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headspace-hotel · 8 months

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I think that traditional knowledge (using this term loosely, to mean any experience based knowledge that might be orally shared and/or passed down) is not just Science in a different form, nor is it a simpler, earlier stage of a developmental path toward Science, nor is it an inferior form of knowledge.

When you are an apprentice of Nature, constantly seeking Nature in your surroundings and intentionally OPENING YOUR EYES to what moves around you, knowledge accumulates in a slow drip, like water dripping from a stalactite.

Individual days and moments of observation pull together strands of the web of life that entangles you. One day I see this bird eating from this bush; one day I see this butterfly land on this flower; one day I see that this leaf catches fire more readily than that; every day I see organisms interacting with one another and their environment, I see new environments and new interactions of organisms, and slowly I begin to see the RELATEDNESS OF EVERYTHING, an understanding that is constantly completing and filling in and becoming deeper.

The scientific framework allows me to pinpoint these observations and pose hypotheses to myself which I can then intentionally investigate and attempt to falsify. It makes the process of gaining understanding more methodical and directed.

But formalized science investigates questions within little enclosures. The learning that happens in a scientific experiment is not only limited by the boundaries of the question being investigated and the exclusion of extraneous variables (which are of course, fundamentally important parts of science), but by the idea of Science as a specific activity that a person is either doing right now or not doing right now, like playing baseball.

A baseball player has times when he is playing baseball and times when he isn't. It's the same with most jobs and hobbies. So someone who is a Scientist might be tempted to have times when she is doing science and times when she isn't. The knowledge within her might therefore be tempted to have times when it is being developed and times when it isn't.

But my dad was a pastor. The nature of his job was not in the act of preaching a sermon (which can be done from an outline you got online—shouldn't, but can) but in preparing sermons, going to events, being around to answer questions, visiting sick people in the hospital, spending long hours in study seeking spiritual insight, spending time with the youth at arcades and roller-skating places and the like, being present, being.

Being a farmer is a lot similar. Your life is defined by your relationship with the life-forms you care for in a way that can never be shelved or set aside.

The traditional way of attaining knowledge and understanding of Nature is a RELATIONSHIP that is developed and deepened in every interaction between you and your LIVING surroundings

This means that you also cannot learn the ways of the plants by Going To a Specific Place that you consider to be Nature—you must realize that EVERYWHERE IS NATURE, and the endless movement, change, and chaos of life can be seen in the dandelion and spotted spurge of the sidewalk. Anywhere you see change that was not changed according to an Idea of how the space should be, but that happened according to forces outside of human purpose—a weed popping up in a lawn, a tree that was not planted, a planted shrub drying up and turning brown, mushrooms emerging after a rain, a tree blown down in a storm, a hillside eroding, a leaf being blown in the wind, the community of plants along a roadside or in a ditch—that's Nature, and She Will Teach You.

Learning is not a job—it is a relationship, so even when you go to the walmart, Nature will show you something in the cracks of the pavement and the sad parking lot trees

#nature #the wonders #thoughts #just been thinking about this

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lovelylambi · 5 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 † . ☥

warnings — nsfw, hierophillia, sacrilege, religious themes, corruption kink, blasphemy, finger fuk¡ng, prohibition, overstimulation, subordination, dacryphillia . *

this is my first written smut so enjoy as i wrote is as best as i could ♡

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

The night was rainy in the midst of the night. You arrived to the empty candle lit cathedral, expecting nobody but you. Not a single soul was seen as the rows of seats sat ghostly empty. You were all alone, alone to pray, except you weren't alone, the priest's figure stood ominously, turned away from you.

Every time you'd visit your sermons, you'd always meet his gaze, a sinful feeling of shame lingered everytime you had thought about him. The way his roman cassock suited him as he'd stood there, speaking his sermonic lectures, his image had lingered even after you went home. You knew you had to repent your sins, as it had consumed you. A confession you'd regret but had too for the lord to not make you crave a sinful consumption of guilt and shame, to be forgiven for such impurities.

Your heels tapped against the marble floor beneath you as you walked closer towards the stage of the church. Surrounded you was empty abyss that occupied the rows of seats. The Priest was turned away, lighting candles and praying away as the lights dimly lit the whole cathedral, his figure casting a shadow onto the walls.

The cathedral was hauntingly quiet. Faint organs played when nobody was even there, you can almost hear the dead saints singing a choir. You walked closer, creeping behind the priest until he gazed behind his shoulder, soon turning around, fully meeting your innocent eyes. His tall dark figure stood there while you fiddled your hands together. He scanned you up and down, noticing your quiet timidity. "Father..." You softly gulped down as you felt your throat tighten. He spoke softly while the shadows had caressed his face. His face, soft and comforting, but also cold and emotionless. "Yes my child?" His voice echoed throughout the church, it was authoritative and soft. His hazeled eyes were just as soothing as his words. He slowly blinked at you, his gaze almost staring through your soul. Despite his words being gentle, a hint of danger dwelled in his eyes. You couldn't help but to melt as his scent filled your perimeter, it smelled of subtle incense and cologne. "I – I have something I need to confess, father...." You timidly spoke. His presence seeped into you like a knife. He spoke soft and warm, almost tempting and soothingly haunting, "You do?" The Priest had a strong aura about him that you just didn't even have the mind to back away. You stood before him with your knees trembling, and you could feel his gaze scanning you.

The Priest gently shuts a bible in his hand and places it onto the podium. He then stepped backward, gesturing for you to follow him inside a dark, empty confession booth. His footsteps echoed into the dark booth. You could feel his presence lingering behind the wall, the air felt heavier in there somehow, almost suffocating with the guilt and shame of sin. You didn't know if you'd want to leave while you still can. His presence alone just caused you to quiver at the thought him. He closed the booth and stood there, leaning forward. His shadow casted across over the wall, you couldn't help but stare at his outline. With only the sound of his faint breath, with a sheer wooden windowed–wall separating you, you could hear him quietly utter. "What do you have to confess my child...?" His voice soft. "I have been thinking sinful things... father... things I might not be forgiven for." You spoke in shame. You could feel the guilt loom over you like a shadow. "Sinful things?" His voice echoes out softly, you felt his gaze wander on you like a sharp arrow in the darkness. You couldn't help but to feel your breathing become heavy.

Even if he was the priest and was meant to protect you from sin, the thought of him being alone with you made your heart beat. But you also couldn't help that the sensation was somewhat soothing... but it was wrong, it fueled inside your bones like a disease... "Yes..." You clenched your legs together while you grasped the lining if you skirt as you sat there. You could feel the sinister thoughts not going away, as if god was almost listening. "And what are these sinful thoughts lingering inside of you..?"

"You..." You suddenly spoke of it, the humiliation of coming forward. You almost wanted to cry as you perch your head down in shame and guilt, for someone who's to forgive your sins, you felt an immense burden as it was your own priest that you were sinning for. "Tell me my child..." You were nervous, the thought of what he would do now was worrying. You worried about how he saw you now, as you were an impure girl, not to you, but to him also. You'd always see him at church, but now you see him in a much more sinister light. "What is it that you've thought.. ?"

"I – I can't say, father." Your voice almost plead with a sharp breath. His voice slowly drifted out again and was now more menacing. "Tell me." You felt like a criminal. He knew that the more you'd keep it in, the more guilty you'd feel. Your breathing was getting heavier, it was becoming harder to confess under his gaze. Your legs felt weak. Was this wrong? He was a priest devoted to god. Your voice fell in desperation, "Father.... I want do die for how I am sin itself..."

The Father leaned forward the booth's window, listening carefully to what more you had to say. The only noise was your trembling voice speaking through the gaps of the booth. Your hands clenched tightly together on your lap, hoping for forgiveness, hoping to be cleansed from your sins. He listened intently, soft and calm he was. His gentle voice filled the booth once again, "The lord forgives you dear child..." He was remorseful.

"Father... I repent..." You plead with a soft cry. His voice was deep as he kept leaning in closer. "Now that you've confessed your sins.. you must atone for them."

"Atone them..?"

His voice lowered into a deep whisper. You felt your body grow hotter by the second as he spoke. "Yes... atone..." The way he said it made it sound as if you were about to be punished... you felt even more nervous now, you almost couldn't take it... "Repenting is one thing, but the Lord does not forget easily. You will have to make up for it my child, or else the Lord will not forgive you." You felt yourself shiver at the sound of his words. "How will I... father." You spoke soft and sincere to him. His voice was full of authority, he knew exactly how to get a little lamb full of sin and somber to shiver. "Repentance requires atonement. The only way to truly repent for your sin is through me..."

"And how exactly.." You softly murmured. Listening carefully through the other side, it was cold and silent, as if he wasn't there at all. "Father....." You spoke out once again. No answer...

Soon the door swung open, revealing the dark figure of the mysterious priest. You flinched at his sudden appearance. He gestured you step out of the confessional booth, stepping aside. You brush past his way and followed him towards the stage of the church. The Priest came to a stop near a marble slab table, columns vertically placed onto the sides. The big gothic glass pane window ominously glowed an almost reddish.

You stood in front of him, wondering what he wanted. What you needed.. "Get on your knees..." He demanded. Abide by his command, you knelt to the cold bare floor on your bare knees. "Pray..." It was almost a threatening command.

You prayed for the sins to be forgiven as you closed your eyes and placed your palms together in prayer.

You prayed. Hoping for forgiveness. It was all you could do for the sin you had confessed. The candle flames dancing against you. You fluttered your eyes innocently up towards the priest, your eyes sparkling with the candle lit flames. Praying for any saint that would listen to you and spare you from the sin as you and the father's eyes conjured, his gaze watching your every move as you worshipped for forgiveness. He watched from above like the sinister thoughts you've thought about, it was no different. You closed your eyes and spoke, "Lord, I am a sinner, forgive me for I have sinned before you. Wash away my sin, purify me, and help me turn away from this sin....." You sincerely repented, words slipping softly out of your tongue. You opened your eyes once more, his grimace gaze filled you again. "The lord forgives child, but in this world of impurities, I have not, not quite yet.." He spoke coldly. You slowly stood up, wondering why the prayer hasn't satisfied him.

"Father....?" You questioned. He gently grabbed you by the shoulders and backed you up against the edge of the marble table, his presence looming over you, entrapping you against your will. He didn't dare touch you, not yet.

As stared at you closely, you knew he was about to do something sinful for he is a priest... Yet you felt no remorse. You were his sacrificial lamb to kill. He leaned in, making you more nervous than you already were. His lips merely inches away, you couldn't help but flutter your eyes to his lips. You were in desperation, he was giving you something you wanted, desired. You felt the resurgence of your fantasies, you couldn't help it, he was taunting you. You couldn't take it anymore.

Soon, you couldn't help yourself, as you leaned your lips closer and closer, your lips softly latched onto his like a desperate puppy. His lips devoured yours relentlessly. He grasped his hand on the nape of your neck. There was a taste of chocolate, a sweetness lingering. His lips tasted of salvation that was soon filled with sin. You were now his. You couldn't help but moan for more to consume you, to drown you and take control of your body. To lose you in his lips. His body pressed against yours tightly. The candles danced against the shadows that surrounded him.

You were all his to worship. All his to cleanse. You began to shiver as you unlatched your lips from his, gently pushing him away. "This is all wrong....." The prohibition of it all made you crave for more. It was taboo as you were abide by a man of god. "Forgive me father... I beg you..." You switch between both of his eyes. You were in the sick of it all, as you begged for his redemption. You knew you couldn't redeem yourself anymore, as you had sinned worse than your own thoughts. His face was almost warm and expressional, his eyes giving away lust. "Let the lord forgive me.... I'll do anything... father." You pleaded. "Anything?" The Priest says low and hypnotic. "Yes...." You gave in.

He smirked softly. Your obedience was all he wanted. With just one more step, his lips would finally surge yours once more. His fingers almost reached your lips but didn't. He kept playing the game of your obedience, enticing your innocence and virtue. His voice grew lower. He was almost whispering his words. "Would you do anything and everything I ask of you without hesitation.....?"

You shook your head hesitantly as he slowly wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck once again, softly gasping a sharp breath from his touch. He was merely inches away from your lips. You felt almost lost in the temptation once again. Those warm and gentle lips only the father possessed, was meeting yours once more. You softly whimpered underneath your breath, your palms clenching the table tighter as they soon travelled along his chest, you could feel the remnants of the cross on his neck, making you feel more guilty as you felt his tongue against yours.

The Priest's soft and gentle hands lingered onto your waistline as he kept his mouth against yours, you could almost faint from your delicate and sensitive touch as soft whimpers escaped.

The only thing that mattered now was your sins that were now about to be committed by the one who was supposed to cleanse it.

His soft touch around your waistline picked you up and placed you onto the marbled table, making you wrap your legs around the priest as you felt him against you. You were wrapped in the heat of the Father's body. His hot breath against your neck, his hands wandering around the curve of your waist.

He was taking control. He began to slowly travel his hand along your thigh, gently caressing his hand along your soft delicate skin. Your breath shuddered with each passing moment. Your moans grew into something more passionate as he reached his fingers higher and higher on your thighs, until he reached to your white linen underwear, you knew you were going to repent for life...

Your sudden shutter of soft moans spilled out of you as he touched you. It was almost sadistic with the way he gazed into your eyes. The Priest gave no mercy as he slipped inside of your underwear and mercilessly rubbed your cunt. Your body began to quiver. Nobody had touched you like this. You were his virgin mary, he knew he would make you pray for more.

He seeped his fingers in. Making you shutter your head backwards as you bit your lip. Your soft whimpering moans grew slightly more as he seeped his fingers more and more inside of you. The innocence you wore was an illusion, you were nothing but a a sinful girl that was taken advantage by the Priest. "More...." You pleaded, moaning in desperation. Grasping the black cloth of his clothes. He took in your request, sinking his fingers deeper and deeper inside the abyss of you, in and out of you. He could almost see tears in your eyes, knowing you wanted to cry because of the guilty pleasure you felt from the sins he was committing, making you the left ruins of a sacrificial lamb in his presence.

You were repenting to him, worshipping him as he made you lose control of all your senses, receiving uncontrollable pleasure from a man devoted to god. You felt yourself lose grip with each kiss you made. You were being cleansed in the ultimate sin. Sin which would send you to hell but you didn't care as the priest was only taking you there for his pleasure, you deserved it as you are the sin itself, you were a disgusting girl. You gasped out more whimpers, unlatching your lips from his suffocation. You started to feel overwhelmed at the pleasure, you wanted no more as you begged. "No more, please...." You softly cried out. He didn't care as he continued to finger you with no remorse, his fingers covered in your cum. He thought how impure you were to have to get wet at the priests touch ever so easily. You kept whimpering, wanting him to stop as you became overstimulated with sensation. His hands only travelled further inside of you as you begged him. You could feel the sensations of shame filling your body for your pleas for him to stop were nothing but begging for more to him. You were his to take. He could make you sin over and over again. Your whimpers was the sound of your repentance to his ears. Your pleas for him to stop were simply fuel to the flames that were burning inside you. You felt your mind slipping as he watched you orgasm, your legs quivering. You tried grabbing his wrist but he continued to pleasure you. You were losing yourself, the innocence was slipping through your fingers, the sins were consuming you. The pleasure was overwhelming you. You couldn't help it. The priest couldn't help it either. Each kiss was bringing you both towards the edge. Your whimpering cries becoming more uncontrollable as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Soon his fingers slipped out of you as you then fall back against the top of the marble table, twitching as you clasped your knees together, your hands grasping at your pussy. The priest seemed to be done with his baptism. He blinked slowly as he was finally satisfied. He walked around the table, reaching to the other side where your head laid, he overlooked you from above as you notice him towering over you. "You're forgiven for all the sins....." He soon reached his wet cummed covered fingers slowly into your mouth. You whimpered as you didn't want to, but he insisted as this was part of your repentance. You licked them clean, quenching the taste of your own cum.

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between-the-realms · 1 year

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@the-mysticandmodern-world

The Archbishop had left Ana, the high priestess, in charge of Sunray Province for the last week, while he was meant to return within the next two weeks. The Archbishop had pressing matters to deal with, though Ana suspected that the man had lied about why he left. Still, that wasn't something she could worry about at the moment.

Currently in front of Ana was a lost man, with nowhere to stay, she suspected. Ana would pull her long brown hair back. She was a very radiant-looking woman. Her skin was tan and she had rather mesmerizing green eyes. Her priestess robes, which were meant to be modest, and cover her body, seemed to grab at her curves showing off the outline of her body.

"Now, Lelouch, was it? You may stay in this temple for as long as you need. At least until you find a more suitable living situation. But there are a couple of rules you must follow while residing in the temple. First off, many of our priests, nuns, and Acolytes practice Celapacy. You are meant to sleep and eat here, nothing more. This isn't a brothel or a tavern." She stated, even though two hours before she was knuckles deep in a new Acolyte. "No wine. And no outside food. And no guests within the temple walls unless they are here for a sermon. Does that sound fair?"

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hollandorks · 9 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter two

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I have like six chapters written and a rough (mental) outline of the next four or so, so I'm going to keep posting pretty frequently! I mostly want to get these first few posted to get a nice foundation going...and also because I'm greedy for the attention. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.5k

Her childhood bedroom was exactly as she had left it three years ago, free of dust, the linens on the bed so fresh she could still smell the detergent.

She threw herself onto the bed and finally let herself cry.

The funerals were a small, somber affair two days later.

Y/n’s mother’s only guests were her sponsor, a distant cousin she had been close with, and a neighbor. Dory’s guests included Bruce and Alfred, along with a few friends, her sister, and her niece and her family. Though the number of guests were few, y/n knew her grandmother was well loved.

As the sermon commenced, y/n found herself aching for just one more hug, one more story, one more smile.

And her mother…the grief for her was unexpected and sharp. She had been a bad mother, yes, but in recent years she’d made an effort. She got help for her addictions. Apologized. Sent the occasional card or letter. Took her own mother to appointments when y/n was too much of a coward to face Bruce.

She couldn’t stop the tears, but she hung on every word said over them in goodbye. She wanted to speak for them, to say her own goodbye, but she couldn’t bring herself to. It was too hard. The hardest thing she’d ever done.

And when Alfred stepped up to the podium, his kind words made her choke on emotion, her muffled sob echoing in the space despite her best efforts to smother it.

She half expected Bruce to comfort her, to try to make her laugh like he had when they were young. But he made sure Alfred sat between them, the space yawning wide like a chasm instead of the length of a single chair. When she glanced over at him, his eyes were on her, his hands bunched into tight fists on top of his knees.

Were those…bruises across his knuckles? She frowned even as he continued to watch her. Well, he had gone through a street racing phase when they were in high school. Maybe he was into boxing now. She had no way of knowing.

She met his eyes once more and her already broken heart broke a little more when he turned away without a word.

She ached for one more smile, one more hug, from Bruce as much as from her grandmother. It was another type of grief, but worse because she could get those things, if only their relationship was still alive. He was there, he was alive, but he was just as far away as the two people in the coffins before her were.

After the funerals and the reception at her grandmother’s church, y/n followed Alfred and Bruce out of the elevator at Wayne Tower. It felt as if she had aged ten years in the span of three days. Her steps were heavy as she trudged towards her room. Tomorrow, she thought tiredly, she would have to go through her grandmother’s things. Alfred told her that she didn’t have to, that everything could stay as it was–but she knew that she had infringed upon Bruce Wayne’s generosity for too long already.

In her own room again, she tried to go to sleep. It wasn’t late, but she was exhausted, and she wanted her brain to turn off for a little while. She didn’t want to think, to remember, to go over every single thing she would never get to do again with her grandmother. She didn’t want to think about Bruce’s gaze on her at the funeral, his hands in fists, his lips pressed tightly together.

She had lost everyone who loved her, except for Alfred.

The loneliness and the grief were sharp in her chest.

Hours later, she was still awake.

With a groan, she rolled over, defeated. It was nearly midnight.

She stood and changed into something more comfortable.

She needed to get out. Out of the place of so many memories, good and bad. Every moment in Wayne Tower was like being chased by ghosts. One moment, she saw herself and Bruce at eight years old, chasing each other up and down the stairs. In the next, she saw her grandmother teaching her how to properly carry a tray of tea to Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. In the next, she heard Bruce’s angry words echo off of the vaulted ceiling as he broke her heart.

Y/n shuddered as she walked towards the elevator that would take her down and out.

“Where are you going?” a gruff voice asked, nearly making her scream.

She whirled around. Bruce was half-hidden in the shadows.

“Out,” she said, feeling oddly like a teenager again. Dory and Alfred had caught her sneaking out many a night. Somehow, they’d never caught Bruce, but always caught her. She had that same guilty feeling now, spreading sticky fingers through her like a flush of heat.

Bruce stepped into the weak light from the lamp on the entry table. “Out where?”

“God, what are you, my father?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “Just out, Bruce.”

“In Gotham?” he asked, incredulity coloring his tone. His dark eyebrows disappeared into the lengths of his hair. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Never stopped me before,” she said with a shrug. She missed him so much she relished each word he gave her, even if they were a reprimand. She needed to leave before she got stuck in an argument with him–or worse, cried. “See you later.”

She hit the button for the elevator and startled all over again when Bruce grabbed her wrist. She hadn’t heard him close the distance between them. How could someone so tall and broad move so silently, she wondered. And then she realized that he was touching her bare skin, and electricity crackled up her arm.

She wanted to lean into him. God, she missed him.

But then he ruined the moment. “No. It’s too dangerous, y/n.”

Anger rose within her, wild and unstoppable and full of thorns. She bristled at it. “I don’t care.” She yanked her arm away and stepped into the now-open elevator. Even three years away couldn’t tamper the hurt she still felt. It was as fresh at it had been the day he’d ripped out her heart. “I can’t stand to be in this place another second.”

He took a step forward too, blue eyes blazing. “Let me at least–”

“You’ve done enough,” she snapped. The words seemed to stun him into stillness. Which worked for her, because then the doors slid closed, and she was whisked down and away, just like she wanted.

She slumped against the far wall of the elevator, suddenly tired again. She wondered if Bruce was watching her on the security camera she knew was in the upper left corner. She knew he was trying to look out for her–he always had, even as kids when he was much smaller and scrawnier than her–and she had thrown it back in his face. But she was so damn tired. Tired of pretending like she wasn’t hurting. Of pretending like she could look him in the eyes without remembering how much she loved him. Of pretending like things might ever be able to go back to the way they used to be. Of pretending like she wasn’t fucking lonely.

Cold air assaulted her as she stepped outside of the tower. The security guard had barely given her a second glance. She was an adult now and not technically sneaking out, so he didn’t care what she did.

It smelled like it had rained recently or would rain again soon.

She inhaled deeply. Something in her settled. Gotham might stink like any other city but it was a familiar kind of stink. Almost comforting. And the damp smell underneath it was another comfort, one Bludhaven didn’t have to offer with its drier climate.

Y/n turned and walked off with no direction in mind. Maybe she’d stop by the diner on the corner three blocks away. She and Bruce had eaten many a late night meal there. She hadn’t had dinner, either, and was suddenly ravenous. Had she eaten lunch? She couldn’t remember eating anything before leaving for the funerals.

She made sure to keep aware of her surroundings because, as much as she hated to admit it, Bruce was right. Gotham was dangerous. It always had been. It didn’t matter that there was some freak in a bat costume running around, either. He could only do so much. And it didn’t matter that a lot of the corruption had been rooted out by that serial killer, Edward Nashton, the man called the Riddler. Gotham had a way of turning even the best of people into something rotten. It was only a matter of time before another guy in a costume showed up or another mayor turned bad.

Y/n’s mind turned to the bat guy as she scanned the shadows around her. Maybe she’d get lucky, catch a glimpse. She had read a lot of op-ed articles over the past three years while he’d been active. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. She had to admit, he was doing good for the city. One article in particular came to mind–an interview with Lieutenant James Gordon at the GCPD. He apparently worked with the Batman often and they had caught the Riddler together.

One line in particular stood out to her. Those days, in a city where I wasn’t sure who to trust on my own team, I trusted him.

And somehow, this Lieutenant Gordon had avoided being a target of the Riddler, which had to count for something. Because as psycho as he was, Nashton had targeted the corrupt. Well, except for Bruce Wayne. She still couldn’t forgive him for trying to blow up Bruce and almost succeeding with Alfred.

She slipped into the diner, busy despite the late hour, her mind still swirling with thoughts of serial killers and vigilantes and cops.

She took the last free booth in the corner, the cold night air following her inside. An old jazz song hummed in the background and the air smelled like bacon and burnt toast. Her stomach announced its emptiness again, loudly.

She was still thinking of the vigilante as she placed her order with an older waitress with hair the color of wine.

What was to stop the Batman from becoming like the Riddler? They both had taken justice into their own hands and only one was in prison. The Batman hadn’t killed anyone….that they knew of. So why did the city laud him and crucify the other?

Although, she thought as she dug into her stack of chocolate chip pancakes, there had been protests and riots in regards to the Riddler. Enough people had believed in him that a group of them had tried to shoot up Gotham Square Garden in the floods.

Her head was pounding now. The part of her brain that made her a good reporter was latching on to the idea of vigilantes and the line between good and bad. She wanted to write an op-ed article herself, but her thoughts on the matter weren’t original in the slightest.

Maybe, while she was in the city, she’d run into the vigilante and ask for an interview. In a city of criminals like Gotham, the chances were relatively high of seeing the vigilante at least once.

She snorted quietly to herself. That was an unoriginal thought if there ever was one. She would bet money that any reporter worth their salt had tried and failed to interview the Batman. Which probably had involved at least a few getting into trouble on purpose. And still, nothing on his identity. Hell, even his friend Lieutenant Gordon was pretty tight lipped about him, despite telling the world how much he trusted the vigilante.

“Hey,” she asked her waitress as she brought the receipt over. The cracked vinyl seat creaked as she leaned forward. “Ever seen that Batman guy? I’m from out of town, so…” She shrugged, gave a coy smile.

It was technically the truth. She’d been gone for three years, and in that short amount of time, Gotham had birthed all kinds of crazies, including the Batman and the Riddler. It was a running joke in Bludhaven, who only had “normal” criminals.

The waitress shrugged. “I haven’t ever seen him, no. But it makes me feel better working so late, knowing he’s out there.” She inserted y/n’s card into a handheld credit card machine.

Y/n nodded and chewed her lip. “How do you know he’s on your side, though? That Riddler guy last year did alright, up until the flooding and the shooting.”

The waitress’s expression soured. “Batman’s never killed anyone, good or bad. Ever since he became…you know, a vigilante…he never killed anyone. Ask around and you’ll eventually find someone he saved from a mugging or an armed robbery. Or, more likely, someone he helped when all the higher ups left us to fend for ourselves in the floodwaters.”

“Wow,” y/n said after a moment. The waitress had…fierce opinions about the vigilante. “I didn’t realize he was so…loved.”

The woman shrugged again. She handed the card and receipt over. “I’m just saying, he looks out for the little guy.”

Y/n absently tapped her bank card on the table. “Well, that’s good to know. Maybe I’ll see him out there, yeah?” She laughed lightly.

“Probably better than you don’t, because then that means he’s saving you from something.” The waitress winked and went to another of her tables.

Y/n was really itching to write an article now. Wouldn't it be great if she were the one to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the Batman? Maybe her editor would loan her out to the Gotham Tribune or another newspaper for a special assignment.

She scoffed quietly as she got up to leave. They would simply tell her the truth–there wasn’t anything special enough about her to be the one to succeed where so many others had failed. The only special thing about her was that she had been raised alongside a billionaire. A billionaire who didn’t even want to be her friend anymore.

As she stepped out of the diner, she turned left instead of right. Right would have led her to Wayne Tower, and she definitely wasn’t ready to go back. Talking to the waitress about the vigilante had lit an all too familiar fire within her. The kind of fire that usually burned her, but always led to a hell of a good story by the end.

The kind of fire that made her do stupid things, like stop when she heard a muffled sound from the end of an alley.

The kind of fire that made her sneak forward, into the shadows, to see several men huddled over two other figures.

The two on the ground were both hooded and bound with hands behind their backs. But one was slumped over while one was still on their knees.

And that same fire gave y/n her first burn as she took out her phone and started recording.

There was another muffled sound and she finally placed exactly what it was as the second hooded figure slumped against the first. It was a gun–a gun with a silencer. When she realized, she made her next mistake.

She gasped.

And every head–four of them, all men–turned to look at her.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @slovakshadow

#the batman x reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #battinson x y/n

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sebsxphia · 1 year

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ptolemaea. | the verses.

a preacher!rhett abbott series. | preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ you’re back in your home town and uncertain about your future that lies ahead of you. but, there is one man in your small town who gets your attention. one man who soothes your racing mind and guides you on the righteous path. your local town preacher, rhett abbott. he somehow already knows you inside out and he only has the best intentions for you… right? based off ethel cain’s, preacher’s daughter.

verse 1. ptolemaea. | god knows i tried.

￫ you find yourself in a confessional booth with preacher rhett abbott as he guides you on the righteous path.

verse 11. ptolemaea.

￫ you and your local town preacher, rhett abbott, spend a night together in a motel room. rhett is there to calm your racing mind and have you admit your sins.

verse 111. ptolemaea. | these crosses all over my body.

￫ preacher rhett offers you the hand of god to calm your woes.

verse 1v. ptolemaea. | the blood of christ.

￫ rhett suggests a solution that could soothe your cramps from your period.

verse v. ptolemaea. | august underground.

￫ you’re looking to take control one evening and tell your preacher to close his eyes and count to ten.

verse v1. ptolemaea. | r.a.

￫ you and your sinful preacher outline your future together in the back of his pick up truck.

verse v11. ptolemaea. | the thoroughfare motel tapes.

￫ you and rhett are nearing the end of the line and he has a sinful idea to document the beginnings of your time out west.

verse v111. ptolemaea. | the family tree in god’s country.

￫ you and rhett have finally found peace within your home, and rhett wishes to reassure you that he’ll protect you forever.

verse 1x. ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

￫ all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

ptolemaea. | the collective verses.

￫ all of the verses in one post as a book.

sunday sermons.

preacher abbott lore.

when rhett asks you to run away with him.

rhett and his cowboy hat.

riding rhett’s thigh.

troublemaker and the town pastor.

“pride is a sin, little lamb.”

rhett comforting his distraught lamb.

condoms are a sin.

convincing you not to pull out.

teaching you how to touch yourself.

“jesus’ tomb is the only thing that should be left empty today.”

wiping his spend off the corner of your mouth.

“that's not the lords word, angel.”

when you use your safe word with rhett.

squeezing your thighs during sunday sermon.

motel showers.

showing off rhett’s spend during sunday sermon.

seeing you pregnant in a sundress.

god lives on in rhett.

morning sex with rhett.

the polaroids rhett has of you.

“go fuck yourself.”

making preacher abbott a bracelet.

“am i goin’ to die for loving a man like you?”

bringing your stuffed lamb on the road out west.

your pussy and the false idols.

if rhett’s little lamb had bad anxiety.

rhett blowing smoke into your mouth.

rhett can tell when you’ve been touching yourself.

age regressing with preacher rhett.

bath time with rhett and little!reader.

preacher abbott using anointing oil as lube.

preacher abbott learning to braid little lambs hair.

un-lit cigarette between his lips.

preacher abbott’s cross dangling over you.

standing by the motel window with a cigarette.

rhett helping his precious little lamb have a smoke.

fucking his little lamb to sleep.

rhett helping you grieve.

finishing on little lamb’s stomach.

what if it was a dream?

a polaroid of willoughby rhett.

rhett wearing little lamb’s promise ring.

“yeah, i fuckin’ better be.”

preacher abbott watching little lamb pray.

willoughby rhett since they left.

willoughby rhett and the slaughter.

preacher abbott’s tattoo and little lambs thoughts.

in another life.

a quote, by little lamb.

preacher abbott, little lamb and their kitchen sink.

half return, by adrianne lenker.

the subconscious haunting of little lamb.

willoughby rhett and preacher rhett in the church basement.

sunday hymns.

listen to the appropriate music whilst reading here.

sunday reflections.

nighttime with preacher abbott on the road out west.

the sights out west with preacher abbott.

little lamb’s nightmares as they lie asleep next to preacher abbott.

the cannibalistic love preacher rhett has for his little lamb.

little lamb’s home town and where preacher rhett came to pray.

god knows i tried.

r.a.

the thoroughfare motel tapes.

you're just a feral dog i worship in bedroom ceremonials.

little lambs home with preacher abbott out west.

willoughby rhett abbott.

little lamb.

thoroughfare.

[ thank you @h0neyfire for the wonderful photos! <3 ]

#masterlist #rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott #malicious laughter #tw: the starling girl

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milkywaybottles · 2 years

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Rest - Papa IV / Copia (The Band Ghost) x Reader Fluff

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: I cannot get enough writing for Ghost at the moment and, truth be told, I'm so excited to see the interaction with you guys! The love has been greater than I had imagined. Writing these things gives me such clarity during a time of stress so hopefully, people will continue to enjoy them. Without further ado, here is "Rest"

Reader's Pronouns: Unspecified

Prompt: 'Just go back to sleep, I promise to be here when you wake up'

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Copia with all your heart, truly, but there were those comforting nights when you knew that he was the one that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Both you and him had been worked to death by the Clergy in the previous weeks, barely spending your days together. You would find yourselves at opposite ends of the ministry, Copia working tirelessly in his office while you assisted with various jobs, spanning from attending to the library to helping conduct sermons and rituals. Those were the nights when you both would either come to bed extremely late, not uttering a word to each other, or not coming to bed at all. You dreaded walking into his office in the early hours of the morning, blanket tucked over your shoulders because you were faced with the reality that, since Copia had been appointed as Papa IV, you had struggled to maintain a consistent relationship.

But you couldn’t help but smile either at the sight of your drooling lover, head rested on a pile of papers, mainly composer sheets, and ink splattered across his lip. So, maybe in the end, you were okay with how things were for the moment. You couldn’t deny that it wasn’t perfect, but you both tried your best, and that was enough for you. Which led to one night in particular...

You had just finished up in the library for the night, placing the last books back onto the dusted shelves before reaching for your oil lamp. Rain battered against the beautifully etched stain glass windows of the ministry. Taking the lamp, you turned as you shut the door behind you, making your way into the booming hallways. It was well past midnight, you had determined, moon positioned between a haze of clouds. The light seeping through the windows left shadows on the tiles, accompanying you as you walked ever so closer to your shared chambers. Mind wandering to Copia once again, you wondered if he had retreated to the sleeping quarters for the night or if he was still hard at work.

Taking a left and then a right, you were faced with the giant and daunting door which led into your bedroom. Placing a hand on the bronze, rat shaped knocker, applying a small amount of pressure to the door, it creaked open at an agonisingly slow pace. You winced. If Copia was indeed inside, and your shoes in the hallway hadn’t done it, you surely would have woken him by now. But as your eyes scanned over the empty velvet, four post bed to the side of your room, you were able to place a hand to your chest in relief. Satan forbid you woke the man who was already sleep deprived. Within a flash, you had kicked off your shoes, body aching for slumber and sleep pulling on your eyelids.

After deciding the shoes were a safe enough distance from the door to be a tripping hazard, you collapsed into the puffy sheets of your bed. The bed was still in shambles from the morning, the blankets still pulled in the same faint outline of Copia’s body. Sighing, your hand ran across the cold and empty pillow, silk soft against your fingers. Not bothering to change, you were comfortable enough in your robes to slither under the covers. The scent of incense and expensive cologne lingered under your nose, teasing you with what you could not have.

Within minutes, you had fallen into a deep slumber.

But the night had other plans.

A few peaceful hours had passed. Half of the covers had been thrown across your body, tangled within them. Your stomach was pressed to the bed, back facing the ceiling though you shifted uncomfortably at the sticky humidity that had invaded the room. The storm still rumbled on relentlessly, crackles of lightning whipping across the sky. It often came in waves, thunder groaning followed by rips in the sky, rain providing an ambience. You never had a problem with thunderstorms, in fact, you relished in them. It was times like that when you could run out into the rain, damp hair spread across your face as you smiled at the break in the clouds.

Despite this, the claws of fear gripped you while you slept, gnashing their ferocious teeth. You let out the occasional whimper, clinging to the sheets of your bed. Wavering between the land of sleep and waking, you were in too deep to notice the door whine open. He mustn’t have noticed your occupation of the bed at first, but instead of continuing his nightly routine of getting undressed, he paused before taking a seat at the side of your bed. You hadn’t noticed the way he held his gaze on your resting face, nor the way the bed dipped inwards, followed by a minute of silence.

A defeated and shaky sigh escaped his lips, bringing his hand to push a stray strand of hair from your face. The rest of your hair had been splayed out on your pillow. Feeling the sudden contact, you whined again, tossing faintly under his touch. Slowly, your eyes began to peel open, fuzzy black spots speckling your vision, making way for a silhouetted view of Copia in the darkness.

“Copia..?” You smiled drowsily, body loosening at the comfort the thought of him being in the room brought.

“Bad dream, si?” He questioned, as quiet as a mouse. His hand was pulled across your face, stroking your hair while you lulled in satisfaction. There was a half mumble in response, approving his statement. A blanket of his scent covered you. “I’m here, Cara Mia. I’m here”. His empty hand pulled back a sheet at the sight of your flushed body, attempting to bring you relief.

“I… love you. Please don’t leave me” you whispered, once again edging the line between sleep and consciousness. You had been too drowsy to fully consider the weight of your words.

His reply was quick but just as careful and meaningful, “I love you as well”. You appeared as a love-drunk idiot, stomach fluttering as your head rest in the hand on the man you were so desperately in love with. “Just go back to sleep, I promise I’ll be here when you wake up, Cara Mia”. You sunk back into the sheets.

Copia opened his mouth, a soft sound trailing out of it, “Can you hear me say your name forever?…. Can you hear me longing for you… forever?”. It was the familiarity of the tune that truly sent you back into the depths of sleep. “Would you let me touch your soul forever…? Can you feel me longing… for you, forever?". By the time he finished, lightly smiling, your head was tilted on the side of the pillow, mouth slightly agape. His movements were careful and calculated, doing his best not to wake you as he brought his lips to your forehead, mumbling sweet nothings against it.

"Rest well, Cara Mia"

He went to bed beside you peacefully for what felt like the first time in forever. He kept his promise well, and in your drowsy wakening, you beamed at the sight of a sleeping Copia. Both your moods had perked up drastically the next morning, spending it cuddling within the confines of your large bedroom.

Needless to say, Copia began retiring to bed earlier and began earning some much deserved rest.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#rain ghoul #nameless ghouls #Cardinal Copia x reader #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost #ghost #cardinal copia #papa iv #fluff #x reader #oneshot #aether ghoul #Papa IV x reader #papa emeritus iv #Papa IV #Popia #copia x reader #cumulus #fire ghoul

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talonabraxas · 17 days

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Dharmachakra

“Dharma” encompasses both the cosmic law and order and the teachings of the Buddha. It encompasses laws, duties, rights, conduct, virtues, and ‘the right way of living.’

In Hinduism, dharma is seen as a cosmic law that sustains the order of the universe, and each person’s duty according to their age, caste, and station in life.

In Buddhism, dharma refers to the teachings of the Buddha, as well as the truth about the way things are.

It is about understanding the nature of reality and living in a way that aligns with this understanding, particularly through practices that cultivate insight, compassion, and wisdom.

As the central truth within Buddhist practice, Dharma provides the pathway to enlightenment and liberation from the suffering intrinsic to human existence.

First Turning of the Wheel of Dharma The “First Turning of the Wheel of Dharma” marks a pivotal moment in Buddhist history.

This event took place at the Deer Park in Sarnath, where the Buddha delivered his first sermon after achieving enlightenment.

He introduced the Four Noble Truths, outlining the existence of suffering, its causes, its cessation, and the path leading to its cessation—namely, the Noble Eightfold Path.

This initial dissemination of Buddha’s teachings set the wheel of dharma in motion initiating a profound shift in understanding and beginning the spread of Buddhism.

Second Turning of the Wheel of Dharma The “Second Turning of the Wheel of Dharma” is associated primarily with the Mahayana tradition and took place at Vulture Peak.

During this phase, Buddha emphasized the concept of emptiness and the universal potential for Buddha-nature inherent in all beings.

This turning expanded on the original teachings to include deeper philosophical insights into the nature of reality and existence, suggesting that all phenomena are devoid of inherent existence and interconnected through emptiness.

Third Turning of the Wheel of Dharma In the “Third Turning of the Wheel of Dharma,” Buddha addressed the nature of consciousness and reality.

This turning, which includes texts such as the Lankavatara Sutra, focuses on the intrinsic awareness or “tathagatagarbha,” which posits that all sentient beings have the seed of Buddhahood.

This phase of the teachings offers a more nuanced understanding of mind and perception, aimed at deepening the spiritual practice and understanding of his followers.

The Hub The hub of the Dharma Wheel symbolizes various core aspects of Buddhist teachings, depending on the specific interpretation.

Here are a few common interpretations of what the hub represents:

The Three Jewels: The hub is sometimes said to represent the Three Jewels or Three Treasures of Buddhism—Buddha (the enlightened one), Dharma (the teachings), and Sangha (the community). These are the three cornerstones of Buddhist practice that followers take refuge in and look towards for guidance on the spiritual path.

Moral Discipline: The hub can also symbolize the moral discipline required to practice the teachings represented by the spokes. This includes ethical behavior, mental discipline, and the wisdom necessary to understand and implement the Buddha’s teachings effectively.

Stability and Balance: On a more abstract level, the hub is seen as the axis of the wheel, providing stability and balance. It represents the steadiness and equilibrium needed in one’s practice to stay focused on the path to enlightenment.

The Spokes Eight spokes: This is the most common depiction, representing the Noble Eightfold Path, which includes Right Understanding, Right Thought, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration.

Ten spokes: These symbolize the ten directions (the eight cardinal and intercardinal directions, plus up and down), representing the Buddha’s teachings spreading to every part of the universe.

Twelve spokes: This represents the Twelve Links of Dependent Origination, a fundamental concept in Buddhism that explains the chain of causation leading to suffering.

Twenty-four spokes: This extends the twelve to include both the arising and cessation of each link, illustrating the process of entering into and liberation from the cycle of samsara (rebirth).

Thirty-one spokes: This reflects ancient Buddhist cosmology, which describes 31 planes of existence that beings can be reborn into, based on their karma.

Four spokes: This rare form can represent either the Four Noble Truths—the core of Buddha’s teachings—or the four stages of dhyana (meditative absorption), which describe progressive stages of deepening concentration.

The Rim The rim of the wheel, which holds the spokes together, signifies the element of concentration (samadhi) that is necessary to maintain the mindfulness taught by each spoke.

This illustrates the unity and interdependence of the teachings, suggesting that each aspect of the path is necessary and supported by the others.

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pancakefanfics · 4 months

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CotL fanfic idea

Based off my spouse getting Narinder in their current game and him being a coward. Long outline.

Fic starts immediately after Narinder is defeated. Maybe in a dream-like space as he thinks about what has transpired, all the things he thought would come of the Prophecy finally being fulfilled, and how everything that was so close to his reach just slipped through his fingers

Thinking about the lamb, and what he knows of their journey. How powerful they’ve gotten. And how effortlessly they seemed to strike down not only him, but Aym and Baal too. Now he’s completely stripped of his powers, and at the mercy of his former disciple. And that thought is…terrifying.

Coward trait gained.

He comes out of this dream-like state being treated for wounds sustained during the fight and absolutely terrified of everything around him. The other followers, the Lamb. He’s weak and powerless now.

He inevitably starts hiding around the grounds. Other followers (especially the jerks and the hot-tempered ones) see him as an easy target, and he’s picked on a lot.

Lamb doesn’t notice at first. They’ve got their own shit to do, between babies being nurtured, quests, and sermons. But maybe a few days in they notice Narinder scurrying off after a sermon and decide to follow him. A little hidey-hole he made for himself in a bush, away from everyone.

And of course Narinder is scared shitless when he realizes the Lamb followed him. Tries to run away, but the Lamb catches him, confused. “I’m sorry please don’t hurt me I wasn’t doing anything in here just sitting please just let me go and I’ll go do something productive-“

And the Lamb is just so confused because Narinder was so strong and ruthless and now he’s practically crying because they found him hiding. “Narinder please calm down I’m not going to hurt you you’re safe here”

Lamb starting to reassure Narinder every day, and does not treat followers that try to abuse him kindly. “You are all my children and you shouldn’t be so mean to one another. I want you to love each other and to make those new to our little community feel at home.” They say as a tentacle wraps tighter around one of the offender’s throats.

Everyone starts acting kinder. Narinder feeling more and more accepted by the community around him. Forming somewhat of a friendship with the Lamb as he regains his old personality.

But also Narinder being confused as fuck about some of the shit in the community. Because I’m definitely just keeping some game mechanics in just because.

“Lamb why do you have an egg.” “Oh Gerbre and Thorjul just made it!” “…that is a cow and a dog. Neither of those animals lay eggs or should be able to breed with one another.” “Oh really? Huh. Didn’t know that.” “This isn’t how biology works how tf-“ “its because I wanted them to have a baby to make the cult grow! It was my divine grace that blessed their mating to create a beautiful egg.” Narinder stops questioning, just avoids going to the mating tent. Partially because he’s just not interested in anyone there.

Followers proposing to the Lamb and them declining. The more they spend time with Narinder the more they find themselves falling for him, especially as he gets more of his personality back. Is pretty sure they’ll have more luck winning him over if they’re not married to another follower.

So slow burn, enemies to lovers, maybe a little cracky with some OOC things. And of course it’s NariLamb. No thoughts for how they’d get together or anything. Probably be fluffy, no fight scenes really. I just think they’re cute.

#narilamb #cult of the lamb #fanfiction #fanfiction outline #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl #cotl fanfic #fanfic outline

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theriverbeyond · 10 months

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baby griddle has consumed me so please consider: 10 year old gideon nav graffiting the chapel with an oversize grease pen like "harrowFART nonaGASimus was here!!!"

the rev parents would absolutely whip her ass for this have her scrub the chapel for hours and give her oss duty for 4 weeks BUT it kind of stains and so every time harrow prays or gives a sermon afterwards she has to look at the faint outline of the words and gideon gets to snicker about it. #worth it

#gideon nav #trb.txt #i imagine baby gideon as like. naruto. but with more overtly violent child abuse vs neglect #tlt thoughts

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bloodandthestars · 7 months

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𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃.

priest!au suguru geto x fem!reader. from JUDAS, a kinktober drabble series. mdni

tw: slight sacrilege? hint of suggestive :: author’s note: if any would like to be tagged, reply here or on the masterlist. Ty <3

wc: 750 :: masterlist :: previous part :: next part

Tap, tap, tap.

A slow rhythm from the end of his ballpoint pen hitting his desk. The look in his eyes were dull, as every thought trailed into static. Crumpled papers missed his office trash can, a few scattered on his desk. Suguru sat in the neatly tucked away room of the church to come up with next week’s sermon. And well…the process was still ever going.

He was on another draft, a couple sentences in to introduce the theme. Yet he couldn’t get the words to flow. Each one felt more broad than before with no meaning. The pastor could jot things down, pull teeth each time, if it meant his thoughts could trail back to you.

And it’s not like he could help it. Your touch began to slither in his mind and bury itself there as soon as you left that evening. His own hand brushed over his forearm and it couldn’t remotely feel the same. Had it been that long? His face twists at the embarrassing thought.

Slowly, his eyes relaxed as they remained shut. He plays back how your fingertips merely brushed. There was a static shock, nothing for him be as delirious as he is right now— or at least under the surface. It seemed to crack the more he thought about it.

Your skin felt like a horizon, a warmth he didn’t know his body craved— yearned for since his years of freedom. Could you touch him like that again? Only to move higher? Would you trace the flex of his veins as if they were an outline to canvas? The soft hills of his muscles?

His head tilts. He tries to tear his focus away from you but it seems impossible. As if no force could rival the spiral of his thoughts. Your eyes, he rather his eyes irritate than risk one blink away from your gaze. He could look at you over and over and never be bored. It couldn’t have just been him the way you both linger on each other, could it?

He shakes his head at the thought, brows forming one frustrated line. No no, Suguru knows exactly what this is. Temptation has made its way into the church and it was the devil’s doing. His resolve was weak, mind not fortified when it comes to you. How could he be so blind to the sheer power of the dark arts? This was what his parents were afraid of— put in his head over and over to keep himself pure. They let his earrings go, the tattoo was a total mess. They don’t know about the smoking— would He find a way for them to know if he could not enact the Word?

His hand goes through his hair to pull him from what felt like an endless body of water. Would you run your fingers through his onyx locks? Caress it with care from root to end?

Suguru crumbled the paper in front of him, straightening the new one. His eyes practically bored into the white space wishing for words to appear.

‘Faith over fear…when all else feels fragile…turn to the word of God.’

He knows the word. Was taught of it in his youth, knew scriptures like the back of his hand. He studied as if it was the pinnacle of enlightenment, as it was such for his family. The pastor could hear his father’s authoritarian voice, his mother’s soft harmonies over the gospels, echoing in his head. So why can’t one verse come to mind for his teachings?

Suguru let’s out a sigh, running his hand over his face. Another rhythm comes about when his knee begins to bob up and down under the desk. Pen begins to slowly tap again. Fragile, fragile resolve. Weakness under the heavenly eye. Unraveling thoughts, unraveling, peeling, exposing, undressing, that dress, your skin, your body, your hands, on him, on his arms, his chest, his neck, his-

SLAM!

His hand slams the pen down on the wooden desk, panting as his eyes shot opening. His breath was twisted and ragged, holding it in a hard swallow to catch it. He goes on to shake his head and jump from his seat. Suguru gathers his things, fingers fumbling his pages into his bag. He grabs his thick coat and keys with a hand turning off the office light as he already was out the door.

taglist: @getousrep

#writing #priest au #priest!suguru #priest!geto #jjk geto #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #geto x reader

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