#this is from the church garden and will be donated

[the-polite-lurker]

Gigantic rainbow chard leaf (ft my voice!)

[dollyhao]

pastor’s wife!reader x perv!ellie

summary: ellie moves to a new neighborhood and is instantly infatuated with her innocent, married next door neighbor.

cw: teasing, dirty thoughts, cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering, talk of the bible and church. (yall ion know shit bout church but i hope this is satisfying i know some people were excited about this.)

word count: 1.8k

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

how fucking unlucky does ellie have to be to move next door to a damn pastor. ellie moved in 2 weeks ago when the pastor was at her door for a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ visit. ellie has to literally stop herself from rolling her eyes at him when he mentions ellie coming to the church sometime that is until ellie sees someone out of her peripheral vision walking over to the two of them.

ellie feels like the world slows down. she sees a young woman, older than her but still young, walk over to her and the pastor holding a glass container of cupcakes. “hello, these are for you. welcome to the neighborhood!” you say with a beaming smile, handing over the cupcakes. you're wearing a ribbon as a headband and a knee length length dress with knee-high socks on. looking impossibly cute and innocent.

“hi, i’m ellie by the way.” ellie responds smiling a seemingly sweet smile, but there is nothing innocent going through her mind. “this is my wife,” the pastor said wrapping his arm around your waist. ellie literally cringes, he's like, twice your age. ellie sees you slowly pull out his hold with a strained smile.

“oh well thank you. i have to go back inside. it was nice meeting you two though.” ellie gives a tight slip smile. “of course. don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything and i mean anything.” you say grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. you and the pastor walk off back to your house and ellie closes the door.

now she might be tripping but ellie thinks that you were hinting at something with that last statement but she probably just imagined it.

that night, ellie is playing a game on her pc when she takes a quick look out the window but does a double take when she sees you in a soft purple underwear and bra set rubbing lotion on your legs. ellie has a direct view of your tits and how they sit just perfect in that bra.

you walk away from the window digging through your drawers, still in her line of sight, to get a cute, short silky night gown. your back is towards her when you go to pull the nightgown over your head, she has the perfect view of your ass. fuck, ellie just wants to bend you over that same bed your senior citizen of a husband sleeps in and fuck the shit out of you until your begging for her to let you cum. you walk over to the window looking directly at ellie, there’s no mistaking it this time, blushing at her before pulling the curtains closed. she swears she sees a small smile.

ellie is totally dripping wet right now. and shes decided, ellie has to have you.

ellie walks over to you a couple days later while your outside gardening one morning. you look up at her, "hi ellie!" you say standing, taking your gloves off giving her your full attention. "hey i was hoping you could teach me more about the bible and.. stuff." ellie doesn't know anything about this shit or care, but if it gets her in your pants, she's all for it.

"of course ellie! i'd love to. meet me at church tomorrow?"

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"please give donations to the church, they are going to a family in need right here in our community thank you and have a blessed day." the pastor says. everyone stands and walks around conversing. ellie is standing against a wall in the back of the church, watching you.

you shake hands and smile with gossipy older women. she waits until the church is practically empty and your picking up items left on seats putting them in the lost-n-found, to approach you. "ellie!" you say smiling at her, "when did you get here, i didnt see you through the whole sermon?" "a little while ago, i watched from the back," she says hands in her pocket and standing infront of you, "you look cute" she says looking at your lilac dress.

"thank you.." you say giving her a shy smile, walking over to the lost n found box, with her following behind. you put the random stuff in the box turning around finding ellie really close. "did you enjoy the um…sermon?" you whisper staring into her eyes. ellie hums, putting a hand on your waist.

she leans in, her lips ghosting yours. you lean forward before ellie backs up. "i dont really feel like the bible reading today. how bout next week?" she says hand rubbing up and down your waist. you nod, too nervous to talk. "...y-yea, thats fine. ill see you then." you say when you finally find your voice. ellie walks out leaving you there confused and excited.

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everyday the next week, ellie has been going over to your house for an hour to read the bible, with or without your husband there, trying to get closer to you. while you two are sitting on your couch one day, your reading a passage from the book, while ellie's staring at your face, not giving a fuck about what your reading, just thinking how pretty you would look with her dick in ya mouth.

you glance up at ellie catching her staring. you sit the book between the two of you, resting your head on the back of the couch, staring back. then you start giggling, "whats so funny." ellie says setting her copy of the book down too. "your so pretty ellie." you give her a soft smile. ellie blushes, shes not used to people calling her pretty, not even ex-girlfriends.

"thank you. your very beautiful yourself" she says not looking you in the eye. you scoot closer to her, "lets be friends ellie." you say grabbing her hands in yours, looking at her with those bambi eyes. "yea? i would like that, but if were going to be friends we can't read the bible every time we're together." ellie says chuckling.

"of course, how bout we watch a movie?" you suggest standing up, walking over to the tv. ellie knows that the movies you have are probably super PG, so she suggests you go over to her house 'because her tv is bigger'.

you get to ellie’s house and she puts on the gayest wlw movie she has. you two are snuggled on the couch under a blanket when a kiss scene comes on. the scene starts sweet but turns dirty quick. ellie looks over at you expecting to see shock but instead sees you squirming.

"you alright?" ellie asks whispering in your ear. you nod your head quickly. "im ok." you sit there for a couple more seconds, watching the scene before grabbing the remote and pausing it. you turn towards ellie, "i have a confession." you say looking down playing with your ring again. "what is it?"

you take a deep breath before mumbling, "i.. i like to watch girl on girl... videos." ellie looks at you shocked, this was gonna be easier than she thought. "i know its a sin to watch those kind of videos let alone the gay kind. but whenever i watch it, i just feel so... horny." you say, whispering that last part, glancing up at ellie. "im not sure im attracted to my husband... or men in general. and i know you like girls, i saw how you were looking at me from the window a couple weeks ago... so will you show me?"

ellie blinks, shes been trying to stop a smirk from breaking across her face the whole time you've been rambling. "show you what?" ellie knows what you mean but she wants to hear you say it. "show me what its like," you grab her hand placing it on your boob, "to be touched by a girl." she can't wait no more, she has to kiss you.

ellie leans in kissing you deeply, cradling your head slowly pushing you to lay back on the couch never disconnecting your lips. ellie slowly trails her hands from your breast to your waist while pushing her tongue in your mouth. you whimper already soaked. ellie is going too slow for you, you need more, so you lift her shirt up running your hands over her tummy hoping she'll get the message.

ellie takes off your dress straps pulling the dress down under your boobs. you have this cute white lace bra on. ellie disconnects her lips from yours looking down at you, she groans cupping your boob, "you have no idea how sexy you are." she whispers before biting and sucking on your boobs.

she sits up to look at you. your breathing heavy, with your tits covered with spit and bites and your dress askew. "cmon ellie. your taking too long." you say grabbing her hand putting it under your dress. "how impatient.." ellie grins leaning back down, kissing on your neck pulling your panties to the side, running her fingers up and down your pussy feeling just how wet you are. "have you ever been this wet before?" she asks popping her finger in her mouth.

"no, never..." your breathing gets heavier as ellie slides her finger into you curling it. your back arches gripping on the couch cushion, moaning out ellie's name. ellie lowers herself giving you little kitten licks, making you buck for more. ellie latches on to your clit sucking and licking while fucking you with her two fingers.

you chant her name gripping onto her hair. you are seeing white spots, "omg ellie, i-i feel weird.." ellie chuckles coming back up to bite at the sensitive spot under your ear, fucking you faster. "you gonna cum baby, you ever did that before?" she asks biting at your ear. you shake your head, feeling the knot in your tummy burst. you moan out, whimpering as ellie lets you ride out your orgasm.

she pulls her fingers out, popping them in her mouth again staring you in your eyes. you let out a cute mewl. ellie sits up, looking down at you. "how do you feel?" ellie says as you pant with a dazed look on your face. you look at her flustered, wrapping your arms around her shoulder, pulling her down to you, planting sweet pecks on her lips.

“Like i wanna do it again.” you smile.

@aouiaa @elliespookie @thefrenchlesbian @bratydoll @elliens4

[thejustknowing]

Three Word Prompt to Distract my Busy Thoughts...It worked. Genre was Horror with the words, popsicle sticks, lawn and stem.

My grandmother was a profoundly intense woman. A fervent follower of Jesus, she never missed Sunday Mass. Though she had a green thumb, she didn't relish gardening as a hobby. Instead of giving a monetary donation at Mass every Sunday, she brought plants to the houses of anyone on the prayer list or anyone in church she heard needed a little extra kindness in their life. It's strange, or maybe it would be to you, but my grandmother was different from others we sat next to, kneeled next to, then sat again next to, stood next to, shook hands with, and wished peace to. As you've probably figured out, this is a Catholic Mass, a very serious event where most of the smiling and speaking happens when you shake hands. That has always been my favorite part—it felt like a moment to finally smile, talk, and someone wishing me peace always made me feel a bit better inside, though I'd never admit I enjoyed any part of it. But my grandma, she didn’t smile shaking hands; she did it rather reluctantly, almost like she was a mix of angry and frustrated with her faith, or maybe with God, most likely due to her forced devotion to it. It was written all over her face, at least I think it was. I was nine, then ten, then eleven; I didn’t learn about human emotions until later—that's another story.

Sometimes, I would imagine that she was really a spy for the devil and not a devout Catholic at all. It kept my mind busy during the boring sermon, and I swear her expressions fit the part just right. But all that changed one night when I walked by her bedroom and saw her kneeling by her bed, clutching her rosary with a focus that seemed almost desperate. Each bead slipped through her fingers with a whispered prayer, her lips moving silently. It was a nightly ritual, one she never missed. I wondered if I would ever understand the significance of those beads if they ever ended up in my hands.

Another peculiar thing about my grandmother was that she went to everybody's funeral. It was like she knew everyone who died in our entire town. When you get old, you know all the other old people, but these weren't just old people—sometimes a baby would die, sometimes a mother would get cancer and pass away, sometimes a whole family from out of town would get in a car accident, and she’d go pay her respects at their funeral too. I never questioned it too much. How can you question an old woman going to pay her respects and bring a grieving family a memorial plant grown from the stems of the funeral arrangement they loved most, complete with soil and lessons on how to plant it and take care of it? She would teach the whole family of the deceased; the children could come too. I went with her many times, and it gave these people such comfort. This made my grandmother even more mysterious to me. The hardness of her look, the way she did things—it was all so intriguing. Despite all the little red flags and inconsistencies, I always came back to thinking how beautiful what she was doing was, how it meant something to these people who were overjoyed. My grandmother couldn’t be an evil demon; she couldn’t have those looks in her eyes because she was doing something more terrible than I could imagine. I liked to imagine her being a demon, but she was my grandma, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t.

Grandma would have me kneel down with her and make tiny little headstones. We made these with popsicle sticks glued together every summer. We would tape the funeral pamphlet, you know, the one with the photo, and cut it to fit over the popsicle stick frame. Then we would attach one last stick to the bottom so it would stand up in the soil; yep, it was a mini headstone. Her backyard was filled with mini popsicle stick headstones. They all had stems planted around them in the soil. Those stems, like magic, would grow into new plants and flowers—they were beautiful. When the flowers had bloomed and were ready to take to the next family, my grandmother's eyes almost gleamed with an unusual excitement. If you saw it, you’d probably think it was misplaced or maybe even inappropriate. But I was nine, I was ten; I didn’t know what it meant, so I just forgot about it. I didn’t understand, and it was too much for my ten-year-old brain.

That hindsight is 20/20 thing is real. Grandma lived for about nine more years, and during that time, I became an adult. I wasn’t around to help her with her backyard graveyard as much. But I rushed home when she got very sick. I said my final goodbye to my strange, intense, interesting, unusual, quirky grandma. For the first time ever, her eyes looked soft. She looked into my eyes, and I wondered if maybe she had made peace with her life, or maybe she was deep in thought. “Grandma, what are you thinking about?" I asked. “I’m picturing you carrying on what I've done for the church and for the people. I hope that you could do that for me. I hope that you can promise that you will do that for me. I'm leaving the house, the garden, and everything to you. All the instructions are written in the shed. Everything I have is yours. Just do this for me."

"Grandma, of course, I promise I will go to all the town funerals that I can. I'll cut the stems and get the photos. The stems will grow into new plants, and I will give them to... wait, who do I give them to?"

“Whoever needs prayers on the prayer list at Sunday Mass. If the person on the prayer list is in the hospital or a nursing home, don't bring the plant and soil there. The person won't be there permanently, and the plant is meant to be forever. Bring two bags of soil and the plants to their home, and teach the children and adults there how to plant them."

“One bag may be enough to cause some effects on the family."

"Affects, Grandma? Like gratitude or thank you cards?"

“My sweet grandson, there are many short and long-term effects that depend on many variables. You'll see, don't worry."

“Grandma, are you okay? I don't really understand what you mean."

“Well, you have to see to know. So deliver your first one now," she said. Her eyes at that moment became dark but excited, cunning. She looked into my soul, but her blackened eyes were devoid of anything, empty, void. My grandma was not in there. I wondered, is this what happens when you die? But how could she have left her body, how could her soul be gone when she’s awake? Now, as an adult, I knew something was wrong. I knew that all along there was something about my grandmother that was sinister.

“Son, I'm very tired now. Please go pick up the plants at my house. This child is six months old and is sick. He needs it near him, so please place the flowers and soil in the nursery. Do not stay very long at all."

“Grandma, I don't want to be rude."

“You asked about the affects. The affects on a child are intense and immediate. They could start minutes after being in contact with the soil."

“The soil, Grandma? What is in the soil, and what effect will it have on a little baby? Is it some holistic, natural thing you've gotten into? I don't believe in that stuff. You can't cure a sick baby with magic soil."

“My stubborn grandson, just be on your way, and you will see. Listen to me carefully. After the sweet baby's funeral, which should be in a week or two, show the parents the utmost kindness. Give them a gift that will always remind them of their child. Go back to their house with more soil and plant with them their child's plants in the backyard."

“Grandma, did they give you some meds? Are you saying... what are you saying? Are you... wait?"

As David stood up, his grandmother looked pale, her eyes barely open. "David, one more thing. You mustn’t forget to bring enough soil. The chemicals, they make the plants grow so malevolently powerful."

She smiled at me, looking straight into my eyes, and I knew exactly why. I felt it in my eyes—they were black, empty. I felt nothing but a strange sense of excitement. At that moment, I changed forever, this incredible sense of clarity came over me, I wasn't meant to understand it, until that moment. I had become blind as an adult to my family's sacred truth. Just as my Grandmother warned me, my ego took over for a while, but this too was part of my soul's plan. Everything came rushing back into me, I could almost feel all of the dense energy releasing and being pulled out of me and this powerful light entering.

There was never a demon, the devil was not at work in my Grandmother! She protected me, and she groomed me. Our destinies intertwined, our darkness a continuance through generations. It all made sense now. My grandmother loved me, protected me, and groomed me, all while never stealing my innocence. There was never any demon inside of her, or any sickness. Everyone has darkness inside them; that I know for sure. Some are meant to let it completely take over, until they can accept and heal it. Some are meant to walk in the light and spread the light to the world. What about you? Are you lying to yourself and everyone else, is the darkness buried deep enough? Are you open and healed? Are you letting all your light come in? If not, what of the urges then, have they come back yet? No one can escape themselves forever. So, tell me… which parts of yourself are in that box buried so deep inside? Why can’t they be acknowledged? Are they too ugly? Do you feel enraged if someone really ‘sees’ you, and catches a glimpse of what you hide? Do you become enraged at that point and project the darkness onto them? If you are doing this, it’s bad, and it’s destructive, but it’s not too late. You can stop the darkness from winning, we all can. Accept it, acknowledge that ugly parts exist in you, and in all of us. Love the parts of you that you don’t like, as you do the rest of yourself. They make up the story of your soul's journey through lifetimes.

32 years after David sat with his dying Grandmother. A little boy opened a leather journal he'd never seen before sitting on his kitchen table.

He recognized his father's handwriting and began to read.

In David's seemingly twisted rationale, he trusted that those he led to their deaths had soul plans that included this violent end. He believed that their family members were meant to endure the agony of grief, a necessary suffering to evolve in their spiritual journeys. To David, the act of murder was not evil; it was a sacred duty, a dark rite of passage. His understanding of his role was both horrifying and absolute. He knew, with chilling certainty, that he was fulfilling a cosmic order. Each death was a step closer to his soul's ultimate evolution. And so, he continued, each murder more calculated than the last, each victim a willing participant in his grotesque mission. David's final thought before he drifted off to sleep at night was simple, yet profound.

"In death, I bring life to my soul."

[thatswhywelovegermany]

German customs and superstitions in the Holy Week and at Easter

Apart from having days off work, eating chocolate bunnies and hunting easter eggs with the family, there are some lesser known traditions in Germany around the Holy Week, mixing Christian and pagan traditions. The first mention was in a letter from 751 by missionary Saint Boniface to Pope Zachary, asking him how to deal with this pagan tradition. Meanwhile, it has been incorporated into the liturgy of the Catholic church, when at the beginning of the Easter Night, a small fire is lit from which the presbyter lights a candle, which is brought into the church in a procession of the congregation.

First and foremost, there is the tradition of the Easter Fire. Depending on the region, there are different manifestations of this tradition. In the north, villagers or neighborhoods set up a huge bonfire from tree and shrub cuttings at a place that is visible from far away. It is lit and burned down on the evening of Holy Saturday or Easter Sunday, depending on the region.

In some places, the figure of a witch is set up on top of the bonfire. The youth keeps a watch during the nights before to make sure that no one from the surrounding villages sets it prematurely on fire. The villagers or neighbours gather with drinks to watch the fire. In some places, a betting game is held on the time when the central tree trunk will collapse, the earnings being donated to the local voluntary fire department.

In Bavaria, the fires are small and used to light candles and incense. In some places, arm-thick birch branches are set on fire and burned half-way before they are taken out of the fire, extinguished by dipping them in water, and stored in the attic in order to prevent fire in the house.

Good Friday is a silent holiday, which means that loud music, dancing and comedic events are forbidden. This leads to yearly protest by the party folks. Some religious people try not to speak the entire day. In some regions, children are sent out on the early morning of Easter Sunday to fetch Easter Water from nearby rivers or creeks, which they must bring home without talking a word. Otherwise the water turns into useless "Babble Water".

Some people don't wash any clothes during the Holy Week. There is a superstition that anyone who wears a piece of clothing washed during the Holy Week will inevitably fall ill and die. The same will happen when they will cook peas, sew clothes, chop wood, or slaughter an animal.

Another taboo is digging in the garden and breaking up the soil during the Holy Week. It is said that this will disturb the rest in death not only in the surrounding graveyards, but in particular that of Jesus Christ.

[magpiesandcrows]

My headcanon for Horangi and also some ideas for his backstory:

• He actually grew up in a religious household. His father was a pastor at the local church and his mother regularly held events that would donate its profits to charities.

• Due to this he couldn’t do a lot of things and learned to be sneaky. This lead to him being a daredevil as it gave him this rush that made him feel so good.

• In school he was a massive jerk. He was fairly popular and his friends weren’t the best influences. He often found himself bullying other students and taking this piss out of them just for a quick laugh. Horangi is very ashamed of this when he looks back on this

• After school he genuinely didn’t know what he wanted to do. He had spent most of time messing around and any time teachers tried to sit down with him. He would bush them off. So he spent most of his time picking up random jobs.

• When Horangi started to gamble, he couldn’t describe everything he felt in that moment. It was like he was living in a dream.

• While gambling, he did a lot of substances. He believed it gave him an ‘edge’.

• Horangi definitely has Collection of magnets, it started of with konig giving him a magnet from Austria and ever since. He just keeps getting it from konig and slowly the other members saw this and decided to help him with his collection.

• He spent every summer as kid at his grandparents. He has good memories of his sisters and him sitting in the garden while his grandmother tended to the garden.

• He firmly believes his mother cooking was the best and sometimes wishes that he got some of his mother’s recipes.

• He Never got to meet his nephew. When he was deep into his gambling addiction and debt. His sister tried to make him visit her but he kept saying he would but he never did. He regrets this as he never got to be the uncle he promised to be.

• He is the youngest and this is why he was able to get away with most of his behaviour in school.

• Horangi is actually a big Michael Jackson fan. His favourite song is Heaven can wait. He will randomly break into song when hanging out with his teammates.

• Him and his dad are actually close but started to grow apart when he found out Horangi stole the church money to gamble.

• He has a tiger tattoo on his back and this was essentially him signing himself away to his addiction but instead of being ashamed of it now, it makes him feel better that he has gotten this far.

• Horangi got humbled when he joined the army. He was skinny and lanky. He worked his ass of to get to his position. This made him believe firmly in tough love.

• Horangi hates fish. He can’t describe how much he hates it.

• Horangi is still quite religious. He doesn’t say he is though. He doesn’t follow it much like his parents but he still prays before he eats and before he sleeps.

• He has really bad back pains and often goes to chiropractor.

• He has beauty marks all over his face and he hated when he was growing up but now he thinks it was stupid he was ever insecure about something like that.

• Isn’t a cat person. He actually hated cats a lot but since he got his nickname he warmed up to them.

• He loves strawberries, reminds him of summer breaks with grandma.

Anyways, this is all I have! I definitely have more but I will come back when I remember them 😭

[pinkkittysaw]

🍉 FICSFORGAZA - SPONSOR A WIP! 🍉

hello friends ^_^ i’ve decided to join @ficsforgaza’s fundraiser and help raise money via “sponsor a wip”

please read through this ENTIRE post before sponsoring!

dividers by @/cafekitsune

HOW IT WORKS:

for a more detailed explanation, feel free to visit @/ficsforgaza’s “HOW TO PARTICIPATE” post linked here

RATE: $1 = 100 WORDS (with a maximum of $10/1000 words per donation)

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example: hi angel! i donated (x) amount to (link of fundraiser here along with screenshot proof of donation) and wanted to sponsor (name of wip)

CAVEATS:

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WIPS:

full transparency, my word count varies across my fics so i’ve decided to place a cap on the maximum amount of words eligible to be sponsored for each wip. if the word count goal is met and i find that i still have more i’d like to write, i will increase the eligible sponsor word count goal for that wip in particular.

word counts will be updated as sponsorships come in and sponsorships for individual wips will be closed if i reach max word count goal for that wip in particular. i will reblog this post as the word count get updated

next to the word count goal you will see (subject to change) the word count goal will only ever change if i decide to write MORE than what the existing word count goal is.

as of this posting, the word count goals are the maximum amount of words i feel i can get from each concept without making the stories feel like they drag on. the word count goal will only ever go UP, not down.

total sponsored words: 1,000

1) GARDEN OF EDEN (title subject to change)

matt murdock x f!reader (nsfw)

fandom: daredevil

summary: in the midst of hopelessness, you find yourself stumbling into an unfamiliar church seeking guidance. in your daze, you bump into an unsuspecting, yet rather handsome man who offers to “mentor” you in your newfound faith. as the relationship between the two of you blossoms, you find yourself at a crossroads between following your teachings or following your heart.

content warning(s): general nsfw, sacrilege, corruption kink, religious guilt, talk of christianity (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5,000

word count goal: 276/5,000 (subject to change)

2) AS YOU WISH CHAPTER 3 (title subject to change)

knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader (nsfw)

fandom: final fantasy xvi

summary: a jousting tournament has commenced, but as you try to steady your focus on a certain knight in particular, your attention is split in three different directions.

content warnings: general nsfw, minor violence (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 1,500/3,000

word count goal: 1,211/3,000 (subject to change)

3) SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY (title subject to change)

john marston x f! reader (nsfw)

fandom: red dead redemption 2

summary: being a wealthy woman from saint denis has a LOT of upsides, but being recognized by most high society whenever you step outside your door is certainly not one of them. when your father leaves for an extended work trip you take the railway into valentine to catch up with your “favorite” outlaw

content warning(s): general nsfw (tags will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5000

word count goal: 171/5000 (subject to change)

i do a lot of research for my fics and often have various things going on in my personal life so i can’t promise quick and snappy release times but if a wip gets fully funded, i will do my best to release the fic within two months of it reaching it’s goal.

i know i can be VERY wordy, if you have any questions about my post in particular, don’t hesitate to send me an ask! if you have any questions about the fundraiser itself, feel free to check out the @ficsforgaza blog and visit their FAQ page!

even if you are unable to donate please feel free to reblog this post along with ficsforgaza’s introduction post to help spread the word, and be sure to check out the other awesome creators involved with this project!

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Temptation Chapter 4

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky had not seen or heard from Y/N since that confessional night.  He didn’t expect to, but it made him more anxious the longer he didn’t.  Would she actually come try to talk to him?  What would he say?  What would he do?  Why would he suggest that?

”Father Barnes,” Father Richards called out as Bucky was in the courtyard garden reading.

”Yes?” 

“We have a meeting set up with Miss Y/L/N and her estate lawyer tonight at 8 pm”. Bucky’s breath hitched.  “She wants to do the reading of the will here.  Hopefully Constance was quite generous to us,” he said.

”Yes, hopefully,” Bucky smiled politely.  

That night could not have come sooner.  By 7:55 Bucky was positively buzzing.  He heard the tapping of heels in the hallway and immediately stood, Father Richards following his lead.  A man walked in ahead of Y/N in a fancy suit, looking very self-important.  Y/N was looking at the floor as she walked in.  Bucky had to restrain himself from making a noise as he ogled her.  She was wearing black again, this time a low cut, lacy black shift dress that stopped mid thigh.  She had an oversized black suit jacket over it, her bare legs ending with black strappy heels on her feet.  Her pink hair was still pulled up in a scarf like the day he met her, showing off her neck and the gold chain and earrings she wore.  That damn blood red lipstick was on her lips again.  She looked like sin, and he secretly loved it.

”Welcome,” Father Richards greeted them.  “Please sit.”

The lawyer sat and before Y/N could take the other chair she stared at the desk.  “Is this a new desk?”

”Yes,” Bucky piped up, looking at her earnestly.  “The other was faulty, so I got rid of it.”

”Got rid of it?  He took the fire alarm ax to it and hacked it, saying we needed firewood!” Father Richards laughed.  The lawyer chuckled at the absurdity, but Y/N stared at Bucky.  He gave her a slight nod.  She blinked, gave him a dazed nod back and sat down.

”Well, let’s get on with it,” the lawyer started.  “Here is the last will and testament…” he droned on in legal jargon that was all gibberish to Y/N and Bucky.  They kept glancing at each other, a silent conversation seeming to happen between them.  After almost an hour, since Constance had a lot of money to spread out, he said, “Ah, here it is, after all the other charitable donations.  ‘Lastly, I leave a charitable donation of’…” he seemed to double check the number, “‘$2,000,000 to the Brooklyn parish of the New York City Catholic Church’.”  Y/N huffed a laugh, her eyes rolling.  “‘The rest of my estate, the home, the assets, and the sum of $8,887,124.36, will go to my granddaughter, Y/N Y/L/N’.  And that’s it.  Congratulations to all of you,” the lawyer stood, giving the priests and Y/N handshakes.  “Your checks will be sent to you by tomorrow morning, all other assets and the home should be in your name already, Miss Y/L/N.”

”Thank you,” Y/N gave him a nod.

”Let me show you out,” Father Richards led the lawyer out of the office, leaving Y/N and Bucky alone.  Y/N looked everywhere other than at Bucky, contemplating what she had been left with.

”Congratulations,” Bucky said, trying to break the silence.  

“The same to you,” she whispered, sparing him a glance.

”Yes, the parish will get some much needed updates with that amount.  Maybe throw some fun parties,” he tried to keep the conversation going.  Y/N just nodded.  She finally took a deep breath and looked at him.

”Could we talk?” She asked.

”Sure,” Bucky answered a little too quickly.

”Alone?” Y/N pressed.

”Yes,” Bucky said.  “We can go to the back somewhere.”

”Lead the way—“

“Miss Y/L/N, what a great blessing from Constance,” Father Richards returned, making them both jump.  “Thank you for working with us.  I know you’re not fond of us but I hope you won’t be a stranger.”

“Oh, sure, thank you Father,” Y/N gave him a quick handshake and an odd look.

“I’ll uh, show you out,” Bucky offered.

Bucky led her to the front doors.  As she stepped out he said in a low voice, “Come around the back towards the garden.  I can let you in from there.”  Y/N nodded and walked off to the left towards the back.  Bucky walked briskly through the halls towards the back of the church, past the kitchens and the nuns quarters.  Thankfully it was late enough that people weren’t milling about and he was able to get back to his personal area without being seen.  This was dangerous.  He could feel it in his bones.  And yet he kept walking.  He reached the door that connected the garden to the church and wrenched it open for her.  Y/N was already there and thanked him as she stepped in.  He led her down the last corridor that led to his room.  

She realized when she stepped in it was his personal room.  It was small, with a full sized bed, a small desk in one corner and a closet and bathroom on the opposite side.  He also had a bookshelf that was filled with books, some she recognized as books she had recommended to him, which made her smile wistfully.  Y/N could also feel the danger of this situation, but felt it was important to get it done here and now.

”You can have a seat on the bed if you’d like,” Bucky offered.  

”Thank you,” Y/N said quietly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.  Her dress rode up a bit on her thighs, making Bucky blush and look away, feeling flustered at the fact she was here, on his bed.

”So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” Bucky pulled the chair at the desk out and sat it in front of her so he could face her.  He kept it a couple of feet away as he sat down.

Y/N breathed deeply.  Bucky tried hard to focus on her face rather than her lace covered cleavage rising as she breathed.  “I need to tell you something.”

Bucky nodded.  This was the moment.  He still had no plan, no idea, for what he would say or do in response.

Y/N blew out a puff of air and laughed at herself then closed her eyes.  “I like you Bucky.”

“I like you, too,” he answered automatically.

“No, I…I really like you,” Y/N opened her eyes.  “In a way that I shouldn’t.”  She shifted on his bed as she looked down again.  “I want…to do things with you that you can’t do.  And because of that, I have to leave.”

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed.  

“I’m leaving,” Y/N glanced at him.  “I’m going to renovate and keep the brownstone as a home base, but I’m going back out to do more travel photography.  I just can’t…” she paused as she looked at him.  “I can’t stay and keep running into you everywhere.  Have these coffee dates that aren’t dates.  Constantly crave something that I can’t have because you won’t choose me, and I don’t want to make you choose!” she rushed out the last part.  “You’ve been a great friend to me, and I have enjoyed these last few months I’ve been here, but I can’t do this anymore.”

She made a move like she was going to lift herself off the bed.  Bucky immediately reacted, moving from off the chair to a kneeling position in front of her, making her legs spread to accommodate him and a gasp fall from her lips. His hands cupped her cheeks like they did a few weeks back and held her there, staring into her eyes.

“Don’t,” he begged.  “Don’t leave…”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open as she watched him.  She loved the sight of him kneeling and begging before her, something she didn’t know she would be interested in but it was lighting that forbidden fire deep within her.  His big blue eyes were pleading with her.  Her face twisted into a look like she was in pain.

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, her eyes looking sad as her head tilted, nuzzling into one of his hands.  

Bucky wasn’t sure who leaned in first.  It didn’t matter.  Next thing either of them knew their lips met.  Bucky had not kissed anyone since he was a teenager, so he had forgotten the euphoric feeling, and now that he got a taste of his forbidden fruit he was insatiable.  Her lips were soft as they moved against his with desperation.  Bucky didn’t know what he was doing and followed his instincts, his hands slipping to the back of her neck to hold her close, then slipping down her back to bring her body flush with his.  Y/N’s arms wound around his neck and he felt like he was melting into her embrace.  Her fingers ran through his hair and as she scratched softly down his scalp he whimpered against her mouth.  Her legs caged his hips against his bed as her hands explored, cupping his jaw and then moving her lips away from his mouth to start kissing his cheek, then down to his neck, one hand holding his neck in place and the other ripping at his Roman collar, popping a button for her lips to gain more access to his throat, then scratching down his chest.  Bucky’s head fell back, his eyes rolling in his head as his hands found her hips then ran down her bare thighs, kneading the plushy skin.  

Bucky’s eyes landed on a cross that was hung on the opposite wall in his room that he had draped Constance’s rosary on.  He had a flash of guilt surge through him that was quickly replaced with pleasure when she sucked on his neck.  He felt like this was a whole new type of worship.  The popular song he’d heard from a few years back flashed through his mind:  “Take me to church.”  The devilish, carnal side of him knew in that moment that he would abandon the cross, abandon his promises and covenants, if it meant that his church was this: this woman, this pleasure, this sweet release.

Y/N’s lips traveled back up to his mouth.  He kissed her hungrily as she opened her mouth and her tongue licked along his bottom lip.  He opened his mouth and she dipped her tongue in, tasting him.  She let out a moan and Bucky chased the sound with his tongue.  He suddenly lifted himself up and pushed Y/N to the bed on her back, one of his knees settling between her legs right at her core, making her shiver in his arms.  He took his turn in kissing and licking down her throat until he reached her chest, burying his face into her cleavage as he smelled and kissed her.  He wanted to suffocate in her.

Y/N’s hips rocked against his knee, searching for the friction she desired.  As her head tilted back her eyes fell on the cross and rosary on his wall and she stiffened.  Bucky froze when he felt her tense up.  He looked up at her and followed her eye line to the cross.

“Stop,” she said, pushing him back by his shoulders.  Bucky immediately got up but stayed close.

“Y/N,” he started.

“This was a mistake,” Y/N muttered as she adjusted her clothes and stood up from the bed.  She grabbed her bag and started walking towards the door.

“No, Y/N wait, please!” Bucky grabbed her arm.  She wrenched it out of his hold.

“NO!  No Bucky.  This is wrong.  I’m sorry,” she paused, stifling a sob behind her hand.  “I’m sorry I tempted you.”

“What?  Y/N you didn’t tempt me.  I’m a grown man who can make my own choices, and I chose to be here, alone, with you, because I wanted to.  You didn’t make me do anything,” Bucky stood in front of her.  “I wanted that.  I want this,” he gestured between the two of them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Y/N cried.

“How could it not matter?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“Because you can’t have us both!” Y/N yelled, pointing towards the cross.  Bucky sighed defeatedly when he glanced at the cross again.  “And I won’t make you choose.”

“I just want you,” Bucky said desperately.

Y/N shook her head as she side-stepped him.  “Goodbye Bucky.”  She took her heels off so she wouldn’t make too much noise walking along the hard floors and opened his door.  “See you when I see you.”

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered but she was already halfway down the hallway, ducking around the corner and back towards the side door he’d let her in earlier.  Bucky broke down in tears for the first time in years as he watched her leave.  He closed his door and sat down beside it as he wept.  Everything he felt was too conflicting.  Devotion pulling him two different ways, the lust he’d been drunk on, the guilt eating him from the inside out, her smell still floating around the room making him aroused but devastated.  He got up and walked over to his bed, her body outline still indented into his comforter.  He fell to his knees where he’d been earlier and laid his head into the indent, his tears wetting the blanket as he breathed deeply, trying to calm the throbbing pain in his cock and his heart.  

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

[god-blog]

Ok, idea that I'm really excited about

Everyone is always talking abt an in-person temple for pagans but what if instead of a temple-temple, there was a museum-temple?

Hear me out bc I think this would be really cool.

Things the temple-museum would have:

Permanent exhibits including:

Outside land art similar to Sun Tunnels by Nancy Holt that line up with the solstices/constellations

Inside sky art for meditating similar to Skyspace by James Turrell (PLS look this one up, it's so pretty. The picture in the article doesn't do it justice)

A wall of prayers/manifestations/affirmations. Visitors write them on a post it or note card and pin it to the wall to make a collaborative exhibition like Post Secret at the Museum of Us

A small gallery with general overviews of popular pagan pantheons: Hellenic, Celtic, etc. This will include artifacts from those time periods either depicting the deities or how people worshiped them

A small gallery with historical witchcraft artifacts. This will include medieval European poppets, Copic love spell manuscripts, Chinese oracle bones, etc.

Rotating temporary exhibits including:

Witch trials from around the world (1400-present, bc they do still happen)

Paleolithic cultures: Venus of Wellendorf, Stonehenge, Cave paintings/music, the Lion-man ivory, etc

Did Christianity Steal From Paganism: yes… no… it’s complicated (basically the overlap between early Christianity and Roman paganism) This will include villa mosaics, sarcophaguses, layouts of early churches, etc

The Rise of Modern Occultism: Hilma af Klint, Carl Jung, surrealism, spiritualism, Wicca, etc

A series of exhibits celebrating closed practices: different indigenous religions, Voodoo, Hoodoo, etc (Very important: these will not be teaching those crafts, just giving them the same public platform/attention as open practices. Key word here is "celebrating." People who practice in those closed communities will be consulted)

How paganism is incorporated into Abrahamic religions: Judaism and paganism, Catholicism and paganism, etc (People who practice in those communities will be consulted)

Modern witchcraft, good or bad? So that would be New Age, the rise of consumerism, witchtok, etc

More in-depth focuses on different pantheons: Celtic, Slavic, Mesopotamian, Hellenic, etc

Historical witchcraft accusations and race: Mary Lewis, the New York City Panic of 1741, Ann Glover, etc

Regular people's (like you!) devotional art. The public will be encouraged to donate/create devotional art pieces. Be that visual media, performance art, video art, music, sculpture, photography, writing, etc. It'll really highlight all the different ways people are worshiping, the diversity in deities being worshiped, and how big our community is

An auditorium. This would be for concerts, festivals/ceremonies that are done inside, and guest speakers. Guest speakers would include academics like Malcolm Gaskill (English historian and author), Katherine Howe (American author), etc. as well as big name practicing witches/pagans.

A garden. I haven’t decided yet what kind but I’m debating between a rooftop garden like the MET, one behind the building but open to visitors, or an atrium like medieval European cloisters/monasteries (bc I love those). The garden would be for meditating, connecting to nature/the gods, feeding pollinators, protecting "creepy" insects like spiders or burrowing bugs (bug hotel?), and potentially -depending on what type of garden it is- housing wild birds in bird houses or bats in bat boxes. Also, it could be a good place for festivals/ceremonies that are done outside, concerts, or general get-togethers like altar piece swaps!

And an altar/worship space. Obviously. It wouldn't be a temple without it. I'm thinking it would be mostly a big empty room with chairs and rugs scattered about and an alcove in one wall for the altar. Inside the alcove will mostly be nonspecific religious objects like candles, nice fabrics, flowers, incense, etc . Visitors will be encouraged to bring their own small personal devotional tools (except candles/incense for fire safety reasons). That way they can pray to, appreciate, and connect to their own gods and the main altar doesn't leave anybody out; the main altar is more for ambience than specific worship.

Giftshop? I'm not sure about this one yet bc it feels wrong to have a gift shop in a temple, but most museums, even small ones, have gift shops. It could have fresh herbs from the garden, candles, and local artists' art like prints, stickers, jewelry, etc. All at a reasonable price ofc (I hate overpriced museum giftshops more than anything else in the world... except overpriced museum tickets)

In terms of funding, museums get more government funding than churches, but they do have to pay taxes churches don't. I was thinking of generally modeling it after the Museum of Us in San Deigo; they let their employees pick the holidays they take off so they can each adhere to their personal religious practice, start paying them at $22 an hour with built in raises each year, and good insurance. They have done an amazing job, way better than any big museum, at collaborating with communities from all over the world to either give back artifacts in their collections or closely work with them to reframe how the artifact is presented/stored. They also don't charge for tickets, memberships, school trips, or basically anything except the giftshop. But that means they rely heavily on donations which may not work as well for a museum that's just starting out. Idk, this is all hypothetical rn.

The pillars the museum-temple would stand on are worship, education, and community.

I feel like teaching people about the history of these practices is super important and isn't smth that everybody bothers to learn or has correct information about. (And I'm a huge history/museum nerd if you can't tell lol)

I'm actually really excited about this lol

[scoobydoodean]

btw i was just looking at the transcript for 7.01 meet the new boss and I wondered if there's any reason cas (seemingly) went after motivational speakers? is there some american cultural context around new age motivational speaking I don't know of? is that connected to why dean says cas doesn't get irony? I've never really gotten that bit to be honest, and I'm asking since you just saw the episode and have been writing about it

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.): A freak lightning strike on the heels of the fire that burned down the Center for Vibrational Enlightenment earlier today. Said a spokesman, "this tragedy represents the largest loss in New Age motivational speaker history". SAM: Motivational speakers? DEAN: Yeah, I'm not sure new Cas gets irony any better than old Cas. Of course, old Cas wouldn't smite Madison Square Garden just to prove a point. He is off the deep end of the deep end. And there's no slowing down.

I have no idea what "The Center for Vibrational Enlightenment " is or even if that's a real thing. It sounds kind of like something a new age cult would name itself.

I would say in general, Americans have a large degree of skepticism toward newly established religions. We have strong constitutional laws protecting people's rights to exercise their religious beliefs as they see fit. We like this in a general sense, but going along with this, religious organizations are treated as charities when it comes to taxation, and special provisions related to religious freedom make them difficult for the IRS to audit. This creates room for financial abuses. For example, somewhat infamously, the Church of Scientology uses religious tax treatment to hide shady shit. Things like special tax treatment also protect prosperity gospel churches (who tell their—usually very poor—congregants that if they simply keep giving money to the church, god will pull them from poverty. Meanwhile, the leaders enrich themselves with luxury items bought using the donations of destitute people and it gets treated as "charity" for tax purposes).

I guess we don't know that Cas was attacking all motivational speakers, but Supernatural does kind of make fun of motivational speakers more generally in "Lebanon" where Sam is basically mocked because there is some world in which he does a Ted Talk. Maybe culturally, we just tend to be skeptical of people who claim to have the answers to all our problems and assume they are just grifting.

We know Cas blew up a publishing house, so maybe he was just destroying all messages he didn't approve of. We see Cas go after a preacher at a church that pickets funerals, which is a nod to the Westboro Baptist church. I imagine this other dude from "The Center for Vibrational Enlightenment" was saying things Godstiel didn't approve of or maybe was just exploiting people. Cas also tells a homeless man that he punishes liars:

You're a true believer. People say I'm wrathful, but I only punish liars and those who forsake me. I am a just God.

As for the "irony" bit, my best guess is Dean means something like, “Cas is also pretending he knows the secrets of the universe and can guide us all to enlightenment while not knowing wtf he’s talking about”.

[verdemoun]

The non-warpers.

Mary-Beth Gaskill is regarded as one of the greatest female writers to exist, up there with Shelley and Austen. In the foreword of her best novel, she writes: “to Kieran.”

Orville Swanson’s annotations and teachings of the Bible are so influential; his attitudes towards different ways of life cause drastic positive change to how Christians act towards those of different cultures.

On what is now the main street of a large town Rhodes, a supermarket stands, modern as any other. Behind the till, Johnathan Pearson smiles at a now faded photo of eight people around a wagon, his grandfather Simon in the front seat.

Tilly Pierre dies of natural causes in her sleep, next to her snoring husband in the largest house in Saint Denis.

Mary-Beth absolutely is up there with Shelley and Austen, which means all the school aged babies come home complaining at least once about having to read her books. The whole gang scold them for whining only to pretty much do the homework for them because they all love her novels - many of which are basically her own take on fit-it aus.

The Lady of The Manor, for example, reads as a beautiful tale of love between Susan Grade and David Vincent fleeing police inspector Mellon to the islands with her niece and Mr Vincent's apprentice, only for Ms Grade to realize the curse David Vincent claimed to be under (that compelled him to commit increasingly heinous acts) was a complete fabrication. She banished him to isolation on his precious islands while raising her niece and the highwayman's apprentice as her own children in the new world.

Mary-Beth's dedications would never mention names for the sake of protecting her past as a VDL, but the gang suspected many were to them. One of the more obvious ones was a novel titled Strawberry Roan, which was dedicated 'to the one who helped me realise I could be happy without being in my head somewhere else'. Strawberry Roan reads much more like Mary-Beth writing a 'how to look after horses for dummies' as she learned to look after the horses the gang left behind, except for a slow burning love affair between protagonist Marie and a charming stable boy who is tragically forced to flee the estate to avoid being drafted and no doubt killed in a fictional war.

Orville Swanson was such a charitable and revered member of the community he not only accidentally founded a whole new branch of Catholicism based on his annotated bible, but remembered as a significant figure in recent American history. The gang still randomly find his likeness on commemorative coins in their loose change (and usually keep them).

While his church was accidentally destroyed in a fire several years after his death, a garden was planted on the site in his honor and memory. It's a major tourist attraction featuring Orville's Fountain, with wishing coins thrown in collected for donation to non-for-profits and community services that support at-risk teenagers.

His legacy shows everywhere in modern era America. Arthur one day got really lost in modern era Blackwater and needed to call the gang to come get him - only to find himself standing on the corner of Orville St and Swanson Boulevard.

Counter-claim Pearson lived long enough to see other grocery stores start to pop up in Rhodes as it became a bustling town and was afraid his little local store would be out-competed. Before he passed away he significantly expanded the local produce range of his store. By the time his grandson inherited it, it had become one of the best local delicatessen + sandwich shop in Rhodes and is often featured in top 50 places to eat at in America. Johnathan is also going to be featured later yoinking that character.

Not only is a photo of the gang, as passed down for generations, still proudly displayed (well, a slightly sharpened copy of the original photo, which is now kept in secure storage to protect it from UV), but his grandfather's treasured compass. It is a small shrine to his grandfather's legacy both before, during and after the VDLs: copies of his navy enlistment and honorable discharge forms, newspaper articles featuring photos of a post-canon older Pearson receiving awards for both his store, and having the best damn stew at the local fair.

Tilly Pierre lived a long and truly fulfilled life. She never knew discomfort. She found a man who loved her, and worshipped her for who she was and had always been. She saw her oldest daughter go off to marry a wonderful man who loved his mother-in-law as much as he feared her and would always treat her daughter right. She helped her youngest girl fight for the right for an education, and go on to a remarkable career. She raised sons that would never know the perils of turning to crime to survive, or fear where they would sleep that night. She died peacefully, in a bed more warm and comfortable than she could ever have dreamed of knowing in 1899, knowing every day of her life she was loved.

[monstercampus]

Archangel Professor & Isaac of Virtue - First Meeting

(cws: none)

Considering how many demons you've met at the school so far, it's a little shocking to hear from your harpy classmate that there's a chapel on campus. Especially since you haven't seen such a building anywhere in your tours, but you wonder if perhaps it's due to the sensitive nature of such a place. It's not exactly something you're planning on looking out for, but when she mentions it, the idea sticks in your head for the rest of class.

It's but a week later that you notice the distinct chiming of a bell on your way to the dining hall for lunch, the brisk Sunday morning chilly and damp but not enough to stop you from diverting your path to follow it. It entrances you in a way, leads you down a cobblestone path right up the steps of an enormous cathedral sat squarely in the midst of the university's sprawling gardens. It looms over you in an almost intimidating way, so tall and grand with the kind of elegant architecture you'd see in any travel magazine for some historically exotic vacation spot. As you venture through the tall but shockingly light front doors, your eyes lock on to the first thing that enters your vision; a being standing before the pulpit that stands as if he was awaiting your arrival, alongside a smaller companion that busies himself with organizing what looks to be the donations from a busy service. Once the doors squeal shut with a heavy thud behind you, he lifts his head to look over his shoulder, his feathery white wings flicking up in surprise before he regains himself and turns to face you fully with a grin.

The church itself resembles one you would probably see back home, but only in the symbolic sense alone. There are pews lined from back to front, a podium for one to deliver sermons, stained-glass windows at the far end and gorgeously decorated walls and floors lined with eternal candles that burn forever. But unlike back home, there's a touch of nature inside the chapel; a light breeze blows through the room and sends tiny glitters of stardust careening through the air, and while there certainly looks to be a roof from the outside, all you see upon looking upwards is a cover of clouds that obscures all that lies within. Unlike the gloomy skies outside, this artificial one glows with a rosy-pink hue that casts over the whole interior, giving the cathedral a dreamy edge-of-sunset glow that feels as though you're seeing through rose-tinted glasses.

The archangel–who you only recognize as such upon thinking back to your Holy World History classes–isn't at all what you thought they would look like. His blinding white two-piece suit is the only part of him that betrays any humanity; the rest of him is a mishmash of different features that don't seem to meld together. His hands float in tune with the movement of his arms but they aren't attached, rather there's an empty space between his wrists and palms. Where there should be a head, there's nothing but eyes; a faint cloud of tiny, sparkling bits of stardust seems to be the only thing that indicates the space where his eyes remain in place. And a pair of huge, heavenly wings sit folded up against his back, yet they're so large even on his tall frame that they scrape the ground and leave small, glowing scratches of gold that brighten before quickly fading into nothing.

His assistant, however, appears to be astoundingly human. The young man watches you through snow-white eyes and a fringe of soft, pale blond hair, which is otherwise perfectly combed down and trimmed at the neck. The suit he wears resembles his mentor's to a T, aside from the jacket he's missing that leaves him only in the perfectly creased pants and black dress shirt. Somehow, despite the very air emanating a holiness here, something about his particular gaze betrays…well, it holds a hint of lechery to it, especially as his attention flickers between meeting your eyes and catching the bared skin of your ankles beneath your jeans as you halt in front of them. Here, in this moment, you feel the heavy uncertainty weigh on your shoulders at standing before the judge and jury.

"Here only a moment, and already you tempt my steward." A voice booms authoritatively from the head of the cathedral, and at that, the archangel's assistant guiltily turns his eyes away from you, and you're left feeling shame heat your chest despite doing nothing wrong. "Is there anything of note that you require, human, or do you desire nothing but to waste my time?"

The severity of the tongue-lashing you've just gotten could send you into shock had you not grown used to the terrifyingly abnormal by now. You would expect a being of such grandiosity and holiness to address you with gentleness and love–but this archangel speaks with bitterness hot on his tongue, so stern you feel like a child being reprimanded despite not knowing what for.

"Professor, the human has no ill intentions. I believe the Dean instructed us to welcome them with open arms." The angel leans over to murmur those words quite conspicuously, clearly forgoing the guilt of his stare in favour of easing himself into that tense space between yourself and the archangel. In this chapel, you feel he may as well be the only one on your side. Yet, if it weren't wholly improper, you would be sure you'd see those dozens of eyes rolling as the archangel heaves a breathy sigh.

"Welcome to our esteemed campus. I thank you for defiling our holy ground without warning nor reason." Suddenly, as if godly in nature, a crack of thunder erupts and the clouds overhead grow dark and worrisome. Yet despite the frightening shift, neither the archangel nor his assistant bat an eye as if the ill omen is an everyday occurrence–though the former does huff quietly, clearly aware of who that warning was meant for. "...Pardon my faithless utterances. I beg your forgiveness."

You distinctly hear the angel at his side mutter something about someone upstairs giving them an earful for that. Although the archangel himself couldn't sound less uncaring about his own apology nor whether you'd accept it, you do, and in return the professor takes his leave with a sweep of his wings around his frame–just barely avoiding clipping you with his feathers as he takes off in a golden blur into the sky, diving upright into the sea of clouds above and disappearing completely.

In the silence that follows, the protégé himself sighs. In the absence of his superior, he introduces himself as the angel, Isaac of Virtue, and the professor as archangel Mikael, formerly Dominion. All hefty titles, yet without much more you desire to say or to see, you turn your eyes away from the brilliant light and move to take your leave of this chapel that clearly wishes not to welcome you.

But Isaac catches your wrist as you do so, his mentor's many eyes having turned away and vanished to attend to whatever is his business. His smile carries a gentler edge this time, just as cool and soft to the touch as his palm on your skin as it lingers there.

"Don't mind the professor's words, human. He's….well, he's ancient," Isaac chuckles, the lighthearted attempt at a joke doing what he hoped and drawing a small smile out of you. "He doesn't really mind humans as much as it seems. He's just…well, he's quite stubborn. Very set in his ways…" That last part comes out quiet and soft in the airy space between the pews. However, when he inquires about any questions you might have that he'd be happy to answer, only one comes to your mind at the moment.

"Um…do all angels…are they like..?" You gesture towards your own eyes, although your focus shifts above his head to spot the twinkling of something as the light refracts off of it. It's invisible to the naked eye, but you could swear you see some kind of halo shape hovering there in the prismatic glow.

Isaac seems to understand your words without you speaking the rest of them, his grip loosening but not letting go–and with a nod, he proves his answer by closing his eyes. When he opens them again, three more pairs crack open down each of his cheeks and blink to take you into focus, the three extra sets surveying you independently with a heart-chilling shade of red irises. When you've gotten a good look, he's quick to blink again–and this time, only his primary pair of eyes reopen, the whites tinged a very pale pink before the colour soon drains away.

"I hope this was a show of good faith. We should be friends, no?" It's hard to disagree with such an innocently sweet expression staring back at you, so with little thought given to the verbal contract you're signing you agree with a soft "of course".

"Wonderful!" He finally releases you from his grip and claps his hands together, only afterwards ducking his head around out of habit to check if the archangel is listening. But at no sign of interruption above from the fiercely stern professor, he turns back around and produces a card from his sleeve that he presses into your palm. And with a cautiously big step back, Isaac extends his wings fully and takes off into the air, sending whips of a breeze to tousle your hair and clothes as he soars up into the cloud-covered ceiling.

As soon as he's gone, you turn the card around in your hands to take a look while hustling your steps out of the now-empty cathedral. On one side is nothing but a bit of gold engraving on the white cardstock, while the other side has a phone number beneath his name and university status. You can't help but notice how the golden ink moves within the card, lines writhing and intertwining within each other to spell new words out the longer you look at it.

"Isaac the Virtuous, aide to Archangel Mikael, envoy of angelic healing….friend of the equally virtuous–and charming–human."

[scotianostra]

Marion Gilchrist was born on February 5th 1864 she became the first female graduate of the University of Glasgow and one of the first two women to qualify in medicine from a Scottish university.

Born at Bothwell Park farm, South Lanarkshire to Margaret and William Gilchrist a prosperous tenant farmer, she had four older siblings; three brothers, John, William and Douglas, and one sister, Agnes. Her brother Douglas became was a well known agriculturalist.

Marion’s earlier education was at the local parish church when she was around 7 years old. She met with some challenges where her father and brother Douglas thought it pointless that she studied academic subjects however her brother John encouraged her and she attended the local primary school the Hamilton Academy before entering Glasgow University.

In 1887 she matriculated as an Arts student at Queen Margaret College in Glasgow. She completed her course in 1889 and enrolled along with thirteen other women in the newly opened medical school. She graduated in July 1894, the first woman graduate of the University of Glasgow.

She went into general practice developing an interest in diseases of the eye. The death of her father in 1903 allowed her to set up in practice at 5 Buckingham Terrace where she was to remain for the rest of her life. Financially and professionally independent, she became openly politically active. During 1903 she joined the Glasgow and West of Scotland Association for Women’s Suffrage. She did not take part in militant action, preferring to devote her voluntary energies to medical charities. In 1914 she was appointed assistant surgeon for diseases of the eye at the Victoria Infirmary. She resigned in 1930 as she found it difficult to combine the position with that of ophthalmic surgeon at Redlands Hospital for Women to which she had been appointed in 1927.

She was a prominent member of the British Medical Association and the first woman chairman of the Glasgow division. She had a fierce sense of duty which she expected others to share. When a newly qualified woman doctor was visiting her during the Second World War and the air-raid warning sounded, she told her young colleague that she must return at once to her hospital on the other side of Glasgow even though bombs were falling outside.

Gilchrist was an early motoring enthusiast and her garage and chauffeur’s house were situated in Ashton Lane, in premises which are now Bar Brel.

Marion Gilchrist’s achievements were honoured when her home town of Bothwell named Gilchrist memorial garden in her honour. The University of Glasgow named the Postgraduate Club after her. In 1932, a gift of £1,500 was used to endow a bed at Redlands Women’s hospital for the treatment of eye diseases which was also named in recognition of her.

The Gilchrist Window in the north transept of Bothwell Parish Church in her was created with funds she donated in 1936. The inscription below the window reads, “To the Glory of God. Erected by Marion Gilchrist in memory of her father William Gilchrist and her mother Margaret Williamson, her brothers, John William and Douglas, and her sister Agnes.”

The Marion Gilchrist Prize was established in 1952 from Marion Gilchrist’s bequest and is awarded annually by the University of Glasgow to “the most distinguished woman graduate in Medicine of the year.”

Gilchrist never married. She died at her home on 7th September 1952 aged 88.

[leupagus]

The subtitle for this should be "Undead Hardy: Too Annoying To Be Scary"

It was near dawn by the time they heard someone fumbling at the door at the south transept and Hardy came limping in, caked with dirt and looking irate. "Six feet down you put me," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Ellie. "Were you trying to make sure I couldn't get back out?"

"Couldn't say," Ellie confessed. Paul radiated tension behind her, although if Hardy was whinging like this he wasn't likely to eat anyone's brains. "But you're here now."

"Aye, just," he grumbled, and scrubbed at his hair. Clumps of earth skittered along the stone floor. "Did you catch him?"

Ellie stared at him, trying to parse his words. "Catch—?"

"The suspect, Miller, the one we were chasing through the boatyard! The one up in the cliff-top hut! How is it I spent the night digging myself up out the ground and I've got a better grasp on this case than you do?"

"Right," said Paul, clapping his hands on his knees and getting up. "I'll go find a broom. Detective, there's a garden hose outside round the back. I suggest you use it. And then you'll come back and clean this up. And you're making a donation to the church's roof fund."

"A donation?" Hardy demanded. "What for?"

"For starters, making me explain to the workmen why they have to re-dig the grave meant form Mrs. Ellison's funeral tomorrow," Paul snapped back, evidently coming to the same conclusion Ellie had: it was pointless to be afraid of an ancient horror as irritating as Alec Hardy. "Ellie, any time you want to talk, I'm here." And he went off toward the vestry, presumably in search of a broom and dustpan.

"Right," Hardy said, turning round and heading back outside. "Call the station and see if Uniform managed to do their jobs while you were sat round here gabbing with a suspect."

"A suspect?" Ellie repeated incredulously, following behind. "Paul could've had me arrested for seven different crimes—"

"Eight, if you include molestation of a corpse," said Hardy. "Call them, Miller. I'd do it myself, but you've got my jacket somewhere. And my shoes, where have those got to?"

"—he could have run screaming," she continued over him. "He could've called up Maggie and told her there's a… what are you, anyway?" Hardy ignored her as he cast about for the garden hose. "A zombie? A revenant? Isn't there something called a lich or something?"

"I told you, I prefer Hardy," he said absently, fiddling with the tap. After a moment it sputtered out water that had to be ice-cold, but he didn't show any sign of discomfort (or no more so than he usually did) as he rinsed off the worst of the grime from his clothes and face and hands.

She gaped at him. "What, is that supposed to be a joke? Making puns about your… condition?"

"It's not a condition," he protested.

Ellie resisted the primary-school urge to insist that it was, or at least that was the best term she'd come up with and until he had a better one he could just shut up. "Paul could've done any of those things, and he didn't."

"He wouldn't," said Hardy, dismissive, as he shook himself off. "Clergy get training in this sort of thing."

"Training or not, he helped me last night—"

"Aye, helped you bury me six feet underground—" Hardy said, stalking off toward the carpark.

"How was I supposed to know how deep?" Ellie shut the tap off and ran after him. "That's how deep a normal grave is, that's what we put you in. You're welcome, by the way."

"What made you think of it?" he asked, wheeling around to loom over her, scowling. "Burying me. Not something most folk would think of. Even when dealing with someone in my condition."

Ellie stood her ground, glaring right back up at him. She knew well enough by now the difference between DI Hardy, probing at someone to determine the truth and DI Hardy, being a tit. "It worked, didn't it?"

He made a grumbling noise in his throat that sounded like two cats having a go at each other. "How did you know it would work?"

Ellie hesitated. "I'm not sure," she said, in lieu of telling him about her jelly mould analogy. "I just knew it would."

He nodded, as though she'd given the right answer, then hovered a moment. "Well. Thanks for that." His scowl deepened, as if embarrassed by any expression of gratitude. "Get on the horn and find out what the hell happened last night. Plus we still need to find Susan Wright's dog — don't suppose there's been any progress on that. And I wasn't joking, Miller, where the hell are my shoes?"

"God, you're such a knob," Ellie muttered, but she fished the keys out of her pocket and stomped off toward the car, Hardy still complaining as he followed.

[sarroora]

Gaza, Before and After.

These people live in a prison, and they know it's a prison, but they tried their best to make it liveable.

They planted little gardens and flowerbeds, they built a university and a few schools, mosques and churches to feel closer to God, and even a zoo to try to make it feel like a 'normal' place.

They couldn't do it with their own money because Gazans don't actually have a sustainable economy or industries - the Israeli Occupation made sure of that - but it's with money from the UN and kind donators from all over the globe.

But even living like that, the West's leaders still decided that Palestinians don't deserve that much.

It's like a prisoner trying to put up bright, hopeful art and quotes of freedom on their cell walls - then the prison guard barges in and starts ripping everything apart, then beating up the prisoner for daring to have hope, for daring to want a normal life.

[instruth]

SCHOOL MASTER, GOOD PADRE AND ME

There are three persons in my school I admire most. I remember them well enough to tell: School Master, Good Padre and ... Little Johnny.

This is My Tribute to them:

School is a garden growing wild

Bushy shrubs busy as a playful child

Mansion with many rooms, a palace

A game of chess set before my face

I'm the pawn prince calling the shot

Just need a pen, paper and an ink pot

Write well and please the school master

Lie true to him, confess later to the pastor

Polish the chalice topped with altar wine

Kneel at the altar to pray sweetly divine

Help the good padre run his godly race

In confession box, take his priestly place

Learn the sins of ones not so my friends

Gain their favors and in secret pray amen

Siphon donations from the church retreats

Give the hungry and beggars a real treat

Kind to the vagrant and the poor dullards

Outside of school I roam well remembered.

Strict but humble is the school master

Striding along with his feather duster

Tilted tipsy house on stilts he duly resides

Built to ward off flooding from the riverside

His stern look portrays his predicted mood

Jokes only when he is out of the woods

Hit poems he drills through wits and skills

Reciting three hundred verses for the kill

Respect - teaches me swell to persevere

Remembrance sweeps my breast, o dear

Stern, bent hot on hell but he is truly kind

Firm discipline begets me a future divine

Hurt him harshly pushing us into the slog

Result speaks for itself, an obedient dog

A short man with the fullest head I know

An encyclopedic library therein to show

A true mentor even to a truant untold

A fine example of love that I enfold.

past inheritance

enrichment through discipline

love by examples

even faint heart gets transformed

a most treasured memory

©Johnny J P Lee

19 December 2023

HAIBUN: Poetic Prose + Tanka

Photos from my album: J. P. Lee

[staticspaces]

The Farmhouse Mansion

Check out the video here!!

Let's move over to the other side of the home and and have a look at what the newest addition looks like!!

The history of this farming property dates back to 1805 when the land was bought by a man named Christian. The acreage would then pass through the ownership of four generations of his descendants. A modern wooden frame house was originally built in 1826 which would serve the families purposes until 1875 when his great-great-grandson David would build the first part part of this modern day farmhouse.

The home is an example of a Victorian Italianate villa including Georgian and Gothic Revival Influences. Some of its striking features include decorative bargeboard, wood shutters with half-round tops and beautiful front entryway within the house. It had two smaller additions over the years mostly keeping with the original architectural style.

The grounds of the property were beautifully landscaped at one time and large garden parties with thousands of guests were held in the late 1800s. The proceeds of these parties were donated for various church related building projects in the area. After 157 years the large parcel of land was eventually sold out of the family in 1962.

The mansion was also featured in a few films near the end of the 20th century. It can be seen in the film Funeral Home from 1980, Buried Secrets from 1996 and it even appeared in an episode of Goosebumps, Night of The Living Dummy 3 in 1997.

The almost 9 acre property was sold in 2019 for millions with the intention of building light industry in its place. The home has since begun the process of being historically designated and has already been incorporated into the the new development's renderings.