swim, then Cherry is the record for you. Side projects often let artists flex muscles that don’t get enough workout in their main gigs, and thus often provide simple pleasures in unadorned forms, and Cherry is no exception. No one is reinventing the wheel here, but more importantly, nor is anyone trying to do so. The first track “Arrow” tells it all, a steady, brisk beat, a fun vocal loop, and that’s it, but really, what more do you need to get your booty shaking? More importantly, that simple purple and pink cover is just too beautiful to behold, so it had to go first to set a lovely hue for all the good music to follow.

24. Vince Staples – Ramona Park Broke My Heart

Vince Staples is approaching a similar place to Kevin Morby (see below) where his supreme consistency is starting to almost work against him. Ramona Park Broke My Heart is Staples’ fifth album, and its just as perfect as the proceeding four, which does create a bit of indistinguishability with each successive release. Unlike Morby however, Staples’ string of releases do chart more a stylistically-varied path, even if it’s a bit circular. Summertime ’06 was the stark Clams Casino produced statement of purpose, Big Fish Theory was a fascinating detour into club beats, FM! was experiment in minimalism. Last year’s self titled was the first without a formalistic construct, and thus felt closest to Summertime ’06, and this year’s Ramona Park is more of the same. However, that same remains some of the best hip hop around. The one-two of “Papercuts” into “Lemonade” are some of Staples’ best songs. If this is what it sounds like to be in a rut, why not revel in a place of such excellent output.

23. Toro y Moi – MAHAL

MAHAL is emblematic of a fun phenomenon, namely, where you pick up a release from artist you once cared about, but not a ton and haven’t checked in in a minute, and you’re pleasantly surprised that they’ve still got it. Toro y Moi was simultaneously kind of a chillwave also ran, and also someone who seemed like would be around after the hype-wave crested. MAHAL is definitely not chillwave, but it’s definitely good. It has a 70s skronk to it, and a summer bounce, like T. Rex it’s equally good for a sunny road trip and to chill out to.

22. King Gizzard – Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms and Lava

Jam bands (whom I do not like) often try to cloak their musical meanderings in the intentionality of jazz, as if to say “we’re not bullshitting here, we’re engaged in serious praxis,” when in reality, they’re just hitting the bong, then the record button, and just going with whatever wanders out of their instruments. This year’s King Gizzard album (I’m not typing that whole title out, banner year for long-ass album names, shouts Sufjan!) is dangerously close to being a jam-band record, but I’ll point to one key stylistic divergence. Unlike a jam band pretending its playing a version of jazz, King Gizzard here are working in funk, with all the looseness, energy, and yes, jams, that that genre entails. For generations, funk has given artists room to spread out, find a groove, and lock in, taking the listener along for the funky ride. Am I splitting hairs? Perhaps. But if you swapped out of the vocals on “Ice V” I think you’d be hard pressed to tell it wasn’t a deep cut from Sly’s Family Stone.

21. The Reds, Pinks and Purples – Summer at Land’s End

When I write these lists I normally try and serve two masters: the first is the larger story of music in a given year, the second are my own idiosyncratic predilections. Summer at Land’s End is definitely me looking in the mirror and doing finger guns, and hey, its my list, so why not? One of my favorite forgotten records of the last 20 years is Wild Nothing’s Gemini, and while Summer at Land’s End lacks that record’s uptempo jangle, it traffics in the same gauzy reverb guitars and sad structures. As pop music and R&B continue to steamroll the “discourse,” I continue to light a candle for these little off kilter guitar albums.

20. Sorry – Anywhere But Here

Sorry got a lot of hype two years ago for their debut 925. Honestly, it never did much for me, it just kinda sounded like a band that liked the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as much as I did (not a knock, well it’s kind of a knock, but liking the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is cool). Normally, that means I wouldn’t have paid much heed to their follow up, but when I heard it was breakup album, I was interested enough to give the band another go (I don’t know what it says about me that I thoroughly love a good breakup album, but here we are). Less interested in being “experimental” for its own sake, and more focused on channeling those artsy influences into rock solid songwriting, Anywhere But Here takes Sorry’s conflicting interests in pop and trip hop and channels them into a rain soaked album (there’s literally a song called “Screaming in the Rain”) that surmounts the sum of its parts rather than always breaking apart into arch referents. Take “Baltimore” for example, a tiny piano intro is passed along to bass and guitar, with the vocals hopping along in lock step with the bass in classic post punk fashion. On Anywhere But Here, Sorry live up to the initial hype.

19. Kevin Morby – This is a Photograph

As briefly discussed above with Vince Staples, Kevin Morby is fully a victim of his own consistency at this point. This is a Photograph is arguably the best album he’s ever released, and if that’s the case, why is it down here at 19? The reason is by putting out great albums of similar sounding (or, at least, structured) music every single year, it becomes impossible for any one release to break through not only the crowd of music in a given year, but even amongst his own catalogue. If this was Morby’s third release instead of his eighth (!) it might top this list, it’s that good. Gelling all the elements that have come to define prior Morby releases, This is a Photograph stands as his best statement of freewheeling americana. “Stop Before I Cry” actually moves me to tears, it’s that beautiful.

18. Wild Pink – ILYSM

Wild Pink’s ILYSM is an interesting pair with Morby’s This is a Photograph. Billed months before it came out as the band’s Yankee Hotel, that advanced praise actually proved to be a bit of a disservice, setting the expectation bar at unreachable heights. However, unlike Morby’s eternal consistency, ILYSM actually does take some big swings at stylistic experimentation, which of course, are what generated those Yankee Hotel comps in the first place. Opener “Cahooting the Multiverse” sets the stage perfectly, opening portals to different universal variants of this band’s maudlin country pop. The music cuts out for a few off-kilter beats, backup singers join in, and the music warbles through processors. “Cahooting” presents several different versions of a Wild Pink track, all withing the same song. The title cut employs a robotic chorus to chant the album’s mantra (“I LOVE YOU SO MUCH”), and the whole song comes off as the most interesting War on Drugs song in several years.

17. MJ Lenderman – Boat Songs

While Lenderman’s main act Wednesday made waves with Twin Plagues, it was their cover album Mowing the Leaves Instead of Piling ‘Em Up that caught my ear, and on his solo album Boat Songs he continues the drift into more countrified sounds evinced on Mowing the Leaves. While his lyrics—fixated as they are on ‘90s sports icons—have garnered a lot of attention, I sometimes find them too cute by half. What makes Boat Songs truly great is the way Lenderman is able to make big sounds out of low fidelity. He gets a lot of comparisons to Jason Molina, and you can hear why. These are capital “G” guitar songs that share Molina’s reverence for Neil Young and Dinosaur Jr., but whereas Songs:Ohia tracks usually collapsed back into themselves, Lenderman’s tend to burst outward from the speakers, taking the listener along for a ride through his twangy tales of Dan Marino and actual Dolphins.

16. Beach House – Once Twice Melody

Beach House have no business being relevant in 2022. Perhaps it’s just because I’m old and they’re not actually relevant, but I’m still seeing lots of love for Once Twice Melody on the year end lists (though again I could just be reading the lame lists). Except for the brief period when the band employed an actual human drummer, the band has spun gold from nothing more than Victoria Legrand’s narrow vocals & lush synths, stuttering drum machines, and Alex Scally’s slide guitar. As all of the great bands of their (read: my) generation have slowly faded away into irrelevance (Deerhunter, Animal Collective) or broke up (the Walkmen) somehow Beach House remain at the same level they were at when their self titled debut first made me swoon way back in 2006. I’m not going to go so far as to say Once Twice Melody is their best album (Teen Dream still holds a special place in my broken heart), but the fact that its in the conversation is a testament to their unparalleled abilities. “Another Go Around” is not only one of the best songs of their career, but a perfect encapsulation of this record’s place in 2022.

15. The Soft Pink Truth – Is it Going to Get Any Deeper?

The Drew Daniel half of Matmos continues his excellent recent run of form with the cheekily titled Is it Going to Get Any Deeper? Whereas his last full length, the stellar Shall we Go Sinning so that Grace May Increase?, was devotional music disguised as house music, the equally questioning Is it Going to Get Any Deeper? worships at the altar of the dancefloor. While I can’t imagine actually dancing for the entire 11 minutes of opener “Deeper,” this is house music in the sense of envelopment, of losing one’s self, if not always in the sea of the dancefloor, then at least in the gently undulating currents of the throb of the music itself.

14. Pusha T – It’s Almost Dry

King Push is back. Splitting production between Pharrell (😍) and Kanye (☠️) It’s Almost Dry is fascinating as it shifts back and forth between Neptunes-style slinky bangers (“Let the Smokers Shine the Coupes”) and vintage Kanye’s trademark chipmunk soul (“Rock n Roll”). It’s Almost Dry is Pusha’s strongest release since 2013’s My Name is My Name, if not his Clipse days. From top to bottom, this album is filled with songs that live up to the strength of the production. While many knock his continued lyrical fixation on coke dealing, “Diet Coke” was probably one of the biggest songs of the year. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Beyond merely continuing a proven recipe, on It’s Almost Dry Pusha elevated his craft to its highest levels, constantly pushed there by Pharrell and Kanye’s first rate production.

13. Palm – Nicks and Grazes

These days it seems like the most interesting ideas in what used to be called good old fashioned indie rock are coming out of Philadelphia, but on seeing Palm live this year I realized the Philly band have more in common with Baltimore’s Animal Collective. It isn’t necessarily that Palm sound like Animal Collective (they don’t really), but Palm meld ecstatic exuberance with odd time signatures and vocals that are more tonal layers than sense conveyors that is spiritually, if not sonically, akin Animal Collective in their heyday. What was so cool about that Palm show was that it was readily apparent that this was a bunch of kids who grew up post Animal Collective and managed to import their spirit without aping their sound. Sometimes seeing the torch passed from generation to generation can you make you feel ancient, but other times it makes you thrilled to see the youth pick up the spirit of something you once cherished and make of it their own. So long as there are weirdos making fun music who barely seem to know how to play their instruments, there’ll be bands like Palm.

12. JID – The Forever Story

In a year where Kendrick Lamar put out a (bad) record, it was JID who to my uneducated ear put out the most technically interesting flows. While speed is impressive (see: Twista), and JID can unfurl 20 words in the time it takes zanax rappers to get out a single syllable, these aren’t speed trials devoid of rhythm or sense. While a bit overstuffed at 15 songs with an hour runtime, on The Forever Story JID continues to match top notch chops with first rate story telling. In a year in which Kendrick put his first foot wrong, give JID a chance instead.

11. Panda Bear & Sonic Boom – Reset

Speaking of Animal Collective, even though Time Skiffs was well-reviewed, I had long ago given up on them doing anything of interest, which is totally fine seeing as they put out five consecutive albums that completely rewrote the possibilities of “folk” music. (2003’s Here Comes the Indian through 2009’s Merriweather Post Pavilion). It’s arguable that the most important album of that run wasn’t even put out by Animal Collective proper, but was Panda Bear’s seismic Person Pitch (2007). While he continued to release great solo albums, often produced by Sonic Boom, like his main act, Noah Lennox seemed to be gradually receding from the center of cultural relevance. While Reset doesn’t rewrite the fabric of pop music like his previous towering achievements, it does make you remember why we all fell in love with Panda Bear in the first place. Pared down to pop perfection, songs like “Getting’ to the Point” and “Edge of the Edge” remind you that when Panda Bear gets his Brian Wilson on, there is almost no one who can write a better pop song.

10. They are Gutting a Body of Water – S

Despite possessing the worst band name of 2022, They are Gutting a Body of Water put one of the year’s most interesting albums. If you liked last year’s release from Spirit of the Beehive (a very narrow group of people) then S is precisely for you. Without sounding much like them, They are Gutting a Body of Water remind me a lot of the Unicorns, but maybe that’s just because their lead singer also put out a hip-hop album this year. (Th’ Corn Gangg Anyone??? [This is a joke just for Brad Romsa if he is reading this]). On S, They are Gutting a Body of Water (I can’t believe I have to keep typing that out, but I hate acronyms so here we are) are constantly shifting shapes, but most of the songs are sonically tied together by shimmering processed guitars that sound like they came from Broken Social Scene’s early records. The songs that aren’t outright instrumentals often featured chipmunked vocals, or shoegazy coos that barely constitute “vocals” proper. If you’re looking for 2022’s most sonically adventurous rock record, look no further than S.

9. Axel Boman – Luz

Along with Kornel Kovacs (whom I love) and Petter Nordkvist (not familiar), Boman founded the influential Swedish label Studio Barnhus. With Luz, Boman put out my favorite electronic album of the year. Like the aforementioned Kovacs, and DJ Koze, Boman traffics in house music shot through with psychedelia. The normally steady rhythms of house tend to bend and shift across the course of his tracks, as the music takes you more on a voyage of the mind rather than getting your hips moving. Take, for example, penultimate track “Grape.” What starts out as a bouncy Herbert homage, gradually picks up cascading vocals, and then stuttering jungle, until finally dissolving as the sea of rhythms it had gradually built up begin to recede like the tide. Each track on Luz is a journey, so why not see where it takes you.

8. Anteloper - Pink Dolphins

2022 not only was a big year for jazz, it was a big year for Jeff Parker (see below). On Pink Dolphins, the sadly dearly departed trumpeter Jaimie Branch and percussionist / electronics guy Jason Nazary (who combined constitute Anteloper) paired with Parker in the role of producer, to stunning effect. If not for They are Gutting a Body of Water, Pink Dolphins would probably be the strangest record I’ve heard this year. The review I read compared the album to Live-Evil era Miles Davis, and that was basically all I needed to know. Pink Dolphins is like a new age version of that Miles, and I’ve also read the album’s sound described as aquadelica (aquatic psychedelica). The pairing of Anteloper and Jeff Parker is a match made in heaven, as he helps the duo push their sound out to the moon, where Branch’s trumpet functions more like a stab of noise rather than a source of melody. On “Earthlings” the driving force of the song is Nazary’s scattershot drum beat paired with a haunting bass line, as a series of electronic effects and Branch’s understated but effective vocals swirl around like a whirlpool. Her trumpet doesn’t cut through the swirl of noise until about 4 and ½ minutes into the song. It is terrible to comprehend that Pink Dolphins is the last thing we will ever get from Branch, but at least it’s a hell of a way to go out.

7. Beyonce – Renaissance

We can keep this one short. You don’t need me to tell you anything about Beyonce. All I need to say is someone derisively said of lead single “Break My Soul” that “it sounds like C+C Music Factory.” My only complaint with Renaissance is that I wish it sounded more like C+C Music Factory.

6. Yard Act –

The Overloard

Yard Act are the most british band on this list, by a mile. There is just some sort of bratty nonchalance that only the Britsh can pull off, and The Overloard is soaked in it. While most post punk—especially the vein currently back in vogue—is defined by dark brooding, Yard Act practice a different type of post punk always very close to my heart, the minimalist, strutting, arty variety perfected by The Fall, Wire, and Buzzcocks several decades ago. So long as there is someone somewhere sipping a coffee, smoking a cigarette, reading a book (Kafka?) over the top of wayfarers perched archly at the end of their nose, but more importantly, always aware of the ludicrousness of such a pose, there will be bands like Yard Act. According to internet-based statistics, “Dead Horse” was my most played song of the year, and there is no surprise there. It’s everything I love in a song and nothing else.

5. Big Thief – Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You

For a folk-rock outfit that doesn’t exactly reinvent the wheel, Big Thief’s permanent position towards the top of this and most other lists year after year is fairly outstanding. It’s not that their sound has changed from Masterpiece to Capacity to U.F.O.F./Two Hands to Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You, but their sound has somehow gotten better with each successive release. A sprawling double album in the truest sense of the word, Dragon New Warm Mountain is where it all should have gone wrong. Their familiarity should have grown a little tiresome as they drowned in the sea of their self indulgence. Instead, the name of their first album notwithstanding, Dragon New Warm Mountain stands as their clear masterpiece. Like the Beatles on the White Album (which has become my favorite Beatles’ record as I’ve aged), here the double album format allows Big Thief to focus a little less on perfecting their folk gems and allows them to spread their wings a bit. Like the Beatles, rather than resulting in a slip-shod series of half baked results, the looseness of the double album allows their genius to shine through all the brighter. Top to bottom, start to finish, this thing is absolutely stuffed with perfect little songs. For my money (which is none, because this is free) of all their small gems, “Certainty” is the best they’ve ever penned.

4. Destroyer - Labryinthitis

Well Dan Bejar, you’ve done it again. I have no idea what number Destroyer release this is (I just checked, it’s the project’s 13th!) but with Labryinthitis Bejar continues his recent run of excellent form. Destroyer never really puts out bad records, but his sea of releases has crests and troughs just like any body of water controlled by the moon. To my ear, those peaks occur every three or four albums or so (Streethawk, Rubies, Kaputt), and while I really enjoyed Have we Met, I think Labryinthitis is his best release since Kaputt. Mixing the electronic textures of Ken and Have we Met with Kaputt and Poison Season’s chill, Labryinthitis is a culmination of all of Bejar’s recent preoccupations (see “June.”) If “The Last Song” were not only the cap to this excellent album, but to an outstanding career, it would be a fitting testament. And as someone who once thought “I used to live in New York” constituted a personality, there is no biting line than “you wake up / you stand up / you move to LA / you’re just another person that moves to LA.”

3. Cola – Deep in View

There’s a pretty easy test for whether or not you’ll love Cola as much as I do: does the phrase “the slow Strokes” appeal to you? If so, this is your band. Formed out of the ashes of the occasionally great Ought, Cola take Ought’s nervous, angular guitar rock, give it a nice glass of white wine on a balmy day, and unwind that pent up energy into the best chilled out strummers this side of Julian Casablancas and Albert Hammond Jr. At one point I declared Deep in View to be the “album of the summer,” and now with a little perspective I stand by my own dashed off opinion. This is music for driving around with the windows down and nowhere in particular to go.

2. Jeff Parker – Mondays at the Enfield Tennis Academy / Forfolks

If Alex G had the best album of the year (spoiler alert!), no one had a better year than Jeff Parker. In addition to producing Anteloper’s Pink Dolphins as discussed above, he also put out two outstanding, and completely different, albums under his own name. While I enjoyed Suite for Max Brown, Forfolks is the record that really got me into Jeff Parker (not counting all his excellent records with Tortoise of course). Comprised almost entirely of looped acoustic guitars, it somehow sounds the most like Django Reinhardt of anything put out since the days of that unequaled gypsy. While Forfolks is excellent, and would have made this list somewhere in here, Mondays at the Enfield Tennis Academy is Parker’s best achievement in a year filled with his excellent music. Comprised of recordings from a two year period (presumably on Monday nights) at the LA cocktail bar (to which I have never been, but now hold in almost religious esteem based on my time listening to this record), Mondays at the Enfield Tennis Academy is one of the most hypnotic jazz albums I’ve ever heard. Fitting in perfectly with Nala Sinephro’s excellent album from last year, this is ambient jazz of an entirely different variety. The product of a quartet—Jay Bellerose on drums, Anna Butterss on bass, Josh Johnson on saxophone, and Parker of course on guitar—locked in to one another with laser-like focus, on these four recordings you can hear the air in the bar hum with the energy of their playing, and also the tinkling of the bar patrons’ glasses from time to time, which gives the album a lived in energy. These songs are somehow simultaneously taught and languid, electric and unplugged, looping and driving. Mondays at the Enfield Tennis Academy is the product of four players at the absolute heights of their powers, and probably the best “modern” (i.e. post 70s Miles) jazz record I’ve ever heard.

1. Alex G – God Save the Animals

Without having gone back through my records, I’m not sure a single artist has ever topped these lists more than once, but with God Save the Animals, Alex G has once again proven himself to be the best around (and lets be fair, if I was publishing these lists in the mid Aughts, I would have put every Sunset Rubdown release at number one). It isn’t that God Save the Animals is somehow different from, or better than, House of Sugar, but instead it feels like a continuation of the slight turn Alex G took on that exceptional record. While all his albums have trafficked in the same basic building blocks (pitch shifted vocals, acoustic guitars, little pieces of Elliott Smith without ever really sounding like Elliott Smith) on House of Sugar things got just a little bit weirder, and the results were absolutely stunning. With God Save the Animals, I continue to be stunned. While these songs seem fixated on God / the divine, Alex G never loses his connection to the here and now. Before the album even came out my friend John sent me a live version of “Miracles” and told me it brings him to tears, which is perfectly understandable. What is strange is that another song on the same album, “After All,” has the same effect on me. To my ear, it’s not only the most beautiful song on the record, but one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. In an album filled with God, blessings, and miracles, the truly divine thing is we continue to get more albums like this from Alex G.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

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