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katakaluptastrophy · 2 months

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You know when you're at a dinner party with God and things start to get...weird...? It's Maundy Thursday, and it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Maundy Thursday, which commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus ate with his friends before he was crucified.

Before we get to the Locked Tomb, what's so special about the Last Supper?

There are actually a few significant things that happen during the Last Supper, but this is where Jesus introduces the concept of communion:

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood. - Matthew 26:26-28

This isn't actually the first time Jesus has told his followers they will need to literally eat him:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. - John 6:53-56

If you're thinking that sounds a bit intense, you're not alone - the Bible says that "many" of his disciples left after being told that they were apparently going to have to eat Jesus to be saved and resurrected.

While many Protestant denominations take this symbolically, Catholicism teaches transubstantiation: that when the priest prays over the bread and wine at mass, they really do become Jesus' body and blood.

With this in mind, let's circle back to necromancers:

"Overseas to Corpus. (She likes the word corpus; it sounds nice and fat.)"

This is probably Corpus Christi College, Oxford (named after the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, where the church celebrates the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist). The symbol of the college is a pelican - there's even a fabulously gilded pelican atop the sundial in their main quad.

What do pelicans have to do with the eucharist? Quite a lot, actually... The pelican is a really old symbol for Jesus, because it was believed to feed its young on its own flesh and blood in times of famine. The pelican on the Corpus Christi sundial is pecking at its own chest.

The pelican, like Jesus, was believed to give its own body to save those it loved.

Okay, so we've talked about Jesus, and weird cannibal birds, but why is this relevant to necromancers?

Specifically, the necromancer, the Necrolord Prime. John Gaius styles himself as "the god who became man", echoing Jesus as "the word became flesh". His entire pastiche of divinity is a sort of bootleg Catholicism. But while Catholicism posits Jesus' offering of his own body as foundational to the salvation and resurrection of humanity to eternal life, John's godhood relies the exploitation of other's bodies as the foundation of an empire of eternal death.

I've mentioned before in discussing Lyctorhood, how vampires have been understood to represent a sort of inversion of the eucharist because instead of consuming Christ's blood to receive eternal life in heaven, they consume other people's blood for an cursed eternal life on earth. John, and the Lyctors who followed him, gained power and eternal life from the consumption, body and soul, of another person.

In Catholic theology, Jesus offered his own body to degradation and death for the eternal salvation of humankind, but John forcibly consumes someone else's in service of his own apotheosis and immortality, dooming humanity in the process. He wants to be a Catholic flavoured god, but without the suffering that entails. But he's perfectly willing to outsource that suffering to others.

There's something just achingly awful about Alecto liking the feel of the word "corpus" - "body" - when she so hates the body that John constructed for her. John describing Alecto as "in a very real way" the mother of humanity and the mother pelican on the Corpus sundial rending her own flesh for her children. John forcing the earth into a personification of femininity and playing Jesus on another's sacrifice. His daughter, unwillingly trapped in her own corpse walking around with the wounds of her significant self-sacrifice like the resurrected Christ but yet again another body exploited by John in support of his performance of godhood. It brings to mind a very different fantastical engagement with Catholicism, where in the Lord of the Rings Tolkien - riffing on St Augustine - suggested that evil cannot create, it can only mock and corrupt. The ethics of The Locked Tomb may be messier than that, but there's something indicative in how John shies away from his creative powers - his abilities to grow plants, and manipulate earth and water - in favour of his dominion over death.

The metaphysical world of The Locked Tomb is clearly not intended to be the same as that of Catholicism. But with hindsight, perhaps John was onto something when he was surprised that he didn't "get the Antichrist bit" from the nun too.

John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ.

If we're talking about John and Jesus, there's also, of course, the question of Resurrection. But we've got to go through Hell and back before we get there on Sunday...

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #john gaius #alecto the first

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tomicscomics · 7 days

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05/10/2024

The widdle baybeee!

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JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. This cartoon is based on a story from the 6th session of St. Joan's trial. Before I explain it, here's the original segment, translated by W. S. Scott: "Asked what was the age of the child at Lagny that she went to see, she replied: The baby was three days old. And it was brought to Lagny to Notre Dame. And she was told that the maidens of the town were before [the statue of] Our Lady; and that she might like to go and pray to God and Our Lady that it might live. And she went there and prayed to God with the others. And finally life appeared in it, and it yawned three times; then it was baptised and immediately after died, and was buried in consecrated ground. For three days, they said, no life had appeared in the child; and it was as black as her tunic. But when it yawned, the colour began to come back. And she was with the maidens on her knees in front of [the statue of] Our Lady, offering prayers. Asked if it were not said by the town that she had brought this about, and that it was by her intercession, she replied: I never inquired." 2. To summarize, Joan was in a town called Lagny, where a stillborn child was placed before a statue of Mary in hopes of a miraculous revival. Joan is asked to pray over him with the other young women of the town, and when they finish, the baby is temporarily revived and quickly baptized before dying again. 3. Medieval Catholics believed baptism was essential for salvation, and that anyone who died without it could not get into heaven. Losing a child would've been bad enough without believing their soul was lost too, so although this baby's return to life was only temporary, his quick baptism would have meant the world to his family and community. For those who are curious, the Church still believes that baptism is necessary for salvation, but they also teach that God can offer its graces Himself, without the need for formal ceremony. The sacraments are bound to God, but He is not bound by His sacraments. 4. Though it's not explicitly stated in this part of the manuscript, one of the narratives being pushed by the judges during the trial was that Joan was always out to glorify herself, not God. They ask her if the people of Lagny credited her for the miracle, but in this cartoon, I expand that question a bit to get at what they were really trying to say. 5. For more background on this story, here's one of the sites I referenced: https://www.online-literature.com/anatole-france/joan-of-arc/25/

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flowerandblood · 4 months

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The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black, her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; his back turned to them, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

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semisgroupie · 7 months

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I SEE A REFLECTION OF MY SINS IN YOU

priest!getou suguru x fem. reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: HEAVILY sacrilegious, blasphemy, use of a Bible verse during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, piercings (pierced getou makes the brain go brr), light choking, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, mention of having sex in a church

synopsis: who said priests can’t have a little fun? just make sure they repent on sunday

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe priests were one of the biggest hypocrites of them all.

They’re the people that everyone sees as the closest beings to god, the people that could save you from the fiery depths of hell, the people that could save your soul from eternal damnation and the people that are trusted among all. But maybe, just maybe, that’s not the truth. Maybe we should rip them down from that pedestal they’re atop of, maybe we should expose them for their sins and make them worry about the consequences of their actions.

Or maybe, we should let them continue to sin. At the end of the day, they are still going to church on Sunday, they are still repenting for their sins. Continue to let them be sinners especially when you benefit from it the most.

You have never been the sweet church girl your parents tried to raise you to be. Being innocent and complacent never appealed to you but when you were under your parents roof, you followed whatever rule book they laid out for you. There were moments where you disobeyed but only with minor things, sneaking out once they were asleep, coming back home past curfew reeking of alcohol and weed, making out with your boyfriend at the time in the church’s parking lot during Bible study.

Then once you moved out to college you were free to do whatever you wanted, and you did whatever your heart desired. Even to this day you still do as your heart desires. Which has led you to your current relationship, fuck buddy situationship, with the priest at your local church.

Suguru had joined the church almost a year ago due to the former priest falling ill. He immediately caught your attention and you immediately caught his. During his sermons, his eyes would scan the crowd until he could see you. Whenever you would visit him after mass for extra guidance, he was never able to hide the way his hungry eyes roamed your body, drinking in all of your curves like they were the last thing he would see.

After a month of being at the church, he couldn’t take it anymore. His fist was no longer satisfactory, he needed to feel your flesh against his, he needed his cock to delve into the warmth of your mouth and cunt, he needed you to be his salvation. So one Sunday morning, as he was picking up and organizing the Bible’s for morning mass he saw you standing at the entrance. A warm smile hiding devious intent graced his face as it did yours. You begged him for a quick confession, you needed to absolve yourself of the sins that plagued your mind and soul. He obliged, of course, what kind of priest would he be if he didn’t? He listened to your confession with open ears and by the time you were done, his cock ached and throbbed underneath his cassock. He couldn’t let you go away without doing something so he did something completely unorthodox and confessed to you, confessed how you’ve plagued his mind every night while he pumped his cock, how he so desperately wanted to bend you over one of the pews and fuck you senseless until you cried out his name like a prayer.

You took his words as some twisted sign from God. Then after mass you stood behind to fulfill both of your desires. He pulled you into the confessional booth and made you ride him while you recited some of the Bible verses he brought up during mass. The whole experience made you both crave more so you established a plan and schedule for regular hookups.

Today was the day that you two were supposed to meet up. You sat on the queen sized bed of the motel you two frequently went to and awaited his arrival. That’s how it would always go since today he had to conduct Bible study. Some time passed and you finally saw the door knob turn, he opened it and looked at you with a soft smile. “You look as beautiful as always, dear.” Your eyes scanned his body, he was wearing black slacks with a black button up and right at his neck was his clerical collar, you rolled your eyes at the sight of it as he closed the door and moved closer to you.

“If you keep wearing that to our little meetings then word will spread, Father. Imagine how bad it’ll be, the young priest that everyone has grown to love is the biggest sinner of them all.” You both knew nothing would happen. The motel was a few miles away from town and was just used as a rest stop for anyone on a road trip or truckers that needed somewhere to sleep for the night. Even the woman at the front desk didn’t care, as long as money would enter her pocket, she could care less about what happened behind the closed doors of her motel rooms. He chuckled at your words as he moved closer to you and took your chin between his thumb and index finger, “then I’ll just tell them you’re a temptress. You and I both know they’ll believe anything I say, my word is as good as God’s.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes again so instead you drop your head a little to take his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it before releasing it with a soft pop.

He groaned and felt his cock throb in his pants and leaned down to press his lips against yours in a lust-filled kiss. You lifted your hands to grab at his shirt as his tongue slipped into your mouth, the cool metal that decorated his tongue grazed against yours and made you moan against his lips. When you first found out about his many piercings, you were surprised to say the least. He was able to cover the ear piercings with his hair and somehow hid his tongue piercing from everyone and the piercings that surprised you the most were the four barbells that were tucked away in his pants.

His hands moved underneath your top and pulled it off of you rather roughly. You decided not to wear a bra and he immediately dove down to take your sensitive nipples into his mouth, he groaned as the taste of your skin hit his tongue and looked up at you as you began to thread your fingers through his dark locks. He released the bud from his mouth and dragged his tongue to the other before latching onto it to give it the same treatment. His cock throbbed and ached for release and soon he would grant himself the serenity, he just wanted to hear more beautiful sounds fall from your lips. You moaned his name and after a few moments he released your nipple and stood up.

“You have such a beautiful mouth, makes the most beautiful sounds. Now I want you to put it to work, okay?” He undressed himself, first his shirt, then his pants and briefs until you could finally see his rock hard cock.

It sprung out of its confines and slapped against his toned stomach and the silver piercings caught your eye. You licked your lips at the sight before sticking your tongue out to run it along the underside of his cock, feeling the metal that decorated it. Once you reached the head of his cock you wrapped your lips around it, suckling on it for a few moments before opening your mouth to take more of his cock in your mouth. He groaned and rolled his head back, “God granted me the gift of your sinful mouth and body. Oh how lucky am I.” He placed one hand on top of your head to guide your movements, moving you along his cock and trying to restrain himself from forcing you to take him entirely down your throat. Patience was a virtue he held dear, until he met you. He let you continue to take your time for a few more moments before shoving his cock down your throat, using both of his hands to keep you in place.

“That’s much better, a mouth like yours needs to be purged forcefully. Taking my time won’t do you any justice.” You felt his piercings along your tongue as he started thrusting into your mouth. The tip of his cock nestled in the back of your throat and his balls slapped against your chin with each thrust. You felt the burning ache between your thighs and you had to satiate yourself before you grow mad. So, you snaked one hand down and started to rub your clit, your moans vibrated along his cock and it made him twitch in your mouth. He bit his lip as he pulled out of your mouth completely, only a few strings of saliva connect you to the tip of his cock. He shuddered as the cold air hit his cock, since it was no longer basked in the warmth of your mouth and it craved more, he craved more.

“So, what are your plans now? Want to watch me pant and pleasure myself like a heathen? Or do you finally want to fuck me?” You bit your lip as your hand continued to rub quick circles along the swollen bundle of nerves, a low moan left your lips and his cock twitched again. He leaned down and hooked his hand under your arm, tugging you up from your position and pushing you on the bed so you’re bent over it. His hands moved along your plush thighs and moved up to push your flimsy skirt up, giving him a better view of your soaked panties. “You drive me crazy when you wear these little skirts to mass, always distracting me whenever you cross your legs. I remember the first time you surprised me by not wearing panties underneath, I almost choked on my spit when I saw this needy cunt, glistening under the lord’s light.” He hooked his lithe fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, tossing them to the side since they were no longer needed.

Your need grew with each passing second and you could feel yourself clench around nothing. You let out a low wanton whine, you were waiting for this all week and now that he was finally behind you, you couldn’t wait any longer. “Suguru, please — fuck!” Your whines were quickly replaced with a loud moan, he pushed himself into you so suddenly, your legs shook and your hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly in your fists. “No need to whine or complain, I was giving you what you wanted. I need this just as bad as you do, my sweet temptress.” He gripped your hips tight enough to bruise the skin and started to thrust, each drag of his cock along your walls was beyond blissful. His piercings rubbing along your walls made your toes curl. He first started off with slow thrusts despite his abrupt entrance inside you then began to thrust faster and harder.

Low grunts and groans left his lips while whines, mewls and cries left yours. It felt like angels were singing in his ears each time you cried out his name. He moved one hand up from your hips and brought it to your neck. He wrapped his hand around it and brought you up, making his cock hit even deeper. His mouth was pressed right against the shell of your ear, his breath fanning your skin before he started to speak. “You know, this reminds me of one of the verses we went over today in Bible study. Mind if I recite it to you?” You nodded dumbly at his words and he knew you couldn’t comprehend whatever he told you. “It's from the epistle of James, ‘But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’ We have been tempted by each other and now engage in a constant ritual of sin, if God were to strike us dead right now, I’d die the most blissful death known to man. I think it's pretty ironic, I am a man who has devoted himself to God and I have planned to live a life free of sin, yet here I am, committing some of the worst sins known to man. I should be leading you away from temptation yet here I am, pushing you headfirst into the fiery depths.”

He snaps his hips into yours harder, almost animalistically and drags his tongue along the side of your neck. You bring one of your hands up and wrap it around his wrist, holding onto him as best as you can as he continues to fuck you senseless. Choked out gasps and moans leave you and you grip his wrist tighter and you edge closer and closer to an orgasm. “Gonna cum!” You gasped out and he moved his hand from the front of your throat to the back of your neck to push you down against the bed. Your cheek pressed against the soft fabric as he drills into you mercilessly. “Oh god! Oh fuck!” You babble out and tremble underneath him more, making him chuckle. “You should never use the Lord’s name in vain, especially during a time like this. But, I’ll just make sure you repent later during your confession. I think 10 hail mary’s while I’m edging you will do just fine, I’ll make sure you don’t cum until you say your last one. But for now, cum. Make a mess all over my cock and I’ll give you my own blessing and coat your insides in cum.”

He snaked his other hand down to rub your clit, finally sending you over the edge into your own paradise. A cry of his name paired with thank you’s left your lips as he fucked you through your orgasm. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and threatened to spill and with a few more heavy thrusts from him, they finally ran. He continued to snap his hips into yours, greedily chasing his own release until he finally came inside of you. His cock twitched as heavy spurts of cum flooded your cunt. If you weren’t on birth control then you were sure that you would’ve been bearing his child. He released his grip on the back of your neck and leaned down to pepper kisses along your spine and shoulder blades as he came down from his high.

Heavy breaths left the both of you and he slowly pulled out to drop on the bed beside you. He opened his arms to let you cuddle close to him and he wrapped his arms around you. You both basked in the comfortable silence before he finally spoke, “I know it’ll sound cheesy but I am thankful that God put us in each other’s paths. You’ve made priesthood much more enjoyable.” You smile at his words and press a few kisses along his chest before lifting yourself up to press your lips against his. “It is cheesy but I am thankful as well. It’s not everyday where you get the chance to fuck the hot priest.” You laughed as he shook his head and pinched your side. You swatted his hand away and rested your chin on his chest, taking a strand of his hair between your fingers to twirl it. He watched you with a smile on his face while his fingers danced along your skin.

You were both convinced that in some twisted way, you were meant to be together like this, you were both meant to indulge in sin and then use prayers to cleanse your souls. It was in your nature to sin and why go against nature and God’s wishes?

taglist: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @hellsingalucard18 @suyacho @cherrykamado @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear @watyousayin

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto smut #getou suguru smut #jjk geto smut #geto suguru smut #tw:blasphemy #tw:sacreligion #tw:choking #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie

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m3lodyxo · 2 months

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Salvation for the damned

Priest!Sanji x fem!Reader smut

Minors, do not interact!!!

Author's note: This is my first smut, go easy on me. I'm not used to actually posting what I write. Ever since I saw @hunnismokah 's fanart of Sanji as a priest I haven't had a WINK of sleep. She has unleashed something feral into the world.

Warning: if you're uncomfortable with themes of religion, I'll advise you to scroll away.

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"What is troubling you, my child?"

Sanji fancied himself a man of God. From a young age, he knew his role in life was to serve The All Mighty and help lost souls find the right path again.

He gave an Oath, and swore his body, mind and soul to The Lord, in promise to never stray from the path of light. And Sanji was a man of his word. Hence why he was sure you were sent by the Judge Of All, to test his strength and devotion.

Oh, you were the most angelic being he had ever laid eyes upon. Or at least so he thought, because, in truth, he saw you as a temptation crafted by The Devil specifically to torture him. And as much as he prayed and kneeled before God, begging for expiation, you wouldn't leave. As hard as he cried out to the heavens for a chance to atone, his screams were never heard.

You would always creep into his dreams, where he was most vulnerable, and force him into sin. You were a foul succubus, the daughter of Satan, and you have come to ensure his fall.

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"Father, I must atone for these terrible sins I've committed against the Holy One."

He hadn't expected you to turn up so late, looking deeply troubled near the Church's entrance. He let you in without a second thought, and as soon as you reached the altar, you dropped down to your knees, your hands clasped together, looking up at him in desperation.

His face softened and he smiled ever so slightly. He was glad you finally decided to turn yourself over to The Light. Sanji lifted his hand over your head and spoke with firmness in his voice.

"Speak now child, lay yourself bare before The Lord and share your troubles. Pray that He may forgive you."

He felt closest to God during confessions. It was as if The All Mighty spoke through him, accepting the wrongs of those before him into his heart and engulfing them in pure holy light.

"I've been plagued by impure thoughts, Father. The sin of Lust and Desire has claimed me and shackled me in its repulsive hold and I have become its slave."

Through the silence, a shaky breath was all that could be heard. Sanji felt his body shudder and pool in a cold sweat, a chill running down his spine. His knees were so weak he thought he might keel over any moment now, had he not been holding Saint Patrick's Cross so tightly in his other hand.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Sanji composed himself. Right now, he had to help this poor woman redeem herself before The Lord.

"Very good, my child. The first step to redemption is seeking out the forgiveness of God. Stand."

You did as you were told immediately, without asking a single question. Good. The expectant look in your eyes could melt the resolve of the most cold-hearted man, had you only wished to do so.

"For your heinous crimes, you shall face punishment, and you shall suffer, and you shall be freed. Now, are you ready to carry out God's task?"

Oh, that spark in your eyes. He could almost feel the devotion radiate off your body into zaps of energy. Almost. "I am ready, Father. I swear that I will do whatever it is The Lord asks of me."

Before you even finished speaking, he had already turned around and instructed you to follow him.

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Not before long, you found yourself in his private quarters. Just as you were about to question why, he called out to you, and you answered. Sanji was sat at the edge of his bed, looking up at you with a gentle smile adorning his face.

"Kneel, child."

You sank back to your knees, reaching out with your hands and hesitantly placing them atop his own, all while looking at him. He extended his hand to you and gently cupped your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

Breath caught in your throat, you dared not utter a word, lest all kinds of sinful thoughts escape through, in-between your teeth.

"Do you know what you must do?" You could feel his thumb brush across your plush lips and pull the bottom one down.

"Yes, Father."

Sanji felt your hands drag up his thighs and settle on the zipper of his pants. He held back a groan at the feeling of your hands on him, inhaling sharply once you pulled his cock out and sat up on your knees to press a featherlight kiss to the tip.

You licked your lips and pressed one more kiss to it before wrapping them around the head, sucking lightly. He let out a gasp and shut his eyes, basking in the way your perfect lips wrapped so well around the head of his dick. Sanji felt you pull away and opened his eyes only to see you spit on his cock and wrap a hand around to stroke him. Your palm so soft and gentle, your pace slow and sensual, easing him into the feeling of your skin pressed to his. He was trying so hard not to let out soft moans of pleasure as you touched him, your skin igniting a spark in him that ate away at his soul deliciously so.

He could feel sin seep through his skin and into his heart, pulling him away from all that he deemed right, enticing him to beg for more. But he couldn't allow it, couldn't allow to lose himself to such carnal desires.

His resolve, however, faltered the second you took him into your mouth again. Enveloping his cock in its warmth and continuing to stroke whatever you failed to fit with your hand. Sanji let out a whine, and pressed his palm to the back of your head, keeping you in place. You had long since closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of him filling up your mouth, making you imagine what it would feel like for him to bury himself deep inside you and claim you as his.

Oh, you've dreamed of him for so long. You knew it was wrong to want a man of God, selfish, to wish he'd devote himself to you instead. You'd stay awake at night, desperately pumping your fingers to feel even the slightest relief, but your body knew what it wanted. And it wanted it badly.

Whatever you did, you couldn't satisfy your hunger for the man, and tonight, after hopelessly trying to chaise you high for hours and failing miserably, you decided enough was enough. You had to have him.

Snapping back into the present, you moved your tongue against him, hearing him let out yet another sinful cry, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing. Sanji tugged on your hair, and a moan escaped your throat, making him mewl in ecstasy.

He could feel a knot begin to form, like a balloon ready to burst, so he pushed you away, panting.

You looked up at him, confused. Had he not enjoyed himself? Did he perhaps change his mind? Maybe he finally realised how wretched you were.

"Come, sit." You wasted no time in hastily removing your bottoms and straddling his lap. Sanji placed both his hands on your hips, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and collarbone. A sigh left his lips when he felt your fingers swiftly undoing his ponytail and running your fingers through his long, golden locks of hair.

You aligned yourself up with his cock and sank, taking him in inch by delicious inch, filling yourself. Once you finally fit him all inside, a breath of relief left you.

He was still pressed closely to your chest, holding you tightly and squeezing your hips as if you'd disappear should he let go. And his grip became tighter once you started moving. Sanji felt like he'd lose his mind by how tight, wet and warm your walls were, pulsating and squeezing around him and greedily sucking him in.

"Father...please." Your voice was so weak as if the wind was knocked out of you, leaving you gasping and craving for more. He groaned and tried to meet your hips with his, thrusting up into your cunt in chase of the pleasure engulfing him whole.

"Fuck, you feel so good my sweet." He was quickly losing himself in you. Breathing in your scent and feeling it fill up his lungs, it was almost as if his mind was spiralling into insanity.

"Call me by my name...Let me hear you say it." You could barely register what he was asking of you, too drunk on the feeling of the man you've been craving for so long finally giving you what you've been wanting.

"Sanji, please don't stop." A shameless whine interrupted you. You couldn't form coherent thoughts anymore. All you could think about was him and how good he was making you feel.

He just kissed your forehead and began fucking into you harder, hitting that special spot deep inside you every time. He knew you were close by the way you tightened so much around him, it was evident.

"I know darling, 'm close too. Fuck- Been dreaming about this pussy for months. Been dreaming of filling it up to the brim with my cum. Is that what you want love? For me to paint your insides white?"

All you could do was throw your head back and moan like an animal in heat, desperately moving your hips to chase that high.

"Use your words, sweetness. Tell me you want it." He didn't falter in his movements, keeping up the brutal pace and abusing your cunt, set on hearing you.

You locked your eyes with his, barely able to keep them open. "Want your cum Sanji, please give it to me. Want you to fill me up." He groaned, hearing you barely get out the words, too focused on the pleasure he was giving you.

"Since you asked so nicely, you better take it all." You could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you tipped over the edge, his words alone making you lose your mind. You moaned out his name again and again, like a prayer and he felt that knot finally snap.

With a final thrust of his hips, Sanji came, spilling deep inside you, painting your walls white. You felt your insides warm up as you milked him of every last drop until he was spent.

With both of you panting, he gripped your face with one hand to make you face him again and asked. "What do you say now?"

"Thank you, Father."

#18+ mdni #priest sanji #priest sanji x reader #priest kink #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #one piece sanji x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #black leg sanji #sanji smut #sanji x reader smut #letting the voices win #awooga #deranged melody hours #idk what im doin lol #what is this

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doberbutts · 3 months

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I’m wondering if you have thoughts on James Baldwin’s “open letter to the born again”? I’m struggling a bit with what his point is in that piece; it feels kinda dismissive on Jewish zionists agency in creation of Israel? But I may be missing parts or not getting things

The text in question.

And the segment I think anon is struggling with:

I know what I am talking about: my grandfather never got the promised “forty acres, and a mule,” the Indians who survived that holocaust are either on reservations or dying in the streets, and not a single treaty between the United States and the Indian was ever honored. That is quite a record.

Jews and Palestinians know of broken promises. From the time of the Balfour Declaration (during World War I) Palestine was under five British mandates, and England promised the land back and forth to the Arabs or the Jews, depending on which horse seemed to be in the lead. The Zionists—as distinguished from the people known as Jews—using, as someone put it, the “available political machinery,’’ i.e., colonialism, e.g., the British Empire—promised the British that, if the territory were given to them, the British Empire would be safe forever.

But absolutely no one cared about the Jews, and it is worth observing that non-Jewish Zionists are very frequently anti-Semitic. The white Americans responsible for sending black slaves to Liberia (where they are still slaving for the Firestone Rubber Plantation) did not do this to set them free. They despised them, and they wanted to get rid of them. Lincoln’s intention was not to “free” the slaves but to “destabilize” the Confederate Government by giving their slaves reason to “defect.” The Emancipation Proclamation freed, precisely, those slaves who were not under the authority of the President of what could not yet be insured as a Union.

It has always astounded me that no one appears to be able to make the connection between Franco’s Spain, for example, and the Spanish Inquisition; the role of the Christian church or—to be brutally precise, the Catholic Church—in the history of Europe, and the fate of the Jews; and the role of the Jews in Christendom and the discovery of America. For the discovery of America coincided with the Inquisition, and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. Does no one see the connection between The Merchant of Venice and The Pawnbroker? In both of these works, as though no time had passed, the Jew is portrayed as doing the Christian’s usurious dirty work. The first white man I ever saw was the Jewish manager who arrived to collect the rent, and he collected the rent because he did not own the building. I never, in fact, saw any of the people who owned any of the buildings in which we scrubbed and suffered for so long, until I was a grown man and famous. None of them were Jews.

And I was not stupid: the grocer and the druggist were Jews, for example, and they were very very nice to me, and to us. The cops were white. The city was white. The threat was white, and God was white, Not for even a single split second in my life did the despicable, utterly cowardly accusation that “the Jews killed Christ’’ reverberate. I knew a murderer when I saw one, and the people who were trying to kilI me were not Jews.

But the state of Israel was not created for the salvation of the Jews; it was created for the salvation of the Western interests. This is what is becoming clear (I must say that it was always clear to me). The Palestinians have been paying for the British colonial policy of “divide and rule” and for Europe’s guilty Christian conscience for more than thirty years.

Finally: there is absolutely—repeat: absolutely—no hope of establishing peace in what Europe so arrogantly calls the Middle East (how in the world would Europe know? having so dismally failed to find a passage to India) without dealing with the Palestinians. The collapse of the Shah of Iran not only revealed the depth of the pious Carter’s concern for “human rights,” it also revealed who supplied oil to Israel, and to whom Israel supplied arms. It happened to be, to spell it out, white South Africa.

Well. The Jew, in America, is a white man. He has to be, since I am a black man, and, as he supposes, his only protection against the fate which drove him to America. But he is still doing the Christian’s dirty work, and black men know it.

My friend, Mr. Andrew Young, out of tremendous love and courage, and with a silent, irreproachable, indescribable nobility, has attempted to ward off a holocaust, and I proclaim him a hero, betrayed by cowards.

For context: Andrew Young, considered the right hand of MLK Jr, had a longstanding and occasionally fraught relationship with the Jewish community. He stepped down from Congress shortly after being forced to choose between voicing support for Palestine and continuing to work towards black-jewish interests by his constituents and fellow politicians, as he felt very strongly about supporting both. This was a fairly unpopular move. While I don't believe he ever called himself Jewish by the strictest sense, he was actively involved in Jewish communities and the known "white" ancestry within him is a Polish Jew in his great grandparents.

To be honest, I don't really see much a problem with this as I think it fairly closely matches up not only with my understanding of the history of this problem but also my own country's part in it as well as my personal feelings on it decades later. It pretty blatantly says that Zionism is utilizing a machination of white supremist colonism due to the extensive history of antisemitism and having had the ancestral land dangled in front of them like bait on a hook from the British Empire, which owned Palestine at the time. It also goes on to say that many Zionists aren't even Jewish and are antisemitic in nature, but are Christians happy to get rid of as many Jews as possible and how that tracks due to the Christian church's millennia-deep history of antisemitism.

I don't think it lets anyone off the hook. I think it pretty much flat out says this is a problem caused first and foremost by white Christians who hate Jews and Arabs alike and have a vested interest in getting the two populations to fight because it'll be easier to kill off just the one group instead of both of them, if one ends up eradicating the other. It even talks about the friction between the black community and the Jewish community, what caused it, what drives it, how that friction in itself is a tool of white supremacy to hurt us both.

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fromgoy2joy · 4 months

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i get so angered when ex christians take stories from the "Old Testament' share them without context and say "how can this be a loving G-D?! Checkmate!' When what they should have vexations with is the conditional salvation of the New Testament, not the tales of the Jewish people.

Also, what you were taught about New Testament G-D vs the Old Testament G-D is highly dependent on the christian belief that Jesus redeemed the world. Where through supersessionism teachings, old G-D was a big old meanie and now He's nice and fluffy for us Christians who've accepted him. By mindlessly reiterating this point, you contribute to virile antisemitism, delegitimize the relationship Jewish people have with Hashem, by shaping this around yourself and your own angst.

I say this as a person who no longer practices christianity and whose entire viewpoint collapsed the day I realized I had no faith in the church- deconstruct your faith in a way relevant to the structure you grew up with. Not what you see as witty one liners and in the ridicule of religious texts that belong to a 5,000 year old tribe.

(Heavily inspired by a convo with @daughterofstories. )

#cultural christianity #fromgoy2joy thoughts #jewish tumblr #antisemitism #tw antisemtism #jewish convert #jewish convert perspective #ex catholic to jewish convert specifically #tw christianity #jumblr #jewblr #Jewish

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onyourhyuck · 11 months

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Sin & Obsession. | L.MK PART 2

— Prologue: “You sound even prettier when you’re asleep like this while you’re taking my cock inside your pretty pussy Y/n,” Mark’s voice comes off as silvery and fully rough grunts the more he thrusts you seem to clench even more and more. It drove Mark crazy. It was like a back and forth biting game. He came back for more and you kept leaving him become greedy for you. “You might be the death of me.” There might not be any salvation for Mark anymore because of you.

— Summary: You’re a faithful good girl. You attend church and you stay out of trouble. Mark is a guy that attends your church and what you don’t know is that he’s been obsessed with you for a while…

— Genre: Dark smut / Romance. Slight horror aspect (?) Mark Lee is a stalker. Mention of Christianity and faithfulness. Christian!Mark. Church mention. Mark is very much obsessed with Y/n. He stalks her. He has deep affection for Y/n but like super borderline I guess? Watching Y/n sleep. Breaking and entering Y/n’s house at night. Somnophillia(?) everything’s consensual. Dub-con. Y/n has a wet dream. Mark gets caught by the end of it. Praising and degrading at the same time. Y/n gets called a good whore like once.

— Notes: Pussy drunk Mark lessgo.

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Whatever happened that day when he entered your house without you knowing left Mark feeling even more needy for you. On the week days where he cannot see you he couldn’t forget that day and it leaves every night feeling more empty than usual. Mark was quite literally over the heels for you; he can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He can’t even breathe anymore without you being next to him or him seeing you. He just has to be now around you all the time and it’s getting difficult. Is this what happens when he finally had a taste of you but at the same time he didn’t get a proper taste? He was left wanting more. He’s just greedy for you and your time. He cannot coexist without you.

The next time Sunday arrives Mark enters the church greeting everyone. He tried his best to act normal and not tense unlike the feeling inside his stomach that was crunching him inside completely like he was nothing but a thin piece of paper. The moment his eyes saw you he felt his own panic take over and nearly murder him alive. He felt like he was going through all the flight and fight modes that his survival instincts were failing.

However he was completing what his heart was lacking. He took a moment to even deeply gaze over at your facial expression and such.

He looks completely stunned with you. Enough that it makes you look at him now and softly smile as you wave your hand over his face wondering why he was frozen like that.

“Hello? Mark is that right?” Your voice was as soft as silk and cotton. Mark bounces back to his reality now realising you’re speaking to him and he nods slowly but very slowly to the point he couldn’t find his voice for a second. “Yeah, Uhm that’s me last time I checked.” Mark was so beyond nervous and you could tell.

You found it to be almost endearing how nervous he was and you raise your eyebrow furrowing in confusion. He seems so confused as to why you’re speaking to him. Did you catch him staring at you? Oh that’s going to be a hard one to get out of. But thankfully you didn’t question why he was staring at you down like that instead you nod softly in his confusion. “You okay? You seem kind of nervous.” You now question.

He had no idea how you could read him so well but maybe it’s very obvious that he’s literally a trembling mess. He clears his voice with a little low chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck. Mark wore a white shirt and his long black mullet hair makes him shine across the church if you’re being honest. He suits long hair so much. You couldn’t help but check him out a little. Why was he so nervous? It’s kind of cute though. He seems pretty shy with you speaking to him so suddenly, it’s very sudden. You hardly notice him when you’re in church.

But today you seem to notice him for some reason. “I’m just surprised you’re speaking to me.” Mark spoke out now truthfully. You show him a gentle look now. “Oh, I guess i just seem to find you today. Sorry if I haven’t been communicating much with you.” Mark couldn’t help but find you to be incredibly kind and forgiving even.

If only you knew what he did with your panties and in your closet. The image of you on the bed spread wide open with your legs. The beautiful sight of your pussy engraved his sight and he couldn’t help but imagine you and him together in bed. It’s so dirty. He shouldn’t be doing this in a church or when you’re speaking to him but he cannot block out your voice when you’re ready to moan or when you’re choking back a cry when you overstimulated yourself last week. The fact that Mark got away with this as well. It makes him full of hope that he could do this again and again; worst thing is that he doesn’t regret this at all. Mark would do it again if he could go back to the past and change it.

Nothing would be changed. Mark would do this again and try anything to relive that moment because he felt so connected at that time to you. In more ways than one.

Mark gulps when he looks downs at his feet on the ground. ‘God you’re imagining her naked right now snap out of it.’ He snaps at himself just by becoming so heavenly frustrated with you by standing there only. What’s wrong with him?

He can usually act normal or even hide this part of himself but now it’s proven to be very hard and he hates that. You’re making him lose his own heavy weight that’s burdening his shoulders and back. He felt his throat go dry as he stares back at you. Beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as well. The after image of him smelling your panties as he stroked himself to watching you masturbate was a forbidden memory he should keep down in his brain locked away forever.

“Mark what’s wrong? You’re burning up.” You suddenly exclaim as you reach your hand to brush on his cheek and forehead. He was burning in fact he looks bright red and the man couldn’t hide that as much as he tried.

In reality he wasn’t sick but he felt like you’re infecting him with everything you’re doing.

The people in the church look at Mark in worry and when you exclaimed loudly you reach your palm to touch his forehead again. He had a fever. But Mark was quick to say with his own firm point. “I’m fine, please, it’s okay.” He grabs your wrist slowly stopping you from trying to cool him down with the cold water bottle.

You watch Mark with a concerning amount of worry behind your eyes. Those eyes. Mark could never look away from them but he forced himself to and he puts your wrist back down as he bites his under cheek. “I’ll be fine. I must’ve just caught something small from the air:” he blames it on a flu or something flying around the air. The other people attending the church buy it.

But only you seem more worried now. Mark can’t help but wonder if you’re even believing him and his lies right now.

“Maybe you should go home?” You now suggest with your eyebrow corners squishing together. You want him to get some rest or something like that. He cannot attend church in this state you thought.

Mark clears his eyes with the back of his thumb as he lets out a quiet breath. “I don’t know… I’ve never skipped church before.” He trails now looking back at the people waiting for it to start and all.

You give him a soft smile. “You should go and take care of yourself first. I’m sure one day won’t hurt.” You’re right afterall. Mark should take care of himself and he happens to be agreeing with you now. “Alright… I’ll go.” He finally said giving into your idea and you were filled with the relief of watching Mark leaving.

You hope he gets better soon. It wouldn’t hurt to miss one day of church because of his health. Mark will make sure to make up for missing the service. When he starts to walk down the road leaving the building he begins to wonder; maybe he should go to your house? He had the sudden urge to do that again. And since you’re not going to be home it wouldn’t hurt to just go there again right? Mark at this point couldn’t stop his own legs from walking the direction to your house it’s like his own body walks on his very own like it’s got their mind put on the idea already.

He wonders what’s going to happen now. He feels warm and burning up just by the thought of going inside your house. He knows that you leave the back door unlocked from the last time he was there. He escaped through the back door.

You really should start locking your doors, Mark thought. It’s only going to get more dangerous if he keeps finding these open vulnerable places of your house.

When Mark made it behind your house, the man had to climb up the fence and then go through that way. When he met the back of your door leading inside to your house Mark opens it. He heard the doorknob click. It really was still open. The thought alone makes him quite scared and also excited — you really don’t lock your doors.

Mark cursed a little. “Y/n you’re a bit forgetful about locking your doors…” He should really scold you someday about this bad habit of yours. Mark enters the house and closed the door shut. He looks around the kitchen now in slight awe.

You have a tidy home. You’re quite clean and Mark feels like you put his home to shame with yours if you would compare both homes. You’re much more clean, much more organised. Meanwhile Mark’s home is in need a slight improvement. He should start doing daily cleans honestly. Mark can barely keep his home this clean that you have.

He found himself exploring every part of the house now that he couldn’t do last week, the first time he actually came in your home without your knowledge. He found out you like using rose petals in your baths. Mark smelled your shampoos and he even checked out the brand.

No wonder you smell so good all the time.

Then later on Mark felt quite tired and he decided to lay down in your bedsheets with a soft flip when his back was falling down on your bed softly. He groans when smelled your fresh bedsheets that quite literally smell of you only.

Mark could bathe in your scent if he could. If it was possible he would.

The bed felt so comfortable he eventually fell asleep for a little bit. Mark didn’t know what made him fall asleep so quick without him even remembering his eyelids closing but he did, and the man never felt so comfortable and safe in someone’s house before like this. You really were his safe place and you don’t even know it…

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The door shuffles open downstairs and that is what woke up Mark from his long nap. He was even surprised when he woke up the room was dark, covered with blackness only and that makes Mark shift on the bed automatically getting up and wondering the time.

When he checks over to your technology alarm on the bed stand it was nearly midnight. He fell asleep that long? And you haven’t came home at all until midnight?

Mark was sweating. He could’ve gotten caught if you came home early. The man shifts under your bed now to hide when he heard your footsteps on the stairway ready to open the door flung. When you enter you let out a tired sigh.

You seem tired, Mark thought. But why? What did you do that makes you so tired today. He couldn’t help but worry. He would want to ask you if you’re okay or anything like that but you seem almost… tired and wobbly whenever you walk.

Slowly moving around the room you start to undress taking off your clothes and changing into something more of pyjama comforts. You were so tired you didn’t even bother showering tonight so you decided you will shower in the morning and everything will fall into place of your routine.

But the reason you were so late outside and coming back home was because it was your older sister’s party for her thirty birthday. You couldn’t pass upon that and so you drank only a little to the point you were just a bit tipsy. You weren’t massive drunk. It wasn’t that bad. But you certainly were tired so you fell on the bed now tucking yourself in and you didn’t even bother to wash your face off or anything. Your body needed sleep.

Some time passed since now you fell asleep and Mark decided it’s safe to get out of your bed underneath where he hid. Mark slowly stands up and he makes sure to be very quiet walking with his tip toes now.

The boy however felt mesmerised seeing you asleep like this. You felt like an angel when you’re sleeping so openly with your arms tucked under the pillows with your face buried between them and your beautiful long hair flowing through your body as you sleep wearing your pyjamas that fit your beautiful figure too.

Mark couldn’t help but stop and stare.

You are like a mirror. You catch his attention effortlessly. You pull him in and make him check you out like this all the time. If you were a real life mirror he wouldn’t even stop staring at you. Mark follows his body silhouette throughout the dark room. It was darkness only a little over you could use the moonlight as your only torch source to move around. Mark managed to sit by the edge of your bed. He could stay like this forever only watching you sleep. He feels a bit creepy doing this.

Surely it is a little creepy but Mark would reassure you he’s not going to do anything weird. He just wants to stare at your face as you sleep. Mark felt safe around you. There’s always been something about your energy that makes his inner child feel warm and so on.

Mark smile when he saw your face turn on the pillow now laying flat on your body as your arms wrap themselves around your stomach and the other was under the pillow still where it was cold. When he saw something your sleeping wear did; the shirt reveals your stomach out to his eyes now.

He wonders what you’re wearing now, but it turns out you were only wearing a shirt. He gulps when your legs took off the covers now which made Mark feel very perverted by seeing you now half naked. It’s not like he didn’t see you naked last week but this time it’s different. He’s literally in front of you now. Mark was sitting on the edge of your bed seeing your red panties and just a small top on you covering your bra-less chest. He could see your nipples through the fabric. It was now all so tempting.

The man swallows roughly as he feels your hips shuffle forward and he slowly leans just a little bit closer now. He was on top of you brushing his hand across your jawline and he feels his heart pound like a tractor now.

It felt so tempting. Why are you always tempting him? Mark was so excited but so scared and he felt embarrassed knowing this is wrong on many levels. He shouldn’t be taking advantage of you when you’re in a sleeping state unaware of him being there but he cannot help it now when you let out a soft moan in your sleep.

Mark furrows his eyebrows watching your beautiful resting expression. You moaned?

You couldn’t help but wonder in your dream. Mark saw that you’re now simply having an erotic experience in your own dreamland and that makes the situation even more slinging to Mark knowing he cannot control himself when you moan so softly in your quiet sleeping voice. He gulps when now he brushed his hand over your panty line and rolls down his middle finger across your clothed clit. It made you hum as you stayed asleep.

Mark cursed to his selfish ways quietly. “Fuck…Y/n tell me to stop already.” He was so wishful begging you to wake up knowing he couldn’t stop himself anymore. Mark slowly takes off his belt and other items he wore now.

He was asking the Lord to give him a sign to stop already. He was asking for forgiveness for what he’s about to do and so on; Mark gives his cock a few good strokes and then he lets his free hand pushing in two fingers very slowly to stretch your beautiful pussy out as you were in such deep sleep he was surprised you did not wake up from his gentle and slow thrusts.

You’re quite literally rocking against his movements but you were asleep unaware of all of this. It felt so forbidden to be doing this but at the same time, the forbidden stuff felt so right on so many levels. Mark couldn’t stop himself now because the more your moan increased and he pulls away you whined softly at the empty space in your walls. Mark groans stopping when he stroke himself for a final time.

Mark took in your beautiful expression when he leans down and positioned his erected cock as he gentle groans now that your entrance has began sucking Mark’s shaft already into your insides. You were practically screaming at him to fuck you. Mark can see it on your expression now that your eyebrows fell into an angle scrunching up on your face. The pleasure was making you very much needy. He saw your nose crinkle on your face the more his length was pushing in very slowly now as the stretching motion was increasing and getting so much more deeper and tighter. Your hole was so desperate to be able to grow more and more with his cock. Mark felt like this was a heavenly experience. It couldn’t be explained even if he could. Mark hung his head low for a few minutes as he takes a while to adjust and bring himself to reality.

He couldn’t believe he was so deep inside you and he hasn’t even thrusted in yet. You’re already making a lot of noises and he was worried for a second you’re going to wake up. However, Mark noticed your eyes were shut deep and the pleasure was aligning themselves to your dream you are experiencing. The wet dream must’ve been very good because he saw you react fondly when his hips now lift themselves up a little and slowly pull his cock out so he can thrust inside your body, starting to slowly move.

The pleasure. The intense excitement was there you couldn’t quite grasp the fact that your body was being used in such ways now by Mark. He gawks at every thrust now trying to be quiet and all of his noises were made into low pants as the frequency of his thrusts with his cock keeps on forging deep inside you like you and him were becoming a compound. You’re now as one and this is the first time Mark could ever imagine the taste of you. He was shocked and it still felt like a dream to him.

He dreamt of this every night for so long, many months now. Mark was probably thinking something along the lines that this was a given opportunity surely. Mark never imagined you to be here letting him fuck you out on your bed as you’re asleep and you haven’t woke up once even though his thrusts have been growing rougher and more faster. His pace was the one thing your body was fighting against. You were taking every pleasure his hips stroke out for you.

You whirled around the bed with each thrust letting your head sink deeper into the pillow case sheets as your nose was breathing unsteady and heavily. Your eyes roll back as you were in a deep state of dreaming. It felt like a lucid dream in a way. Your wet dream and the reality felt too connected like one together. Mark pivoted his hips against your waist as his hands roam your chest with his eyes going down to seeing your two breasts.

When the shirt lifts and the cold air hits your skin a little because your body was going through a warm overload. Mark becoming a part of you inside was creating you to have heat flashes. The pleasure became your own.

“You’re such a good whore for me Y/n, letting me do this to you…” He praised you as you slept while you’re sleeping so beautiful right here taking everything he is giving.

He leans down only to suck on your beautiful pinkish darkish nipples putting them in his mouth as he lays down his chest against your stomach and now he was quickly pushing deep inside you with every force he has. You let out croaking moans now as your spine arched on the surface of your bed you are laying on. The mattress creaks a little now that Mark looks like he is losing his self control.

Every bit of control he has. Every bit of moral compass he has was gone.

Mark groans playing with your nipples with his soft grazing teeth. He managed to pinch your nipples with his front two teeth which makes you exhale out heavily out a hiss.

He looms closer up at your face seeing your expression as you hissed when he pleasured you by the teeth pulling on your sensitive nipples. He enjoys watching you react so fondly and actively.

Mark couldn’t help but think this was going to be the death of him now that he has a taste of you he wasn’t sure what he is capable of next. He’s literally fucking your asleep body. And it feels good for the both of you but he can’t help but wish you were awake. Mark wants you to see and know who’s pleasuring you so good.

He wants you to know who claimed you. The beautiful sight of your figure while his deep solid cock was so hard within you makes his mind to take a photographic memory of this. “You sound even prettier when you’re asleep like this while you’re taking my cock inside your pretty pussy Y/n,” Mark’s voice comes off as silvery and fully rough grunts the more he thrusts you seem to clench even more and more. It drove Mark crazy. It was like a back and forth biting game. He came back for more and you kept leaving him become greedy for you. “You might be the death of me.” There might not be any salvation for Mark anymore because of you.

There’s no religion that can save Mark now from what you’re doing to him.

You glimmer your voice that becomes hushed when Mark leans in slowly to kiss you now that he was gaining a closer understanding of his own body that takes shape inside you. His cock was twitching with every thrust and clench you give him and your body was trembling with every breath and force of energy you have. Your sleeping state was beautiful underneath him as if you’re letting him do everything he wanted with you.

The kiss overtakes your mind consciously and you frown in the kiss as you feel your dream becoming stuck. You couldn’t help but notice that your reality was shaking and breaking like a mirror to shattering pieces as you kiss back.

The kiss felt so real to you and Mark kissed you as deeply as he can in hopes you wake up right now. He wants you to look and see him with your own eyes even though it was risky. Mark couldn’t help but want you to wake up at him once as he’s on top of you like this with you in his arms and him inside you so deeply it’s not even possible. Your guts felt as good as he could dream but nothing quite like he imagined. It’s better than he ever could think to imagine.

Mark felt you nibble his bottom lip as your teeth brush against the kiss now that you’re kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. It felt so good you’re not even sure who you are kissing but it feels real. You’re not sure if this is a dream or not either.

And as your kiss takes you to places; Mark’s body pivots down at you thrusting the very few seconds he has before he feels himself unfold in your own body. He groans against the deep kissed you gave him and it felt like you’re about to wake up too. Mark grunts lowly. “Oh fuck… Y/n…” He breathes seething a deep sense of what’s happening.

Mark’s jaw tightens as he groans the last bit of voice he has when he finally pushed him last time while his hands roughly shake down your hips and you cause to arch and spasms as you’re laying underneath him so senselessly fucked out. You let out long syllabus of moans that cannot be comprehended. Even your words were a mixture between wails and beautiful cries of your own pleasure as you felt your own orgasm wash over your dream and reality you start to think and witness the darkness of your room. Even the pleasure made your vision very low and dizzy. You couldn’t see much everything you saw was like a blur but you felt everything so clearly. You couldn’t see but you can feel the immense pleasure it was far too good to forget and pass upon. You never knew you could wake up to such a good feeling.

It felt almost real, you thought.

Mark bit his bottom lip deeply enough to draw small blood to detail on his mouth. The earth stops spinning for him as his own orgasm was reaching the peak and when it did the whole body began to twitch. He saw how much you’re effected by this and he loves seeing you ruin yourself on his dick like this. Mark runs his palm over your bare stomach feeling how deep he was in you his dick was leaving an imprint you will forever remember.

He was so far deep in you that when he released his load inside you he couldn’t help but slowly thrust once more to fuck it inside you again so none slip out. Mark couldn’t help it when the urge to see you full of him within you drove Mark crazy like he was possessed by the idea of you becoming inflated by his own seed.

Your vision went black when he thrust only to fuck his own personal cum inside you deep and you held your mouth with your palm now. You’re waking up pretty much soon now and Mark heard your tiny voice come out. “Ahh…shit…” you murmur now as you couldn’t even see within the darkness but you felt the hands of someone holding you.

Your slender arms on the side held onto his shirt even though you couldn’t quite make up who it was as you felt your vision getting darker again. You lay back down grunting softly when you feel him pull out.

And then you feel Mark softly hush you. You couldn’t recognise the voice but it felt so familiar to you too. Mark leans in kissing your forehead now as you close back your eyes.

He coos you to fall asleep again. “It’s okay, go to sleep Y/n…” and somehow you found his voice to be very soothing and full of love. You couldn’t help but do exactly as he told you to. You went back to your sleep and Mark found himself falling deep in love with you when he saw your peaceful expression return.

Somehow you now have a smile on your face. It seems like you enjoyed the pleasure and as much as he is still shocked him you kissed him back so much. Mark will never forget that kiss.

Mark feels himself slowly push himself back up in the sitting position as he motions his hands together. He looks down at his hands then he looks back at you. “You’re my Sin and Obsession, Y/n.”

What happened today he wonders what his consequences will be of doing what he did to you now.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank you. Please Reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out <3.

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actual-changeling · 6 months

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if you were to ask them what love is, what other answer could they give but each other's name?

the entire universe is at their mercy, reality bending around them, and they have watched humanity grow from two seeds in a garden to a wave washing over the planet. they came from god's chest and tasted stardust, tasted grace and hellfire, and finally humanity.

eventually even each other.

their wings are starlight white and night-sky black, and they are not a grain of sand in the hourglass of time but the hands turning it over again and again before it can run out.

you would assume they know greater loss than anyone else, having watched everyone around them die, but it is not loss that defines them; it is trust, it's devotion.

it's faith.

so if you were to ask them what love is, the answer would be hidden within six thousand years, in bottles of wine and walks in the park, in feeding the ducks, the very first and the very last ones.

loving the world is an easy kind of love, you can find a new spark whenever you lose yours, and they know that love, too.

you ask them after the world did not end, and they hide their smiles from each other and that is how you know, it is how they know, and you want to give them more time. just a little more, so they can show their smiles without seeking out the shadows, and it's love without loss, it's love built around freedom and trust and the wish for safety.

people might think that adam and eve are the ones who invented love, the first beings to love another, to reach and watch and fight whoever stands in their way.

before them there were two beings fighting thunderstorms and god's will for each other, one who fell for love and one who left for it. love is heavy, a burden to carry, it cannot be unconditional or it will steal you away, swallow you whole, turn you inside out and shape you until you are the hourglass and they are the hands.

he does not need to breathe but he is suffocating on his sudden loneliness, the loss of a love he never imagined he could lose, not like this. it wasn't ripped away or went up in flames like in his dreams night after night after night. he imagined yelling and blood and hands clinging to his with all the faith they have built between them; a chapel meant for them and them alone weathering a storm.

he thought their love was each others names. he thought their love was blasphemy and destroyed churches and standing with your hands intertwined when god rips through the sky and the devil through the ground.

(he thought their love was carried within bags full of books in the dark. he thought their love was kneeling for confession and asking for redemption, for salvation, so they could stop the earth from being torn apart.)

he thought their love was destruction and a desperate search for peace.

(he thought their love was change and the hope for a better world.)

he was an optimist until the end.

(he left his faith behind to try and find it in the clouds.)

but if you were to ask them even now what love is, one would gaze up and the other down, and the answer would form right in the middle, where their eyes meet.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #idk what this is but have it anyway

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rosazoldyckk · 1 year

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𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑌𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝑋 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Fandom: Death Note. Genre: Idk. Yandere Genre? TW’s: Obsessive/possessive thinking. Mentions of kidnapping and death. If these trigger you then pls read with caution or skip

403 words

Light has waited long enough, he is claiming you right here and right now. If he waits even one more second he'll rip his eyes out. For months now the seemingly ‘patient’ man had been stalking watching you, observing every single thing about you, keeping you safe, courting you, spoiling you rotten and for the love of God you still haven't taken the hint.

This behaviour won't do sweetheart, not at all.

He feels like tearing off his fingernails as he watches some stranger flirt with you, his blood boiling with complete rage. Can't you understand that he needs you in order to live? Don’t you see that he'd get down on his hands and knees and kiss the very ground you walked on?

You sure do love to push him to his limit, don't you sweetheart?

After tonight nothing is going to be the same ever again. He wasn't able to win your heart the good old fashioned way, therefore it is time for him to use brute force. He will make you love him, he'll make you so obsessed with him that it will be impossible to live without him, you will need Light just as much as he needed you. After all, you are the beginning and end of who he is. You are everything he could ever care for and more. You must understand that Light truly adores you. He would praise every hair on your head, every breath you take, every glance you give in his direction. You fill his mind to the point that it's difficult for him to focus, seeing you in the dark when he closes his eyes. He feels himself reaching out to your shadow. He just wants you. Light wants you. Light needs you.

You are his salvation. Your voice, his mantra. Your body, his church. He was a dangerous sinner that no recognition of the taste of heaven that you so mercifully provided. He was not one to pray, as he knew he had long abandoned any influence of such, but if it meant he could forever keep you close within arms reach, then he would cry his prayers to the heavens for all to hear.

And if you decide to die in the end... At least the two of you can do it together, like lovers. Maybe things didn't work out in this life but in the next he is sure that you can finally be together.

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nepentheisms · 9 months

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This is it; this is the Big 'Un that's been knocking around in my head since the bookclub's inception.

When it comes to mentions of the biblical parallels in Trigun, I've seen that Wolfwood is most frequently discussed as a Judas figure. I think it's important, though, to note that carrying out the Judas role to Vash's Jesus was a job he was ordered to take, and it's one he went through the motions of following while having the ulterior motive of killing the one who gave him the order in the first place. In fact, when Wolfwood does turn traitor, it's actually Knives and the GHG he chooses to betray. He ends up Judas-ing the guys who assigned him to the Judas mission - that's some sweet irony!

And as Wolfwood's time in the story draws to an end, he takes the path completely contrary to Judas' ignominious end by suicide. He instead takes a leap of faith and dares to place his trust in Vash's vision for humanity's future. His faith remains imperfect, but in the midst of all his doubt and uncertainty, he persists anyway.

This last stand of his becomes Wolfwood's ultimate affirmation of his devotion to Vash's ideals, and he effectively becomes a martyr, which places him far outside the image of Judas. In fact, I think that when we look back on his character arc as a whole, we can see how it more neatly lines up in trajectory with the story of another apostle: Peter.

Like Peter in the gospel narratives, Wolfwood finds it difficult to have the kind of faith that is asked of him. Vash goes into his battle with Rai Dei insisting to Wolfwood that he can finish the conflict without taking a life, but Wolfwood intervenes against Vash's wishes because he was worried about Rai Dei's next move. Peter sees Jesus walking on water and goes out to join him, but with the rough winds blowing around him, Peter becomes overwhelmed by fear and begins to sink. After these failures of faith in their respective stories, Peter and Wolfwood are then chastised by the men they follow.

Matthew 14:31 (NRSV) - Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

And it's these struggles with doubt, these moments of fear and cynicism overtaking faith that are so instrumental to the Christian perspective on salvation with its message of "You are flawed by nature, but you are loved beyond all comprehension nonetheless. Accept this love that it may save you and change you."

In Peter's case, although he is singled out multiple times for his failures (e.g. denying Jesus three times), he still holds a special place of prominence among Jesus' disciples. The 21st chapter of John features a conversation between Peter and the resurrected Jesus in which Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times (a reversal of the three times he denied Jesus), and Jesus responds by instructing Peter to care for his flock. After Jesus ascends to Heaven, Peter continues the work set out for him in building the early church until his eventual martyrdom, which, according to church tradition, occurs via upside-down crucifixion (see Caravaggio's rendition here). Interestingly, Wolfwood's martyrdom also involves lots of grievous bodily harm being dealt by crosses.

So the saint gets brought to death's doorstep, and that brings us to the infamous whiskey bottle

Others have already pointed out that "The Bride" likely refers to the Bride of Christ. This excerpt from the Catechism of the Catholic Church sums up the concept:

The unity of Christ and the Church, head and members of one Body, also implies the distinction of the two within a personal relationship. This aspect is often expressed by the image of bridegroom and bride. The theme of Christ as Bridegroom of the Church was prepared for by the prophets and announced by John the Baptist. The Lord referred to himself as the "bridegroom." The Apostle speaks of the whole Church and of each of the faithful, members of his Body, as a bride "betrothed" to Christ the Lord so as to become but one spirit with him. The Church is the spotless bride of the spotless Lamb.

Now Peter is of particular importance when talking about the Church as an institution, because in the Catholic tradition, Peter is believed to have been granted a distinguished position of authority as the very foundation of Jesus' church, and every Pope is considered a successor to Peter in their occupation of the Church's highest office.

So Peter = Pope = the head of the Bride of Christ. And if we take the reading of Wolfwood as a Peter analogue.... you see where we're going. The Bride of Christ has been sanctified through a powerful demonstration of sacrificial love and prepared for the wedding to the bridegroom, but right here Yasuhiro Nightow subverts the biblical metaphor to devastating effect. The wedding doesn't come to fruition, because Vash can't bring himself to step into the role of the heavenly bridegroom. In this moment, he just feels all too painfully human in his grief. Wolfwood ascends - celebrated across the sky by those he saved with his selfless love, but Vash descends - acting as an ordinary person mourning the loss of a loved one.

John 13:36 (NRSV) - Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus answered, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now...."

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun spoilers #trigun maximum spoilers #suicide mention #cw suicide mention #religion mention #christianity mention #trigunbookclub #the bookclub is a funeral procession this week #hugs going out to all of you #Guns&God meta

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flowerandblood · 7 months

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Glass Cuts Deepest (10)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, panic attack, mention of rape, fluff, angst, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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He had never felt as calm and happy as he did that morning when he returned to his room − he couldn't get rid of the smile of pride and satisfaction at the thought that he had touched her, that he had brought her to orgasm with his very words, kisses and the touch of his hand.

He could still hear her surprised sobs of pleasure as fulfilment shook her body, as she sought refuge in his arms.

She was so polite and obedient, keeping her hands where he told her to, even though he knew it was difficult for her, she didn't touch him, allowing him to focus entirely on her and her pleasure.

He had never touched a woman of his own volition before her.

He wondered how it had come so easily, practically effortlessly, and realised that he had not associated this type of touch with Alys.

When she came to him then it wasn't him touching her, she was the one touching him, she was the one in control.

However, Wright then gave herself completely to him, allowing him to touch her as he wished, still clothed without making him feel threatened.

He realised that this could have been the solution to his problem, that maybe when he was the one in control of what was happening, his body wouldn't react with panic and bring up those awful memories.

When they went to the church to see how the installed stained glass windows looked like he felt a kind of pride, seeing how the golden background around the Mother of God with the child shimmered in the sunlight, giving a truly heavenly impression.

He couldn't look away from the face he had painted, simultaneously embarrassed and delighted by the sight, realising something, interjecting a word from the bishop who had just praised his student's project.

"In Christian iconography and theology, the Virgin Mary is supposed to be the personification of the New Eve, transformed from a woman who was tempted into a woman who contributed to human salvation. Her son, Christ, was instead to be the new Adam, which is why often in crucifixion paintings we see a skull under his feet on the ground that is meant to symbolise Adam's tomb, on which his cross grows like a tree." He said calmly, pretending that he just wanted to add some interesting information on the subject, but when he glanced at Wright he saw her lower her gaze quickly, trying to hide the smile of embarrassment and the redness of her cheeks.

He knew he was talking about her.

She was his Eve.

She was his salvation.

He had fallen in love with her.

"Indeed, the professor is right, Our Lady and Christ are the announcement of a new paradise, but also of the good news that the exile and wandering of mankind is over, that the gates of heaven have been opened to them again." Said the bishop in a light tone, acknowledging his point, snapping him out of his reverie with his next question.

"Who painted the face of that wondrous Mother of God that shines so luminously before us?"

He looked at him in surprise, feeling his heart pounding fast, and grunted quietly, not wanting to show his sudden nervousness.

"Me." He said indifferently and dryly, standing with his hands folded in front of him, and then he saw the priest's gaze quickly shift to his female student. He felt a tightening in his throat, knowing that he already knew.

Fuck.

Was Cregan guessing too, or was he just pretending not to see it?

How could he have been so stupid to let this happen?

He swallowed loudly, glancing at Wright and felt a cool sweat on the back of his neck noticing how she had gone pale, not a trace of her joy and contentment from a second ago.

She didn't look at him.

Not when they left, not when they drove back to the hotel, not when Cregan suggested they celebrate her success with dinner. He was willing to do it, he was proud of her, but she just said thank you, smiling sadly, and said she was tired and would go to her room now.

She was heartbroken and it was his fault.

As soon as he had showered and changed he was immediately outside her balcony door, knocking on her window, devastated at the thought that she might not want to see him anymore, that he had screwed things up so badly.

He was relieved when he heard movement on the other side, and then the door opened. He saw the look on her face, sadness, tiredness and resignation, and felt a tightness in his throat. He closed the door behind him, looking at her, all tense.

"What's going on?" He asked immediately, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest, his breathing uneven and accelerated.

He felt even worse when he saw that she looked away and pressed her lips together, clearly feeling uncomfortable that she wanted to tell him something that might hurt him.

"He knows. He knows it was my face you gave to your Virgin Mary." She muttered in despair and took a step back as he moved towards her. She didn't move away when he grabbed the nape of her neck and pressed his forehead against hers, shushing her silently as he traced the skin of her warm cheek with the fingers of his other hand.

"− shhh −" He whispered, hearing her accelerated breathing, seeing her look on the verge of crying, feeling painfully remorseful that he had put them at risk himself.

He didn't know then what would happen, didn't know he could ever have her.

"− it won't work − someone will catch us − we won't hide −" She whispered in a breaking voice, tear after tear running down her cheek.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that she was terrified, that she had realised what a threat this was if someone caught them. He pressed his lips together, knowing that he was the one who had the least to lose, that he was finished anyway, that he wanted to leave anyway, but she was going to study there for three more years.

He didn't want anyone to think that she owed her place and victory in the competition to the fact that she was warming his bed.

Helpless, he hushed her once more, drawing her to him, embracing her with his arms and cuddling her into his chest. She clung to him immediately, placing her hands on his t-shirt just as he had shown her the day before, hugging her cheek to his torso, breathing raggedly through her cry.

"Just tell me if you want to try." He whispered, stroking her hair and back in a calm, slow motion. He felt her freeze, her breathing sped up − she herself no longer knew what she wanted and the thought was breaking his heart.

"I'm scared." She whispered in a trembling voice. He grasped her cheeks gently in his hand and lifted her face to look at him.

"I'm scared too, but that's not what I asked you." He said calmly, looking at her tenderly.

He was scared too.

He had been scared all his life.

But he wanted to try.

He could see that she didn't know what to say, that she was heartbroken and terrified, that she needed comfort and reassurance that he wouldn't leave her, that he wouldn't expose her to mockery and gossip, that he would protect and care for her, that he wouldn't treat her like a pretty toy that he would abandon as soon as he got bored.

He felt that he had to explain to her how he felt about her, that he had to somehow put into words why it was all so important to him, why she was precious to him, why he needed her so much.

"I don't know if you believe in God, but I do. Despite what has happened to me, I believe in him and that he is merciful. I also believe that he put you in my path, that he made me choose you because you are his gift, that he knows neither of us wants to do anything bad. I have never had the opportunity to care or look after anyone before in my life, but I want to do so for you. My sketches, your face that I painted, was an expression of my desperation and suffering, but this is the last time I let anyone see what I feel for you. This is the last time I put you in danger." He whispered in a trembling voice, tucking an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear in a tender, soft gesture, literally letting out his thoughts, his feelings.

Despite what had happened to him, he was a person of faith, attending church and praying.

His faith was instilled in him by his mother, taking him to church with her every Sunday. Aegon and Helaena did not want to go there, but he did. At first, it was because he had her all to himself then, that it was their time, that he was then her only child to whom she gave her attention.

But then he began to find some kind of relief in this, in the thought that his suffering was not worthless, that it had some meaning, that he may not have had a good father on earth, but he had one in heaven.

Seeing his suffering and loneliness, he sent him, like to Adam in Eden, his Eve, so that he would no longer be lonely, and with her he sent him that wonderful feeling that had to come from him, because it was too beautiful, too warm, too good.

He saw her draw in the air loudly at his words, her gaze warm and tender, filled with pain and affection at the same time, from which he felt tears under his eyelids.

"Please, protect me." She mumbled at last, and he sighed loudly in relief and smiled tenderly, stroking her cheeks.

"I'll. I promise." He whispered, feeling heat filling his heart at the thought that she trusted him, that she believed he was capable of it, that his feelings for her were sincere.

They leaned towards each other tentatively and then their lips came together in a hot, wet kiss that made his head spin, her scent and taste filling all his senses making him feel throbbing in his sweatpants again.

After what had happened the day before, he felt more confident.

He thought he wanted to do it.

"− do you want to finish what we started yesterday? −" He asked quietly and she nodded, smiling so sweetly, so innocently, that he felt like devouring her.

They kissed again, deeper and more passionately, and then he took her hand in his, leading her slowly towards her bed, sitting down on it, looking up at her from below.

She stood before him, beautiful and warm, just his, and he had all night to explore her body.

He bit his lower lip feeling the painfully pleasurable pulsing of his manhood again, pleased with how automatically his body responded to her closeness.

"Can I stroke your cheek?" She asked uncertainly and he swallowed loudly, looking at her surprised.

You are such a pretty boy, Aemond.

He wasn't sure if he wanted it or not, but he thought it was just a touch on the cheek, no big deal − he knew how warm and soft her hands were and he decided he wanted to feel her.

So he nodded and swallowed loudly, closing his eyes, pressing his lips together because as soon as he felt her touch, he saw her, pulling off her nightshirt, a shapely, ripe body that might as well have belonged to his mother.

He saw her large breasts, her wide hips, her womb.

Why are you so tense?

"Are you okay?" He heard another soft, warm voice and nodded, figuring he could stand it, that she wasn't doing anything wrong after all, that she was just touching his fucking cheek.

But instead of her hand, he felt her hand, her hand stroking him as she rode him, as her body fell against his manhood with a loud, sickening click, and she panted in delight.

Look, see?

You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it.

It's okay, sweetheart.

He felt tears under his eyelids, pressed his lips together and shook his head, grabbing her wrist.

"− no − I − I'm not − I'm sorry −" He mumbled out brokenly and felt her pull away from him immediately, but he was no longer there, with her − he was in his hotel room there, during their family trip to the seaside, he was alone in his bed when she came to him and refused to leave his mind, his heart, his body.

It wasn't better at all.

Nothing was better.

Nothing had changed.

He couldn't not think about it.

He burst out sobbing, heartbroken by this discovery, by the realisation that he could only touch but not be touched, that the physical tenderness of the girl he adored was unwanted to him, made him uncomfortable, made him want to run away. He couldn't cope with that thought, that terrifying realisation that this would probably never change.

That forever again the touch of her hand on his bare cheek, his arms or his torso would remind him of her.

That he would never let her touch him down there because it would remind him of her.

That he might not even be able to look at her beautiful, gorgeous naked body because it would remind him of her.

He wanted to die.

"− I'm begging you, don't apologise − I'm the one who's sorry − so much has happened, I shouldn't have asked for this − forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you −" Her terrified, distraught voice roused him from his lethargy. He chuckled despairingly under his breath, revealing his face to her, shaking his head.

"− hurt me? − you can't even touch me − fuck! −" He growled in despair through his tears, running his hand over his face, feeling his whole stomach clench, his body quivering, knowing it was a panic attack again and that she had just witnessed it, that after what she had seen she would understand what she was dealing with, how fucked up he was.

She couldn't even touch his fucking cheek because he was starting to shake and cry.

How were they going to have a normal relationship?

How could he make her persist in something like this, feeling perpetually rejected and unwanted?

He thought it was all her fault, that stupid whore − he felt anger and hatred, words began to fly out of his mouth on their own, the things he had never told anyone about gushed out of him like the poison that had bubbled up inside him all these years.

"− that whore − then when she came to me − she touched me, she fucking touched me everywhere − my cheeks, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my −" He couldn't finish, gasping for air, his voice breaking through the fact that he was crying and couldn't breathe, looking at her, seeing her terrified, hot gaze full of concern and understanding.

She was listening to him, she was beside him, kneeling on the ground beside him like Mary Magdalene beside Christ, not daring to touch him.

He drew in a loud breath and raised his hand, as if he wanted to explain something to her, to point out the source of the whole problem.

"− she touched me everywhere − e v e r y w h e r e − as if she wanted to contaminate my body − to make sure that no one would ever touch me after her again −" He muttered in a breaking, angry, embittered voice, running his hands through his hair, only now understanding what she had done to him, how much she had deconstructed him as a person.

For years he had told himself that he simply hated women and didn't need them, that he was capable of satisfying all his needs himself, but now he realised that this wasn't true, that he was protecting himself this way from disappointment, that subconsciously he knew he wouldn't be able to bear the touch of anyone else.

He saw her cover her mouth with her hand, crying as he did, her eyebrows arched in anguish, in disbelief, the pain in her eyes from which his own heart squeezed.

"− she destroyed me as a man − as a boy − you were right − it doesn't make sense − you don't deserve this, you will only face rejection from me −" He muttered, burying his face in his hands again, heartbroken at the thought that he hadn't been able to give her what she needed, that he would never change, that he would never be normal again, that what had happened to him couldn't be fixed.

He felt worse and worse, he felt the contents of his breakfast in his throat, his heart was pounding so hard he felt like he was about to die, he was shivering all over, cold sweat running down his back.

"− you said you would never touch a woman before me, and yet you've been sleeping in the same bed with me for the past two nights − you've been holding my hand and kissing me − you demand too much of yourself and you think I demand the same, but that's not true − I just want you to be there for me −" She said in a quick, breaking, soft voice from which he felt warmth in his chest − he drew in air loudly, clinging to her words, wanting to believe her, wanting to hope.

And then he felt a contraction in his stomach.

He knew what it meant.

His body had always reacted the same way since that evening.

"− I − I − I think I'm about to throw up −" He mumbled and heard her pick herself up quickly, running somewhere, taking a moment to hand him the vase.

He just managed to turn away from her, not wanting him to look at it, and threw up, trembling all over, breathing loudly, embarrassed, humiliated, weak and distraught, feeling that he had just shown her his worst side, the one he was most ashamed of.

He thought that after something like this she would never want him again.

That she would only be with him out of compassion.

"− I'll stay with you − I'll take my duvet, we'll go to your room and I'll lie down on the armchair next to you − I'll be with you, okay? −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that his guess had come true, that she felt sorry for him, that she would now feel responsible for him like a mother for her child rather than a woman for her man.

Still, he needed her like he had never needed anyone else in his life, so he nodded.

He rinsed his mouth and the vase in her bathroom, not even looking at his reflection in the mirror out of shame, unable to believe that he had got a panic attack because she had touched his cheek.

He left her room without a word.

He only checked that they had both closed the door behind them and lay down on his bed, feeling completely lifeless, weak and resigned.

Empty.

He saw her sprawled in an armchair near his bed covering herself with a duvet and thought it was pathetic that he, as a man, was supposed to sleep here and she was supposed to lie there in discomfort and watch him as if he were six years old.

He stood up abruptly, frustrated by this thought, walking over to her.

"− you'll be uncomfortable there − lie on the bed, I'll sleep in the armchair −" He said indifferently, but she furrowed her brow and shook her head, covering herself more tightly.

"− no −" She said in a tone that he knew wouldn't convince her, and he no longer had the strength to argue with her.

"− come to bed −" He whispered resignedly, going back and laying down on the bedding. He heard her objection caused by fear that she would make him uncomfortable again, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence by saying that he wanted her close to him.

After a moment, she stood up uncertainly, circling his bed, and he felt the mattress bend under the weight of her body, which lay somewhere far away from him.

He swallowed loudly, feeling shame and sadness, thinking about how he would never be a man again in her eyes, how pathetic he was. He felt tears under his eyelids again and cried like a small child, clenching his lips, not letting any sound leave his throat. He swallowed loudly, drawing in air deeply.

"− will you stroke my head? −" He asked in a breaking voice, remembering that when he was a little boy and was afraid of darkness, his mother would come to him and stroke his head until he fell asleep.

"− I don't want to hurt you again −" She whispered uncertainly, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that she clearly resented herself for wanting to touch him, as if touching his cheek would be some perverted crime.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing loudly, feeling his body tremble, having the feeling that he was cold.

"− please −"

He heard her shift, moving closer but so that her body wasn't touching his, and after a moment he felt her tiny fingers comb through his hair in a soft, calm motion. He felt a pleasant shudder, some kind of reassurance at that familiar, longed-for touch that combined his pleasant memory with her scent and touch.

He heard her want to say something, sensitive to any movement of his, but he didn't let her.

"− don't stop −"

So she continued stroking him, with an unhurried, tender movement of her hand trailing over his head, playing with his short hair making him finally start to calm down, his heart no longer pounding so fast, his breathing no longer so loud.

"− I will watch over you all night − no one will come in here − no one will touch you − you are safe − try to sleep −" She whispered tenderly with a certainty that surprised him − he felt a sudden tightness in his throat, one solitary tear ran down his cheek at her words.

No one will come in here.

No one will touch you.

You are safe.

He hadn't even realised how much he needed to hear it.

He sighed quietly, feeling some kind of relief, as if her reassurance had made his whole body relax.

He believed her.

No one would come in here.

No one would touch him.

He was safe with her.

He closed his eyes, concentrating only on the tender, gentle, feel-good touch of her fingers, on the smell of her body and her shampoo, on the fact that he could feel her breath on his neck.

She was beside him.

He slept restlessly and shuddered every time he woke up feeling her touch, terrified, but as soon as he turned his face towards her and saw her lying next to him immediately felt indescribably relieved.

In the morning, turning around and noticing that she really was awake, that at his slightest movement she opened her eyes and her hand began to stroke him again, he felt a squeeze in his heart.

"− sleep −" He whispered quietly, but she only smiled softly and shook her head as if she was happy to be with him. He felt hot in his heart, felt the need to touch her.

"− embrace me − I want to feel you close −" He murmured, moving closer to her, and she put her arm around him, lifting herself a little higher, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, brushing his hair. He murmured contentedly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, his nostrils filled with her wonderful, longed-for scent.

He slept a stony sleep for the next few hours.

A knock on the door woke them and they both shuddered, terrified.

"Aemond, we have to go to breakfast. I knocked on Wright's room, but I think she's still asleep too. Did you guys forget to set your alarm clocks or something?" He asked amused and they looked at each other with big eyes not knowing what to do, he could see that she was afraid to move from her place.

"− you go on your own, I'm almost ready −" He said loud enough for him to hear and Cregan just sighed heavily and said he would wait for them at the restaurant.

He ran a hand over his face as he heard his footsteps moving slowly away, and then he glanced at her. They looked at each other for a long moment without speaking, tenderness, warmth and concern in her gaze.

He touched her cheek and ran his thumb over it − she closed her eyes, cuddling her face into his hand, stroking it with her fingers.

"− come here −" He hummed tenderly, drawing her to him, sinking into her mouth in an innocent, warm, wet kiss that had nothing of sexual desire in it, only pure longing for the closeness of beloved person.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers and kissed her again, just as tenderly, purring contentedly when her free hand ran through his hair. She pulled away from him, pressing her forehead against his, trailing her fingers along the back of his head.

"Can I do that?" She asked softly, and he snorted at her question.

"You've been doing that all night at my request." He said softly, and she furrowed her brow, stroking him tenderly.

"I prefer to be sure. I don't want my touch to stop being…pleasurable to you." She mumbled, and he ran his thumb over her lips, not wanting her to say more, understanding what she meant.

"Your touch, your presence is the thing I crave most. I fear nothing so much than that you will no longer desire me after what you have seen." He said with a frown, and she shook her head hurriedly, kissing him quickly and lightly, looking at him again as if she wanted to show him with this gesture that he was completely wrong.

"I've never wanted anyone in my life like I want you."

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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