#reverend preaches

[satorhime]

you girls are always policing fun and it sucks

#stop !!! preaching @ ppl so much #you can't do anything anymore LMAO #i miss when tumblr wasnt full of high and mighty mean girls and reverends kssjsks

[vivaciousoceans]

The way Quinta said accessible but for us and by us.

#teya talks #she was preaching #might as well call her reverend Brunson now

[slickcatbooks]

Are you a pastor needing guidance? Try these two great books from Rev. John L. Beck’s collection. #slickcatbooks #greatbooksgreatmemories #preach #preacher #preaching #prayer #prayermeeting #counseling #religion #revjohnlbeck #pastor #reverend https://www.instagram.com/p/CgD_rvCAxiB/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#slickcatbooks #greatbooksgreatmemories #preach #preacher #preaching #prayer #prayermeeting #counseling #religion #revjohnlbeck #pastor #reverend

[cryptotheism]

If I was a pro wrestler my persona would be a heel 1970s radio televangelist named the Reverend Doctor Payne who preaches fire and brimstone before every match. Id wear a white linen suit and have a big colonel Sanders facial hair ensemble. My special move would be the Last Rites, a suplex where I grab my opponent by the thigh "like the angel did to Jacob" as if I'm practicing to take revenge one day.

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

"We want to belong, we yearn for it, and it is sometimes the hardest work we do. In the end, we all belong to God as God’s children. In this holy season of Easter, we stand with Jesus in the resurrection. In this broken, divided, fragmented, hurting, pained world, we are beacons of community with each other and God. We are where others find their belonging. It might be at church, at a park, at school, at work, or wherever we are. We become the resurrected body through belonging with others- where do you belong? Who seeks to belong through you? " -- Written by The Rev Gar Demo, St Thomas the Apostle Episcopal Church

God's Children

Easter Season

Where do you belong?

#Bear One Another's Burdens And In Doing So Fulfill The Law Of Christ #Love Thy Neighbor #Where do you belong? #God's Children #Easter Season #Preach The Gospel Always If Necessary Use Words #We become the resurrected body #We are where others find their belonging #St. Thomas The Apostle Episcopal Church #Reverend Gar Demo #Jesus and the Resurrection #We Work The Field of Souls

[bradshawsbitch]

son of a preacher man | rhett abbott x reader

disclaimer; this thot popped into my brain this morning as i listened to 'son of a preacher man' by dusty springfield, feel free to listen to it as you read. I myself am agnostic so if there's any inaccuracies-- *shrugs*. both characters are 20.

warnings; religious themes, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, female reader, afab!reader, corruption kink, innocence, dresses mentioned, attempt at masturbation, cunnilingus, mentions of sick parent, size kink(?)

summary; rhett abbott, the preacher's son, is the only one who had ever reached a part of you, a part of you you hardly knew yourself.

word count; 4K.

tagging people who might like; @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter

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Spring had come suddenly that year, the meadows waking from their long sleepy absence and blooming slowly with white and pale lavender wildflowers. The sweet fragrance that emanated from the very earth you walked on was intoxicating to you, more than happy to spend long afternoons amongst the meadow wildlife if time allowed it.

More often than not though, there was no time. Your father had fallen ill the past year, and his health had steadily declined as the raw winter chill seeped through the old wood of your house. Mother had needed all the help she needed around the house, with the sweet lambs you had out back, shearing them and spinning yarn from their soft fur.

You’d often work tirelessly at knitting sweaters, little socks and mittens for the church charity, or to sell on market days to help sustain the farm and your fathers medication. Sometimes mother let you knit out on the meadows, but most of the time she wanted you near her.

The one day you steadfastly looked forward to was Sundays. Sundays when the kind Reverend Royal Abbott would make sure to visit your family after Sunday service to read for your mother and your father, as your fathers health no longer allowed him to attend sermons. It was not so much Father Abbotts blessings that brought you feelings of elation and butterflies, no, it was more so the blessing of his youngest son. 

It was the one afternoon you were completely free from your mothers watchful eyes, and she always let you wander the meadows with the Abbott boy for as long as you needed - under the impression that the preacher’s son was offering you the lord's word as comfort for the situation that was impending. She always gave you a comforting and sympathetic smile as the younger Abbott took you for a walk through your back lawn, out towards the meadows, pastures and forests adjacent.

You and Rhett Abbott were the same age, and you’d always had such a soft spot for the cerulean eyed boy with longer hair and mischief twinkling in his smile and eyes. You knew his mother Cecelia often reprimanded him, and wished he was more like his older brother Perry who sported short, more respectable hair, and who had already married. 

There was something enchanting about him, the way your body and soul always seemed so in tune with him - how when he entered the room, your very being would vibrate with the need to be close to him. 

He was everything. Tall, broad, beautiful and kind. You were, according to yourself, rather plain. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined he would desire you in any way, until you noticed how he always made a point to accompany his father to your house on Sunday afternoons. In the beginning, he would sit near you as you listened to his fathers preaching. 

It was hard to concentrate on the words of the Reverend, when his son was running his strong hands softly across the thin fabric of your white, billowy Sunday dress. When he did it the first time, you’d turned to him in shock, only to be met with a sympathetic look as he opted to let his hand rest on your shoulder. It clicked in your mind then that he was offering you comfort. Taking in your surroundings, you saw your mother in tears at the preacher's words, and you bowed your head - only partly ashamed you’d been too busy taking in the scent and the close proximity of Rhett to fully understand Royal’s gruff voice.

His hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through the thin and soft fabric of your dress made you inhale the softest of gasps. You wanted to melt into his touch and never leave, but you managed to sit up straight with your hands neatly folded in your lap that Sunday afternoon.

As they left that Sunday, Royal tipped his hat and bid your family farewell, as Rhett gripped your shoulder tightly again and spoke softly;

Everything will be alright.

You could tell Royal was proud of his son, thinking his wilder spouse had finally found the way of the Lord. Perhaps that’s why, as time went on, Rhett would make a point to speak verses of comfort to you when they visited. He kept touching your upper arm and shoulder, once venturing to rest his large palm just above your knee - but the surprised gasp you had let out had been so loud he’d had to pretend to swat away a fly as the elders turned to look at you.

Being good isn’t always easy, you tell yourself that night as you imagine Rhett’s firm touch all over your body, burning sensations flaring when you thought of his palm reaching higher up on your thigh. Your own daintier hand didn’t feel the same as you graced it up your inner thigh, your nightgown bunching around your hips as soft gasps spilled from parted lips, legs falling apart further and further as you thought of Rhett’s tall frame fitting in between them. 

Hesitant touches made you writhe in your bed, breaths coming in short gasps, but never truly getting satisfied. No one had ever taught you about your own body, had never told you what sort of feeling you were yearning for when your body burned and ached like this. 

A soft, longing, moan of the preacher’s son's name fell from your lips as you brushed against a spot that momentarily satiated the ache, but you lost it in your surprise that overtook you at what had tumbled from your mouth. That night you contemplated your actions, wondering if you were no longer a good girl in the eyes of the Lord. It surprised you that you felt little shame about your actions. 

After a whole week of chores, knitting and tending to your little lambs, it was soon Sunday again. You’d opted to wear your Sunday dress again, as you would any Sunday, but you had to admit you spent a little more time with the rest of your appearance. As Father Abbott and his son approached your abode, your mother sang their praises to you, gushing over how kind they were to come to your house personally to make sure your poor father’s soul could be salvaged.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Royal grumbled, taking off his hat and bowing his head before he kept talking “today, my son was wondering if he might have the privilege to preach to your daughter - he has expressed concern for how she might be faring in these dire circumstances.” 

Glancing up at your mother, you saw tears glistening in her eyes as she nodded “Of course, Father Abbott, we are so blessed to have you preaching to us who are a bit older - certainly, our daughter would be thankful to have a younger perspective upon her hardships,” she answered for you, and you could only bite your lip to keep your smile at bay. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rhett spoke, before he revealed what passages he would cover with you today. “Could we perhaps be allowed on the meadow out back?” Rhett continued, eyes flitting between your mother and his father “I find that nature can instill peace along with the Lord’s words,” he elaborated and your mother nodded, tears now glittering on her cheeks.

“My little lamb does love spending her time on the meadow, does it offer you peace my dove?” Your mother doted on you, as if she now at once understood why you were out there. You could only nod mutely, not entirely believing your luck as the elders made room for Rhett to lead you through your back lawn, your arm tucked respectfully in his arm.

Those first times, Rhett did take you for a walk. He would talk in soft, soothing voices, once in a while adding some passages from verses. Mostly, the two of you would talk of other matters too, and getting to know Rhett was exhilarating. He told you of the times he’d snuck out to the rodeo, told you how his friend had snuck him onto a bull that had bucked him off. He told you of the thrill, of how he’d felt so alive. 

You looked at him with starry eyes, and he looked at you with soft adoration in his eyes as he told you how he had always found you sweet. Had always looked out for you. Surprised, you gently argued that he had never talked to you much when you were in school together. 

He told you he would often try to sit near you, would always try to land himself in projects with you, but that their teacher thought he was a little bit of a bad boy, preacher's son or not. A soft smile made its way onto your face as he confessed these sweet thoughts to you, bowing your head downwards out of habit.

Feeling his rough fingertips under your chin made your head spin as he tilted your face up so he could see you again “you’re so sweet… so beautiful, little lamb” he whispered, cerulean eyes taking in your parted lips and your slightly furrowed brows. 

“Rhett,” his name was out of your mouth, breathy and pleading, before you knew it. His breath seemed to hitch, before he groaned your name, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours - facial expression akin to fathers when he was in pain. It seemed as if his other hand was itching to pull you flush to his body, hovering in the air between you when the two of you heard Royal shouting Rhett’s name in the distance. Apparently the Sunday sermon was over.

“Rhett.” You all but whimpered, longing for his touch, for anything he would be willing to give you. The pained expression was back on his face as he looked down at you again, he gently cupped your face in between his large palms, letting his blue eyes devour your features before he spoke.

“Shh, little lamb, everything is alright. I’ll see you next Sunday, alright? I’ll try to see if I can come before that okay?” He whispered to you, and you nodded, watching as he smiled softly before letting his lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek before he straightened up and guided you back to your house.

Letting out a shaky breath, your mother appeared before you, letting you know which chores needed done before sundown. She took in your shaky state and asked if you were feeling alright.

“Preacher’s son had chosen some… very emotional verses today, I’m sorry mother.” The lie slipped almost too easily from your tongue, and your mother smiled sympathetically, offering you a small pat on your shoulder before she was off, singing praises about that preacher's son.

That week, Rhett appeared when you went to sell your knitted goods at the market, and he had taken his brother's place when you brought the pieces for the charity for the church. When he caught sight of you, those beautiful blues of his would look fiery and alive. His touches would linger, his words like sweet honey as he praised your handiwork. As he collected items for the charity, you decided to stay and help him for a while.

Soon enough, it was time to close the church doors, and it seemed as if Rhett could wait no longer. As the doors hid the two of you from the world, he whispered your name in desperation, cradling your face and neck in his large hands, tilting your head up.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, and a soft, needy noise escaped you at his close proximity, at his words and the way he held you so delicately between his hands.

“Please, Rhett,” you breathed out, daring to let trembling fingers clutch at his white button-up, hesitantly pulling him to you. “Oh, my sweet little dove,” he groaned before his lips came down on yours in a slow kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that made you dizzy. His warm, wet tongue venturing into your willing mouth, slowly caressing your tongue, swallowing your soft gasps. 

You had never been kissed like this before - it was intoxicating, and sent heat coursing through your very veins, down to your core. Rhett’s hand had slipped into your hair at some point and the sensation of his strong hold on you had a foreign sound leaving you, a sound you only made on those nights when you had tried in vain to replicate the fire coursing through you now.

The sound of a heavy door slamming, had Rhett pulling away, smiling down at you as he stole one last quick kiss before promising he’d see you that Sunday. 

As Sunday came, you felt daring in opting for the white dress that was almost sheer in its thin fabric. It was usually paired with a white bra and top, and sometimes a cardigan. Today, you had foregone both bra and top, covering yourself with your usual cardigan to not raise suspicion with your mother.

To your great surprise, there was a knock on the door before noon, long before the sermon in church was over. Your mother opened the door to see Rhett, holding a bible in one hand and a soothing smile on his face as he explained he had picked out a lengthier passage today, and that his father would come by later. Your mother looked elated as she called for you, ushering you out the door with the preacher’s son. 

As you caught sight of Rhett, that familiar ache burned within you, his very innocent touch on your elbow enough to have you leaning closer to him. 

Today he led you further away, down the far end of the flowery meadow, where a couple of trees shielded the spot from direct view. 

“Rhett-” you had barely finished his name when his lips crashed down on yours in a frantic kiss, his hands squeezing at your waist. “I’m sorry, little lamb. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” he chuckled, gracing your cheek with the back of his hand. You smiled sweetly at him, leaning into his broad chest, letting yourself tuck your face into his warm neck as he held you.

“Rhett,” you tried again, biting your bottom lip as you wondered if this confession would have him fleeing “you… always make me feel funny inside,” you spoke hesitantly, feeling foolish for telling him. 

“Can you tell me how I make you feel, honey?” His voice was dark, and his grip on you had tightened slightly, his one hand guiding your chin from out of its hiding place. 

Licking your lips you looked into his stormy eyes “like my whole body is on fire… like, like I ache for you,” you furrowed your brows “I tried once, tried to… soothe it, but I- I didn’t know how, and it felt—“ you trailed off, embarrassed. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rhett groaned, “you have no idea what you do to me, do you? Sweet little thing,” he murmured against your neck, where he started licking and kissing.

“I feel it now,” you confessed with a whine, and Rhett chuckled against your skin. “Mm, have I made you ache, little lamb?” He rumbled and you nodded “where does it ache, sweets?” He continued, his hands caressing your arms slowly. 

Licking your lips, you detached yourself from the warm comfort of Rhett’s embrace, slowly removing your cardigan to reveal your all but bare breasts through the sheer fabric of your dress. Not entirely knowing why, or how, your hands slowly inched up the length of your body, keeping eye contact with Rhett as your dainty hands palmed at your breasts, a soft moan escaping you.

“It aches here, Rhett,” you mewled, letting one hand run down the length of your stomach as you whispered “and here, too,” 

The growl that left the preacher's son was near animalistic, and his eyes burned with desire as you hitched your white dress up your thigh. 

“Teach me” you breathed out as your eyes fluttered closed, and Rhett’s tall frame embraced you, holding you against his hard form. His lips were all over you, kissing you, loving you. His larger palms soon replaced your smaller ones, massaging and palming at your breasts - his nimble fingers teasing your nipples in a way that had you crying out in the pleasure that coursed through you. You knew only he could soothe the ache, you’d known it must be so. 

“Oh, my sweet, sweet girl,” Rhett groaned against you, mouthing at your exposed collarbones before he let his lips latch onto your hardened nipple over the fabric of your breast, suckling, licking and nipping softly at it, only making you louder, mewling and crying out his name.

“Fuck, baby,” he spoke gruffly before he held you in his arms and guided you down on the flowerbed. “Don’t know if I want to teach you how to soothe the ache, baby,” he confessed as he continued to let his tongue wet the fabric of your dress. “Want to be the only one who can make you feel like this, the only one you give yourself to,” he moaned, switching to the other nipple and massaging the other in his hand. 

His moans were getting whinier as your hands found his long locks, his suckling becoming more fervent, his hips grinding into your soft thigh. 

“I’ll teach you next time, sweet lamb,” he grunted, pushing your dress up to rest by your waist, your glistening bare cunt a stark contrast against the flowers that budded around your body. Rhett moaned again at the sight, letting his two fingers slowly glide between your slick lips, taking in the soft moans you let out for him.

“Fuck I need to taste you,” he moaned, letting his shoulders rest between your thighs, groaning at how easily you spread yourself out for him. “So good for me, such a good girl,” he hummed, and the words sent fire coursing through your veins as you leaned on your elbows to look down at him. At the stroke of his tongue against your heat, your head fell back, a loud cry ripping from your throat.

“Rhett, oh my god!” You gasped, feeling his tongue swirl around parts of yourself you didn’t know could feel that good. As his wet muscle circled your entrance, you keened softly, canting your hips instinctively to get more. More of him.

“Chasing my mouth now, hm, sweet lamb?” He hummed, chuckling darkly as he licked a broad stripe up your cunt “Want to ride my face, don’t you, filthy girl?” His eyes burned into yours and at his words you couldn’t help the obscene moan you let out. Your body was on fire, your thoughts were starting to turn hazy as Rhett’s tongue brought your first orgasm crashing over your body. 

“Fuck, you look like an angel,” Rhett groaned as he took in the sight of your slick coating your inner thighs, your pussy glistening in the sunlight, chest heaving and breasts fully visible as the wet fabric clung to them - nipples hard at the chill of the wind. 

A whimper left you as he did, his body not touching you momentarily to rid himself of his clothes. “Rhett” you whined, and instantly he was on you again, kissing you, your slick shining on his chin as you tasted your essence on him. 

“I need you,” you gasped, feeling something hard and hot between your legs. Looking down you saw that Rhett’s cock was achingly hard, his thick head red and leaking. You didn’t think you’d ever seen anything more beautiful. A pitiful mewl left you, your hand grasping at the hair at his neck to force his mouth down on yours again, as Rhett started guiding his cock between your lips, circling your clit before catching slightly on your hole and repeating the motion.

“You need me to take care of you, sweetheart?” Rhett’s voice was strained, filled with lust and need. You nodded weakly “Please, Rhett,” you gasped, the sensations he brought you wholly heavenly to you. 

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, caressing your cheek as you keened at his praise, his swollen head now sinking into your wet heat. “Oh” you gasped, whining at the stretch of his cock entering you. 

“Doing so well, little lamb - taking my cock so well for me,” he soothed, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your lips as his forehead rested against yours. “It hurts… you’re so big,” you cried, and he was instantly soothing you with kisses, stilling with only half of his cock entered into you. 

“Want me to stop, honey?” He murmured as he kissed at your neck. “No, please,” you murmured back, humming in pleasure as he dragged the front of your dress down to latch his lips onto your bare nipple, suckling and kissing at it, making you moan in pleasure as he pressed further into you.

“Rhett, Rhett-“ you babbled, soft cries leaving you as his hips finally became flush with yours. Tears were clinging on to your lashes, and Rhett softly soothed you, kissing at your cheeks and praising you. 

“You’re so tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock… you were made to take me, baby, made just for me,” he moaned as he thrust slowly into you, the drag of his cock inside you enough to have your breath speeding up, wrapping your legs around Rhett’s hips to push him deeper.

You didn’t understand why Rhett let out the longest and loudest moan so far at that, but you wouldn’t complain. His skilled hands were soothing aches all over your body, one landing on your lower abdomen as his shallow thrusts made you feel like you were floating on the clouds.

Reaching for you, he pressed down where he could feel the head of his cock “you’re so full of me right now, darlin’” his voice was husky “can you feel me?” He continued and you could only nod as you mewled softly.

“I love being full of you,” you confessed, soft whines and whimpers leaving you as Rhett brought you closer and closer to heaven. “Want you in me always, never want you to leave” you mewled, gripping at his biceps as his pace picked up. 

Rhett groaned at those words, soft curse words leaving his lips as he fucked into your wet core. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, sweetheart, have me drippin’ out of your cunt all day,” he grunted, leaving a sloppy kiss on your lips as he hiked your thigh higher up on his hip. His name almost slipped past your lips in a needy moan again, but you almost felt like you wanted to call him more. Something forbidden. 

“R-Rhett” his name still stuttered on your lips, and he was smirking down at you, as if he knew you were a bad girl with impure thoughts. Perhaps you’d always been bad. As his fingers toyed with a spot above where you were connected, you ascended to the heavens with the help of him. His name along with unknown phrases coming out in quick succession as you felt warmth fill you as Rhett’s hips stuttered and he cried out your name in a strangled gasp. 

Still inside you, Rhett let his body come down on yours, resting his head between your exposed breasts, mouthing at them softly. His hands caressed your sides lovingly as he told you he was yours now. And you were his. You’d given yourself to him, and you didn’t mind. You never wanted to leave this meadow - never wanted Rhett to leave you. 

As the sun warmed your bodies, and you’d placed countless kisses to his bare shoulders, Rhett helped you dress, smiling at his slick already painting your inner thighs. Pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, he asked you;

“Can you get away again tonight?”

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #preacher!rhett #smut #my writing

[cherrycola27]

Father, Forgive Me

Warnings: Religious AU! Preacher Jake. Cult activities and dark religious themes. Blood, gore, violence, language. Minors DNI. 18+

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: For I have Sinned

There are a few defining characteristics that one must have to be considered a good leader.

Kind eyes, a bright smile, quick wit, a firm handshake, a charming personality, and a silver tongue that could sell ice to a polar bear. Most people only needed a few of these to be convincing enough for someone to blindly follow them.

But, if someone possessed all of these qualities and topped it off with a southern drawl and movie star face and the wrong intentions, well—they could be downright— deadly.

That's exactly what happened to the good people of Ginger Ridge, North Carolina. A devilishly handsome young reverend rolled into their town. Reverend Smith. He was young, mysterious, —different.

He fixed up the old white church at the top of Ridge Hill. He came to town and invited the people to hear his sermons. At first, he seemed amazing. Charming, caring, sweet. Everyone loved him. No— they adored him—especially the younger folks who seemed lost in their faith.

Soon, he started hosting "special" prayer groups for the lost teens and young adults of Ginger Ridge. Many of the older folks stopped attending after this. They felt like Father Smith wasn't preaching the word to them anymore. They felt like he had changed. His teachings became— darker. They townspeople tried to keep They young folks away from him, but it was no use.

The lost youth continued to flock to him like moths to flame. Blindly holding on to every word he said. In their mind, Father Jonas Smith was the mouthpiece of God, and they would do anything to please them. Maybe that's why after his disappearance, there were over dozen blonde haired, green eyed babes born to some unwed mothers in Ginger Ridge.

................

The full moon hung high in the sky that night in the sleepy mountain town of Ginger Ridge. It was peaceful as a warm summer wind blew in through the open windows of the townspeople's homes. That peace would soon be disturbed by the sound screams and cries for mercy as Reverend Smith's "lost youth" carried out his sinister plan.

When the local law enforcement from the next town over was tipped off, they immediately contacted the FBI. Agents came into the small mountain community and couldn't believe their eyes. Blood and bodies of men and women filled the streets and homes. The youth and children were nowhere to be found. Upon further investigation, they were found in the white church at the top of Ridge Hill.

All of them were clothed and singing a sermon in white robes that had been stained and splattered with the crimson red blood of their family and friends.

When they were taken in for questioning, each one said the same thing. "Reverend Smith preached the good word to us. He is truly a prophet of God. Our souls will be welcomed in the Great Hereafter now that the sacrifice has been given." What was even more disturbing than that were the roughly fifteen or so girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four who all claimed that they had been extra blessed because they had been selected by God himself to carry the child of Reverend Smith and raise the next generations of prophets.

The FBI attempted to locate Reverend Jonas Smith after that night, only to find that he never existed.

After months of searching for him, the trail went cold, and the case was given to you, Agent Y/N Walters. After a few weeks of digging you did stumble upon a similar case from Massachusetts, except the man believed to be behind it was someone named Father Jackson Simmons and a case from Texas but the person of interests name in that one was James Simon.

You read each file and realized that Jonas, Jackson, and James all had to be the same man. You just had to figure out who he really was and stop him before the events of Ginger Ridge were repeated.

..........

The windows were down on his beat up late eighties model pickup truck as Jake Seresin drove down the highway. He fiddled with the radio station landing on a Beach Boys song as he drove past the "Welcome to California" sign.

The sun was just setting as he pulled into the small seaside motel in the town of Del Angelo. He adjusted his tie and grabbed his duffle bag before exiting his vehicle.

"Good evening." The older woman at the desk greeted him.

"Evening Ma'am." Jake said as he walked up to the counter. He dropped his bag by his feet and set his worn Bible and keys on the counter.

"How can I help you?" She asked him.

"I called yesterday. I have a reservation for the next few weeks under the name Saunders." He said before giving her a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Jason Sauders. I have the reservation right here. A room on the third floor, end of the hall, just as you requested." She smiled at him before handing him the key. Jake handed her a large stack of bills and gave her a wink.

"My name is Ethel if you need anything, and if I'm not around, you can ask my husband David or my daughter Mary-Ann." She told him.

"Thank you, Miss Ethel. You know there actually is something you might be able to help me with." He said.

"What's that?" Ethel asked him.

"When I was driving in town, I noticed an old boarded up church. Any idea who I could talk to about fixing it up?" Jake asked her.

"You'd probably need to talk to Mayor Andrews about that. Is there any reason you want to fix up that old place?" She asked him.

"Well, Ethel, my full name is Reverend Jason Sauders, and I was hoping to fix up that church so I could bring the word of God to the people of Del Angelo." Jake told her.

"A preacher? My word, we haven't had one of those here in years. Lord knows we need one. You might be just what we need around here, Reverend Sauders." Ethel beamed.

"I hope so. I know that after I'm finished, Del Angelo will never be the same." Jake smirked at her before grabbing his things and heading to his room. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the first part of his plan had already been put in motion.

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette

Hope yall enjoyed my unmedicated ADHD filled dumpster fire

#preacher!jake seresin #cult leader!jake seresin #jake seresin au #cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #lt. jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #tgm smut #tgm fic #tgm #top gun 2

[padawan-historian]

Jesus was not born in Israel. Jesus was born in a little town called Bethlehem where some of the first Christians were indigenous people who lived alongside their Muslim and Jewish neighbors. Jesus grew up in community spaces where olives, lemons, and strawberries grew in groves. Jesus preached and practiced radical on lands where generations of indigenous peoples across colors and cultures stewarded the land and served their communities in the face of empires, crusades, religious imperialism, and the rising tides fascism.

"If Christ were born today, he would be born under the rubble. I invote you to see the image of Jesus in every child killed and pulled from the rubble." ~ Reverend Munther Isaac in Bethlehem (December 2023)

Being Pro-Israel means supporting an Occupying State whose fascist politics and colonial impulses have facilitated the murder of over 20,000 people --- and 8,000 children --- in less than three months .

Beyond prayers and ceasefires, our solidarities must include reciprocity, reclamation, and justice for the indigenous Christian, Muslim, Jewish, queer, unhoused, (dis)abled, and (dis)placed people of Palestine. We must manifest one democratic state that frees people across colors and cultures from zionist-soaked colonialism and ethno-supremacist violence.

Let Gaza free you as heaven, nature, and whole world sing for joy and justice ✨️🌍🌿

🎨 "Christ in the Rubble" by Kelly Latimore (2023)

#our world #politics #free palestine #let gaza free you #solidarity with palestine against apartheid #Israel is not indigenous #israel is an apartheid state #padawan historian #antiracist liberation #joy and justice for all #people over apartheid

[deathbecomesthem]

Cat and Mouse | Chapter 2 | 2.2K

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+18 ONLY - Minors DNI - Adult Content

Eddie Munson x Fem!Preacher's Daughter!Reader

Chapter Summary: This chapter is an introduction to our Reader's home life. Take caution, religious trauma and sexual shame within.

A/N: This chapter is full of angst, fear, and humiliation. There isn't a lot of Eddie contained within outside of our thoughts of him. I promise, it gets better. Right now, we're taking a look at what home feels like. Expect another update of this fic over the weekend.

---

Blink. 

Good morning, Hawkins. It’s 6:05 on this hot, hot, hot summer morning. 

Blink. 

High of 91 with a chance of thunderstorms after 5. 

Blink. 

Right now, let’s get your motor running with the help of my favorite blonde bombshell. 

Blink. 

The light seems to be blinking in rhythm with Madonna’s Papa Don’t Preach as you sit and consider turning your car around and heading back to Nancy’s. You had promised your parents you’d be home this weekend to watch your younger siblings while they were away on their retreat. You groan as you turn the wheel and head to the house where your dreams have rotted on the vine. 

Things have been tense at home in recent months. Instead of feeling the comfort of home, you feel stifled when you walk through the front door of your parent’s house. The Reverend is a hard man with high expectations of his oldest daughter. Ever since you announced your intention to take a gap year rather than immediately joining the ranks of the faithful young adults of Bob Jones University, you’ve been teetering on the edge of danger with him. There is the constant threat of a raging storm behind his horn rimmed spectacles.

He knows the truth of the matter, that you are not planning to go to Bible college. That the promise of “next year” will inevitably turn into “never”. He’s just waiting for you to admit it. He’s waiting for you to say the truth. He’s waiting, with the patience of a saint, for you to tell him and your mother that you plan to shirk your responsibility to the family. To the church. To your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. On that day, he’ll know what to do. He cannot make you do the right thing, but he can take everything you love in this world. You know this as well as he does, and it’s been a game of dodge and deflect. There is no comfort in the split level ranch at the edge of Roan, Indiana, only pitfalls and booby traps around every corner. 

What the Reverend and his dutiful wife don’t know is that you’ve been making a plan. It’s on shaky ground, but it’s taking form. Karen Wheeler has been a lifeline to you, getting you a job at the library at the community college between Roan and Hawkins. She helped you open a bank account that neither of your parents know anything about. She’s offered you the basement room of the Wheeler house. The temptation to leave the Reverend’s home is only mitigated by the thought of leaving Rebecca and Noah, your brother and sister. If you leave, you know you’ll never be welcome back through those doors again. 

The highway is dead this early in the morning. Your mind continues to drift, back to the previous day. Your mind travels back to the one thought that has been persisting since you laid eyes on his thin frame - Eddie. For the first time in your 20 years, a boy rejected your advances. Even the ones you don’t want fall apart around you. It’s a blessing and a curse. Boys are easy. Steve is a case in point. 

Not Eddie, though. Yes, his eyes told you he wanted you, but he flatly rejected you. It won’t do. No. He made you feel silly, he made you feel unwanted. It makes you angry to think of it, and you crank the wheel harder than necessary to make the turn down Elm Street. Eddie Munson, the metalhead stoner, has the upper hand. How infuriating.

All thoughts about the curly haired grinning metalhead evaporated when your family home came into view. Without being aware of it, you’ve started biting and peeling your fingernails to the quick. Shit, your mother is going to notice and berate you. Before heading to the front door, you checked yourself in the rearview mirror, wiping away any remaining mascara that may have collected under your eyes. Hair pulled back tightly, you grip your backpack to your chest and enter the house.

You can smell coffee and pancakes. Mother always makes hot breakfast for your father and siblings on Saturday mornings. The stairs in front of you lead up to the bedrooms. You could go straight up and shut yourself away before they realize you’ve made it back home. Hand on the railing you hear his booming voice, “Pumpkin, is that you?” You return your right foot to the ground with a sigh and head towards the clanging of silverware on plates in the kitchen.

“Hi daddy.” Your lips met the scruff on his cheek before he could ask for a kiss. “Do you need help with anything, Mother?” You ask the woman at the sink. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, makeup may as well be tattooed onto her face with the precision in which it was applied. 7:30 in the morning and she was ready for war, just like every morning of your life.

“No, dear, your father has been waiting for you. Sit.” Sit is what you do. Your hands obey your training and find themselves folded in your lap, back straight, eyes on the man sitting at the head of the table. Bible sitting next to coffee mug. You wondered if he’s waiting for you before he starts the morning devotions. With furrowed brows, you realize your younger siblings were missing from the table.

“Pumpkin, thank you for coming home like I asked. Mother and I are leaving in an hour.” He takes a big swig of coffee and a last bite of pancake. His finger finds his Bible, and he pokes it fiercely as he does sometimes when he’s at the pulpit on a Sunday morning. “We need some prayer time, you and I. Especially after you’ve spent so much time at the Wheeler house.”

You can’t help but let the confusion show on your face. You know that your parents disapproved of the way the Wheelers lived. They give their children far too much freedom, and Karen lacks discipline. Plus, she “dresses like a whore”, your mother’s words. They don’t even go to church on Sunday mornings anymore. “Daddy, where are Rebecca and Thomas?”

“Oh, they’re spending the weekend with your Gram. Didn’t your mother tell you?” For fuck’s sake, of course. They just wanted you to come home, they dodn’t need you here. You know better than to start an argument with your mother while your father was in the room, so you bite your tongue and shake your head.

“No. I thought I was watching them this weekend while you went on your retreat.” Your father’s head is nodding up and down, acknowledging what you’re telling him. 

“Well, Gram decided she wanted some time with the little ones, so you’re off the hook.” His big hand found your own and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m glad she forgot to tell you. I’ve missed my girl.”

A plate of pancakes is set on the table in front of you. You catch a sideways smirk on your mother’s face. She didn’t forget. She hates Karen. She’s jealous of the relationship between the two of you. Or maybe, she’s jealous of the way that Karen lives her life. The way you’ve begun to spread your wings a little, pushing at the walls of the confined life your mother has built for herself and her family.

“We’ll be gone until Monday evening. I left a list of chores that need to be done in our absence. I already informed your Bible study group that they could meet here this evening.” You almost start to protest. You had planned on canceling the meeting, hoping to use your babysitting as an excuse. “Don’t worry, we trust you to be the well-behaved young woman we raised.” She knew you were going to weasel out of it. The Bible study had been her idea. Just another way to keep you occupied and out of trouble.

“Thank you, Mother.” You smile warmly at her, not giving her the satisfaction of appearing disappointed. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with them meeting here?” The question is for your father, and you notice your parents exchange a look. This had been discussed already, you realize.

“Oh, I think you girls will be just fine. No overnight guests while we’re gone, though.” With that, he rises and kisses your temple. “Come to my study when you’re finished. We will spend some time with the lord before I leave.”

At your father’s exit, the room falls silent, apart from the sound of your mother washing the breakfast dishes at the sink.She is up to her elbows in soapy water despite the dishwasher that sits, unused, under the counter to her left. She doesn’t believe in using it, she trusts the efforts of her own two hands over the machine designed to ease the housewife’s burden. It’s her burden, after all, and God does love a hardworking woman. 

The pancakes in your stomach feel as if they are expanding. It seems impossible that the zipper of your jeans could already be pushing against a bloating stomach. Your mother had placed 3 on your plate, and you knew that you had to finish them or else deal with her disappointment. Furious rage disguised as motherly concern. Speed is the key, you must not give your stomach the time to adjust to the thick buttermilk pancakes before getting them past your gullet. You cut them all into bite sized pieces and started to shovel them into your mouth. You’re unaware that your mother has turned from her chore, and she’s watching you eat.

“I see you’ve picked up some manners from the Wheelers this week.” Her disapproving frown and head shake freeze your movements mid bite. It has the desired effect as you sheepishly change the grip on your fork and resume your eating in a more ladylike manner. “Your father and I are leaving in an hour. Deacon Andrews will be driving by to check up on you throughout the weekend. He’s promised to call me if you’re not here.”

She always thinks of everything. 

“Yes, mother. I’ll be here, I promise.” You tell her, biting back at words that sit on the tip of your tongue. I’m an adult, and I can leave the house when I want. 

With your last bite, you rise and begin clearing the table. The mess your father had made would be yours to deal with, it is a woman’s job to keep the house tidy and running smoothly. It amazes you how easily you fall back into these habits when you’re in this house. The routine is a comfort to you, but it pains you all the same.

As you hand the dirty plates to your mother, she meets your eye with a sternness you are not expecting. Her voice is low and conspiratorial as she whispers, “I found what you were hiding. Father doesn’t know. You need to spend some time in your prayers and seek forgiveness. Those carnal desires inside of you are an evil you must resist.”

No, no, no. Fear shot down your body from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Without a word, you stumble through the kitchen, up the stairs, and into your room. You shut the door gently, not making a sound. A feeling, panic, is gripping your chest tightly. The thought, She didn’t. No. She can’t have, plays on a loop inside your mind. The bitter taste of humiliation begins to crawl up your throat at the thought of what she found inside your room. Your room.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you see it still sitting where you left it last. You remove the books and lift the box out of its spot. Dread. Horror. Mortification. You knew before you even opened the lid what you would find, the weight of the box is all wrong in your hands. Inside, the secret box, is a Bible tract. You recognize it from the shelf next to the entrance of your father’s church. It takes the place of the small silicone device that Karen Wheeler bought for you on your 18th birthday, followed by a conversation about condoms and birth control. You remember the way she kept her eyes focused on yours, never flinching from the topic at hand, simply explaining in plain language the things that you had been taught were evil and sinful. After all, Karen Wheeler knew about the pregnancy scare in the summer of your 17th year, something neither of your parents could be trusted with. Worst of all, though - that small leather bound journal where you keep all of your most precious thoughts - gone from its secret spot.

In bold letters on the tri-folded booklet you had seen so many Sunday mornings when entering the church sanctuary - “What does the Bible say about LUST?” 

Tears fell hard and fast, shame and anger at having been caught. Humiliation. You lower yourself to the ground, your forehead presses against the carpet of your closet. You think about what you’ve lost, the least of which the small vibrator used only twice since Karen gave it to you. The journal is gone. Your words, your private thoughts, are gone. Worse still, they are in your mother’s possession, where she can twist them. Make them dirty and vile. Your truest thoughts turned to ash, never to be thought by you again.

Tagging: @tomtomslongdong@big-ope-vibes@jo-harrington No pressure to interact, but I want to make sure ya'll see it if you want to read it.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things

[atomicbug]

Reverend Putty is a hypocrite, like most of the characters in Moral Orel, but he is a hypocrite in a different way. Being part of the church, Reverend Putty is expected to be strict and closed-minded. This is shown in his sermons, which Putty preaches conservative ideas. When the show focuses on Putty outside of his sermons, Putty is proven to be an empathetic person. This is shown especially in the third season, when Putty shows empathy and understanding towards his daughter, Stephanie, who is shown to be a punk lesbian who works in an explicit shop. Despite his sermons demonizing same-sex-attraction, Putty still shows love and acceptance. During the episode titled Closeface, Stephanie experiences feelings for her freind, Kim Latchkey, who jokingly kisses Stephanie. Kim only sees kissing Stephanie for it’s shock value, while Stephanie yearns for kissing to be more than a joke. Later in the episode, Reverend Putty comes to comfort Stephanie, empathizing with her inability to get pussy. The two end up singing a song together, having a beautiful father-daughter bonding moment. This episode solidifies the idea that Reverend Putty is a hypocrite.

#reverend putty #Reverend rod Putty #rod putty #moral Orel #I am stuck in mla format!! help!!! #character analysis #relationship analysis

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Winifred Dailey from her grandniece Agnes, 189x

Dearest Aunt,

You’ll be pleased to know that I am not completely isolated here in my new town. I know you worried so, especially with Will moving us out to the middle of seemingly nowhere, but I can assure you that Chestnut Ridge is far from uncivilized. It is a much smaller town than Brindleton, granted, but we are certainly not hurting for pleasant company. Recently, I had the delight of meeting our neighbor – one Mrs. Martha Reed, who lives just a short ways from Will and I.

She’d stopped by one morning while I was occupied with my knitting but do not worry so, I am not without my manners, you raised me far better than that after all! I was happy to invite her in for some tea while we had a nice little chat, where I learned that it is just her and husband, Clarence, on their farm. They have two daughters who are grown and married and live far away from them, so she was quite pleased when she’d discovered Will and I had moved nearby. I am pleased as well, Aunt, she is a very kind woman and I feel fortunate knowing she’s only a mile away should I ever feel the need for company while Will is out working.

You will also be relieved to know that there is indeed a church here in town, and Will and I are faithful attendees every Sunday morning. The reverend is a good and honest man, not quite as loud as Reverend Powers I daresay, but he can still preach something fierce. Will doesn't care too much for his sermons but then, he's never been much of a church man. I myself find them to be quite riveting though, I'm not sure I've ever heard such eloquently spoken words of truth before in my whole life.

The congregation, thankfully, has been quite welcoming thus far, Will and I have even met another couple around our age who we’ve taken to conversing with following the conclusion of services. Walter and Minnie Lester, I believe that was their names. They also have a very darling baby girl named Florence, and are expecting their second child any time now.

All in all, I think we’re going to have a good life here, Aunt. The people are nice and the land is aplenty, I feel no worry when I think of our future here.

Yours Truly,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

#sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 history #ts4 historical #decades challenge #barclay legacy #gen one: 1890s #agnes dailey #william barclay

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

Satanic Ghurch Hierarchy (Part 1)

A headcanon list by me, based on a Wikipedia dive totally hard research.

Papa: The head of the papacy. Essentially the "king" of the Ghurch, he oversees it and its denominations. Also head of the abbey headquarters, he spreads Satan's word through song. Typically addressed as "Your/His Unholiness" and "Unholy Father" and just "Papa". When ready to retire or pass away, he must appoint or create an heir, as a replacement can't be elected. If a woman ascends to the Papacy, she will be referred to as "Unholy Mother" and "Mama".

Cardinals: They advise the current Papa/Mama, and just generally help run the place. They each receive a ring from Papa upon becoming a Cardinal, and lay/lower ranking members must kiss it in greeting. Typically, they're the only ones who can be in positions such as Treasurer. They're typically addressed as "Your/His/Her/Their Eminence" or simply "Cardinal". It's a gender neutral title.

Archbishops: They govern the archdioceses, and are typically Bishops of metropolitan areas. They also oversee Bishops, and are responsible for them. They're typically addressed as "Your/His/Her/Their Excellency" or "Archbishop of [place]". It's a gender neutral title.

Bishops: They oversee dioceses and churches, and govern their respective jurisdictions. They're also responsible for the Priests (who answer to them), and can become teachers within the Ghurch. They're typically addressed as "The Most Reverend [Name] of [Place]". It's a gender neutral title.

Priests: They do the usual priest stuff (baptisms, last rites, communion, etc), and preach. They answer directly to Bishops, and are assisted by Deacons. They're typically addressed as "The Reverend Father/Mother" or "Reverend [Name]". It's a gender neutral title.

Deacons: They're seminary students, and thus are not yet priests. While learning and studying, they also assist Priests in their respective churches. They're typically addressed as "Deacon [Name]". It's a gender neutral title.

#the band ghost #the band ghost headcanons #minors dni #blank blogs dni

[slickcatbooks]

Two pastor’s books for preparing sermons! From Rev. John L. Beck’s collection. #slickcatbooks #greatbooksgreatmemories #revjohnlbeck #religion #religious #christian #christianity #preaching #preach #sermon #sermons #scripture #scriptures #reverend #pastor https://www.instagram.com/p/CgD7_PhA5ak/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#slickcatbooks #greatbooksgreatmemories #revjohnlbeck #religion #religious #christian #christianity #preaching #preach #sermon #sermons #scripture #scriptures #reverend #pastor

[werewolfetone]

Biographies of important figures in late eighteenth century Belfast are like 'james was was born in 1760 to a reverend whose father had been a reverend whose father had been a reverend whose father had been a reverend whose father was directly related to william of orange and had been kicked out of Scotland for being a "professional anglican-killer" in a house with no other structures within 200 leagues of it. at the age of three he moved to the city where he opened a fork making factory, a shoelace making factory, and a successful theatre company. he also preached frequently at multiple churches, edited a newspaper, built frigates with his bare hands, painted murals, and played the piano better than beethoven. when he was twelve he invented the concept of standing armies and thereafter captained his own Volunteer regiment. with the money from his fork and shoelace factories he bought seven hundred thousand acres of land and then created a paramilitary called "the landlord dismemberment association," until he realised that he was also a landlord and had to disband it. he also is suspected of killing several hundred informers for the united irishmen -- though he consistently denied this. regardless of the truth, in 1798 he didn't see any action during the rebellion due to the fact that he had stubbed his toe the day before the battle. after the act of union he opened a chain of successful restaurants, created the field of dentistry, and introduced communism to Ireland, though his later life was plagued by scandals such as the fact that we're still not 100% sure that he didn't write that one pamphlet calling for catholics to be thrown into a meat mincer. he died at the age of 135 in 1895 of tripping over his own feet. five seconds after his death, his wife and brother, lord edward carson, turned his house into an orange hall and destroyed his grave with a giant hammer. the location of his body is still unknown, though 1927 someone did uncover bones that could either have been his or those of his pet hamster'

#this doesn't deserve an irish history tag #jory.txt

[liesmyth]

gideon's first crush was on the Reverend Mother. whenever Harrow wears some of her mom's hand-me-downs and preaches, Gideon nuts in her pew.

Yeah why not let's go with this. Is it the robes that do it for her, the authority kink, or the horny space catholicism of it all?

#ALECTOPAUSE #POSTING BE UPON YE #ask #anonymous #elle tlt posting #tlt

[bradshawsbitch]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ » 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

⁘ through rhett's guiding hands, you may find a way out of your lonely path of darkness.

› pairing; preacher!rhett abbott x reader

word count; ~ 1.2K

× chapter warnings; religious themes, religious content, baptism, submerging in water, preacher rhett abbott, mostly my musings about feeling lost within faith

disclaimer; I was born in a country that is extremely secularised. I consider myself agnostic, but I do feel a strange sort of ambivalence towards my religion. I grew up a Protestant, and through my visits to sermons and church, we have only ever been preached to about the love and acceptance from God. I find myself quite unable to sort of let go of the resentment I feel from having had to endure quite a lot of trauma in my young age, and it felt quite cathartic for me to write this piece. this is in no way meant to shine a light on anything predatory what-so-ever, but more so my own ramblings and feelings.

Blinding light guided you, bare feet stepping slowly over the dirt and grass on the path to salvation. The air around you felt static, the very leaves of the aspen shaking as if in anticipation of what was to come, matching the raw nerves that laid on top of your skin like frayed electric wires. The beat of your heart rushed in your ears, pumped in your chest, as parted lips took in shallow breaths. 

You were the last of the small crowd. Last to be blessed. To be saved. Around you stood people wrapped in towels, talking in hushed tones to their loved ones. Smiling softly as their ceremony had ended. But they were barely visible to you. There was only the path to your grace before you, only the path to Him.

It was rather symbolic, you thought as you inhaled sharply at that first cold feel of the water washing over your feet; that you would wade through the waters of the lake to him. He stood waist deep, waiting for you, he who had been given the mission by Him.

To cleanse you. To heal you. To guide you. To love you. 

Fingertips graced the very surface of the water, eyes transfixed on the man who waited to give you your grace. Sunlight shone softly through the aspen leaves, dancing across his face, sometimes making those blue eyes a true cerulean as he smiled at you.

The ceremonies before you had taken some time, and the sun now seemed to be right behind him. It only seemed fitting. He was the only light you had left. The only one with unconditional love in his heart for people like you. 

You couldn’t look away from his gaze. Everything else fell away tothe periphery. You could no longer hear the song of the bird or the sweet call of the wind rustling the leaves. There was only him, and your shallow breathing as you neared him, your thin, white gown floating around your hips as you stood before him. 

“Sweet lamb…” Rhett’s voice was low enough that only you could hear him.  

“Reverend.” your voice shook slightly with anticipation, lips trembling slightly with a sweet smile. Rhett’s blue eyes twinkled with delight, slowly moving to place a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You look divine… ” Rhett spoke softly, one hand already at your back to position you to his liking in the lake. Nodding slowly, you smiled up at him as his other hand circled your wrist.

You knew how this procedure would go. Had dreamed about it for the months that you had spent learning about this new path in your life. It almost felt as if you were in a dream, ready to finally be in His protecting embrace. 

“Are you ready to accept this holy sacrament?” the deep timbre of his voice touched your very heart as your eyes fluttered closed.

“I am.”

You could feel his strong arms lower you into the waters of the lake, your white gown floating weightlessly around your naked body. You were floating too, held only by the secure hands of him.

Opening your eyes, the sunlight filtered through the water, glittering and twinkling around the blurry visage of the man who made you feel the safest you had ever felt. It shone behind him, much like a halo, and it felt so symbolic - floating weightlessly with only his hands to hold and guide you out of the darkness of the water. 

He had truly saved you. Had made you believe again that you were deserving of unconditional love. You were beautiful as you are. After only a few moments, you felt Rhett’s strong hands move from their hold on your wrist as he guided you to the surface, first splaying across your sternum to keep you steady as you rose, his large palm soothing your beating heart, making it flutter with a sense of excitement. Once you emerged, his hand drifted down to your waist to help you find your footing in the soft sand below you. 

Rhett, who had purposefully saved you for last, smiled softly down at you as she submerged you into the water, symbolizing the death and resurrection of his Lord. He had never met a person as eager as you, had never felt more protective over an individual as he had you.

When you had first found him, he could tell you were a broken soul, one that life had unfortunately dealt heavy cards. Rhett never knew why the Lord chose to put such awful hurdles in the path of the sweetest of souls. But he could not be mad at Him, for he had brought you to his presence. There must always be a meaning, and Rhett believed he was meant for you. 

You, who had opened your heart and soul for him, not shy to be vulnerable and explain your anger, your hurt and your belief that God had surely never looked favorably upon you. Had with such reverence listened to his guidance as he took in your story, bit by bit, until he had unraveled your tragedy riddled life. He had to admit, he had heard much cruelties throughout his years as a preacher, but hearing your sweet voice speak of such atrocities made his heart ache in his chest. 

It therefore pleased him to see your eyes alight with hope, eyes that before held such sadness and lack of faith, now shone in their excitement to have Him follow you through whichever path you happened upon in your life. 

Speaking your name softly as you emerged from the water, blinking slowly up at him, he continued as he held your shaking body close to his own “let the Lord offer you his grace, and may he always walk beside you in the paths of your life, lending you strength through his unconditional love…” his hand gently rested upon your head, closing his eyes momentarily to truly feel the energy within his palm surge over you. He hoped his light might protect you. Might offer you peace. Opening his eyes, he noted that the clearing was empty now, the people he had baptized before you walking home to their cottages.

He let his eyes roam over your soaked form, the way droplets of water ran down your neck, over your chest and down your stomach. Your sheer white dress clung to your every curve, and Rhett was only human as he thought of how beautiful you looked right now. 

“Thank you,” you had spoken so softly as you leaned in to his chest, eyes watering a little with emotion as you smiled up at him. “for hearing me… and for seeing me in a time of loneliness.”

Shaking his head, he once again let his fingers grace over your cheek, cradling it in his warm palm as he let his lips brush gently over your forehead. The song of the birds was back, and the gentleness of the wind caressed your form again as he spoke;

“I’ll see to it that you never walk alone again.” 

tagging; @lewmagoo @sebsxphia

#anyways this was weird #and also my writing is shitty rn #oh well #preacher!rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x reader #my writing