#and i said i'd read the Bible first but i just can't

[himalayaan-flowers]

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[ariestrxsh]

𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, praise, light punishment, spanking, public teasing, religious kink, sexualization of religious imagery, blasphemy, masturbation, fingering, dom!matt, possessive!matt

📝 author's note: 📝 this is part two, and you can access part one here. if you are religious, first of all, why are you reading this? secondly, please don't interact with this post! it will offend you. for those of you who couldn't get enough and asked for a part two, thanks for giving me a reason to write another part, you little freaks, bc i'm honestly in love with this version of matt. 💖

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Matt has convinced you that the only way for you to stay a good, pure Christian girl is to come to him for your sexual urges rather than anyone else. When you approach him for help again, he teaches you a little trick to keep you satisfied until the next time he sees you.

𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

coming down part two

"Matt, I'm getting that urge again," I told him, biting my lip and looking down at my feet as we stood underneath the same oak tree as last week. It was Wednesday, and we agreed that would be our meeting spot every week before service. "Meet me at my car after the sermon," Matt responded, tilting my chin up towards him with a long, slender finger. "You're such a good girl for coming to me. I know just how to satisfy your urges."

The whole time the preacher had the stage, I couldn't focus on what he was saying. My head buzzed with thoughts of Matt, the feeling of my hands in his hair while he ate me out, the sounds he made when he filled me, the way his voice got really low and raspy when he called me princess.

I held my Bible over my crossed legs and pressed my thighs together over and over as discreetly as I could to feel something, anything. And I prayed to God that no one would notice. Every once in a while, my eye would catch Matt's from across the room, and we'd share a quick but lustful look. I could tell we were both struggling to pay attention to the lesson.

Once service ended, I skipped off towards Matt's car. The air outside was warm, but there was a light breeze, and the sunset looked like cotton candy.

Matt beat me to the parking lot, and when we saw each other, he was leaning up against the hood of his car, biting his lip and smiling at me. He held the door open for me and extended his hand out for me to grab it, and when I did, he kissed the back of my hand. "You look so pretty in that polka dot dress," he said to me, making me blush. What a gentleman.

Matt got into the driver's seat, and before turning on the car, he glanced over at me. "Were you squeezing your thighs together in church on purpose?" He asked, his eyes narrowing and a smile forming on his lips. "I couldn't help it. I feel all wet and tingly down there," I said, embarrassed. "I didn't think anyone would notice."

"That was very naughty of you, princess, but don't worry. I don't think anyone did. I only noticed because I couldn't keep my eyes off you," Matt responded, tracing circles on my thigh with his fingertips. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

"You know, you can't be having naughty thoughts about me in church, pretty girl. I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson," Matt told me. "A lesson? What kind?" I asked, a mixture of fear and excitement in my voice. "You're gonna have to sit tight and find out," Matt said, turning the key in the ignition.

I'd never been to Matt's house, but I assumed that's where we were going. He looked over at me every few minutes as he drove, and at stop lights, he'd lean over and kiss me.

Once we pulled up to his house, he parked in the driveway and told me, "Nick and Chris are stopping for food on their way home, so we have some time, but not much.

I found myself in Matt's bedroom. He was clean and neat, and the lighting in his room was soft and not too bright. "Come here, angel. I have to give you a little punishment for getting all hot and bothered during the service," he smirked at me. My heart started to pound, and I swallowed hard. I didn't want to be punished. But I knew it was in my best interest to listen to him. "This is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt you," he said sternly.

"Bend over," he ordered me, and he bent me over his knee and lifted up my dress, exposing my bottom. "Were you trying to tease me, princess? In the middle of church?" Matt cooed, rubbing gentle circles on my bottom. "No, I wasn't. I didn't mean for anyone to see," I whined.

"Do you have any idea how hard you made my cock?" Matt asked, talking through his teeth and I felt a loud slap! on my ass. I cried out in shock. "Take your punishment, princess," he smacked it again.

I wasn't sure what was wrong with me, but I liked it. Why did I like being punished if it was supposed to be a bad thing?

"What were you thinking about anyway, huh? Was it my cock? Or my tongue?" Matt whispered as his hand came down one more time, leaving another red hand mark. "Both," I admitted. "Next time you misbehave like that, it's five spankings," he warned me.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to," I looked down in shame once he was done. "I forgive you, princess. We all make mistakes, but our actions have consequences. Next, let's get you out of those pretty panties, and why don't you come sit on my lap," Matt replied. I did as he said, slid out of my lacey undergarments, and I sat on his lap with his right knee between my legs.

"Oh, sweetheart. Look at how wet you are. Is that from me punishing you? You liked it, didn't you? He cooed, spreading it open and peering down at my glistening pussy. Matt started teasing my slit with his fingers. I bit my lip, our eyes met, and I nodded at him. "Good girl. You took your punishment so well," he slipped a finger into my pussy and started pumping in and out gently.

I inhaled sharply, and I looked at him wide-eyed. I thought I had already experienced everything with Matt, but no one had ever put their fingers there, and it felt incredible.

"How's that feel?" He asked. "Like heaven," I answered, leaning back into him and rolling my eyes towards the back of my head. As I laid back into him, I could feel something poking me in his pants, and it just kept getting bigger and harder. He put in a second finger. "Oh, Matt," I whimpered, smiling at him. He watched my facial expressions intently while he played around with the pace at which he was moving his fingers in and out of me. I felt myself getting wetter by the second.

"Do you ever play with yourself, princess?" Matt inquired while a pool of wetness formed on Matt's leg from what he was doing to me. "I mean, I've tried, but I've never successfully finished," I nervously bit my lip while I stifled a whimper. "Show me how you do it, baby," he whispered.

With his fingers still inside of me, I started running the pads of my fingers over my folds, and it felt alright, but not as mind-blowing as when Matt played with me. "Do you remember that little spot right here?" Matt said, brushing over my clit with his thumb. "That's the sweet spot, princess. Start rubbing yourself there," Matt told me. He was such a good teacher.

It immediately started feeling even better when I took his advice and started touching that special spot. "Now play around with the technique. I think you like slow circles, but with a lot of pressure," he whispered. I did as he said, and boy, was he right. "Oh my goodness. That's amazing," I gasped. "Mmm. Good girl. You learn so fast," Matt whispered into my ear.

"That's how you masturbate, princess. But just because I showed you doesn't mean you can go doing it at church," Matt teased me. "You should only do this when you're by yourself or with me, and you should only ever think about me when you do it, okay?" He looked into my eyes to make sure I understood. "Yes, Matt," I nodded. "And just because I showed you this, doesn't mean you shouldn't still come to me when you need to be taken care of," he smiled at me, "just a little trick for when you're desparate."

He started finger fucking me a little faster, and I felt myself on the brink of another explosion happening. I continued to rub my clit in a circular motion like Matt had showed me. "Just relax into it, princess. Take slow, deep breaths," Matt whispered into my neck as I came undone around his digits.

I did as he told me, and I swear, purposely slowing down my breath added a whole new dimension to the rhythmic current of pleasure that overtook me. Time seemed to stop for just a moment, and I got lost in the sensual gratification I'd been mentally chasing since the last time Matt had me unraveling under his touch.

I came down from my orgasm like a feather floating to the ground, and a warm buzz lingered over my body for several minutes after I came. "Do you wanna know what you taste like?" Matt asked me, and I made an unsure face at him, but he held his fingers up to my lips, and I gently sucked on them. "Hmm. Tastes kinda weird," I told him. Matt licked his fingers clean while he looked at me, "I think you taste so sweet, princess."

Once we were finished, Matt helped me back into my panties. Then he changed his pants and gently teased me about the wet spot I made on his knee. "You were such a good girl for me today," he smirked. "Don't you want me to take care of you?" I asked, batting my eyelashes at him. "Of course I do, sweetheart, but I've gotta get you home and go pick up my brothers. What really matters is that we get you off. We can take care of me next week," he sweetly responded. "Matt, I can't wait until next Wednesday. I need you sooner than that," I whined desperately.

"Meet me under the oak tree on Sunday after church, princess," he brushed his thumb against my cheek while he looked at me with his blue eyes full of lust and hunger. "Let's get you home safe and sound, angel."

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sturnzluv @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sofieeeeex

(I kept the taglist short because I'm not sure if everyone who asked to be on my taglist wants to read this blasphemy, lol)

part three posted here 💖

[yowyowyaoi]

Itachi's Daily Texts from the Akatsuki, Part Two

From Kakuzu

Won't be as effective if you don't get some damn sleep.

You need to stay off of it for at least a week. I'll explain to Nagato.

How you choose to live (and die) is your own business.

Well tell him to take it easy with you. Your stamina isn't up for "extracurricular activities" like that, brat.

I'm aware. I'll deal with him later.

If you don't wish to pay it then use a candle instead of that lamp.

Once again, GO TO BED.

Your sweets consumption is appalling.

Of the three of you, I'm not sure which one worries me more. Four counting Tobi.

A gengetsu where all I have to do is sit still and money flies into my lap. Birthday present.

Your worst is likely STILL superior to his "best".

Rent is due. Utilities as well.

From Sasori

I swear your stubbornness rivals even that of Deidara's sometimes.

I'm working on a new remedy that should still the pain for much longer periods of time.

If you don't take better care of it I'll be forced to amputate. And as a warning, once I start with body modifications I find it very, very hard to stop.

SLEEP.

With as bad as your breathing sounds? The enemy would hear you coming from a mile away!

Eternal doesn't mean eternal patience.

I told him to behave himself with you or I'll take away his clay.

I wish I could help more. I truly do, child.

My thanks for the book, I'll return it within the week.

I'll admit I've thought about it but I'm not sure the sharingan would translate as well aesthetically in wood as it does in human flesh.

From Hidan

Prove it.

Mine's shorter but it's better. Not so greasy.

You'd be healed from everything if you just prayed to Jashin!!

It's a. Fucking. Fishing pole. He has like fifty! Why's he making such a big deal out of ONE?!

I did it and I'm NOT sorry.

Shit ain't my business but really isn't he too big for your sick-ass body?

Can't even tell you man.

It's not my deal but blondie looks cute as fuck when we go. Tell him I said that and I'll cut off your balls with my scythe.

You're like a fucking vampire dude. You NEVER SLEEP!

When I tried saying it Kakuzu almost knocked my head off my damn neck.

Stop being so gay and come with us. It's not like you've got shit else to do that day!

Whatever asshole.

I would rock your fucking world and I wouldn't break your ass in half like shark-dick.

Just use your creepy eyes and put him to sleep first! All we gotta do is cut off like two inches and he'll freak so bad he'll have a heart attack!

You know what? I'm gonna lend you my Jashin bible. One you read it you'll see I'm right about everything I keep telling you!

From Zetsu

You hurt his feelings, child. He said you're the only ones left of your clan and you never wish to spend time with or even speak to him.

I can smell it coming from your pores.

Time is merely an illusion.

These trips to Konoha are proving quite lengthy ...

You should probably lay low for a bit. Kakuzu finally received the credit card bill for all of those tea and dango shops.

That's a lovely idea but I doubt ALL of us could go to one place without causing some chaos.

There is no heaven and no hell. There is simply NOW, and whatever realities we choose to create for ourselves.

I believe he's started to think of himself as being your "big brother". Could be either good or bad for you.

From Deidara

Art absolutely IS a "life necessity". Heathen.

As good as friends as two assholes can be, right?

Mine got softer since I started using the eggs. It's slimy but after it sets in, it's really great.

If I wasn't goofy about Danna and EVERY OTHER man in the world died, then maybe.

Should you really be drinking?

Maybe if you went to sleep! Fucking hell you're creepier than a vampire!

Yeah but if I DID like girls I bet I'd get more than you!

I just don't get why he wears it? He's hot as FUCK without it.

Would Kisame get mad if I asked him if he wanted to come with us to the aquarium?

Just get Konan to do it. She's nice and has soft hands.

Hidan wants to but I'd rather stay home.

Yeah I could teach you but yours wouldn't explode so what's even the point??

From Konan

Thank you! I can't believe you noticed! <3

You need the fresh air, come with me for a walk.

Don't listen to him ok?

Yes and no. More so "yes".

I wish I had the time for it.

I'm almost done with that book, you have the sequel right?

It's like every single particle of dust on the road just magically finds it's way into my hair.

If you're trying to avoid back pain, I'd advise against it.

Not that I don't appreciate them but ... did you go out at one in the morning to pick them?

He talks too loud and I've already got a headache.

Thanks for letting me borrow it, Nagato's hair is much healthier now.

From Tobi/Obito

You think THAT was bad?? Try BATHING the son of a bitch!!

You, me, and Sasuke could do it though. It would be more powerful than any clan that ever existed.

Just because it tasted good did NOT mean you needed to eat that many in one sitting!

I applaud the idea but with as weak as you are right now I don't see how it could work.

He's taller than you now. Still with the short hair though.

I can see I was wrong in criticizing Fugaku's parenting style because you ARE a handful, little cousin.

Four hours of uninterrupted sleep would do you a world of good.

Why should I give that up?? It's absurdity to think that an UCHIHA has a PUPPET as a romantic rival!!

It gets so hot and itchy under this thing.

A vacation somewhere warm and quiet would be nice.

Your idea of atonement is even more fucked-up than mine.

No but HE said I had to.

I'm honestly surprised nobody has tried to kill him yet.

I wish it was so. I truly do.

It's loud but you have to admit it's better than being alone.

Come and eat.

Depends on what your definition of "helpful" is.

From Kisame

Did you eat something yet?

Did you get any sleep last night?

Come here, I drew you a bath with lavender oil.

Can I help that I legitimately worry over you?

Just a snack? Just so you have something in your stomach? Please?

The water is warm and gentle and I bet a swim would cheer you up.

I forgot how much energy they have, I ran myself ragged trying to keep up with them!

Then come let me brush that beautiful hair of yours.

I understand. I don't agree but I get it.

Then just let me kill them. Problem solved.

Come on, please, just one quick little nap. An hour max.

They invited us but I know you don't really like red meat so I said no.

Fortunately MY bed is VERY warm and cozy. Come and see.

It might shock you to learn that there are other foods besides dango and tea.

You shouldn't even have to ask, that was 1000% Deidara.

There are other, and perhaps more interesting, ways of building your stamina. <3

Never imagined that one day I'd want something like this, but here we are.

Is it a little one or a big one? If it's small just take a deep breath and use your shoe.

I love you as well but dammit brat you'll be the death of me for sure!

[artist-issues]

I have loved reading your posts on various fiction from Christian perspective. I am wondering your opinion on when fantasy/"magic" fiction becomes too much? I used to encounter a lot of people talking about how basically -anything- fantasy was evil. I have struggled with scrupulosity OCD for many years now so I tend to think things towards a legalistic lens. I'd like to be able to enjoy fantasy again, while carefully discerning, so I'd love to hear what you think are the merits/limits of fantasy

Hi! First off, Jesus said: "These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." When you're wrestling with scrupulousity, sometimes it helps to see or hear out loud the reminder that life in Christ is one that's supposed to give you peace, not constant worry about doing everything right--even if you've heard that before and you already know it, sometimes it can help to hear it over again from outside your own head. So there it is! 🤝

Next: thank you for asking me! I'm no professional. But someone did ask me this question once before. I am having a hard time finding it on my blog right now, otherwise I'd link to it, but I'll try to summarize at the end of this post!

EDIT: You asked me to talk about the merits and limits of fantasy and I got carried away explaining why fantasy fiction is not outright evil according to the Bible. I moved that to the end of the post 😅 here's what I think the merits are:

All of Reality, our world, our timeline, was invented by God. That makes Him the storyteller, us His characters, and reality His narrative. Just like any storyteller, He made up a system of rules for His world: rules like, "humans sink in water," and "humans can't be cured of sickness by touching other humans," and "the weather doesn't change just because humans tell it to." Then God, the storyteller, broke His own world-building rules. On purpose. He wrote Himself (Jesus) into the story as a human who COULD walk on water and COULD heal other humans with a touch and COULD tell the weather what to do, and it obeyed.

In fantasy stories, when a character can break the established rules of the created world, we call that "magic." We call it "magic" when the storyteller brings in a supernatural element to show that this character is special, powerful, capable, set apart from all the others.

So that's what I think the merits are. Fantasy stories have a special kind of closeness to The Storyteller Who Invented Stories, because of that very element of "make the rules then bring in rule-breaking specialness" that He uses.

That's where you get Gandalf, or even the Fairy Godmother, or of course Aslan and the Deep Magic.

The limitations to the genre, I would say, is that fantasy stories are very tempting for storytellers' egos. Because of Tolkien, there's this generation of storytellers who think that inventing a fantasy world with rules and races and magical systems and cultures and, to sum it all up, a whole universe of their own design, is the POINT.

They think the themes and the message of their story comes second to how thorough and clever they can be with their made-up magical systems, or fantasy-race-relations, or made-up languages.

Basically, in no other genre have I observed storytellers getting so excited to play god-of-their-own-clever-world than in fantasy. Then they forget that the important part of a story is the message, not the brain that's capable of inventing worlds and languages and cool-sounding names and ancestries. What they have to say basically gets lost in how flashy and cool they can be while saying it.

But that's another soap box for another time. Those are basically the merits and limitations, I think, broad-strokes.

On to the Biblical worldview for magic in stories below!

"Magic" is mentioned in the Bible. It's sorcery. Specifically, the Bible is telling Christians to stay away from "real" magic...which is basically just "trying to connect with spiritual forces to accomplish anything supernatural." We were created to have relationship with one Spirit: God. Anything outside of that is like a fish trying to breathe oxygen: it hurts us. So the Bible says, "no real magic."

But.

"Fantasy fiction magic" is not "a real live human trying to connect with real demonic forces and accomplish something supernatural." Instead, "fantasy fiction magic" is just "a real live human making up a story. Playing pretend."

The Bible has no commands, no rules, against that. Jesus told stories. His servants tell stories. We're made to tell stories.

And the Bible has no commands against telling a story that includes magic in it.

Think of it this way: God said "do not murder" right? But then in Matthew 18 Jesus tells a parable where one man tries to choke another man. There's attempted murder in the story Jesus is telling: but just because God disapproves of the act of murder, does not mean He disapproves of telling a story that features murder.

Sin being in a story isn't a bad thing. It's realistic, because sin exists. What really matters is whether or not the story treats the sin like sin, and not like an admirable thing. Because the point of all stories is to tell the truth in a compelling way. If the story treats something sinful like it's not sinful, that wouldn't be truthful. But if the story treats sin like it's definitely bad, then it's doing what God invented stories to do: tell the truth.

Now here's where you might say, "yeah, but most fantasy stories treat magic like it's a good thing."

Right. But remember: most fantasy stories don't have what the Bible calls "magic" in them at all.

When the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella says "bibbidi bobbidi boo," she's not calling upon demons to give her supernatural power (which is what the Bible is talking about when it condemns magic.) She's using a pretend superpower that the storyteller made up, on the spot, for the story. Her "magic" is not what the Bible calls "magic," so it doesn't even matter if it's portrayed as "good" or "bad" morally.

Fantasy fiction is fine. There is no reason, Biblically, for Christians not to read fantasy fiction if their only reason for it is "well there's magic in it."

There's nothing wrong with telling a story that has a supernatural element in it. It's only a story. As long as it's not real humans doing creation-worshipping or demon-contacting practices, in real life it's okay to write and it's okay to read.

Let me know if that makes sense!

[hatchetfield-omegaverse]

Hail Petey, Full of Grace Chapter 3

Chapter 3; The Good Shepherd

AO3 LINK

Summary:

“Who says Jerry doesn't know?”

“Come on.” He almost laughs at her weak defense. “We both know that if Boy Jerry found out that I was, in your own words, preaching to the campers he'd have me back in solitary for the rest of camp.”

They've reached the Gomorrah Cabin by now, and Pete doesn't bother waiting for her answer before going inside and plopping down onto his bed. He expects Jeri to leave him, she probably has a million things to do around camp, but she doesn't. Instead she walks in and sits on the bed beside him.

“He really does care about you, you know?” She says after a moment. Pete doesn't bother hiding the snort she illicit. “I mean it. He cares about all his campers.”

“Well he has a funny way of showing it.”

-

A/N: And after taking a short break for the holidays we are back! This was originally going to be just one chapter, but I went feral and wrote 17k words, so I decided to break it into two chapters for an easier reading experience. I hope you'll enjoy!

-

Ted,   

It feels silly writing you this letter. Calling you would be so much easier, but of course the Jerries don't allow any phone calls unless they're for ‘an actual emergency’. I don't know how calling my brother could increase the urge to masturbate but they're pretty insistent that it would, so we're stuck writing letters. Steph keeps joking that it makes her feel Amish. 

The baby is doing well so far, Steph and I've started calling them Bean until we have a name picked. They decided they want to take martial arts like their uncle, and they keep practicing on my liver. Apparently they're the size of a butternut squash now (at least that's what that book Emma got me on baby development says) but I swear they feel bigger. The morning sickness finally stopped, thank god, and now they're on a mission to get me to drink as much chocolate milk as possible. Steph says they take after me.

Camp has been okay. There were some hiccups settling in the first week, but everything seems to be settling down now. The Jerries are every bit of crazy as you said they were, especially Boy Jerry. You'd think that stick he has shoved up his ass would be counterproductive to the whole ‘abstinent for life thing’, but I doubt he'll remove it anytime soon.

Girl Jeri is slightly better, I suppose. She just pities me I think, which is better than acting like my very existence is offensive. And she lets me skip any camp activities that are too physical for someone in my condition so that's a plus. 

The rest of the campers are nice at least. Alice is at camp this year- I guess her mom decided to send her cause she kept sneaking out- so I know two people here.  Well, three if you count Grace Chasity. She's in her element at camp, since she's  probably the only person who genuinely enjoys the whole abstinence thing. I thought she was a lot before, but her antics at school have nothing on the stunts she's pulled at camp. 

She's gotten really overbearing excited to help with the pregnancy too. She's already claimed herself as the baby's godmother. I can't even tell you how many Bible stories she's read to Bean. At least she's friendly though. I'd rather have Grace as a friend than an enemy. 

She's also really worried about Bean being born out of wedlock, so much so that she's convinced the Jerries to hold a wedding for Steph and I during parents weekend. She's sending out invites to all the parents as I write this, so I'm sure your invitation will get there shortly. Honestly we almost said no to the wedding, but the look on Boy Jerry's face when he realized he'd have to let us share a cabin convinced us. Besides, I already know I want to spend my life with Steph, so it's not that crazy.   

I can't wait to see you at parents weekend. There's so much I want to tell you, but its better if we speak in person. I lov I'll be glad to see you again. And even gladder to come home with Bean and Steph. See you in two weeks.

                                        -Peter Spankoffski 

“Last call for mail!”

Pete jumps at the sound and hurriedly stuffs his letter into an envelope, placing one of the camp's custom Camp Idontwannabang stamps (complete with a cross and dove) in the corner before rushing to the main building where a line of campers is already forming. He groans at the sight, knowing Bean is going to Hate™ waiting in that line just to mail a letter. 

Still, there's nothing he can do about it: his letter needs to get mailed this week so he can tell Ted about the wedding before the invitation comes. So, already dreading the ache in his back this will cause, Pete gets in the back of the line. Well he tries to at least. But, just as he's gotten in the line, Grace comes running to the building holding a sack, a literal sack, of letters. 

“Make way, I need to mail these wedding invitations. We don't want any of our parents not to have a gift for the parents of Christ, do we?” She says, elbowing her way to the front of the line. The other campers, to Pete's shock, let her cut past them without a single complaint. Then again, he supposed it wasn't that shocking that they'd let her do that. It was becoming very clear that Grace Chastity held all the real power at Camp Idontwannabang. 

“Pete!” She spots him and runs over. “Why are you waiting in line?”

“I want to mail a letter?” He states, as if it isn't obvious. “To my brother, just to tell him about the wedding.”

Grace sighs, shaking her head at him as if he was dumb. Then, in a swift motion, she's adjusted her sack and grabbing his hand. “You still don't have to wait in the line.” She says as she pulls him forward, “You're carrying the Messiah, you go first.” 

“Grace I don't think that's a go-”

“It's fine. Look, you said that the baby gets fussy when you're stuck in long lines right?” He nods at the question. “Then this is for the good of the baby. Now come on. Okay everybody, out of the way, mother- sorry- father of christ coming through.” 

They're at the front of the line before Pete can say another word. “Here we go. I made one for everyone on your list, and all the parents coming to camp.” Grace says as she places the sack on the table. Then she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a baby blue envelope. “And this is for my parents. They'll be so excited for you.”

Boy Jerry looks at the pile and grimaces. “Don't you think that's a lot of invitations Grace? I doubt every parent needs to know about the wedding, they're visiting to check on their children after all.”

“Pardon my French Jerry but pish posh applesauce. Who wouldn't want the opportunity to see the parents of Christ get married? It's historic. Why, if I thought it was a good idea, I'd contact the news so they could televise it.”

Pete pales at the mention of the news. The last thing he needed was Day Reynolds and Donna Daggit reporting on his wedding. “Please don't contact the news, Grace.” He blurts. 

“You don't want the news here, Peter?” Boy Jerry turns on him, his ever present smile turning almost predatory. “Why on Earth not? Don't you want people to know you're carrying Christ, S-man?” 

“I…”, Pete swallows, trying to come up with an answer. Fuck, he should have just kept his mouth shut. 

“It's for their safety, Jerry.” Grace cuts in before Pete can come up with an excuse. “Look at how King Herod pursued Jesus. And now the world is so much more connected than it was when Jesus was born. Imagine how many awful people would try to hurt the little Messiah if they found out now. So it's safer if Peter pretends he's having a regular baby, isn't that right Peter?”

“Yeah.” Pete nods, ever thankful for Grace's ability to use the Bible to justify anything. Really, it should concern him how good she is at that, but that's a problem for another day. “I want Bean to have a normal childhood, not one where they're hunted by strangers for being the second coming.” 

“Exactly. I didn't even put that on the invitations.” Grace nods. Pete quietly thanks whatever god is listening that she left that off the invitations. God knows what Ted would say if he saw that . It's better if only certain people know for now.” 

“Then why, if I might ask,” Jerry starts through gritted teeth, “did you tell everyone at camp? That's a lot of people to trust with your secret.”

“Well this is a godly camp, isn't it?” Pete counters, thinking on his feet. “I knew that none of you would want to see my baby hurt. Especially you, Boy Jerry. I mean, what kind of godly man would want to see a baby harmed? Let alone a baby that's the Messiah.” 

Jerry nods in response, looking like he sucked on a lemon. Pete has to stop himself from laughing as he puts his envelope in the mail bag. “There we go, I wanted to personally invite my brother to the wedding.” 

“Right.” Jerry nods, the vein in his head bulging. “Well if that's all you should get back to your afternoon activities.” 

“Of course.” Grace says, voice as chipper as always, and drags Pete away. “See you at the evening sermon Boy Jerry!” 

Pete waits until they're just out of earshot before breaking down into laughter. “Did you see his face?” He says between bouts of laughing. “I thought his head was going to explode when you mentioned King Herod.” 

Grace watches for a minute before she's infected with his laughter, tears welling up in her eyes and clutching her sides from the force of it. They stand there like that for a moment, laughing in the middle of the Witchwood like a couple of fools. Pete's sure that anyone who saw them would think they were insane, but he honestly can't bring himself to stop. 

“Thank you.” He says when he's finally able to stop laughing. “For defending me all these times. You've been a good friend, Grace.” The most shocking part is that he means it. Prior to camp he never would have considered Grace Chasity a friend, she was an acquaintance at best, but now? 

She'd stuck her neck out for him multiple times now, gone to solitary for him (a fate that Grace clearly considered worse than prison). Even now, with the Jerries too afraid of another mutiny to actually punish him, Grace protected him every time Boy Jerry so much as implied that he was lying. 

That had to make them friends right? Even if it was all based on a lie. 

“Of course, Peter. I can't let Boy Jerry besmirch your or the baby's reputation.” Grace shakes her head. She goes quiet for a moment. Then, so softly Pete almost doesn't hear her, she speaks. “You know, I've known the Jerries my whole life. I looked up to them for staying abstinent as adults despite the pressure from society. Boy Jerry was the one who taught me that I need to control how I behave so others don't have lustful thoughts. But what they did: calling you a liar, locking you up, denying your baby as their savior. I can't believe that they would do that. I never thought of them as Pharisees.”

“Well,” he swallows, looking for something to comfort her with, “they might come around. People didn't believe Jesus at first, did they? He had to prove himself as the savior before he gained followers.” He says hoping his (poor) knowledge of the Bible won't fail him. 

“I guess you're right. It's just disappointing.” Grace maneuvers around his bump to hug Pete. He returns the gesture, clearly she needs the comfort. “Thank you for showing me the truth. I'm glad God picked you to bring Christ back to Earth.” 

“You're welcome, Grace.” He says, thankful she can't see his wince at the lie. 

Part of him wants to move on, to change the subject to something less uncomfortable, but the sound of her saying, ‘ control how I behave’ keeps playing on his head on repeat. Grace had been taught that since she was a kid. All the campers here had been taught that. It was no wonder she was like that . 

Pete's parents, Anna and Buster Spankoffski, had died before they'd gotten to have the talk with him, but they'd always made sure that he knew that no meant no. And Ted… Ted had stressed the importance of consent from the moment he'd adopted Pete, in his own Ted way of course. He could still remember the talks. ‘ Okay Petey, if anyone ever touches you and you don't want that, you knee them right in the dick. Understood?’ 

Grace never learned any of that from the church. But maybe that could change. She certainly trusted him, and the others trusted Grace. Pete's not sure what to say to her, but he knows he can't let this slide, not when he might have the power to change it. So, before he's even realized what he's doing, Pete opens his mouth and- 

“Grace? You know that stuff Boy Jerry told you about controlling how you behave is wrong, right?”

Grace stares at him like he's grown a second head. “No, it's true. If I act like a harlot I’ll lead men to sin. I’d be no better than Lilith.”

“But that's not true. It's their job to control how they react.” Pete thinks back to all the Bible stories she'd told him so far, looking for any evidence. He's not as good as Grace at twisting the Bible to suit his needs though, so he comes up empty. “Doesn't Jesus say to pluck your eyes out if they cause you to sin?”

Grace nods. “Yea in, Matthew 5:29.” 

“There you go then! Even Jesus doesn't think that. If someone looks at you with lust, that's not your fault, it's theirs.” 

“But the Jerries are pastors. Why would they get that wrong?” 

“They think I'm lying don't they? Maybe they're wrong about other things.” 

Grace blinks once. Then twice. Pete can almost see the gears turning in your head. “You're sure?”

Pete nods. Time to go in for the kill. “God picked me to carry the Messiah right? That must count for something.”

“I guess you're right.” Grace nods. Then she goes silent and stays that way as they walk. Pete is just beginning to question if he's done something wrong when she finally speaks again. “I need to go back to my cabin. I'll see you later, Peter.”

Then, without another word, she's gone. Pete sighs as he watches her walk away. He watches her until she reaches her cabin, disappearing from sight. It's only when she's gone does turn and heads towards the lake, hoping he can find Steph. He can only hope he did the right thing.

-

It isn't until after dinner that Pete sees her again: the evening sermon has just ended, Boy Jerry having spent it warning the camp of the danger of deceivers. He'd pivoted away from his usual talks on the importance of abstinence as of late, instead choosing to focus on false prophets. He's never too direct of course, not wanting to incur Grace's wrath once more, but it's still obvious who Jerry means when he speaks.

Pete, for his part, is picking and choosing his battles and this isn't worth the effort. Besides, it's funnier watching Jerry fume when he doesn't react. So he pretends not to notice how Jerry looks at him every time he mentions snakes in the grass, or how every day less and less people are paying attention. 

Luckily, it was the last sermon of the day, and Pete can spend the rest of the evening enjoying himself. So he's with Steph, sitting under an old oak tree, coming up with baby names.

“I'm not naming our child Eleanor, Pete.” Or well, trying to come up with names. They'd mostly been shooting down suggestions. Not that Pete was complaining, of course. He was just happy to spend some time with her. 

“What's wrong with Eleanor? It means shining light, which is pretty and we can call her Ellie for short. And she can have Eleanor Roosevelt as a role model.” 

Steph snorts. “So, you don't think I'm enough of a role model, is that what you're saying?”

Pete blanches. “No, I didn't mean that at all. I just meant-” 

Steph presses her lips to his in a quick kiss, effectively stopping all thoughts. She pulls away, giggling, and shoves his shoulder playfully. “Dude, I'm just messing with you.” 

He sighs in relief. “Oh thank god. I don't want you to think that I think you're a bad role model or something. You're amazing. It's just good to have multiple role models, you know?”

Steph smiles at him. “You're such a nerd, Spankoffski.” She says in lieu of an answer.

Pete can't help but laugh at that. “Maybe. But I'm your nerd.” He retorts. 

“Damn right, you're mine.” She says with such ferocity that Pete has to look away to keep from blushing. Honestly it was rude of her, teasing him like that in abstinence camp of all places. Especially when she knows how his hormones have been lately. 

“Okay. Back to names before I do something that gets me thrown in solitary again.” He says, trying to think of anything to cool his racing heartbeat down. Eventually he settles on Boy Jerry naked, and that seems to do it. 

Steph laughs again. “Fine, but I swear once we're married…” She doesn't finish her sentence and Pete can only imagine the things she has planned. “What about Alexis?”

“Ehh, it's okay. I like Alexandria better though.” He says then, after checking that the coast is clear, lays his head on her lap. The counselors had been more lenient about letting them be alone since their engagement, but Pete doubts they'd let something like this slide. He already knows they'd consider his head way too close to her crotch. 

“We can put it in the maybe list for now.” Steph says, reaching down to pet his hair. Pete sighs at the touch: Steph had always been a fan of resting her head in his lap and letting him play with her hair. Of course, she hadn't been able to do that since he'd started showing, the bump taking up too much room on his lap for her to feel comfortable. Never one to give up, she'd taken to reversing their roles, pulling his head into her lap and playing with his hair instead. He'd been against before, feeling awkward with that level of intimacy, but the first touch of her hands against his scalp. Her touch always seemed to relax him, his stress melting away under her careful ministrations until all that was left was them. Pete definitely understood why Steph loved it so much. 

“What about Amelia?” He asks, closing his eyes. He could definitely fall asleep like this if he wasn't careful. 

“I like Amelia but I feel like everyone would call her Mia, which I don't like.”

“Fair.” Pete says. “Remind me again why we need a girl's name again? I'm positive we're having a boy.” 

“Because the doctor couldn't tell us for certain, remember?” 

“Oh, right.” He'd gone in for one last appointment the week before camp, knowing that he wouldn't be able to make any more appointments over the summer. After giving him plenty of pamphlets on the signs of pre-eclampsia and making him promise to call if he felt the slightest big off, the OBGYN had given him one last sonogram in hopes of finding out the gender. It was all for naught though: Bean had kept their legs fully crossed the entire appointment, and no amount of coaxing could convince them to move. Eventually Pete had resigned himself to not knowing, but every fiber of his being screamed that he was having a boy. 

“Besides, with our luck we'll plan for a boy and have a girl. It's better to be prepared.” 

“Alright, alright, I concede. You're right.” Pete snorts. He wants to say more but before he can, his attention is caught by the large group coming towards him. “What the hell?” He mumbles as he sits up. 

There's at least 10 people in the group, all girls, probably 12-17 if Pete had to guess, but that's not what catches his attention. No, instead it's Grace who catches his attention, leading the group with her Bible pressed firmly to her chest. She walks right Pete, the rest of the group stopping a few feet away, and looks him dead in the eye before speaking. “Tell them what you told me earlier.”

“What?” Steph asks. 

“Tell them what you told me earlier.” She repeats herself. “About plucking your eyes out.”

Pete winces. Fuck. He pushed it too far and Grace realized he's a fraud. She's going to denounce him in front of everyone and he's going back to solitary for the reminder of camp. “Grace-” 

“Please.” She cuts him off. Pete wants to tell her to forget it, but then he looks Grace in the eye and sees it. She's not staring at him in anger, or hurt, or betrayal. No, she's looking at him in desperation. “They want to know.” 

“Okay.” He swallows. “Well Jesus said to pluck your eyes out if it'll prevent you from sinning. So that means that it's not your fault if someone looks at you in lust.” 

“But Boy Jerry says that we'll tempt the guys if we're not careful. That’s why we have to wear swimsuits in the bathroom.” One of the younger girls, Pete thinks her name is Rachel, says in confusion. 

“If looking at you tempts them then that's something they need to deal with. You just focus on yourself.”

“So our job is just to focus on our own path of abstinence? Not theirs?” Another girl asks. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” He nods. 

“I told you.” Grace says, turning towards the group. “Peter is being blessed with the teachings of the baby savior. We need to listen to him.”

He blinks. “I don't know if I would say blessed.” He tries to explain. 

“But you are blessed.” Grace insists. “The baby must be communicating with you in the womb so you can teach us their wisdom. Oh Peter, you're so lucky to have such a holy experience.” 

Steph looks at him in confusion but Pete just nods at her to just go with it. The last thing they need is to get caught in a lie. 

“I guess I am lucky. Okay then,” he gestures for the others to sit, “what do you want to know?”

There's a barrage of voices speaking all at once, some louder than the others. “Girls!” Grace shouts, watching as they all quiet at her command. “One at a time please.”

There's a raise of hands and Pete eventually settles on one. She's one of the younger girls, wearing yellow overalls over her pink camp shirt and flowers braided into her hair. She speaks in a soft voice, body trembling as she does. “I started bleeding today. From down there.” She points at her legs. “But I'm not hurt. Is that the devil trying to punish me?”

“Oh sweetie, no.” His heart aches at the fear in her voice. “That's not the devil. That's just your period.” 

“What's a period?” She asks. 

Pete blinks. Surely she was old enough to get the talk. Why wouldn't her parents teach her what a period was. God, it was probably another purity thing. He bristles at the realization. Those assholes. 

“Well it's a sign you're growing up. When you get old enough you have periods to tell you that you can have babies. And once a month, you'll have a period to tell you that you're not pregnant.”

She gasps. “But I don't want to have a baby yet.” 

“It's okay. You won't have any until you're married.” Pete says hurriedly, hoping it'll reassure her. “There's a lot to it and I can explain more later, but why don't you go with Grace to get cleaned up and get a pad to absorb the blood, okay?”

She nods and Grace stands up, taking her back to the cabins. Pete waits for them to leave before turning back to the group. “Okay who's next.”

He spends the next two hours answering question after question. Most of them are puberty related, their parents too scared of tainting their purity to actually teach them about their bodies. Some are about relationships, and Pete is sure to emphasize that they can love (or not love) whoever they want. From what he's seen the church is accepting of gay relationships, but he's not risking it. He doesn't actually mention the topic of abstinence, not wanting to poke that wasp's nest quite yet. Maybe one day he'll tell them that having premarital sex isn't evil, when they trust him more. But today is not that day. 

The girls soak up what he says like sponges, he even sees some of them taking notes. They're clearly desperate for a role model that isn't Boy Jerry and Pete is happy to provide that, even if he's not sure if he's a good one. He cares about actually educating them though, and that's more than he can't say about Jerry. 

The group only breaks when they're called to head back to their cabins for the night. “Can we ask your more questions tomorrow Peter?” Another girl, Sarah asks. 

He nods. “Of course. Same time, same place.” He looks at the group when it hits him. “And don't tell the Jerries about this okay? We've seen that they don't believe the way we do.”

They nod and, satisfied that they won't get in trouble for daring to ask questions, Pete sends them on their way. Eventually, it's just him and Steph again under the tree. “Sorry about that.” He apologizes with a smile. “I didn't mean for our evening to get interrupted.”

“It's fine. You were spreading your teachings to the masses.” Steph snorts. She stands up, offering a hand to him to do the same. “Let me walk you back to your cabin?”

“Of course.” He says, taking her hand. They make their way back to the Gomorrah Cabin slowly, neither in any hurry to end their night together. “Thank you for rolling with it. For a second I thought Grace was going to say I was lying.”

“She's definitely a true believer.” Steph says with a grin. “Which is good for us.”

“Yeah. I can't believe one joke turned into all this.”

“It's a lot.” Steph sighs. “But it keeps you safe so I don't care. I hated seeing that dick try to humiliate you.” 

“I knew he would do it. But it's nice being untouchable.” 

“It is. And you were pretty good back there. You could start your own religion if you wanted to.” Steph smirks. 

He laughs at the joke. “Think it's a little late for that. Petei-ism seems to be getting popular. Maybe we can buy a church.” 

“Good idea. You can't tax churches.” They both break out in laughter at that. “I mean it though. You're good with kids.”

“I'd hope so, I don't think Bean is going wait for us to become good with kids to be born.” He reaches out to hold her hand. 

“Probably not.” She shrugs. “But you're better than all of their parents at least.”

“I can't believe anyone could teach their child that.” Pete groans. “That little girl had no idea what a period is. She thought that she was being punished! Punished!”

“It's awful.” Steph agrees. 

“As long as Bean doesn't end up like that I will consider it a success.” Pete stops as the Gomorrah Cabin comes into view. It's a completely different sight than when he'd arrived. Girl Jeri had taken it upon herself to do small repairs that the cabin needed: she's replaced the wobbly steps, oiled the creaky door, and even painted the spots where the paint was chipped or peeling. It almost looked like a normal cabin, save for the sign with Gomorrah painted on it in big letters. 

“Here we are.” Steph sighed as they walked to the door. “Your cabin.”

“It'll be our cabin soon.” He smiles. “I've already pushed the beds together.” 

“Our cabin.” Steph repeats with a smile. “I can't wait.” 

“Did you tell your dad?” Pete asks. He can't imagine Solomon being supportive of the wedding, judging by his reaction to Bean's existence.

“No. I'm just going to let Grace's invitation tell him, he'll take it better from someone else. And I really don't care. We're only in this position because of his stupid campaign and if he doesn't like it then tough shit.”

Pete laughs at her blunt words, falling more in love with her as she speaks. “Fair enough. I told Ted. He'll freak out and think we're being pressured if I don't say something.” 

“At least he's supportive.” Steph sighs. “I hate my dad for doing this to you.”

“He's not doing anything to me. I'm here willingly.” Pete promises  

Steph gives him a look. “We both know you wouldn't be here if he hadn't forced me to go.” 

“Maybe.” Pete shrugs. “That doesn't matter though.” 

“I still hate him.”

“I know.” Pete sighs. “You know, we'll be married. You could always move in with me and Ted after camp.” 

“I could. And it would be good for Bean.” Steph smiles at the idea. “You sure you won't get sick of me?”

“Positive.” He smiles. A single firefly flies between them and, soon enough, there's an entire swarm of them around the cabin, illuminating the night as they dance around them. It looks like something from a romcom. Getting an idea, Pete pulls her as close as physically possible before pressing a kiss to her lips. It's one of the few they've shared since arriving at camp, and he's sure to pour all his love for her into it, knowing he probably won't get another chance to kiss her until their wedding. 

“Good.” Steph breathes when they finally pull apart. Pete can't help but smile at how breathless he's left her, knowing he feels the exact same. “You know, I'm liking this marriage thing more and more everyday. I'm kinda glad Grace suggested it.” 

“So am I.” Pete nods. He turns to open his cabin then pauses, a thought hitting him. “What about Grace? For a girl.”

There's a beat of silence before they both exclaim, “Absolutely not!”, simultaneously. Pete laughs at their syncing before continuing. “You're right. It's a bad idea.” 

“It is.” Steph says. “Can you imagine what she'd do if she thought we were naming the ‘second coming of Christ’ after her? It would go to her head.”

“You're right.” Pete smiles. It isn't until a counselor orders Steph to go to her cabin that they exchange goodnights, and it's not until he sees her safely go in her cabin that Pete goes inside his own. He smiles as he shuts the door. This wedding was the best thing to ever happen to him.

-

“Oh Peter! Not like that!” Grace scolds as she takes his latest flower from him. “You need to fold it like this, that way they seams aren't visible.” 

Or maybe the wedding would be the death of him. 

With Parents Weekend fast approaching, preparations for the wedding had gone into full swing. Grace had taken over most of it, and Pete was more than happy to give her control. So for the most part, Grace had made all the decisions, only occasionally asking him or Steph for their input. So far she'd planned the food, music, and even seating arrangements without any problems. It was when it came to decorations that they hit a snafu: Grace wanted the wedding to have real decorations, the kind that they didn't have access to while at camp. She'd agonized over it for days before Pete, taking pity, suggested that they reuse what was available at camp. Grace had taken to the idea like a house on fire: lanterns were made into centerpieces, the baskets they wove filled with wedding programs she'd managed to print out. She even wanted to use the wallets they made as wedding favors. 

The only thing missing was flowers. Pete was fine doing without and he knew Steph felt the same, but Grace was determined to give this wedding flowers. She'd already found several patches of wildflowers around the forest and was monitoring them to ensure they would be perfect for the big day. Still, it wasn't enough for Grace. She was just short of trying to smuggle in a florist when Girl Jeri had an idea. 

She showed all the girls (and Pete) how to make flowers out of tissue paper and string them into garland. Grace had loved the idea and immediately roped everyone into making them with her. “Many hands make light work.” She'd stated at the time. 

Which is how he ended up here: in an assembly line making tissue paper flowers. He and Steph made flower after flower while Grace strung them into the garlands. It was fine at first. The flowers were easy enough to make and between all the volunteers he didn't have to make that many flowers. He thought it would be fine. Of course he forgot one thing. 

Grace Chastity has control issues. 

Pete has to bite his tongue to keep from groaning as she demonstrates how to correctly fold the flower. It was at least the tenth time she'd done something like this, despite the fact that the flowers looked exactly the same no matter which way you folded them. He wonders briefly if she's always had such bad control issues, or if her newfound power at camp had brought them to light, before she hands him the ‘fixed’ flower with a saccharine smile. 

“See? Doesn't it look so much better this way?” 

“Yeah, Grace. It really does.” Pete deadpans. “I'll be sure to fold them that way from now on.” 

“Good! Your wedding has to be perfect.” She claps her hands together in excitement at the thought. The action is enough to make Steph snort, her dark eyes twinkling as she shoots Pete a bemused smile. His lips stretch to match instantly. “Now where was I?” 

She turns back towards her Bible and begins reading again. She did this a lot lately: picking a story about Jesus’ life as they worked and reading it aloud for Steph and Pete (not that either of them ever really listened). Apparently she wanted to make them experts in the Bible before Pete gave birth, that way she could teach the baby their purpose. He had no intentions of forcing religion on any of his future children, but Pete figured it was easier to just let Grace read than argue with her about it. 

Today's story was about Mary and Joseph losing Jesus while traveling and finding him at a temple in a discussion with religious scholars. “Even as a child Jesus knew that he was holy!” Grace had said when she'd picked out the story. She seemed to think it was a good thing, yet all Pete could think about was Mary. How'd she'd spent three days searching for her son before she'd found him. Three days where she didn't know if her child was safe. The mere idea turns his blood to ice. It isn't until he feels a hard kick against his ribs that Pete remembers his baby is safe inside him. He's never been more grateful for bruised ribs. 

“MAIL CALL!” A voice on the announcement speakers cuts Grace off in her story, and Pete can't help but feel grateful at the distraction. 

“Oooh! Mommy said she was sending a care package this week!” Grace jumps up into a standing posting, almost running to the door. Steph wasn't far behind. Pete however, takes considerably longer getting up- you try jumping to your feet when you're 7 months pregnant- and by the time they've made it to the door he's only to his knees. 

“W-wait up!” He calls weakly after them. “You know, some of us are making a human here!”  

“Oh shit!” Steph rushes back to him, placing her hands around his waist. “Here, lean on me.” 

Eventually, with her help, Pete's able to struggle to his feet. “Thanks,” he pants once he's properly standing, “I swear it gets harder every time I do that.” 

He adjusts his shirt and watches out the corner of his eye as Steph worries her bottom lip with her teeth. It's honestly adorable and if Grace weren’t watching he would kiss her. “Probably because the baby knows you should be resting. You should go back to your bunk, I'll get any mail you have.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods and places a hand on his bump. “I can carry an extra package. Besides, I promised your brother I'd take care of you.” 

“Ok ok, I'll go rest.  But I promise I'm fine. It's just getting harder to move now that I'm showing like this.” Pete promises. In lieu of a kiss, Pete chooses to tuck a lock of Steph's hair behind her ear. “See you soon?” 

“I'll be as fast as I can.”

The walk back to his cabin is one of the first times Pete's been alone since his release from solitary, everyone being too busy reading letters from their parents to focus on him. He's glad for the silence it provides, it's like he can hear himself think for the first time in so long. Ever the introvert, Pete had always enjoyed his alone time, and it was something that he'd missed while at camp. Whether it be a sermon, concerts, camp activities, or answering questions for the other campers, Pete was always surrounded by other people these days. It was nice to just listen to the uninterrupted sounds of nature: the wind blowing, the birds chirping, and- 

“Peter!” 

And the call of an overly perky camp counselor. 

He groans as Girl Jeri walks up to him, her ever present sunshiny smile plastered to her face. She's holding a checklist in her hand, probably some kind of itinerary but Pete honestly doesn't care enough to ask. 

“Mail's here.” She says. “Aren't you going to see if you got anything?”

“Steph said she'd check for me. I was going to rest in my cabin. After all, it's hard work carrying the Messiah.” Pete answers, making sure to really drive home that last bit. Can't let her think he was lying about it being immaculate (he totally was). 

Jeri nods. “Right. I suppose that makes sense. Can I walk you to your cabin?” 

Every part of Pete wants to say no, but he just nods instead. Better to stay in her good graces for now. “Okay. If you're not busy.” He says, praying she'll back out. 

She doesn't, and next thing Pete knows he's walking with Girl Jeri, neither of them saying a word. Pete's once beloved silence now thick heavy between them. He desperately searches for any shred of a conversation, but it's all in vain. All he can do is hope that she'll say something to break the tension between them.

His hopes are answered when she turns to him. “How has the pregnancy been treating you?” She asks. Pete winces. Not a conversation he particularly wants to have with Girl Jeri but beggars be choosers. 

“It's been okay. The morning sickness was pretty bad at first, but that calmed down before camp started.” 

Jeri nods, never making eye contact with him. “That's good to hear. And the baby? They seem healthy?” 

“Oh, yeah.” He nods, not wanting to divulge any more information than he has to. Like hell he would willingly tell one of the Jerries about Bean. Even if Girl Jeri wasn't as extreme. “They're really active.”

“Good. That's a good sign that they're healthy.” She smiles again, that cloyingly sweet, fake smile that drives Pete insane. It was dangerous, like when Boy Jerry smiled at him, but it was just so vacant of any real emotion. It reminds him of his mom showing him ‘The Stepford Wives’ for the first time: all those poor women turned into robots, fake smiles on their faces to hide their real emotions. And yet this time it's different. Pete swears for just a millisecond he can see something that looks like longing in Girl Jeri's eyes. Then, just as quickly as it came, it's gone and that overly perky expression is back. “You know, I've heard from one of the counselors that you've been tutoring some of the other campers in religion, is that so?” 

Some of the campers was putting it lightly. He'd continued to have talks with the others every night since that first night, answering whatever questions they had about puberty and the like, and every night their numbers had grown. It had started with just girls attending, but soon enough the guys had joined them. Now they had a pretty mixed group of 20 or so campers, and Pete was sure that there would be more tonight. 

Pete sighs, having known this talk was coming for a while. Truthfully, he's shocked it took this long for it to come out. Sure he told his group to keep their meetings a secret from the Jerries, but with their numbers it had to be hard to miss. If anything, he's glad that it's Girl Jeri who found out first. Boy Jerry would probably call it mutiny if he knew. 

“I've been talking to some of the campers, yes.” He answers carefully. The last thing he needs is for the rest of camp to get punished because of him. “But I don't know if I'd call it tutoring. I'm just answering questions.”

“Yes, questions that require your ‘heavenly wisdom’.” Jeri says and if not for the coy smile on her lips Pete would think he was in trouble.

“Well I am carrying the child of God, so I suppose I'm getting some kind of wisdom via osmosis. Like I said, I just answer their questions.” 

“Well your answers are getting popular. You have a bright future as a pastor.” Pete can't keep the grimace off of his face at the idea of him as a pastor. This was one thing: Grace was the main force behind their movement, and if Pete went along with her ideas to survive camp, then that was nobody's business but his own. 

But standing in front of a church week after week? Preaching beliefs he doesn't have based on something he knew was a lie? He couldn't imagine doing that. 

Maybe that was the difference between him and Boy Jerry: Boy Jerry would do anything for control, Pete just wanted to be left alone.

“I don't want to be a pastor.” He says definitively. 

Jeri blinks at him, like she never comprehended that he wouldn't want to go into religion. “Well it's still nice to see you getting along with the other campers.” She says in a chipper voice. 

“Would your Co-head Pastor agree with you if he knew?” Pete can't keep the venom out of his voice as he speaks. 

“Who says Jerry doesn't know?” 

“Come on.” He almost laughs at her weak defense. “We both know that if Boy Jerry found out that I was, in your own words, preaching to the campers he'd have me back in solitary for the rest of camp.” 

They've reached the Gomorrah Cabin by now, and Pete doesn't bother waiting for her answer before going inside and plopping down onto his bed. He expects Jeri to leave him, she probably has a million things to do around camp, but she doesn't. Instead she walks in and sits on the bed beside him. 

“He really does care about you, you know?” She says after a moment. Pete doesn't bother hiding the snort she illicit. “I mean it. He cares about all his campers.”

“Well he has a funny way of showing it.” He lies back on the bed. 

“Peter, he's just trying to look out for everyone.” 

Pete sits back upright at her words, albeit with a bit of a struggle. “Look out for everyone? From the moment I came here, Jerry has been on a mission to humiliate me. How on Earth is that looking out for everyone?” 

“Well you haven't made it easy on him, claiming that you're having the second coming of Christ.”

“Who says I'm not?” Pete retorts, unwilling to drop the charade for even a second. 

“Peter-”

“And none of this would have ever come about if he hadn't tried to label me as a whore to the entire camp!” Pete says in frustration. “Do you know how humiliating that is?” 

At his words Jeri goes still, staring at him with an expression that Pete can't read. Tears well in her eyes, and he's sure he's pushed it too far. It’s only for a moment though but then she schools her features. Then she blinks them away and speaks once more.

“I know his methods might seem strange but he just wants to keep everyone safe and on the path of the Lord.” Jeri answers, her voice strangely calm. 

“And looking at a teen that you think made a mistake and making an example out of them is Godly?” He can't believe what she's saying. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Jesus all about forgiving sinners? That doesn't seem very forgiving to me.”

“He just wanted to show that there are real world consequences to having sex. There are benefits to being abstinent, religion aside. Aids, herpes, countless other STDs, not to mention teen pregnancy.” Pete bristles at the comment and Jeri is quick to back track. “I know you love your child, but Be honest with me. Would you have chosen to have them right before your senior year?” 

“I did choose to have them right before my senior year.” Pete says, remembering the hours of talks with Steph over what they wanted to do, and then again. He knew the task he was taking on and he was doing it anyway. “I chose to carry God's child even though I'm still in high school.” 

“Furthermore, he doesn't care about keeping people safe. He just wants to control them.” He stands up from the bed and starts pacing, anger rushing through his veins. “Boy Jerry, a supposed godly man, saw me and decided that I deserved to be humiliated. He tried to make me into the laughing stock of camp. And when I defended myself, he locked me in solitary for undermining his authority. I would probably still be locked up if not for Grace Chastity. There's a lot of men like that in the Bible, Girl Jeri, and I wouldn't use godly to describe any of them.” 

Pete is left panting in the center of the cabin, his outburst having sapped most of his energy. Angrily, he looks to Jeri for a response, expecting her to justify the actions of her coworker. But she doesn't. She doesn't say anything. She simply stands up and walks over to Pete, placing her hand on his shoulder, and looks him dead in the eyes. 

“Since we clearly can't come to an agreement, I'll leave. It's not worth stressing you or the baby.” Jeri says when she finally finally speaks. Then her gaze flits away from Pete to around the cabin, taking in its contents, before landing on the back corner of the room. “But I hope you realize how privileged you are. You get to be so brazen in your opinions because you've got a lot of support. Most people in your position aren't so lucky.”  And for a moment Pete thinks she’s speaking from personal experience.

She looks back to Pete, nods, and turns for the door. But, just as she reaches the cabin's door, Jeri turns back to him once more. “I won't tell Boy Jerry about your meetings with the other campers. I think you're doing a good thing, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.” 

Then without another word she's outside, probably headed to set up for the evening bonfire, leaving Pete alone in his cabin with only one question on his mind: 

What the actual fuck was her deal?

-

He still doesn't have an answer for said question when Steph walks in not even 10 minutes later as promised she's carrying two care packages, balanced so precariously that Pete has to get the door for her so she doesn't fall. 

“Jesus, I swear your brother packed an actual elephant in here or something.” She jokes once she's sat the packages on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “It weighs twice as much as whatever my dad sent me, lucky.” 

Pete wants to joke back, and wants to say that it's fine because Solomon Lauter probably wouldn't know what was interesting to teens if it hit him in the head. But his brain is still stuck on his conversation with Girl Jeri, so he doesn't respond, only staring at the spot in the corner where the counselor had kept looking. 

“If there's any candy in there you better share it with me.” Steph jokes as she sits down beside him, kissing his cheek as she does so. It's only then that she notices his demeanor, frowning as she squeezes his hand. “Hey, what's wrong? Are you in pain? Is it the baby? Should we call a doctor? It's too soon for you to go into labor yet right?”

She's starting to panic now, placing her hands on his cheeks as if to check for a fever. The motion is enough to startle Pete from his trance. “Sorry I spaced out there.” 

Steph sighs in relief “Jesus Christ you scared me. I thought something was wrong with Bean.” 

“Sorry.” Pete mumbles. He hadn't wanted to worry her. Not when she's so on edge already. 

“It's fine, Pete.” Steph promises. “What's wrong?”

“It's nothing.”

Steph raises an eyebrow and Pete can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He's never been good at keeping secrets from her. Especially not since he realized he was pregnant. “You're a shitty liar, Spankoffski, you know that right? You were spaced out for like a solid 5 minutes. So spill. What's on your mind?” 

“I don't want to worry you.” She's bound to freak out if she knows that he fought with Girl Jeri of all people. Everything is finally calming down now. The last thing he needs is to worry Steph. 

“Well not knowing is worrying me.” She deadpans. “So talk or else I'll be forced to take drastic measures.”

He gasps in mock horror. “You wouldn't dare.” 

“Oh I dare.” Steph grins. “Who would have thought the father of Christ would be so ticklish.” 

Her hands reach ever so slowly towards him. “Talk, or else it's tickles for you.” She just reaches the hem of his shirt when he breaks. 

“Okay okay, I give in.” Pete says, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Good boy.” Steph says with a shit eating grin, and if those two words were enough to make Pete blush so heavily that his ears turned red, well that's a secret he'll take to his grave. “Now, spill, before the tickle monster comes back.”

“Okay. It's jus-” Pete takes a deep breath. Time to get it over with. Just rip it off like a bandaid. “Girl Jeri stopped by for a chat.”

“Girl Jeri?” Steph repeats incredulously. Yep, Pete can already hear the anger in her voice. “Shit, did she say something to you? I swear I'll-” 

“It's fine.” He cuts her off. Better to finish his thoughts before she was too upset to hear him. “She asked me about our group talks every night and then we sorta argued about Boy Jerry.” 

“She argued with you? That-”

“It's not like that. She just kept trying to say he just cares about everyone, which is a fucking lie.” 

“Fuck, Pete.” Steph runs a hand through her hair. “What's her problem, arguing with a teenager when she's like what? 30? And waiting til you were alone to do it? I can't believe her.”

“It's fine. We kinda agreed to disagree in the end.”

“Agreed to disagree? Seriously? She picked a fight with you and she wants to agree to disagree?”

“Technically I think I picked the fight. I just kinda snapped.” 

“Well she shouldn't have continued it. She's older, she's a counselor, not to mention you're pregnant and probably hormonal.” 

“That's not even what's bothering me.” Pete sighs. “It's her whole… demeanor? I guess. One minute she's this ever chipper counselor and then she'll look at me and will almost cry. I don't get it.”

“Maybe she's just horrified to see a pregnant teen.” Steph jokes. 

“Maybe.” Pete sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It's just… Boy Jerry is a total dick, but at least I know where I stand with him. I never know what I'm getting with her.”

“Hey,” Steph says, lifting his chin so he's looking her in the eye, “you've got enough to worry about without adding in the problems of a random camp counselor. Just focus on you okay?” 

Pete nods. “Yeah, you're right. It's not worth it.” 

“It's not.” Steph agrees. Then she adds. “But if you want me to deal with her for arguing with you I will.” 

“It's fine Steph. I'm over the fight already. Everything is going good right now, let's not push it.” 

She eventually nods but, judging by her white knuckled grin on her shorts, Pete can tell she's still pissed. “You're right. It's not worth jeopardizing the wedding.” 

“It's not.” Pete smiles at that. The pair sit there for a moment, content to enjoy the silence and each other's company. 

“Speaking of weddings,” Steph says after a minute or two. She leans over and pushes the long forgotten package towards him. “There should be a letter from Ted in here.” 

“Right. Hopefully he took the news well.” Pete nods as he struggles to open the package. Stupid camp and their stupid lack of scissors. Honestly, how did they expect anyone to cut through packing tape without scissors? The least they could do is open the tape ahead of time. Then again, Pete didn't trust the Jerries not to snoop through the mail, so maybe it was a blessing that it was still shut. 

“How did your Dad react?” He asks as he struggles to peel the tape. 

Steph shrugs. “About as expected. ‘I'll support the marriage since having a baby out of wedlock won't be good press but this changes nothing: you are still my daughter and I still expect you to act in a manner benefiting the mayor's daughter. Do not let this damage my campaign.’” She says in a bad imitation of Solomon's voice. 

Pete laughs as he finally tears the last piece of tape off. “Sounds like your dad alright.” 

“Tell me about it. I swear I think he forgot that children have their own personalities when he adopted me.” 

Pete doesn't respond, too busy opening his own care package to do. Inside is a variety of items: clothes, candy, and bottle of lotion, but Pete ignores all of it for the yellow CRRP branded envelope. He snorts. Just like Ted to steal stationery from work rather than buy it himself. Without hesitation, he opens the letter and reads it aloud. 

Pete 

Paul says I should write a list of what's in the care package for you. Personally, I think it's a dumb idea, you can clearly see what I sent but this gets him off my back. There's some bigger clothes for you, a couple of new maternity bras (don't blame me if they don't fit it was already awkward trying to buy bras for my LITTLE BROTHER), some chocolate bars, a couple of your comic books, and a bottle of vitamin E lotion (Emma says it'll help with stretch marks). 

I'm glad you and the baby are both okay. I was ready to wring Jerry's stupid neck with his own cross when he said I wasn't allowed to call you. He's still as much of a chode as he was when we were teenagers, I see. If you ever want to give him hell, just ask why he never pursued his rap career further. Or don't. He'll probably make you kneel on rice or something. 

I heard they placed you in one of solitary cabin for privacy. Just like your brother. I spent the whole summer you were born in that room. If you look hard enough you'll probably find some of my old porn. 

I got the wedding invitation from Grace. Almost had a heart attack when I opened it. I'd say next time warn me before you get engaged, but I'm guessing you don't want there to be a next time. I'll let you off the hook though since you technically tried to warn me. I bet Jerry almost had a stroke when he realized you getting married would mean you two could share a cabin. Would have fucking loved to see that. 

Everyone back home misses you. Ruth and Max stop by all the time. Hell even Emma misses you. Apparently I've become her new least favorite customer now that you're gone so thanks for that. Think I'm getting extra spit in my chai now, not that I'm complaining. 

Can't wait to see you for parents weekend. You better let me walk you down the aisle you little shit. And if you want to leave early just demand to call home. I'll come pick you up. 

See you soon 

Ted

PS Warning: Grandma Lorie is coming to the wedding. No, I couldn't stop her. Be prepared.

-

A/N: Next time, on Hail Petey, Full of Grace... will Ted punch Boy Jerry in the mouth, what is going on with Girl Jeri, and who is Grandma Lorie? Tune in next chapter to find out!

Seriously though, I hope you enjoyed this! I had way too much fun writing this chapter. Special shout out to my coauthors Pizza and Spoons for keeping me sane when I realized I hated the original draft and scrapped it. And shoutout to loveluck's hatchetfield server, without it this au wouldn't exist.

-

Taglist:

@daisyybellls

@iamnotyoshi

@lady-loveluck

@forever-forgotten-angel

[micro-meltdown]

Personal rant about shipping in Mouthwashing

Now, I'm a person who enjoys all kinds of ships - the wholesome, the hatefucking, the healthy, the nuclear - but shipping in a game like Mouthwashing isn't appropriate, given the context and thematic.

However, I know fandom is going to ship regardless, and I get it. I'm not saying "stop shipping this or that," because people are gonna do their thing either way. I just think it should be handled more... thoughtfully, more mindful.

A popular ship is Curly/Anya;

For one, I get it. Anya trusted Curly, and the only times we see her be herself first and nurse second is with Curly. But that's a ship that makes me really sad and upset. It can be comforting, but people. People. Curly was so fucking useless in the face of the assault. He was concerned about him first. He failed Anya in such a fundamental way, and that Can Not be ignored. Again, I get it. But don't ignore the fact that it was Curly who turned a blind eye to Jimmy's red flags and brought him on the ship. Don't ignore the fact that Curly knew who assaulted her without her saying it because Jimmy had been a problem for a long time. Don't ignore the fact that Curly was hesitant to do Anything about Jimmy.

Another ship that I've seen that I want to get deeper in is Curly/Jimmy.

I don't even know where to begin.

"Toxic Yaoi" is so incredibly tone deaf and sickening. Using such an un-serious thing to excuse fetishizing a crippling disabled guy who can't physically do Anything against a mentally insane rapist is... I don't think there's enough verses in the Bible to describe how bad this is.

Curly enabled and condoned Jimmy, but he was a victim. Not innocent, but fuck man. In every conversation between them, Jimmy acts like a brat and gaslights him. He blames Curly with every other word and guilts him into enabling him further.

Fetishizing them is sick and wrong, and some people lack media literacy. Tho I'd be a hypocrite if I said I didn't find them fascinating.

Don't get me wrong. This is not me agreeing with "those" kinds of people. But I really enjoy analyzing and dissecting their dynamic because it's the forefront of the game. I like reading people's rants about their codependency and how they are two sides of a coin. I like rambling at my bestie and theorize with them how Curly and Jimmy got to this point, how their friendship and relationship dynamic must have been like before the events of the game.

I haven't seen such an irredeemable character who was so well written in a long while, and I admire the game devs for their ability to create such a well-rounded Asshole. I adore the writing of this game and how good it is in characterizing the crew. And I can't help but adore the fucked up dynamics that feel so... Human.

In conclusion;

Anya/Curly - it's upsetting, but I get it, it can be a comfort ship, tho please keep in mind how Anya was failed

Curly/Jimmy - using it to satisfy a kink or fetish? BAD. dissecting their fucked up dynamic and analyzing their codependency? Hell yeah, dissect with me

[exvangelical-christian-nerd]

Some thoughts on "Hell is Forever"

TW religion, conservative Christianity

Hell is Forever is a bop. Musically I enjoy it a lot. And It's definitley one I'll go listen to separatelyfrom the others on occasion.

But

It is also probably the song that bothers me the most. And it does not bother me in a way I like. I've talked about before, how I like things that poke at my beliefs and make me ask questions. This one doesn't do that. This song is like a buzzing fly to my inner-theologian, and I think I figured out why (Ironically it might also be one of the reasons I enjoy it)

So I've been working on some of my series type content lately, including my devos. I'm trying to make a series based on the Hazbin songs (if that is something you're interested in let me know in the comments and I will try to tag you when I start posting them). Naturally this includes Hell is Forever.

The thing about Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss is that by their very nature they include some theology, but a good portion of it is hellaverse-ified. Some of it is theology and some Christian lore. It's part of the draw. Here's the diffrence between Hell is Forever, and most of the rest of it: Hell is Forever addresses real Theology, more or less directly. I'd say more than, possibly, any other part of either show so far.

Now before I go any farther let's make sure we all have the same definitions so my meaning doesn't get mixed up.

Real Theology= Theology actually believed by a fair portion of people.

Good Theology= Theology that is grounded and has biblical backing.

Bad Theology= Opposite of Good Theology

So yes, Hell is Forever has Real Theology. Here's the thing that gets me though: I wouldn't consider most of it Good Theology. In fact I would consider most of it Bad Theology.

Now the thing with Theology is that our interpretation of it is flawed. We don't know a lot and we don't agree on a lot. That's why there are tens of thousands of denominations. But the particular brand we get in this song is what I'm going to call "Bible Thumper Theology." Not all Bible Thumper Theology is necessarily Bad Theology, but plenty of it is. But honestly I have three major issues with Bible Thumper Theology. First is that it's weaponized. Whether your Theology is good or bad, using it as a weapon is risky business. Second, it's often pretty weak. Even if the theological concept is solid, their understanding of it is usually surface level at best. And third, so much of it is just cherry picking.

So here are the main theological points I identified in Hell is Forever. I'm not going to go deep into them now, because that would make this already long post way to long, and because I'm already planning on making posts specifically on them.

Hell is forever (Obviously)

Eye for an eye Theology (I don't know what else to call it)

Justification by the law (or works)

Justified k1ll1ng (which is obviously super yikes)

Now there are few others in there too, but I'd say these are the main ones. As I said I'm plannin to address these more later, though the first one, I'm still waffling on whether I want to tackle that or not. The primary reason being that I do believe eternal damnation is eternal (as much as I wish I didn't), however I am not going to join the fire and brimstone brigade. There are too many of them all ready. If I do tackle it, it will probably be about why I take issue with the fire and brimstone brigade.

But yes all that to say, Hell is Forever bothers me because it's essentially just Bible Thumper Theology, and Bible Thumper Theology annoys me because it's what makes the church as a whole look bad, and usually it is pretty Bad Theology.

Honestly most of the time someone starts spewing this kind of stuff at me, I can't help but think "Have you read your Bible, or do you just believe what your pastor tells you?" Is my theology flawless? Not a chance (If anyone ever says their's is, approach with extreme caution, or better yet don't approach at all). I am seeking and trying to sort out what I believe. And I'm growing.

Ironically, I think part of the thing I like about Hell is Forever is that the people spewing the bullshit are the villains. I have too often seen them up on a pedestal.

[hidetothink]

Just want you to know that as a homosexual raised religious, reading your posts about your life now vs when you finally made the decision to come out gives me so much hope. Yes, this is just a tumblr blog, but it means something to read how much life has changed for you in so many beautiful ways.

When I FIRST came out to my parents, it was actually a few months BEFORE I went to college. I'd just graduated high school, and I was finally moving into the next stage of my life. Everyone was so excited. The only thing keeping me from slitting my wrists was knowing I'd spend eternity in hell for it

I wanted to die. The loneliness I anticipated for my life was unbearable. I believed, based on how I was taught about sexuality, morality, etc. that I was potentially dangerous to the people around me. I quietly but intentionally cut off my friends. I spent more and more time alone at home. If I let people be friends with me but didn't tell them I was a homosexual, I risked tricking THEM into sin, even sending THEM to hell. This was my life, forever, as a queer. I would always be alone, for everyone's safety

So it was the night of my graduation. I'd just gotten home from driving to a grad party, parking in the driveway, and returning home in tears without leaving the car. I texted a suicide hotline at midnight and poured out four years of agony. My parents knocked on the door. I'd texted them by accident instead

I told my parents the truth. I came out. I was a homosexual. But more importantly, I knew how disgusting and unacceptable that was. I told them I was a homosexual, and I would never let myself act on that sinful urge

But I needed to know they could love me. Not the son who would grow up and marry a woman, give them grandchildren, and be the godly man I was called to be. I needed to know they loved me as I was, as a homosexual. I needed to know they'd love me if I couldn't fit it

My mother pulled me aside at one point that following summer. "Are you sure you couldn't try to change it?" I assured her I had tried. I didn't show the dried blood on my childhood bible, proof of my DIY conversion attempts. My father never said a word. His first and only comment came over a year later when I admited I was more than a homosexual, I planned to act on it. "We aren't talking about this." We didn't. We didn't share a single word about it for more than a year

It's 2023. In a year, it will have been a decade since I graduated HS

My mom taps me on the arm. Her entire face smiles as she nods to my boyfriend and whispers just loud enough for me to hear. "We really like this one. We REALLY like him."

I can't even remember what she was commenting on. She's said it too many times now

Time cannot heal all wounds, but it can do incredible things anon. Be well <3

[posttexasstressdisorder]

When in doubt, BAKE! Pt. 685: Saturday Night Bread

It's been one fuck of a week again, and my world has been changed drastically, and today I said fuck it I'm gonna bake bread.

This batch is about 60-40 Whole Wheat-White, a "Whole wheat Light"...it usually makes excellent sammy bread. It has some heft, but it's not so heavy as pure whole wheat.

Not sure if I've posted about THE BOOK yet, but this is THE BOOK if you really REALLY want to get good at baking bread:

"The Laurel's Kitchen BREAD BOOK", written in 1984 as a followup to the classic Laurel's Kitchen, by Laurel Roberston, Carole Flinders et.al. Carole and Laurel were both excellent writers, and the book is a pleasure to read. It's got the typical hippie wood cuts (they were in Berkeley, after all) and is my home bread-baker's bible. They wouldn't approve tonight's loaves, which are padded with white flour. lulz. I give myself lots of fail room when I haven't baked in awhile.

The original Laurel's Kitchen was the very first vegetarian cookbook I ever read, it was 1981, I'd just moved to Houston to work in the record stores...learned a lot from that book, but one trick they used can no longer be used, and they stressed that in the Bread Book: No baking in 48 oz juice cans (which they had championed in the first book). Now they line the cans with poisonous coatings, can't use them. Which is fine with me...I like my bread square/rectangular, when I'm makin' sammies.

Started this batch with 3 cups whole wheat, 2 1/2 cups white, and a tablespoon of salt, dry in the mixer bowl. Mix on low for about a minute to mix thoroughly. Replace the paddle with the dough hook.

In a 4-cup Pyrex measure, put 2 1/2 cups luke-warm water, and in a 1 cup measure, put 1/2 cup lukewarm water.

Into that one cup, put a tablespoon of brown sugar. Put another tablespoon of brown sugar in the large measure. Sprinkle one tablepoon of dry yeast into the small measure and stir.

With the mixer on the first speed, with the dough hook, slowly pour the yeast mix into the dry ingredients in the bowl. Follow with the rest of the water/sugar.

Now start adding small amounts of white flour until it begins to "pick up" and starts cleaning the bowl. In between these additions of flour, add, about a tablespoon at a time, 2 tablespoons of softened salted butter. The dough should pick up and become quite soft after a few more minutes.

After mixing on the first speed for about five minutes with the dough hook, turn it out onto a floured countertop and finish kneading by hand.

It'd been so long since I had my hands on some warm, live dough...and it made me smile, it's such an amazing feeling to work with it in its various stages.

Once it's become a good, solid dough from hand kneading for about five minutes, form it into large ball, and put in a large crockery bowl that's been buttered. Turn the ball to coat, place a linen towel atop and place in a draft-free, warm zone. That cabinet in the spot above the fridge is perfect. After about an hour and a half, it should be lookin' good, and a finger-poke in the middle won't "fill in".

Mash it down, making sure you get ALL the trapped air bubbles out. Form it into a ball again, and put it back in the bowl, and let it rise a SECOND TIME for about 40-45 minutes tops. It should take roughly half the time of the first rise.

Mash it down the second time, and flatten in to a big rectangle, and divide it in half. Let it rest for about five minutes.

Now form into loaves and put in the long bread loaf pans, pre-greased with shortening.

Put them back above the fridge, covered, for about 20 minutes, until they are just arching above the tops of the pans.

Put them into the 400 degree oven and let them bake for 15 minutes. AFTER 15 MINUTES, TURN THE TEMPERATURE DOWN TO 350, WITHOUT OPENING THE OVEN DOOR.

Let bake for another 30-40 minutes.

Loaves are done when they have a hollow sound when tapped, much like a watermelon when ripe.

Turn out of pans immediately and cool on racks until completely cool. Brush the tops with melted butter, if you like.

This is a good everyday bread for sammies and toast. Using butter, and using the higher temp for the initial "spring" time helps give this a solidly crunchy crust, and the blend of flours gives it a very nice texture and crumb. Yields two large loaves.

Baker gets first slice slathered in softened butter.

Y'all enjoy! I'm off to stand under the hot water for a good long while.

[missdrummond]

Album 77 Initial Reactions

*SPOILERS*

????? Of course Renee said no??? She is not a woman of faith she would be a terrible choice for this project????

Like defending someone else's beliefs is the kind of thing I would do for fun but I acknowledge that most people wouldn't want/be good at doing that. Including you Mr. Whittaker. Imagine if one of the kids came up to you and said they needed help on a paper which demonstrates how evolution is compatible with Christianity or that evolution disproves Christianity. You know perfectly well you wouldn't help them.

I don't like this new portrait gallery it's just imagination station and it's lost it's charm.

So, the sciencentist is referring to the beginning of Romans and I'd just like to point out that Paul is talking about Judaism as well as Christianity since they hadn't properly separated at that point.

I like the faith and science are compatible argument. However the claim that Christianity "invented" science is a gross simplification. Yes, Christains founded a lot of old universities. You know who else did? Muslims. Which would actually support the faith and science compatibility argument as well but we're not going to talk about that are we?

Also how does any of this help Camila the assignment was for how faith is BETTER than science. Which is an awful assignment but the AiO world is so strange I'll believe it. I mean I technically don't actually know what goes on in public schools maybe this kind of objectionable nonsense happens all the time. (It doesn't)

This misses the entire point of the portrait gallery.

Huh, didn't know God not being IN the universe was this widespread a doctrine. Cool.

That was actually a nice speech there Mr. Whittaker. *polite applause*

No, Galileo's problem wasn't that he contradicted the Bible (that is also a part of it) it was that he contradicted a specific Church doctrine and metaphor about Jesus. Actually I should fact check myself, I can't remember reading that from a reliable source so I probably just heard it somewhere my apologies to myself if I'm wrong.

Funny if I remember right exiling people is frequently what you did to heretics. Isn't that what happened after the council of Nicea?(Which I know is an unrelated event its just the first exiling I thought of) Renée's point still stands regardless of how well he's been treated.

Are you.... Tousen doing a bad italian accent?

Oh no. This is about evolution again.

Ok they made it subtle. And yeah this story most definitely sounds more like the kind of thing that was happening in this era. Would have been a good opportunity to point out that even pre reformation "the church" wasn't one entity with completely unanimous beliefs because if everyone hated his theory then there wouldn't be controversy really.

No! This wasn't a portrait gallery episode.

I need to read up on Galileo.

Bouns reaction:

First not everyone is here because the Mona Lisa is captivating. But I'm just bitter because I want people to talk about other paintings.

Second you can't destroy the painting then say why do people like it. That's like saying tell me why people like cake but you only get four, eggs, sugar, etc.

Third Renee loves math if she doesn't start going off about the golden rectangle or something I'm going to be sad.

She didn't that's a bummer. Like I know art theories are not full proof methodological tools for making good art, however it would be logical for someone in Renee's position to try and argue that perspective.

Ultimately I give this episode a thumbs up 👍 overall I like that the episode exists.

[ashleywool]

ramblings on the intersection of science and faith

My MRI report came in yesterday.

I'm not gonna get too deep into the medical details until I've had a chance to discuss it in-depth with the professionals (which unfortunately probably won't be until Monday at the earliest), but I do have some things I need to say about it.

First: I'm okay. My life is not in danger. Making these discoveries now has undoubtedly saved me years of struggle that may well have gone on to endanger my life. Instead, I get to address the source of many ongoing issues and most likely cure them all. Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty big deal, but not a big scary deal.

Second: yes, I will need surgery. This has not been officially confirmed and its safety signed off on by a doctor, but from reading everything I can get my eyeballs on, I don't see any reason under the sun why surgery would not be the logical and urgent (but not like, emergency urgent) next step.

Again, I'm not gonna go too deep into the details until I understand it better and we have a game plan in place. But I have to talk a little bit about the feelings that are bubbling up around all of this.

My condition, and the particular way it has manifested, is exceedingly rare. I mentioned one of the tests I took to a doctor who had to be older than my parents, and he said, "I have not heard those words in that order since medical school." Of course, I know that just because something is rarely reported doesn't necessarily mean its existence is rare. But in my case, it seems like it's both.

I'm a Broadway actress with no medical background and I somehow figured out what was going on in my body even though it was ridiculously unlikely to be true. And now the doctors have no choice but to acknowledge these discoveries.

I would not have discovered any of these things if it hadn't been for the show closing when it did, my ovarian demon babies causing trouble when they did, having that surgery when I did, and having a chance conversation with a friend who just happened to be marrying a friend I've known since high school (and wouldn't have known if it hadn't been for our one shared chorus class)...any tiny alterations to that timeline could have led to a completely new timeline.

I miss our show every minute of every day. My heart misses it. My bank account misses it. But also, if the show was still running, I'd be physically struggling even more, and I would not have had the time and freedom to pursue the solutions. If the show was still running, and I was still pushing myself to continue with it, it might have caused irreparable (or at least excruciatingly-slow-to-repair) damage.

The sheer statistical likelihood of everything that's happened, everything happening, everything that is in my life right now, is staggeringly low. Practically impossible.

And so, once again I find myself saying, I can't not believe in God. I can't not believe that my life and my purpose were by design and by a Designer.

I could dig deep into arguments about the finer points of theology all day. I could happily lose myself in Bible study--not just the literal words, but the history and cultural context for all of it. I could "academic" my Christianity to death the same way I "academic" everything else in my life to death. By that logic, some would argue, I shouldn't even be a Christian. "Walk by faith and not by sight," and what have you.

But I believe--and this tends to ruffle feathers of Christians and atheists alike--that one must walk by faith only after sight is entirely exhausted. My faith is rooted in the question of what happens when the science stops sciencing. My faith is rooted in the question of, why would humans be driven by a sense of purpose and an impulse to know the answers, unless the answers were meant to be known to us? Even if the answers change nothing, even if our sated curiosity has no practical value, we delight in it.

I think walking by sight often and inevitably leads to faith. Digging deep into science and logic brings us closer to God, not farther away.

Discovering all the things I just discovered about my brain and my body has strengthened my commitment to all the things I feel called to do. And rectifying the situation will enable me to live out those callings with more energy and effectiveness than I've ever had.

I can't conceive of a reality in which that wasn't done on purpose.

Anyway. I'm working on a list of things I'm going to do once I'm on the other side of this, and I'm planting the seeds for them right now. Maybe I'll share it later. Maybe I won't. I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

[sharpnothashtag]

My dad was a music minister. I was at church every time the doors were open. I watched VeggieTales before I could speak. I spent long nights in the church while Dad worked and Mom prepared for VBS. When I was too sick to go to school, I slept in my dad's office on a handbell cushion.

I was at church almost as much as I was at home. I did my homework there; I ate meals there; I worked one of my first jobs there.

When I was 12, I joined the youth group. My friends left me. I still had baby teeth when my Sunday School class, who had decided I was gay, gang sodomized/raped me with a box of tampons. When I asked them why, they said this was for when praying the gay away didn't work.

I put it out of my head. They were trying to save my soul, right?

A few months later, the leadership team (older people from the youth group) beat the shit out of me in the garden my mom and I started years before as a mother-daughter project. When I asked them why, they said they cared, and they didn't want me to go to hell for being gay. They HAD to beat it out of me.

I cleaned myself off and put it out of my head. This literally meant that they cared enough to keep me from eternal damnation. I was worth saving, right?

No one talked to me. I stopped talking at church. I was kicked out of every group except for my dad's choir. I only sang--I wouldn't speak unless I was with my dad. Every once in a while, I would muster up the courage to say something, but then my entire body would tense up. I didn't deserve to be there. Something was wrong with me.

I had accepted Christ. I read my Bible every single morning. I prayed for God to change my circumstances or change me. The Jesus they were talking about didn't seem like the one I read about in the scriptures, but that didn't necessarily mean that I was right about that.

I was truly, truly alone.

Through all of this, I was a teenager who LOVED VeggieTales. So, at the end of the day, even though I was alone, I had Bob to give me a good talking to; I had Larry to keep me laughing. I had Jimmy and Jerry and Jean-Claude and Philipe and Junior and Archibald and Scooter and Madame Blueberry and the Scallions to keep me going (and yes, all the rest, too). When I had a question about scripture, I brought it to Grampa George. When I was having a bad day, I'd go talk to Laura and Annie. When I needed a hero, LarryBoy was always there for me.

At 14, I was an on-and-off member of the Praise Team. We sang contemporary Christian music by Chris Tomlin, Hillsong, Casting Crowns, etc. I listened to it and sang it constantly. I did that kind of singing nonstop for different churches until I was 24.

My background in Dad's choir was mostly Hymn arrangements and Gaither Vocal Band. I sang a LOT of that as well. When I got to college, I was hired to do that at churches as well as the Contemporary thing.

Finally, at 24, I discovered that I was NOT past my church trauma--in fact, I was just remembering most of it. I changed denominations to get back to a more traditional service.

I've worked hard in therapy on my church trauma, and church is still hard for me. I keep going, and I continue to heal in new ways every day.

In my head, I still had the community of Veggies. Even though I also had people, the Veggies were always there to keep me grounded in what my faith was really about.

Today, on my way to church, God told me to play some Christian music in my car. As a rule, I don't listen to that in my car unless I'm working on something specific. I kept trying to find something that wasn't going to trigger me.

I stumbled across this:

This album is every bit as silly as you think it is.

Every single one of these songs is really triggering for me. They make me feel like I don't belong, even though it's been years since I experienced that. My heart rate skyrockets, and I can't breathe.

Not today.

Because today, Bob and Larry were there to remind me that God can redeem anything. The silly voices in my head/on this CD reminded me that NOTHING can separate me from the love of God. Not barbed wire, or a mean dog, or a really bad haircut. Not people who hurt me beyond what I'm ready to talk about here. Not my dad's death. Not PTSD. Not anxiety. Not OCD. Not Prozac. Nothing.

Why?

Because God made me special, and God loves me very much.

[targaryenofrph]

Patterns by Kelsea Ballerini Sentence Starters

Change the pronouns and tense as needed for your verses.

I've got patterns

I'm coming apart at the seams

I like the feeling of the feeling that leaves me staring at the ceiling the morning after

Maybe I'm the one to blame for doing the same old same

It's so much deeper than under my skin

Is this a battle that I'll ever win?

When does it start, and when does it end?

Will I outgrow all these patterns?

Will I unknow all these patterns?

You just made the eggs and turned your head

I know you're not impressed with my lack of sticking to the Bible

Maybe we got into a few fights

So I know it took a little tough love to become the woman that you're proud of

My priorities were out of balance

You told me to go but wished I was home

I wouldn't wanna do it with anybody else

Everything that's heavy, I check it at the door, kind of feel like I don't need it anymore

I got some bones of old skeletons from the old house at the dead end

I got baggage, but I'm moving in

We both slept on a mattress with "I love you" people

So I know the weight and gravity of key chains with same keys

if you want that "Welcome" mat, then roll it out with me

Cause home is when you're with me

I like the feeling runnin' with the wind

That's why I went and did what I did

He and I both had our guns to sling, damn, that showdown was embarrassing

I'm still here brushing off a couple things

It doesn't scare or bother you

Never knew I'd have a round two

Take my heart, but take it slow, 'cause this ain't my first rodeo

Love's the wild, wild west, ain't gotta tell me that

Tell me that it's gonna be alright even though we never know if we're gonna make it out alive

When it comes to me and you, I can't not try

I get existential

I get overwhelmed

Got two hundred seventy-something things to reply to

You put on the boots I like for dinner on Friday night

You say they're uncomfortable but you wear 'em anyway

If I went insane and didn't know my name would you stay beside of me, reminding me?

If I gambled away my money, would you back away?

If my jokes weren't funny, would you laugh?

How much do you love me?

Do I sound needy and dramatic?

We said that it was over, what'd you send 'em for?

Two things can be true

I'll love and hate you

I'll be your best and your worst day

I'll be your blessing and curse

Sometimes I'll cut and ghost but sometimes I'll get too close

You're nothing and everything I got to lose

I wish it was that easy when it comes to me and you

No use in diggin' up bones from the grave

When it's over, it's over

I could take a deep dive in the details

I could hide, I could cry 'til I throw up

It's as simple as "We broke up"

I could call my friends and bitch about it

Tale as old as time, I don't gotta wrap my head around it

Another boy driving off mad in a black truck

I have a nasty habit, leaving before I get left

You'll think my light's on yellow when I'm keeping you on "Read"

Stonewall my emotions even when I wanna cry tears as wide as the ocean

One fight, too many 3 A.M.s, I guess we're broken up

You're like, "This is just a conversation, baby, what the fuck?"

Now I'm screaming, "Goodbye," out like it means "I love you"

I'm better on my own

It's all I've ever known

Wait! Don't go!

I'm codependent with my independence through and through

How stupid of me to think you wouldn't listen

so once again, my head and heart are at war

Can I take it back now? Can we make it last?

Feelings ain't the facts, just the patterns of my past

I'd follow you to the moon

You know I'm ride-or-die for you

But if you want a chase, I won't run

I ain't gonna beg for your love

I wanna go the distance, babe

I can't do it if I betray all the way before you work I've done

If you want "Sorry" on my knees, that can't be me

Is this just way too tough?

Are you not strong enough?

God, you're all I want but not like this

It's almost like I don't care if I even know how to swim

You could save me, maybe I could save myself

If lovin' you is an ocean, then I'm in deep

I grew up wishing I could close off the way my dad did

That man never felt a damn thing he didn't wanna feel

I've burned too many miles trying to ride out all the sadness

You can't outdrive pain, someday it's gonna take the wheel

Can't be alone but don't wanna get close to anybody

Don't wanna bare teeth but don't wanna look weak, it's a tough spot

But I'm afraid you'll walk away when the tears start running

I wanna be the one that you're callin' when you're drunk

When you're dropping every ball, I'll be there to pick 'em up

'Cause that's just what you do when you love someone

That's the choice you choose, when you love someone

No conditions, I'd follow you to the moon, no suit

I would, would you?

If somebody does you wrong, baby, hold my beer

Yeah, I'd still die for you then haunt you when I'm dead

I'll think about these nights when we lost count of all the "That's what friends are for"

I gave hell a piece of my mind

It gave me a hit to my pride

But I came out on the other side

This time, last year, the heartbreak was undeniable

Day by day, I became unrecognizable

Makin' my rounds, shootin' my shot

Standin' my ground, pissin' people off

People thinkin' that I've changed used to be my biggest fear

It's gonna be okay

You'll live to see the day when you're gonna say look at me now

Are you safe on the road you chose?

Did you make it home?

[mistystarshine]

Hey, I hope it’s okay that I say this.

You’ve written well over 100k words, and that’s more than most people will EVER write for any fandom in their lives. That’s a lot to give and share with so many people. With that said…you don’t owe anyone anything, and although you’re an excellent writer, you’re firstly a human being. Any respectable person with half a brain cell will care a hundred times more about your well-being than your fanfics, even though your work IS exceptional. Writing and fandom can be so personal. If or when you share more, we want it to be on your terms in every single way. How you’re feeling matters, and you’re SO much more than the words that you produce.

Please take care of yourself. You deserve to feel as at peace as possible. <3

Thanks <3 I appreciate the kind words. It's just... I get a lot of really nice comments, but the vast majority of my direct interactions in the fandom have been people telling me how I'm writing wrong.

This got kinda long and turned into a bit of a vent, so. More under the cut.

I write Adam wrong. He's a gigachad badass and I'm character bashing when I say he isn't in the right.

I'm too sympathetic toward Lucifer, Lilith, and Hell itself for someone who writes so much about Adam and Lute.

I write redemption wrong. I can't redeem Adam if he still uses offensive or hurtful language. I'm a bad, offensive writer if I don't change this.

My writing is too repetitive. I use the same tropes too often and shouldn't write any more sinner Adam.

I write Guitarspear wrong. Lute is an obedient subbottom and Adam is her authoritive domtop. My writing is OOC and I am stripping Adam of his masculinity if I do anything else.

I write Lute wrong. Adam is her abuser and she needs a sweet girl to show her the light.

I write Lilith wrong. She's evil, it says so in the bible.

I write Lucifer wrong. I need to do more to call him out for destroying everything.

I don't write enough het.

I write too much het.

I have been told nearly all of these things multiple times. For every one person who is willing to plot or talk about writing with me, I've had two telling me how I need to be doing it differently, and those numbers have only been growing more skewed in the last few months.

I appreciate all of the sweet comments I get, I really, really do. But I write fanfic for the community, not the comments. When it comes to direct interaction with the rest of the fandom, these have been the majority of my interactions. This has been my experience for months. It feels like my options at this point are to not talk about my writing with anyone or let people tell me that I'm writing wrong. Because everything I write is wrong somehow. I already write my original works in relative solitude. I'm used to it. But if I have to do that with fanfic as well or just let myself get hurt more (unless, of course, I scrap my bad ideas and start writing the right way), then why bother posting in the first place? I'm no longer getting any joy or fulfillment from posting my fics, because I am doing so in a vacuum and have accepted that that isn't going to change, and I am at my breaking point.

I felt empty posting the last chapter of Waffle House. I don't want to post a climax that I've been building to for over 140k and feel the same way. I know it's unfair to the readers, but I'd rather let Live Again die at this point. And I know it's selfish and entitled for me to be upset that I don't really have people to talk about fic in a positive way with. No one is obligated to read my stuff, let alone talk to me about it or any of my other shit. I know. I interact with a lot of people in the fandom and I'm not angry at any of them for not brainrotting with me or anything else. But... Apart from comments, the good parts of creating for a fandom - actually creating, not just consuming - aren't there. The bad ones are. And I can't handle it anymore.

Sorry, this turned into a bit of a vent. But. That's what's going on with me and fic.

[mbrainspaz]

I wasn't one of those evangelical kids who got caught up in the emotions of the camp devotionals. I never really cared about the rapture, or death in general. Much less eternal life. The reason I stuck around all the way through college was because I trusted the family and friends who taught me all the bible stuff. They always told me not to trust them, so that one's on me.

They always said, "Don't take my word for it, read the scripture! Do your own studying!" I said to myself, "yeah yeah, cool. In theory. I can't read aramaic or ancient greek though, and I don't really want to spend years in school learning that. It's much more practical to have all these people I know I can trust because they're such good people who clearly have my best interests at heart."

Then I went to a bible college. For an art degree, but they still made me take a bible class every semester. Between meeting esteemed bible scholars and historians in universities on the other side of the world who did know ancient greek aaaaaaand becoming distanced from my old communities, I finally did what they'd always told me to do: I did my own studying. I never learned much ancient greek but learning how to do academic research helped a lot.

Wouldn'tchaknowit—my findings vastly expanded my knowledge from what I'd been taught as a kid. At that point in my early 20's I didn't feel betrayed. What I thought I'd discovered were earnest mistakes! An honest lack of understanding from folks who hadn't had the privilege of traveling and studying the way I had. I was happy to bring what I'd learned back home to them, and embark on new adventures in learning together.

Only one... little... problem. Turns out none of them wanted that.

They didn't want to hear about the fascinating history of biblical mistranslations or cultural analysis of American evangelicalism and how it relates to feminism. They didn't want to learn about the history of other world religions like Buddhism and the interesting parallels with Abrahamic religions. They didn't want to believe queer people aren't explicitly condemned by scripture or that the 2000 year old book they worship might not actually contain a fail-safe blueprint for life in the 21st century. They didn't want think about how much of the bible might've been tacked on by scholars & kings who used it as a tool for social control. I still believed in god and called myself a Christian at this point, after all that. I lost my faith in the people first. I opened my eyes and saw it all. I saw too much.

Any time I tried to share what I'd learned or gently push back against their teachings their condemnation was immediate and absolute. It quickly became clear that what 'studying scripture' meant to them was only ever, "we'll tell you what it means, and you'll believe us." Any deviation from their 'interpretation'—now plainly revealed to me as patriarchal 1950's American traditionalism dressed up in middle eastern farmer's robes and doing a VBS play production of an ancient culture they knew frighteningly little about—only branded me as a disrespectful dissident. I also saw Christians I'd respected doing all manner of dishonorable things. A missionary who'd once nearly convinced me to work with him in South America sent me a horrifically islamophobic manifesto. Church elders admitted to me that they owned city slums. Outwardly perfect couples filed for divorce. Bit by bit it wore down my trust. It broke the illusion that Christianity offered any kind of exclusive merit or made anybody better somehow. I started to realize they were all just as flawed and fallible as any 'sinner' off the street. Of course they were all quick to say 'we have all fallen short of the grace of God!'—but what's the point, then? These people I'd trusted with my soul were quick to admit that they shouldn't be trusted... then turn around and insist that they still knew what was best for me and my life.

Over the next few years it got to the point that they as good as told me to my face that the only way I could keep being part of their community was if I shut up and conformed to exactly what they believed. I almost could've put up with it except that that tacitly included being good christian wife with 2.5 kids who votes republican, lives in the suburbs, and goes to Wednesday night bible study to listen to some local septuagenarian who never set foot in seminary school teach me a moral lesson from the same damn book every week.

Like hell.

It became painfully clear they'd never truly cared about what was good for me or what would actually make me happy. Once I realized the horrible truth of my situation I only stuck around so long because I didn't want to rock the boat. I always liked the singing, and the sexist jokes from the pulpit were a decent conversation starter for whenever I wanted to try another assault on the fortress of my parents' ignorance. One day during Sunday morning song service my dad saw me reading a book in my lap. He leaned over and angrily said, "If you're only here for me, don't bother." So I stood up and walked out.

Never been back.

God and I were always chill, from the start to the end. We get into some heated moral arguments and sometimes we debate whether gods even exist, but what else are gods for? It's the worshipers who worry me.

[perspectivestarters]

Perspective's Sentence Starters; SOUR by Olivia Rodrigo (Part II)

ENOUGH FOR YOU

I wore makeup when we dated 'cause I thought you'd like me more.

Tried so hard to be everything that you liked.

I knew how you took your coffee and your favorite songs by heart.

I read all of your self-help books so you'd think that I was smart.

Stupid, emotional, obsessive little me.

I knew from the start this is exactly how you'd leave.

You found someonе more exciting, the nеxt second, you were gone.

You left me there cryin', wonderin' what I did wrong.

You always say I'm never satisfied, but I don't think that's true

All I ever wanted was to be enough for you.

Maybe I'm just not as interesting as the girls you had before.

You couldn't have cared less about someone who loved you more.

I'd say you broke my heart, but you broke much more than that,

I don't want your sympathy.

I just want myself back.

Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded?

Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?

Don't tell me you're sorry.

Feel sorry for yourself.

Someday, I'll be everything to somebody else.

You'll be the one who's crying.

You say I'm never satisfied, but that's not me, it's you.

I don't think anything could ever be enough for you.

Nothing's enough for you.

HAPPIER

We broke up a month ago.

You know I know you've moved on, found someone new.

One more girl who brings out the better in you.

I thought my heart was detached.

Does she mean you forgot about me?

I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me.

I'm selfish, I know.

I can't let you go

So find someone great, but don't find no one better.

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.

Do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean.

Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

But she's beautiful, she looks kind.

She probably gives you butterflies.

I wish you all the best, really.

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me.

Think of me fondly when your hands are on her.

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

I kinda wanna throw my phone across the room.

All I see are girls too good to be true.

Wish I didn't care.

I know their beauty's not my lack.

It feels like that weight is on my back.

I can't let it go.

Comparison is killin' me slowly.

I think I think too much. 'bout kids who don't know me.

I'm so sick of myself

I'd rather be anyone else.

My jealousy started followin' me.

I see everyone gettin' all the things I want.

I'm happy for them, but then again, I'm not.

Oh god, I sound crazy.

Their win is not my loss.

I can't help gettin' caught up in it all.

All your friends are so cool.

Got a pretty face, a pretty boyfriend, too.

I wanna be you so bad and I don't even know you.

All I see is what I should be.

I'm losin' it.

FAVORITE CRIME

Know that I loved you so bad I let you treat me like that.

I was your willing accomplice, honey.

I watched as you fled the scene.

One heart broke, four hands bloody.

The things I did just so I could call you mine.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime.

You used me as an alibi?

I crossed my heart as you crossed the line.

I defended you to all my friends.

Now every time a siren sounds, I wondеr if you're around.

You know that I'd do it all again.

It's bittersweet to think about the damage that we'd do.

I was goin' down, but I was doin' it with you.

I say that I hate you with a smile on my face.

Oh, look what we became.

Baby, you were mine

HOPE UR OK

I knew a boy once when I was small.

He played the drum in the marching band.

His parents cared more about the Bible than being good to their own child.

He wore long sleeves 'cause of his dad.

Somehow, we fell out of touch.

Hope he took his bad deal and made a royal flush.

Don't know if I'll see you again someday.

If you're out there, I hope that you're okay.

She raised her brothers on hеr own.

Her parents hated who shе loved.

She couldn't wait to go to college.

She was tired 'cause she was brought into a world where family was merely blood.

Does she know how proud I am she was created?

We don't talk much, but I just gotta say.

I miss you and I hope that you're okay.

Address the letters to the holes in my butterfly wings.

Nothing's forever.

Nothing is as good as it seems

I hope you know how proud I am you were created with the courage to unlearn all of their hatred.

But, god, I hope that you're happier today.

I love you.

I hope that you're okay.