#she was like I was a missionary and I was like oh for what church and she's like....my church? yeah no shit but there's more than one churc

[obstinaterixatrix]

mom’s telling me about the brief time we went to church and just dropped that she actually hated the people there and because of the experience she has an aversion to christianity & I was like huh?? I thought you got baptized just in case?? & she was like no it’s because they wouldn’t stop harassing me. I met a lot of evil people in the church. I’m taking it back. & I’m like you’re un-baptizing yourself??? & she’s like yeah.

[eggtrolls]

People will be incredibly rude when they think they can get away with it and very few seem to consider on how it reflects on them as a person. I was watching my friend's brother get fitted for his turban for the wedding and the Indian-Dutch friend who only invited as a plus one by another guest started talking mad shit about how the turban fitter has a unibrow. She was standing maybe 2 feet from said turban fitter. Yes he might only speak Marathi and not understand what you're saying about/to his face, which literally less than a meter from you, but we all understand and now I know you're an asshole. We're supposed to get lunch together (me, guest, rude bitch) as the resident foreign guest trio and I'm just like uh no I'm gonna go photosynthesize on the balcony, bye.

[slut4nicholas]

𝙊𝙃, 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄 | 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀

a/n: i haven't started the show yet, so I'm not familiar with his character in this show. please forgive my cluelessness during this fic.

summary: the reader goes to the church to confess to the priest that she recently sinned. however, the father decides to have some fun of his own.

warnings: mention of religion, 18+, missionary, loss of virginity, oral(fem & m receiving) fingering, nipple play, praise kink, pet names like doll,sweetheart,baby, mentions of anal, spanking, degrading, corruption kink, almost caught

˖⋆࿐໋

growing up in a religious household, i have developed a deep appreciation for my catholic roots. whenever I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or depression, I find solace in the church.

today i couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. i found myself hanging out with a boy, and things got a bit physical. even though we didn't go too far, i couldn't help but feel ashamed. i had promised to wait until marriage, but these uncontrollable desires keep creeping up. i've decided to go to the church to talk to the father about my recent activities and confess my sins.

as i made my way to the church, i felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. i'm meeting with father charlie, a young and attractive man who’s also the priest at the church, which is not something you typically expect in the church. i haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one yet, so im feeling a bit apprehensive about what our conversation will entail.

i open the big doors to the church to see it completely empty just to find charlie sitting down on one the church benches.

“hello there” he calls out.

"father, there's something weighing heavily on my heart that I need to share with you," i said as I hurried to sit next to him.

i can feel that irritating uneasy sensation in my stomach. I didn't even give him a proper greeting. the guilt was so overwhelming that it made me stumble over my words.

"what is it y/n?" he turns all of his attention towards me, his big brown eyes digging into mine, as if anticipating something significant.

“i don’t know who to talk to, i can’t talk to my parents about this especially my own father. i’ve been feeling really guil-“

he interrupted me with a gentle smile and placed his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that everything would be okay and letting me know that he was a safe person to talk to.

“father, i need to confess something. i kissed a boy, and he kissed me back. he started to touch me, but i stopped him. i made a promise to the lord, and i feel terrible for breaking it”

as the tears welled up in my eyes, i instinctively dropped my face into my hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming emotions.

"hey, it's going to be okay," charlie said in a gentle, caring tone as he stroked my hair, trying to comfort me.

“now tell me, did you guys fuck?”

as those words reached my ears, i couldn't help but look up at him, shaking my head as the tears continued to fall.

oh no, i hope he's not going to make me feel even worse.

“no father i swear-“

"shh, no swearing in the church," he said, raising his finger to his lips with a smirk. the irony wasn't lost on him, considering he had just dropped the f-bomb.

it was so quiet for a whole minute, and I started feeling really awkward. i had come all this way hoping for some advice or comfort, but it seemed like he just didn't care.

as I stood up, charlie grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “i didn't say you could leave. where do you think you're going?”

he replied coldly, smirking, “always so forgiving. it's kind of pathetic”

i stared at him, utterly perplexed, not really sure what he was talking about.

“father, isn't forgiveness what the church is all about?”

“sometimes, but in this case, i really want you to show me how sorry you are. otherwise, you're just going to keep committing the same sin over and over again. you don't want that, right? you don't want your parents to find out how desperate their innocent little girl has become, do you?"

i couldn't believe what i was hearing from charlie. i never expected him to act this way, let alone say things like this. i was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react. all i could do was nod in agreement. the last thing i wanted was for my parents to find out.

“father, i think i should go”

"why are you suddenly so shy, doll?" his hand on my chin made me tilt my head to stare at him.

"you don't think i notice how you look at me during mass when I'm speaking on the stand? you've become so needy that you sometimes cross your legs to stop yourself from feeling those emotions you want to avoid so badly," he says while caressing my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb on my bottom lip.

"i know you think of me taking you to the point where you can't even think straight, cum dripping out of you while i use you for my pleasure. you don't think i notice that? the way you avoid eye contact with me”

“i don’t know what your talking about father”

charlie’s hand rested lightly on my thigh, sending a spark of electricity coursing through my body. as his fingers inched toward the top of my skirt, pushing the fabric up just a little, my breath caught in my throat. each slow movement seemed to stretch time, heightening my senses and igniting a thrilling tension i couldn't ignore.

it felt deceptively wrong—the kind of reckless abandon that sent a shiver down my spine—but the anticipation was intoxicating, and I craved more. my mind raced, caught between instinct and hesitation, as the warmth of his touch settled into a deep hunger, one i found increasingly impossible to resist.

i glanced up, searching his eyes for a sign, a cue that this was more than just a fleeting moment. we held a playful challenge, a promise of the passion we both knew was simmering beneath the surface. my heart raced with excitement and fear, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring into a sweet confusion. with every breath, i felt the world around us fade away, lost to the undeniable chemistry pulsing in the air. i didn’t want to stop it; I wanted to let go completely and dive headfirst into whatever was coming next.

“do you want this as much as I want this?" charlie's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, causing my heart to race in an unholy rhythm. i felt his gaze resettle upon me, a weight both thrilling and terrifying. my mind was a jumble, each beat vying for clarity as i struggled to focus on anything but him.

his eyes—the deep pools of mischief and longing—held me captive, swaying me like a fragile leaf in a rising storm. the blueprint of his desires flickered behind those intense brown eyes, and my cheeks burned with a shameful blush. I could hear the hymns of the service fade into background noise, a distant echo that paled against the ferocity of this moment.

what was wrong with me? i shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here—certainly not in a house of worship. my skirt brushed against my legs, reminding me of the innocence i used to wear like armor, now discarded in the face of this ravenous yearning. charlie wanted me. craved me. it was a dangerous temptation that had taken root within me, whispering sweet nothings that urged me to give in.

the candlelit corners of the church bathed in shadows, the lure was overwhelming. each passing week at mass had been an exercise in restraint, a careful balancing act over a precipice of emotion. seeing him near the altar in his crisp shirt—as though god himself had stitched him together purely for me—seemed more sublimely wrong every time.

as his eyes swept over me, i wondered if he could sense the tension glittering between us, thick and electrifying like charged air before a storm. j licked my lips, torn between the sanctity of the aisle and the allure of his promise. "I need you, doll. I can't deny it anymore," he murmured like a sin freshly minted from temptation's forge.

i felt a tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions surging within me. the whispered prayers seemed empty as an overwhelming desire ignited like an uncontrollable inferno. "father” i gasped, but the air escaped me, filled with forbidden possibilities. despite everything, all i could focus on were his lips drawing nearer to mine, as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the intense magnetism between us.

in that sacred moment, beneath the flickering lights, surrounded by silence begging to be heard, we hovered on the brink of something vast and insatiable. would we give in? would grace curdle into passion? ignoring the whisper of consequence felt like my true struggle—should we tiptoe across this brittle line, or confess that hunger has only one unyielding answer? together.

as I processed what was happening, a surge of warmth enveloped me, and i found myself surrendering to the moment. his lips danced across the sensitive skin of my neck, light as a whisper but charging the air with electricity. a small moan escaped my lips, betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. i could feel his smirk, a secret shared just between us, brushing against my skin, simultaneously teasing and thrilling.

his hand roamed over my thigh, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver cascading through my body. "that's it, such a good girl for me," he purred, his voice a low whisper that thrummed like a melody in my ears, both lustful and tender. each word dripped with a promise, igniting the fire kindling deep within me, blurring the boundaries between desire and surrender.

lost in this intoxicating closeness, i reveled in the sensations; the world beyond shifted and faded, leaving only his teasing caresses and the seductive intimacy that enveloped us—a balance of power and vulnerability, inviting me to cross the threshold into unknown territory.

"father, i really don’t think we should be doing this here. It just doesn’t feel right. what if we get caught?" i watched as charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration, clearly torn between desire and caution.

"you’re right," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "but it’s late, and I don’t think anyone’s going to wander into the church at this hour. just relax, sweetheart."

i hesitated for a moment, then nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down my spine. i reached out, intertwining my fingers with his, bringing his hand to my lips and sucking gently on his long fingers. his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a primal hunger that made my heart race. i could see it in his expression—the desperate need to claim me, to tear away any barrier between us.

the air was thick with anticipation, and i could almost feel the weight of his longing as he shifted closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast a soft glow around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment. i could sense the tension building, a thrilling mix of danger and desire, as he leaned in, caught in the magnetic pull that seemed to draw us together like moths to a flame.

we were on the edge of something wild and reckless, and in that sacred space, everything felt possible.

charlie withdrew his fingers, his intention clear as he replaced them with his warm, teasing tongue. it slipped into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that sent electric shivers through my entire body. he held my neck gently yet possessively, urging me closer, deeper, igniting a fire that burned between us.

i kissed him back with equal intensity, a thrilling battle for dominance that left us both breathless. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and urgency that made my heart race. every flick of his tongue ignited a wave of pleasure, pooling low in my belly and making it almost impossible to think straight.

the heat of the moment consumed me; i could feel my body responding instinctively to his every move. the sweet tension built inside me, and i knew i needed him—needed to feel him against me, to drown in that wild connection we shared. my panties were already soaked, a testament to the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

charlie pushes my panties to the side allowing his already wet fingers from my saliva to dance around my clothed heat growling like a predator hungry for its prey “let me show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel darling, those little boys wouldn’t know how to handle something so precious like you. i can make you feel so good you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days”

as he pumps his fingers in out of me the sweet sounds filling up the quiet church was enough for the both of us to go crazy “more father please” he smirked at my neediness removing his fingers out of me putting them up to mouth to signaling me to suck the sweet juices off of his fingers then going back in for a quick rub of my clit

charlie stood up getting ready to unbuckle his pants but before he could even do that a voice filled up the quiet room which caused me to jump and act quick closing my legs and hiding my exposed area “father charlie i’ve been looking everywhere for you” an older lady shouts from across the room as she appears to be in desperate need of his help

he sighed and i took that as my sign to leave before we both do something we might regret later, charlie keeps his gaze on me the entire time “hi, ill be with you in a moment” he spoke up the lady stops in her tracks wondering what a young woman was doing here at almost midnight with the priest of the church she was curious but nothing crossed her mind as she was desperate to talk to the priest

charlie followed me out of the church closing the door behind us “this isn’t over sweetheart” he placed a kiss on my forehead as he walked back into the church.

˖⋆࿐໋

a/n: omggg i hope you guys like this!! i’ve spent almost a day and a half working on this just for you all especially the person who requested this, i will be making this into a little series since it was getting pretty long! anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this, remember feel free to request anything!

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby//Part 2

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!fem!Reader

(part 1)(part 3)

18+Only, mature content, intimacy smut, sweet!Eddie, nipple play, praise!kink, masturbation, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, toxic mother, self-esteem issues, alcohol consumption, implied self-loathing, pet names, implied sex with someone other than reader, paid sex. wc: 4.6k

summary: After that first night together on your 29th birthday when you lost your virginity to gigolo Eddie, he mentions, in his own way, that he'd like to see you again off the clock. Reader is an introvert dealing with self-esteem issues and invites Eddie to be our date for a wedding, but not before he invites us back to his place.

authors note: I never intended this to be more than one part, but it quickly became a favorite, and I had so many requests for more. Who am I to deny us more of sweet, gigolo Eddie?

All of your support means the world, and I very much look forward to your thoughts ❤️

pls no minors beyond this point

-------

You still couldn’t tell if it was real.  When he said he wouldn’t charge you if you ever wanted to meet up again. It felt sincere when he said it, but now, two days later, by the phone with gigalo Eddie’s number in your hand, you were convinced that it was all part of his game.  Maybe he was just that good.

He knew everything that would turn you on, everything you needed to hear, right down to the pet names and the missionary style, intimate sex. It had all been in the paperwork you’d submitted. It was nothing but a job to him, and you had totally fallen for it.  

Now you felt like one of those idiot, lovesick men at the strip clubs who always believed that the girls were really in love with them after they made eye contact a few times and tipped them for hours on end. 

You did your affirmations in the mirror that morning, trying not to look at yourself from the side in the full length mirror and pinch at the parts of your body you thought were gross.  Trying not to indulge in the morning ritual of hating yourself.

Even if Eddie had felt some type of real connection with you—which you now highly doubted—how would things progress between the two of you? From what Robin had told your friend Nellie, Eddie was a busy boy.  He was a respected gigalo within a 50 mile radius, and his list of regular clients was long; your evening with him was booked a month in advance.  On nights when he didn’t have clients, he was practicing with his band or playing gigs, and you were sure he could have any woman he wanted when he performed.

But then the phone rang as you were sitting there right next to it and you jumped, a shriek escaping your throat.

It was your mom, reminding you to pick up the dress for your cousin's wedding the following weekend. You weren’t going to be in the wedding party, but your mother had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want you to embarrass her with any of the styles of clothes you would’ve picked out for yourself.  

She exhaled a haggard breath.  “I suppose you still haven’t found a date? There’s a new boy who goes to our church. I think he might even like you, as long as you don’t bring up any of your strange conspiracy theories or serial killer statistics. Wear that special bra I got for you, and put a little makeup on.  Men like women who try to look nice for them.”

You wanted so badly to let your mother know that you’d recently paid for a gigolo to take your virginity, just to hear the horror and panic in her voice.  You were already a disappointment to her, why not put a cherry on top?

You put Eddie’s number on the table and stared at it while she talked.  “Actually,” you took a stiff swallow that felt like a marble in your throat.  “I do have a date.  For the wedding.  His name is Eddie.”

You relished the silence of shock at the other end. “Oh? What does this Eddie do? Not another jobless musician like the last boy you had a crush on, I hope?”

You winced at the way she brought it up.  Almost a decade ago, you had a crush on the brother of one of your friends, that is until you overheard him refer to you as “creepy”.

You knew she’d never drop it until you told her something; what a person did for a living and their social standing was very important to your mother.  “He’s, um,” you looked around, eyes landing on one of the cassette tapes on the shelf for the band Mike and The Mechanics.

“He’s a mechanic,” but you knew that wouldn’t be good enough.  “He, uh, runs his own auto body garage.” The lie—the fact that you even had to lie—made you squeeze your eyes shut.

She of course asked what the name of his garage was, and you told her he was from out of town and only coming in for the wedding.  She started badgering you with more questions and you lied and told her someone was at the door of your apartment and you had to go, hanging up the receiver before she could protest.  

A few hours later, after listening to music on full blast in your headphones and nearly pacing a hole in the carpet, you cracked open the nerve to call Eddie.

Your blood ran freezing cold as it rang on his end, and you glanced at the clock: it was just after 8:00pm.  You’d purposely waited until it was later in the evening, praying that he’d be with his band or with another client, and then you could leave him a message on his machine.  You were banking on this, actually.  If he picked up and you heard his voice, you’d probably hang up on him.

As luck would have it, you did get his answering machine.  Nervous as all hell, your voice was a tad squeaky at first, but then you cleared your throat. 

You decided you would present the invitation to be your date to the wedding as a job, one you would pay him for.  You let him know you’d had a great time the other night, and then made sure he had your phone number, and that you would TOTALLY understand if he was already busy that weekend.  You were about to hang up when you realized that you’d never said exactly who you were, and so you blurted your name out at the last minute, but it was too late because the recorder beeped and cut you off.

You went to bed that night convinced you would never hear from him again.  

Much later that night, after a long day, Eddie grinned down at the answering machine the second he heard your voice—he knew it was you right away.  He’d been thinking about you nonstop since that night you’d been together, but he never expected to hear from you.  He worried that he had put you on the spot when he said you wouldn’t have to pay him, and it had probably made you uncomfortable.  Flirting on the job was not something he had done before and it was very unprofessional of him. At the very least, he needed to apologize to you.

But there you were, calling him this soon as if you’d been thinking about him too.  

He tucked his hand in his armpit and nibbled at his lip when you asked if he was free this weekend to go to a wedding with you.

His heart skipped a beat.  He was thinking something more along the lines of dinner and a movie, but, sure, he would be your date—he had a tux. He’d have to reschedule one of his regulars, but she would understand. Other guys might’ve seen that as getting too serious too quick, but not Eddie.  He hadn’t had a girlfriend, or even been on a date that was not work related in over a year.  Women weren’t interested in taking a gigolo home to meet their parents.  They wanted his cock in all of their holes, but none of them ever wanted to know how his day went or what his dreams were.  

“So, just let me know…” you continued in the message.  “...if you’re available, and how much would you charge for something like that? I’d totally understand if…”

Damn it, he cursed to himself, sucking air in the side of his cheek.  He thought that invitation was sounding a little too good to be true.  

All the same, he called back the next day and left a message while you were at the local grocery store where you worked as an assistant manager, letting you know he’d be honored to be your date, and to tell him the where and the when.

But he did not give a price, and the omission was not lost on you.

—-----

You were so nervous, you could puke.

But it was still a day before the wedding, and you were in attendance at the post-rehearsal dinner at Enzo’s.  Although you were not going to be in the wedding, your beautiful, outgoing sister Judith was, and you weren’t entirely against a dinner paid for by your uncle at one of the fanciest restaurants in town.  

You were feeling the buzz of the wine and trying to play wallflower as the other four people at the table, including your sister and three of her friends, engaged in lively conversation and shared exaggerated stories from their college years.  You were sitting back in your chair, offering a chuckle to something that was just said, when you looked across to the main entrance and saw Eddie coming through the door.  

You were only looking in his direction for maybe five seconds before you looked away, but it felt like an hour.  There was an ocean in your ears as your heartbeat soared and your brain scrambled to make sense of what was going on. 

He looked particularly beautiful.  Hair worn down, framing his face, a crisp white button down, allowing for the dark designs of his chest tattoos to show, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, exposing his defined forearm muscles and tattoos.  

Eddie was not alone.  

Next to him, holding onto his arm, was a very pretty woman.  Shoulder length, brunette hair brushed back from her face, flawless skin, tight black dress and gold jewelry.  She might have been mid to late thirties, much shorter than Eddie. They appeared to be very cozy as they stood waiting to be shown to their booth, and when she turned to ask him something, Eddie answered, and then kissed the back of her hand.

You snapped your eyes back to the table, twirled the stem of your wine glass a few times, and then lifted it to your lips for a generous gulp.  Everyone at your table was just tipsy enough to not notice how flustered you got, cheeks blooming red hot.

Eddie saw you while he was escorting Lana to their table, but he wasn’t sure if you had seen him yet or not.  This was his fifth “date” with Lana.  Her husband passed away four years ago, and she’d decided that she’d never love another man again as much as she’d loved him, so she didn’t want any romantic attachments.  What she wanted was a man to take care of her once in a while: escort her to dinner, treat her like a lady, hold doors for, and then let her suck him off so he could cum on her tits the way her husband used to do.  He wore her husband's Old Spice aftershave and called her “Sugar” which had always been his nickname for her. 

He needed to focus on Lana, but as the waiter handed over the wine menus, Eddie kept glancing in your direction.  It'd been a week since the two of you had been together biblically, and he’d really been missing your face, more than he could even admit to himself.  He found himself drawn to you chemically in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager. 

You shot him a look over your wine glass, and he lifted his fingers in a small wave, but you ducked your head and tried to hide behind whoever was sitting next to you. 

If anyone there recognized him tomorrow at the wedding, and happened to connect the dots that he was with another woman on a date the night before, that would be bad. He made a last second decision to switch places with Lana in the booth so that his back would be to the people you were with, in an effort to hide his identity.  

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” you announced to the table, getting to your feet as you said it.

Your sister protested.  “But, we just got here? One more drink?”

You fumbled so fast for your jacket that your chair fell to the ground.  Even over the Italian music and plentiful conversations, everyone turned to look, including Eddie, and then you were rushing to get out of the restaurant, bursting into the fresh air and hurrying down the sidewalk.

Down at the corner of the building, you were catching your breath and feeling stupid as hell, when you realized Eddie was coming toward you with his hands in his pockets.  He had waited a few minutes, but eventually followed.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you after a few slow, deliberate strides.  “I hope I didn’t make anything weird for you in there.”

You covered your eyes with your hand.  “No, I’m the one who made things weird,” you told him. “I’m just not a fan of crowds. I think I got a little claustrophobic.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie had his head down, shuffling his foot, and you noticed how different his demeanor was when he wasn’t “working”.  

You huffed a laugh.  “You’re a natural with people, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe I just play a good game,” he lifted his eyes to meet yours, chin lowered. “On the inside I spend plenty of time curled in a ball in the corner, I promise you.”

A car horn blared in the distance, and then Eddie spoke again.  “You look really pretty tonight,” his hands stayed in his pockets, but he gestured with his elbow.  “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you said quickly, praying he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind.  “I mean, if you still want to?”

“Of course I want to, sweetheart,” he cocked his head, but then he gestured toward the restaurant. “I need to get back in, I can’t leave her hanging.”

You started to speak nervously, something about “oh yes sure go ahead absolutely okay goodnight” as you walked away, but then he caught your arm.

He searched your face in the dark shadow of the street corner.  “Are you…busy later? Like, in a couple hours?”

Your heart tightened at the urgency of his question.  The way his eyes settled on you, they were full of desire, and you couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave you all of their attention like that.  

Eddie was really taking a chance with this one.  What woman in her right mind would want to spend time with him right after he’d been intimate with someone else?  This is where any dating situation he ever attempted came to a screeching halt.  He went home lonely more often than not.  

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his beautiful neck, letting the gravity of what he was asking you sink in.  “Won’t you be…tired?”

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek.  “Not too tired.”

—----

He called from the payphone at Enzo’s and left his address on your answering machine, just like he said he would, and so there you were, in your car in the driveway of the adorable light blue house he shared with a friend named Steve, who was supposedly also in the gigolo business. Steve was out of town for a few days, though, and inside your head you were screaming; you couldn’t believe this was happening.

 It was one of the better maintained houses on the block; lawn perfectly mowed and trimmed, a flower bed with purple pansies along the sidewalk.  There was the husk of an old muscle car in the garage though, and an engine weeping oil on the pavement.  The lie you’d told your mother wasn’t too far off, and a grin kicked up one side of your mouth thinking about how Eddie’s strong hands had some black stains in the crevasses from working on cars, even though he scrubbed them constantly.  

Eddie had no idea what he was doing.  The good thing about being a gigalo was that he could control the atmosphere and the outcome: he never had to worry about getting hurt because it was just a job.  

You could tell he’d just come out of the shower when he answered the door in a plain white tee and jeans exposing the tattoos on his arms, hair wet down his shoulders, skin warm and soft when he hugged you in the doorframe. 

The hug lingered, and when you stepped back, your chin was down, your eyes trying to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you wanted to be there with him, but also, your body was in fight or flight mode.  You could hear your mother’s voice in your head then, telling you there’s no way a guy as good looking as Eddie would be interested in a girl like you. She’d insist he was using you for something.

“Hey,” Eddie caught your chin and brought your attention back to him. He ran a thumb across your mouth.  “I’ve been dreaming of these lips.”

It made you snort a laugh, and Eddie laughed too, squeezing one eye closed.  “Sorry, was that too cheesy? Occupational hazard.”

“I like cheesy,” you beamed, parting your lips to accept his kiss, opening your mouth to take him deeper, working your hands up the front of his chest over his shirt.  You tried not to think about the woman he’d been with just an hour earlier, and the things they’d possibly done together.  If he could accept you and still find you desirable, even when you didn’t even like yourself, you were willing to have an open mind about his profession.  At least for now.

You found out he had an episode of Elvira’s Movie Macabre on the TV, and told him it was one of your favorites.  This made Eddie like you even more.  He sat back on the couch, legs long, and beckoned for you with a few eager flaps of his wrist to come and sit flush with your back against him.  “This is what I needed,” he said as you got comfortable between his legs.  He kissed the side of your head, intertwined the fingers of one of his hands with yours, and you could barely concentrate on the show with the way his closeness made your pussy pulse.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.  Both of his thumbs slid down the front of the blouse you were wearing to graze the hard nubs of your nipples, while he kissed the outer ridge of your ear.  

You could only make a needy purr in the back of your throat, pushing against him at the need for more.  

“Are your nipples this hard just for me, sweetheart?” He hushed, nuzzling your ear.  You squirmed a bit more, nodding, exposing the side of your neck to greet his mouth.  He unbuttoned your shirt and pulled down the front cups of your bra to pluck at your tender buds, making you whine.  He found your pulse point on your throat and sucked there, continuing to work your nipples in a way that had your underwear immediately damp with arousal.

“You getting wet for me so I can taste how good I make you feel, baby?”

Indeed, your body was letting him know loud and clear that this is what it wanted.  

He licked his fingers to wet your nipples, and you felt like you might be able to cum from his finger twisting alone.  You undid the zipper on your trousers and sank your fingers into the wetness there, working your slippery clit.  You slid your digits down a little further and dipped them into your hole; it gripped around you, begging to be filled.

“Let me taste it,” he told you.  You presented your two glistening fingers up and he sucked them into his mouth, licking them clean, making you tremble at the way his tongue flicked between them.

“Keep touching yourself,” he encouraged, milking and twisting your nipples with a bit more force now that they weren’t as sensitive, causing zings of pleasure to rock through your body.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, finding your clit again, working your wrist.  “You’re going to make me—”

But then it was already happening, a pop of velvet streamers liquified at your core, pulsing, throbbing, making you go blind for a second.  

Eddie’s cock bucked hard against his denim.  You turned to kiss him in the aftermath, and he slid out from under you to get on his knees, pulling your pants off the rest of the way.

“I need to taste it,” he breathed, hiking your knees up over his shoulders so he could bury his face and lick you clean, lapping up your gift, groaning and rocking forward on his knees as he did so.  

You grabbed onto his hair.  “You like how hard I cum for you, don’t you baby?”

You were learning to be more verbal, and it made his hips twitch against the couch, he wanted you so bad.  Once he devoured the sweet  nectar of  your cum, he worked his way up your body, kissing your breasts, and then finding your mouth.  He sank two fingers into your aching hole, and your pelvis flexed eagerly up to meet his hand.  

“Hey,” he brushed his lips over yours, hovering there.  “I don’t ever go down on...clients,” he admitted to you, eyes finding yours, fucking his fingers slowly in and out, curling them up once they were deep inside of you. “You are special, I just thought you should know.”

“I like knowing that,” you said with a quiver in your voice, holding his face. “I want you inside of me.”

There was a condom in his wallet and he helped you guide it onto his cock after he pushed his jeans down, every bit the teacher.  You slid your shoulders down the couch, legs spread wide, exposing all of your holes for him.  Gripping your hip, he teased the tip at your entrance, eyebrows pinching together at the sensation.

“Without a condom, I’d probably blow a hole through you, baby, you’ve got me so hard.”

Your pussy was soaked, dripping from your folds down the condom on his cock.  “You’re the only one I want inside of me,” you were merely stating a fact, but it was just what he needed to hear, and he rose up on his knees, pulled your ass a bit further off the couch, and buried himself balls deep with a hard gasp.

He leaned forward to brace his forearms on the cushion at either side of your head, kissing you, thrusting in a few times as deep as he could go, skin smacking, your wetness now shimmering on the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

You were amazed at how your body knew how to respond, even though you had absolutely no clue what you were doing.  Bucking your hips up to meet him was your favorite, and then every now and then, he’d swivel his hips, holding your legs out.  

“That was a fancy move,” you breathed against his lips. 

“I save all my fancy moves for you, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

He brought his thumb in to play with your clit.  “I want you to cum with me.”

You didn’t know if that kind of tandem miracle was possible, but you were willing to try.  You brought your fingers in to work your slick juices over just the right spot, and Eddie sat back to watch you. He was observing and taking notes.

“You stretch me out so good,” you whined, getting into the swing of things, swiping your fingers faster, not phased at all by the way the parts of your body you hated were all hanging out for him to see.  

“Shit,” Eddie bucked. “You’re gonna make me cum right now if you talk like that.”

“You’ve ruined me for everyone with your big cock, baby,” you continued. “No one will ever fill me up like you do.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight, holy shit,” Eddie cried out.

You could feel the peak approaching but then Eddie pushed in a bit too eagerly, and his cock slipped out and dove up into the folds of your pussy.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you called out, clutching his shoulder, begging him to work the head of his cock on your clit.

“Fuck baby fuckkkkk,” he hissed, thrusting his hips, fucking your folds with the underside of his cock.  “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

And then, it was you who was cumming, babbling, riding the wave as Eddie cock dipped back inside, needing to feel like he was pumping it inside of you, worshiping you from the inside with his seed.

In the aftermath, his head lowered, hair hanging down, he enjoyed the slip of your cum, feeding you the shaft a few more times. 

Eddie was about to pull you against him to watch Movie Macabre for real this time, but when you came out of the bathroom, you were fully dressed with your bag over your shoulder and a distinct look of goodbye on your face.

“I should get going,” you announced, picking at some loose skin around your cuticle.  

Eddie stood from the couch, fixing himself, making sure the zipper was up on his jeans.  He didn’t have a shirt on, exposing the cut lines at his hips and trail of hair below his belly button.

“Sure, sure, um,” he looked around, hands on his hips.  “You don’t have to go.  I mean, you could even stay here, if you wanted. I could set my alarm if you have to get up early.”

You wondered what he charged for overnight stays.  Would you receive a bill on Monday for two full days worth of gigolo time? You had no idea what his rates were, and you still knew you couldn’t afford it.   The voices in your head were telling you what a gullible, cock drunk fool you were. While in the bathroom, you realized that everything he said was way too good to be true.  No man had ever wanted you this bad, nor would they ever.  A part of you was even harboring some anger towards him for being deceitful and making you feel things you’d gone 3 decades without.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat. “For this.  I have a big day tomorrow, so,” and then you turned without another word, headed for the door.

Eddie hustled after you.  “Okay, so, I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow, yeah? We’ll go together?”

“Actually,” you gave him your profile.  “I think it would be better if  you just met me at the venue.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.  He was having a hard time reading you. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, thanks again,” you said in a rush. 

“Hey, wait—-” but you were already out the door and hurrying down the driveway to your car, afraid to look back.  

---------

Thank you for reading!

[soggyriceee]

Idk how to work tumblr sorry, is this how you do requests? ☠️ IDEK IF YOUR TAKING REQUESTS IM SORRY. If you are tho could you pls do something along the lines of virgin fem Reader x König where Kö helps yn explore her body and figure out what feels good cuz she has no clue how sex works. PRETTY PLS SORRY IF YOURE BOT TAKING REQUESTS RN LIKE I SAID I HAVE 0 CLUE HOW TO WORK THIS APP TYSM 🫶🫶

let me help you | Konig

summary: request

warnings: oral(f!recieving), fingering, size kink, missionary , after care, lovey dovey Konig and totally no desperate Konig towards the end. like at all. oh and maybe some tummy bulge action

you were a christian, church raised girl. never once had a boyfriend. never went to parties. never kissed a boy. your parents were distraught when you ran away at 18. well, “ran away”. you saved since you were 16 for your own loft in the city and moved away without notice. changed your number and privated all socials. since then, you’ve been living yohr best life. so much so, you even managed to find a boyfriend.

tall man you met randomly at a bus stop coming back from your morning shift. he was going to his night shift. you had dropped your wallet grabbing your phone from your pocket and he saw it, quickly grabbing it and calling out for yoh. “your wallet. it fell back there.” he said, looking down at you.

he had a thick German accent, beautiful eyes and and well kept hair. and of course. he was insanely bigger than you. “thank you.” yoh would blush, quickly grabbing the wallet. not much was said after that, but instead you saw each other every day catching the bus.

finally, after seeing you everyday for a week, he finally went up to you this time for your number. and that following weekend you both were on a date, clicking almost immediately. and it only took him a three weeks to ask you, “can I be your boyfriend?”

you both have been together for 9 months now and it’s been the best 9 months of your life. he was caring, giving and gentle with you. he was your superman whenever you needed him to be. and he showed you the most amount of love you’d ever received.

one of the most important attributes he has is patience. you know Konigs been horny. sometimes you’ll wake up from a nap, hearing Konigs whimpers from the bathroom. it made you feel bad for not giving him sex the first couple months like most couples. but he never pushed you, never made you feel bad for it. “i understand mien herzchen. i’ll wait forever for you.” he comforted you one night when you confronted about your anxiety.

apart of the reason you hadn’t given him yoh was you were scared. scared of the pain, getting pregnant or diseases. you were raised with such a negative view of sex, the city and social media helped in changing your views yes, but you were still concerned of some of those things were true aboht sex.

the second was because yoh knew nothing about pleasuring someone. you didn’t even know how to pleasure yourself. you had tried before of course. but you didn’t know what you were doing. something he felt good, like when you would shift side to side on the couch you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper. you’ve felt the warmth in the pit of your stomach before, especially when you’d hear Konig at night or when he kissed you or even looked at you. you’ve gotten soaked before but you had no clue on what you were doing. so how could you pleasure Konig?

but tonight you put your big girl panties on and made your way to the drug store, looking for the pill. the morning after pill. Konig had no idea. he had no idea you’d been looking up things for sex. toys, positions. what usually feels good what usually hurts. you spend the last week studying up on sex and now you were ready.

when you got home, Konig was on the bed, watching whatever was on when you left. “hello libe. was your walk good?” he asked, sitting up with a smile on his face. you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you placed the bag on the bed. “uhm.. look. inside.” yoh said softly, looking back and forth between him and the flimsy bag.

“did you get me a gift?” he asked, grabbing the bag in his large hands and opening it. his smile fell, a more confused look on his face. when he looked up, you clenched your jaw before speaking. “i uh.. have been looking up these things. i was curious. but now i think i’m ready.” yoh said, clasping your hands in front of you.

for a bit Konig was silent, the bag still in his hands before humming. “are you sure libe.. this isn’t because you feel rushed or or guilty or-“ “no. i swear i-i’m ready.” you nodded.

it was silent for a moment before Konig gave you a smile, reaching over and pulling you into him. he gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling them to plop you on his lap, your legs straddling either side of him. his hands cupped the side of your face, looking at your lips before your eyes.

“i’ll go slow. promise me you’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable. or something doesn’t feel good and what does feel good.” he said, looking into your eyes. your cheeks were blushed but you nodded, giving a quiet “okay”.

he smiled before pulling your face into his, your lips moving slowly against each other. his tongue slid into your mouth, moaning softly into you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to start pounding, the familiar feeling in your stomach coming back. below, you felt the hardness of his dick press against your cunt, earning a small whimper.

he pulled away, going right for your neck. he kissed the soft skin before pressing his tongue flat, sucking your skin gently into his mouth. this earned another whimper from you, this time louder than the first. yoh instinctively put your hand over your mouth, embarrassed.

“no libe move your hand.” he said softly, pulling away from your neck. “did that feel good?” he asked, pulling your hand down from your mouth. you nodded, getting nervous and looking away quickly. “use your words. i need to know for real you liked it.” he smiled. “i-i liked it.” you nodded again, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

he smirked and shifted, grabbing your hips. “i’m gonna lay you down. is that okay?” he asked. another ‘yes’. he moved quick, laying yoh on the bed and following after, spreading your legs to lay between them. “may i?” he asked again, tugging the bottom of your shirt. you nodded. he continued this pattern, asking and doing until you were fully naked beneath him.

his breath hitched as his eyes scanned down your naked body. “w-what?” yoh asked, shifting to close your legs and cover your upper half. but he was quick to push your legs back open, eyes meeting yours. “i cant look at you beautiful?” he asked softly, giving you a small smile.

his hands massaged your thighs as he leaned down, pecking your lips before going further down to your neck. this time, he was a bit more rough. you felt his teeth nibble gently at your skin, his tongue running over the spot he but down on. naturally, your hands found his hair and you clung to it. this earned a soft groan from him.

“you like when i bite down on your skin like this libe?” he whispered, his hands moving further and further up your legs. your heart began to pound in your chest and you grew a bit nervous of where Konigs hands were going. and he could tell as soon as your breaths began to pick up.

he stopped his hands and the biting on your neck, lifting his head. “am i going to fast?” he asked, looking down to your eyes. “n-no not at all. you can keep going.” you smiled, grabbing his wrists and moving them. but he obviously was able to halt his wrist easily. “tell me libe. i can go slower. or or talk to yoh more to relax you. anything.” he said, shifting himself.

instead of calmness, anxiety and guilt washed over you. you felt like you were asking of too much. “libe.” he called to you, lifting your chin. “i-i’m just really.. nervous.” you said, “but i trust you. i’ve just.. never done this before.” you finished, looking down to his chest.

he was silent for a moment before speaking again. “tell me what you want me to do.” he said, letting your legs go. “where you want me to touch or feel. we’ll go at your pace.” he said, smiling down at you.

a small smile crept to your face, feeling a bit more relaxed. your heart slowed, but anxiety was still very much an emotion you were tackling. but you were ready for this. and you couldn’t have asked for a better person to do it with.

“i-i wanna know what it’s like to.. to get eaten out.” you said, not daring to look him in his eyes. a chuckle came from above, followed with a “you don’t even have to ask for that one mien libe.”

Konig began to shuffle, moving to lay on his stomach. his hands gripped either of your thighs, an excited smile on his lips. “your skin is so soft..” he said softly, pressing his lips to your skin. he continued this, moving up your inner thighs until he got to your pussy.

he moaned quietly, his bottom lip tugging between his teeth. “and your pussy is so pretty.” he smiled. again, your heart began to pound. “may i try something?” he asked, following with another kiss to your inner thigh. quickly you nodded, the feeling of need beginning to trump the anxiety.

he shifted once more, his arms looping under your thighs. “i’m gonna rub your clit for a bit. is that okay?” he asked gently. you nodded quickly again. “your words libe.” he said, his thumb beginning to dance around your pussy. “yes. please.” you blurted out, barely allowing him to finish his sentence. with a chuckle, he pressed his thumb against your clit.

your hips jerked back slightly, a small gasp leaving your lips. slowly, he moved his thumb against your clit, moaning as your juices coating his thumb. "does my libe feel good when I rub her swollen clit like this?" he cooed, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

you on the other hand were speechless, your mouth hung open slightly. your hips bucked up occasionally, your clit throbbing against his thumb. "y-yes I love it." you moaned out, your head falling back on the pillow. but you couldn't rest too long.

"gonna taste you now. cant wait." he groaned before smashing his lips to your pussy, replacing his thumb. naturally, a gasp left your lips as he sucked your clit into his mouth softly. "o-oh my.. God." you whimpered, fingers digging into the mattress.

his tongue pressed flat against your pussy, slowly licking up your slit. when he got to your clit, he moved his tongue in small circles, finally looking up to see your hand slapped over your mouth. so he stopped.

"well that's no fun." he huffed, reaching up to force your hand off your mouth. you knew that yes, making noise during sex was normal and a turn on for most men. but you were worried you'd overdo it and eventually turn Konig off. but nothing about you in this moment, unless it was something drastic, could turn Konig off. "I wanna hear how good im making you feel schatz." he said, smiling up at you before dipping his head right back down.

this time, you felt his tongue slowly slide into your cunt, earning a gasp in response. another new feeling. he moved it in and out slowly, coating as much of his tongue he could in your juices. you whimpered out, your head falling onto the pillow. you tried to keep your hands off from your mouth, so you decided to act upon something you had read previously. gripping his hair.

this was something Konig obviously liked very much because he groaned into your pussy as soon as he felt your hands in his hair. his tongue prodded at your spongy spot earning louder, more desperate moans from you. "k-keep doing.. that. please." you whined, bucking your hips back into his face so his tongue would abuse the same spot.

he chuckled, pulling away from your pussy to spread your lips apart before going right back into your cunt. "how about.. I try something new?" he said into your pussy, kissing your clit before pulling away. you whined at the lost sensation but nodded, only caring in this moment about him eating you out again. "im gonna add a finger. get you ready for me a bit more okay?" he said, maintaining eye contact with you. when you gave him the okay, he slid one finger in slowly, humming at the sound of your pussy.

"your so wet schatz.. I don't know if I can wait any longer to be inside you." he said, watching how shiny his finger got when he slid it back out of you. you watched as his finger disappeared, grunting at the feeling of your walls being stretched. his fingers by far were a lot bigger than yours. and while yes you've managed to figure out you can put your fingers inside, it was way different when it was someone else doing it. someone who had longer, thicker fingers.

what you especially liked was when he moved his finger up and down, hitting the same spot his tongue was a few moments ago. "s-shit Koni." you whimpered, throwing your head back onto the pillow. he moved his finger slowly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. he was entranced by how sloppy your pussy was getting for him. "can I add another libe?" he whispered softly, not even bothering to make eye contact with you. "please." you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as he was already sliding another in.

it was a new feeling, being stretched out. having something.. well inside you. it was uncomfortable at first, but he talked you through all of it. "that's it libe, taking my fingers so good aren't you?" he cooed, kissing your thighs as he moved his fingers in and out of you a bit faster. you nodded quickly, your toes curling around the sheets. "c-can you go faster?" you choked out, lifting your head to meet his eyes. he smiled, pressing one last kiss to your thighs. "anything for you libe."

his fingers moved slightly faster, finger tips digging deeper into you. your mouth fell ajar, feeling your lower stomach begin to turn. "fuck libe you're clenching around my fingers. are you close?" he asked, shifting to move closer up to your face. you assumed yes. you felt something very new in the pit of your stomach. and whatever it was was approaching fast. so you nodded your head quickly, your ands finding his forearms to grip them.

"go ahead then libe cum around my fingers. you can do it." he whispered, leaning down to your bare chest. he caught a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently. the double stimulation pushed you towards the edge. but you got nervous. was this actually what an orgasm was supposed to feel like? "K-Konig it feels weird." you whined out almost inaudibly, trying to push away his arm. he released your nipple with a pop, looking into your eyes. "its okay libe just let it go. I got you." he said gently.

his finger went back to abusing your spongy spot and that alone was enough to finally push you over the edge. "o-oh God~" you whined out as your legs began to shake, your hands grasping onto his arm tighter. "thats it libe let it go.. let it all go." he cooed, watching as his fingers coated white with your cum.

your stomach was doing somersaults, your cunt spaziming around his fingers as they moved slower and slower. your chest rose and fell rapidly, your eyes fluttering closed. as soon as you began to realize how loud you just were, your cheeks turned a bright red.

"what?" he asked, picking up on your silence. his fingers finally slid out of your cunt, the feeling of emptiness taking over you. "I am.. embarrassed. I was so loud.." you admitted, grabbing a pillow to cover your face. as you did so, you heard Konig shuffling above you, his pants dropping to the floor.

"well..", he stripped the pillow away from you, meeting you with a bright smile, "you only gonna louder libe."

he tossed the pillow to the side before grabbing your under thighs, moving you closer into him. you shuffled to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows. "oh.." you accidentally said aloud. you had finally taken in his size, realizing how big he was. and it intimidated you. but he picked up on that very quickly.

"it will hurt just for a bit. like getting a shot." he said, leaning to press kiss to your forehead. "I promise it is gonna feel good." he said. you trusted him obviously. he was the one with experience after all. so you nodded and laid back down, swallowing the lump in your throat.

you felt him moving the tip of him up and dow, soft grunts coming from him. "you hear how wet you are for me libe? I think your ready." he said, smiling down to you. you felt ready. more horny than you were nervous. "please." you said softly, bucking your hips up once more.

König huffed, gripping your thighs to pull you closer to him. "take my hand, squeeze as hard as you want. and tell me if you wanna stop at any point. okay?" he said, sliding his fingers between yours. you nodded, gripping his hand. "your word, maus." he said again. "yes.. I promise."

he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering a soft "I love you" before taking his other hand, gripping his base and pressing it against your hole. "ill push in just a bit.. and then when you get used to the feeling ill move more." he said, looking dow at your cunt.

slowly, he pushed inside of you, his mouth falling ope slightly as a soft breath came from him. your eyes squeezed shut, finger nail digging into his knuckles. he was right, it hurt. horribly. and it was only the tip.

he kept to his word, stopping once the tip was in. "h..how do you feel?" he asked, looking at your tensed body. but all you could do was give him a small nod, trying to get used to the feeling of you being stretched out. "take as much time as you need." he said softly, kissing your cheek, moving down to your neck.

his other hand moved to your breast, trying to get your mind off the feeling of his length inside you. and it helped. your body relaxed slowly, your nails removing themselves from your boyfriends skin. "can I go a bit more?" he asked. you gave him a yes, opening your eyes. you looked down, trying to see how much left he had to push in.

he slid out his tip before pushing back into you, stopping as soon as your nails dug into him. he kept doing this, kissing you through it all, praising you and telling you how good you were doing for him. how pretty you looked. and when he was finally all the way in, you were already worn out.

"dont tap out now libe.." he chuckled, as his pelvis pushed against yours, bottoming out inside you. his knuckles were marked up with your nails, your own knuckles sore and white from how tight you were clutching to him. "its... a lot." you whimpered, looking down to see all of him had disappeared inside you. his face turned a bright red, a small chuckle leaving him. "well thank you.. are you okay if I start moving?" he asked, his hand still in yours. and when you gave him a small yes, he pulled out slightly before pushing himself back in.

your head laid back on the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut as you got used to the feeling. he moved slow, watching your body to make sure you were okay. your fingers dug into his knuckles again, but this time in a sense of pleasure. small whimpers slipped past you as he pulled out more, pushing back into you.

"talk to me libe.. how are you.. feeling." Konig asked, his eyes trailing from yours to where your bodies connected. he wasn't going any faster, though he wanted so desperately to pound into you. your cunt wrapped around him tightly, sucking him back in with each thrust. "g-good.. can you go faster?" you asked, followed by a soft whimper. he nodded quickly, his free hand finding your hip as he moved his hips faster against yours.

your eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure taking over your lower half. your whimpers grew louder and out of embarrassment, your own free hand slapped over your mouth again. but Konig grunted, taking that hand in his other. "what did I say libe? I want to hear you." he demanded, his eyes locking to yours. you hadn't realized it, but your cunt clenched around him, finding it sexy how dominant he had suddenly became.

his head fell, going back to watch himself slide in and out of you. "fuck you're so wet.. just for me hm?" he asked, gripping onto your hands. his hips slowly picked up, deep moans coming from him. he loved watching how shiny his cock was as it slid out of you, listening to it talk back to him as he pushed back inside. the sound of your slick making him throb inside of you. the sound of his balls slapping against your lower arse.

his tip began to abuse right at your womb, causing you to cry out in a mix of pleasure but also pain. so his hips slowed down as he panted above you. "sorry libe.. your pussy is just so fucking wet." he chuckled, finding a small pleasure in your pained face.

his hips continued, slowing making sure to control himself. he let go of one of your hands, sliding it down your body to your puffy clit, rubbing it to match his thrust. your body reacted well to that, hips subconsciously bucking up. he chuckled, watching as your body squirmed beneath him. "feels good?" he asked, moving his eyes down to your cunt.

he doesn't know how he hadn't realized it before, but your lower half had a small bulge every time he pushed back into you. he hadn't even realized you responded to his question, his eyes locked onto how his cock filled you up, almost too much. "oh libe.." he whimpered softly, his hips again moving quicker against yours.

he couldnt help it, you were so sexy to him. he was fighting the urge to completely fuck you senseless, fighting the urge to grip your throat and fuck into you deeper, pushing your legs up to your head and hearing you cry out to him about how it was too much.

you had realized how his hips moved quicker, but it felt more pleasurable than it hurt this time. "f-feels so good Koni." you whimpered, your free hand gripping the sheets beside you. for some reason, the nickname made him more desperate for you, a whimper slipping past his lips. "fuck maus" he groaned, feeling himself already getting close.

he looked up at you, watching as your boobs bounced up and down with each of his thrusts. everything about you, your face, body whimpers was all too much for him. he was growing so desperate for you. it was a new feeling for him. of course he'd had sex before. it was an obvious fact he stated when you both began to get a bit more serious. but, the wait for this to happen, the tension and small discussions leading up to this made it so much better for not only him. but for you as well.

he was so lost in his own pleasure he hadn't felt his dick twitching inside you, the lot in his lower stomach forming quickly. it didn't help how your pussy gushed and spasmed around him, his own pelvis slowly becoming wet with your slick. "m-maus I wanna fill you.. up. you gonna let me fill this pussy up?" he panted, one of his hands gripping your chin to force you to look up at him.

"y-yes please.. please Koni." you whimpered, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. inside you, his cock twitched again, a breathy whimper leaving his lips. "fuck y-your gonna drive me crazy." he groaned, his head dropping to your neck.

his tip continued its abuse on your womb, your legs shaking on either side of him as that familiar knot came back. your nails dug into his shoulders now, crying out for him as that pleasure grew closer and closer. "cum with me libe. fuck I wanna f-feel you pulse around m-me." he moaned, pulling your lower half closer up into him.

your eyes crossed, jaw gone slack. the words, praises and soft 'I love you's' were so quiet compared to how loud you were being for him. and he fucking loved it. "I-im cumming libe.. o-oh fuck" his head lifted from your neck, eyes immediately going to your rolled back ones. your face alone made him shoot into you, your pussy pulsing around his already sensitive cock.

"I-it's gonna come... Konig~" you cried out as your legs violently shook beside him. his thumb moved quick to your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm as he breathed heavily above you, watching your body tremble for him. "s-such a good.. good girl. just for me." he breathed out softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

slowly, he pulled himself out of you, watching as his cum and yours drip from you and onto the sheets. if he wasn't so worn out, and it wasn't your first time, he'd slip his cock right back into you, collecting all the cum to push right back into you. so instead, he looked up at you to see your eyes already shut closed, your breathing soft and slow.

a small smile came to his face, taking your limp arm and pressing a kiss to your hand. "libe.. come on. at least go pee first. ill clean up the mess." he said, shaking you softly. but of course, you hadn't woken up fully. so for the rest of that night Konig did everything for you and when you were finally cleaned up fully, he would watch you as your eyes closed for the last time.

yay another request out.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Disability and Worldbuilding

I will state you can't change the actual disability, though you could theoretically make up ones. This isn't going to be one of those "Oh let's play roulette and give your characters a disability you've never heard of before". This is a short post trying to ask you to look at how disability is thought of and treated in your society and maybe changing the longtime European default settings to one that could look at disability on a cultural level.

Europe's ideas of Disability over time

There's some loose thought that Druids were semi-Shamanistic and if that was so a few things are true: Higher likelihood of acceptance of LGBTQIA, though this was likely erased by later Christian Missionaries, but some stories do survive that indicate this might be true. Of course LGBTQIA isn't a disability, but putting it out there that Druids likely accepted it from Historical thinking.

But also it's likely that disabilities, particularly congenital, etc weren't regarded the same as they were later.

Mental health disabilities were likely? treated as a cause of celebration because those people were closer to understanding the divine. Many Shamanistic religions are like that.

Then Romans came, and Romans, unlike the "sanitized" version of them were not anti-sex, homosexuality, but there is evidence that there was some "kill people with disabilities" mentality probably leftover from the Greeks. (Baby death by exposure for having a disability).

This belief system probably synchronized with Christianity in Europe, and thus by the time you get to Shakespeare in the 1500's, etc, it was commonly thought that if you had a physical or mental "deformity" (language of the time period) that it was punishment from God. This is why in much of the plays of the time period physical disability comes at the heels of a moral failing in plays. If you notice, this is a more extreme version of the previous. But the justifications have changed and the culture has changed with it.

(Lucy Worsley goes over this when she talks about Shakespeare and Richard the III—often disability was feared, mocked, and hated.)

Your arm got chopped off in battle and somehow despite the terrible medicine, you survived, well the Church would tell you, "You know what? God willed it because you were evil."

TT Ultimate in blame the victim?

Of course with the advent of science, some of this started to change, but was still prevalent until the late Victorian era where it changed. (You can watch the doc Victorian Pharmacy to get an idea of when the Humour system finally died, etc.) But then Eugenics kinda took over the mantle of what had been put in earlier with a more extreme version and justification to go after LGBTQIA, (Mostly the first 4 letters, to be honest) They used Wallace and Darwin's work (unfortunately it got Darwin's Grandson) to argue against disability.

But then this history also attacks ND identity too.

But do you need to write an antagonism towards disability? Couldn't you expand on the supposed Druid version and play that up?

You do not have to do the whole "Punishment from God" antagonism. And it may be inconsistent as well. Some disabilities are more liked than others. Finding and asking about the justifications would make this a good bit of world building to work on.

[rrat-king]

oh i would LOVE to hear abt ur tracker and kristen like fundamentals for them, like their similarities why are they so tender and close on a level thats like above first relationships why are they so different, what annoys them both give me the headcannons i beg of u

holy shit ok ok ok i have never been so deeply obsessed with an ask they are like, i dont know i love them so deeply (disclaimer i am trackerbees breakup truther BUT i am also they grow and come back together truther and this way more the distorted fannon i have of them in my head so like. grain of salt)

they are not actually that kinky. this is one of my main like foundational blocks of trackerbees cuz it is my belief that kristen's view of sex is so skewed that anything that isnt church sanctioned missionary is crazy to her. tracker probably Is kinky but like... kristen is a 15 year old newly ex-communicated virgin when they get together so. yes they have a lot of sex. but they arn't actually that kinky imo

tracker is possessive and gets jealous easily and she tries not to be but it fully doesn't help that kristen is just... completely unaware of when she is being flirted with. like they will go out and kristen, who just loves talking to people, will go to get them drinks and tracker will have to go and hunt her down because shes at the bar talking to someone, totally oblivious to the fact that they are trying to buy her a drink, so tracker has to come up behind her and stake claim cuz thats her girlfriend, damn it

they both have so little sense of privacy and shame which makes them perfect together and just so terrible to be around. tracker coming from jawbone oversharing view of life and kristen coming from a doors always open, three brothers, lots of shame house then to immediately flip around and be like 'ok im rejecting that shame just gotta be brutally open and shameless' as a reaction, means they are just. door wide open no pants on, talking about tmi at the dinner table just. fully shameless.

they are also just so touchy. kristen needs to be touching someone at all times just as like, a thing, whether thats holding someones hand or like rough housing she craves physical contact. tracker isn't as needy for touch with everyone, just kristen (it's a wolf thing, i dont want to use the word 'mate' cuz uh. not willing to go that far but i do think that kristen is tracker's Person. other people are pack but kristen is like. hers in a wolfy way)

kristen cannot communicate for shit and it drives tracker crazy sometimes. its not like a malice thing it's fully that i dont think kristen was raised to understand that communicating needs and problems is an essential part of a relationship. she also has a hard time not deflecting when things get serious.

tracker gets angry easily but she bottles it up, expecting kristen to just know she's upset and fix it and getting more upset when she doesn't. this is an endless evil cycle

but i think that they learn and they grow on their own and figure out how to exist as healthier people alone so that they are better partners for each other. i know they have to separate but i also know that they are each other's person and they will always come back together

i could talk about them for literally hours i love them so dearly (dont talk to me when they break up in junior year i will be grieving/hj)

[wowbright]

Fic: Home for Christmas

Fandom/pairing: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: December Klaine Fanworks Challenge 2023

Prompt: I'll Be Home For Christmas

Words: ~650 words                                  

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: On Blaine’s second Christmas as a missionary, he calls the Anderson clan. But first, he calls Kurt.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. It’s among the likely possibilities for their future.

* * *

Christmas was as perfect as it could get on a mission. Blaine spent the day at the refugee center, playing with kids and chatting with the adults who didn't know German, but knew English. He and his companion came here at least twice a week now; President Steele had increased their service hours to ten a week so they could help out with the church’s refugee efforts. And because it was Christmas, they were allowed to spend even more time volunteering.

This was the kind of missionary work Blaine loved—sharing Christ's love not by preaching, but by helping to put smiles on the faces of people who had every reason to frown.

Unfortunately, they couldn't spend forever there. In the evening, they returned to their apartment to make their twice-a-year phone calls home. Blaine’s companion went into the bedroom for his call, shutting the door behind him. Blaine stayed in the kitchen and removed his contraband phone from its hiding place in his bag. He would call Arizona in a few minutes, but first he had someone else to talk to.

“Blaine! I'm so glad you got a chance to call! Merry Christmas!” Kurt’s voice was effervescent. It made Blaine feel light and bubbly inside. He was so grateful to Elder Nixon for convincing him to buy this phone.

“Me too. My companion is in the bedroom now calling his folks, and the door is closed. I love Christmas!” Blaine was already smiling so hard, he could feel a pleasant ache in his cheeks.

"Have you already called your folks?”

“No, he thinks that's what I'm doing now. And I will call them, but I had to hear your voice first. So tell me all about your Christmas!”

“Well—” Kurt launched into a warm and funny story about a candy cane incident involving his dad and aunt. “And yesterday’s caroling at the senior center with the old members of the glee club was fun. Most of our audience really seemed to enjoy it, but my favorite was the old lady who hated us. They had a big table of craft supplies for making decorations, and she kept taking the pipe cleaners and folding them up in suggestive designs and then throwing them at us. And she had the most creative insults! Really spunky! I can only aspire to be so charismatic in my old age.”

Blaine chuckled. Kurt was one of a kind.

“Now, tell me about your day,” Kurt said. “What did you do? I hope you didn't have to sit through an uncomfortable Christmas dinner with a family you hardly know. I hated those. I always felt like I was imposing.”

"It was great!” Blaine told Kurt all about it. They texted regularly, so Kurt was familiar with many of the names and personalities. But talking was special. Blaine didn't get many chances where he was alone enough that he could carry on a conversation out loud on his verboten phone.

“I'm so glad you're getting to volunteer more,” Kurt said. “You sound really happy.”

“I am, when I'm working with them. Some of the other stuff is still hard, but whenever I can help people, everything gets better,” Blaine said. “I still miss you, though. A lot.”

“I know. I miss you, too. I don't say it much, because I don't want to do anything that would pull you back home before you’re ready. But I’ll be really, really happy to see you and hold you and kiss you and … Well, my dad’s in the next room. I can't get too graphic. But I'm looking forward to all that when you get back, Blaine.”

Blaine felt himself blushing—out of delight more than modesty. “Me, too. And I can't wait to be home with you next Christmas.”

“Oh?” Kurt’s tone was flirtatious. “Whose home? Yours or mine?”

“It doesn't matter. Anywhere you are is home to me, Kurt.”

[leagueofdccm]

Michelle and Soldier Boy for ship memeee 💕

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME! || @twiicetheheart

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - Fucking. Forever.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I don't wanna say too quick, and i don't wanna say it took forever for them also. least for soldier boy, the second something happens to her that involves dealing with homelander. whether she was hurt-- or just feelings hurt, i think seeing the look on her face--- broken and all, that's when he realizes... that he hates seeing her sad, hurt--- and that's when it hits him that he loves her.

How was their first kiss? - oh my god. you know michi and i haven't talked about that, but i do have an idea of when they first kiss. def think it's when he tells her about his past-- like his real past, and also telling Michelle about his time with the russians-- maybe not entirely, because lbr he's still trying to block our most of his trauma and also probably can't recall what ELSE they done to him. -- but i imagine when he finally gives his name to Michelle, not his supe name. his real name. like letting her in--- fully. which he hasn't done in a long time. and also i think Soldier boy would be the one to make the move first, it would have been soft. despite who he is, cause he's not a soft man-- but with Michelle ? he's definitely got a soft spot for her. It would have been sweet and slow, filled with so much emotion, want & just vulnerable.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - lbr soldier boy would. he's old school. man bs.

Who is the best man/men? - .... nobody. LMAO WHAT FRIENDS ? xD

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - damn idk. starlight maybe xD though she's gonna be like Michelle--- him ? LMAO idk guess we gotta see what bg characters are Michelle's friends.

Who did the most planning? - Michelle would. but why do I feel like she would try to still have him involved in SOME STUFF.

Who stressed the most? - Michelle. She's planning it after all.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -

Sex:

Who is on top? - soldier boy is top dog-- but that doesn't mean he won't switch to let Michelle *cough cough* ride him.

Who is the one to instigate things? - soldier boy ! LMAO C'MON how can he not ? she's a babe.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - listen soldier boy is a supe, he's never out of energy he's always up for it, and also women can last so ayyye ! these two can go hand in hand-- unless Michelle gotta be somewhere and THEN a quickie is in the works.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - yes, soldier boy definitely is a man when it comes to wanting his women to cum. so yes, he will make sure she reaches climax before him ( which also means he cares about her, putting her needs before his )

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. // SO i think they can be both. cause it's SB and he def would have soft moments with Michelle, but also he's a dirty talker when needed.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - maybe two. soldier boy did say he wanted to be a dad after all.

How many children will they adopt? - none sorry kiddos.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Michelle but don't think she doesn't have soldier boy help-- she makes his ass.

Who is the stricter parent? - soldier boy ? in some parts, and Michelle in other parts. so equal-- but Michelle still would be softer.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Michelle LMAO

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - also Michelle

Who is the more loved parent? - i think they are both loved. but the kids would def be clinging to Michelle more.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Michelle. can you imagine soldier boy ? god no.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Michelle. soldier boy @ himself was like : don't you dare cry pussy. don't do it-- fuck I'm crying shit.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - soldier boy lbr. he's like i got you kid, i got you don't tell your mother.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - michelle. soldier boy can't cook for shit.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - i think Michelle. cause soldier boy looks like he has more of an appreciation for good after being in the box for a long ass time.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Michelle. listen soldier boy did it once, and he only got meat/jerky/junk food/beer

How often do they bake desserts? - i think Michelle does it a lot when she has the time. cause she seems like she knows how to bake real good.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - soldier boy loves meat. I see Michelle being our salad girl for sure.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Michelle would be the one to do this. soldier boy though will surprise her-- and try to cook.... :) didn't go well though.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - soldier boy cause he can't cook to save a life, and to take her out and show off his lady.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - soldier boy.... for sure.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Michelle does

Who is really against chores? - Soldier boy lmao !

Who cleans up after the pets? - both do. if they have

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - SOLDIER BOY

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - neither do. cause do they really have people come over ? LMAO.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - michelle. so it's hers now :) !

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - both. both do.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - if they have one i think they would both do it together.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Michelle does it for each and every holiday, and also ben enjoys it cause he's been gone for a long time-- and like i said i think appreciates things more.

What are their goals for the relationship? - stay alive is number one for sure. but also have each other back no matter what.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - neither

Who plays the most pranks? - neither

[angelsandemons]

((Okay but what if, for the Ultimate Ship Meme, it is a crack ship between Bill Cipher and one of the HH characters? Bill and Sera? Bill and Adam? ??? Whatever Bill crack ship makes the most sense to you haha!

Oh my gosh...hear me out: Bill and Nifty. I will put a * at the end of each bolded item as well.

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful* | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs*

How long will they last? - As long as it takes for Bill to try and kill Alastor or vice versa.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - For Nifty? It would be pretty instant. Bill is the true ultimate bad boy. For Bill? It'd be less love and more that he loves having her around because she's extremely cooperative and unhinged but in a good way. Bill would also watch her roach puppet shows without booing, but because he genuinely would find it hilarious.

How was their first kiss? - Pretty fantastic actually. Lots of tongue.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Nifty

Who is the best man/men? - Charlie because she was literally the only one willing.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Vaggie because Charlie talked her into it.

Who did the most planning? - Pretty equal actually.

Who stressed the most? - Nifty

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big*

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Valentino and Vox, but only at Al and Angel's request. They were going to invite everyone.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Bill

Who is the one to instigate things? - Initially, definitely Nifty. But once they get to know each other better? Kind of equal.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head*

How long do they normally last? - It varies a lot, but they can go at it for a while once they're really getting into it

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? -  They don't, but like....they're both so naturally sadomasochistic, I think they end up doing so anyway.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8* | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2* | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Oh god, can you imagine? None, I hope.

How many children will they adopt? - See above.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - 100% would be Nifty

Who is the stricter parent? - Nifty, but really only with cleaning

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Neither of them, good luck kid.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Nifty

Who is the more loved parent? - Prooobably nifty? If only because Bill is just kind of an asshole in general. Unless Bill WANTED to be the more loved parent, then he could absolutely get there with some effort.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Neither.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Nifty

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Bill, but less bail out and more break out.

Cooking: 

Who does the most cooking? - Probably Nifty

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Probably Nifty

Who does the grocery shopping? - Bill

How often do they bake desserts? - Either one of them doing that is going to make a mess. Doing it together? The kitchen will probably catch fire. Not often.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Nifty

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Bill

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Equally likely

Chores: 

Who cleans the room? - Nifty

Who is really against chores? - Bill

Who cleans up after the pets? - Nifty

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Bill

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Nifty

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Nifty

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Nifty

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Bill

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - If it's for a party, they go all out. Otherwise they don't particularly care.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Have fun.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Bill

Who plays the most pranks? - Bill

[godsfavdarling]

Thoughts on The Girl Who Slept with God by Val Berlinski (no spoilers because I need everybody to read it)

I rarely write a post focused on just one book—I usually save everything for a monthly wrap-up (except for that ACOSF rant, of course). But I just can't stay quiet about this one.

I first heard about this book on TikTok about two years ago. Some girl mentioned that if you loved Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter, you had to read this.

Naturally, I went straight to Amazon and bought it for way too much. It’s not translated into my language, so I had to order it from abroad. 

I started reading it back in 2022, but for some reason, I really struggled to get through the first chapter. Maybe it was because I'd fallen out of the habit of reading in English, or maybe it was the small print that overwhelmed me, but I put it down and kept telling myself I’d come back to it eventually. Well, I finally did, and oh my god.

Was it a perfect book? I’m not sure. It’s one of those that, if it’s for you, you’ll love it. But I know it won’t connect with everyone—it’s slow-paced, and not a lot happens, at least on the surface.

I’ll try not to spoil anything and just focus on a few key aspects.

Let’s start with the basics—what’s it about?

The story centers around three sisters: Grace, the eldest at 17, who is deeply moral and devoted to God, always striving to be a good, kind, and selfless person.

Then there’s Jory, the 13-year-old middle sister, who isn’t as perfect as everyone might expect her to be. She’s a bit rebellious and prone to making questionable choices, but she’s just a young girl trying to figure things out—of course, she won’t be perfect.

And finally, there’s little Frances, the youngest.

The sisters live in Idaho with their parents—a stay-at-home mom and a father who teaches astrology. The entire family is deeply religious and very involved in their church community.

When Grace leaves home for a missionary trip to Mexico, she returns believing she is pregnant with the child of God. In response, their father sends Grace and Jory to an isolated house, away from the rest of the world.

The plot is kind of insane. I wasn’t sure where it was going.

Is Grace actually pregnant with a new baby Jesus? If not, does she genuinely believe she is, or is she lying? And if she’s lying, why would she?

I had so many questions.

What I love, though, is that even though Grace is the one who’s pregnant, the story follows Jory. She’s the main character, trying to navigate everything—her complicated relationship with their mother, starting at a new school, and the typical struggles of growing up. She wants to experience things that most teens do: falling in love, making new friends, testing boundaries. But her parents forbid so much, trying to keep her from living like a “normal” teenager.

Suddenly, Jory and Grace are living alone together. They get more freedom, but they also have to fend for themselves.

I loved reading about how they figured things out on their own, but I was also incredibly angry with their parents. These are just kids, yet they’re expected to act and think like adults.

It’s probably very realistic, but all the projection from their parents was so frustrating. Their father, especially, is neurotic and obsessed with doing things a certain way. He’s more worried about what people will think than actually listening to and taking care of and loving his children.

What enraged me the most, especially toward the end, was how the parents turned everything into being about themselves—their pain, their grief, their struggles. 

It became all about how they were suffering, completely disregarding what their daughters were going through. That really hit me hard because it felt so relatable.

Jory, in particular, was left to handle everything on her own. While Grace had her own issues, Jory was basically abandoned emotionally, expected to navigate this chaos without any real support.

It angered me how, in the middle of all this, her parents never seemed to realize or care that she was still a child. 

They were so wrapped up in their own lives and expectations that they couldn’t see the weight they were putting on her shoulders. Jory was left alone to deal with things that no teenager should have to face, and that isolation, not even the physical one but emotional one, was heartbreaking.

I honestly didn’t know what to expect from this book. I don’t like knowing too much before I dive into something, and in this case, that was easy because not many people have read it. I’m really glad I stumbled upon it.

That being said, I didn’t expect it to be a coming-of-age story. I definitely didn’t expect it to center around a 13-year-old girl left to figure things out on her own.

I went in thinking it would primarily be about religion, faith, and people trying to hold on to that faith—some clinging more tightly than others as real life unfolded around them.

I found myself underlining so many lines as I read. I was using a pencil as a bookmark. I’ll share some of those parts below, without any spoilers!

[mintytealfox]

So, tumblr acted weird when I tried to send this the first time. Idk if it will do it again, but what I was trying to send was like a bit of an addition to anon's AU idea.

Where like, Norton is like canon Norton, a miner from the 19th to 20th century so he has to get used to the modern world. Catching up on current events and events he missed (The Great Depression, Covid and its chaos, just in gen the 60s to 90s). Alice having to get Norton books form the library or let him borrow some because if he gets near the TV, it may just die.

Can see Norton not understanding modern slang and Alice having to teach him it, only for him to abuse it and her go insane from it. But as a treat, Norton teaches her 19th to 20th century slang.

I can also see Norton not used to the loudness of the modern era. The first time Norton hears loud car alarms go off, or the sudden thumping of the upstairs apartment or anything, he freaks out. Maybe screaming when the fire alarm goes off, etc. Its not because he is a scaredy cat, no its because he is overwhelmed by all the sudden new noises from the modern world he cant process it all, acting akin to a scared animal. Also just imaging how pure hell it would be on like Fourth of July or New Years and all the fireworks going off and Norton freaking out, causing everything to go in the fritz in the apartment because dude is having a PSTD episode. Alice probably ends up investing in noise canceling everything jkfd. And maybe introducing Norton to more calmer noises and or music, like white noise machines, lofi music, those channels that are like meant to help you sleep.

OH NEW STUFF! I got the first one but I see you added new stuff to respond to 👀 The teaching him slang would be effin hilarious! We have some seriously mind boggling things now that would just blow his mind HAHA "ok boomer, is a funny one" "?" "I could say that to you, actually. Oh wait...you're far older than a boomer hold on" -looks up his generation- "Okayyyy.....Missionary? that sounds ridiculous wipe all of this from your memory" -- Then him saying his things like "she's a church bell" -after having to hide while a woman was visiting Alice and trying to see what is going on in her apartment and Alice not letting her in but the lady wouldn't stop talking- "a church bell?" "a woman who talks too damn much" ("church bell - This term refers to a woman who talks so much she reminds you of the incessant clanging of church bells." LOOOOL)

The strange noises for sure! Imagine those jumbo loud airplanes flying overhead maaaan 👀that would be so alarming! AND the fire alarms going off while he is in the apartment alone with no explanation to what is going on would be so not okay. The calm noises would be such a blessing oh my gosh ;;

THE MAGNETIC PTSD RESPONSES OH MY GOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

[faintvibes]

Historical Hetalia Week Day One: Heirlooms

Day One: 10000 BCE - 5000 BCE // Heirlooms @historical-hetalia-week

(Unfortunately, I don't have much for such a long time ago!!)

The heirloom part may not be immediately clear...essentially I was wondering if culture (especially culture and traditions inherited by predecessor civilisations) might be 'heirlooms' to Nations. So, this piece is based on the sharing of cultures and 'creation' of heirlooms. Further explanation below the cut!

My main inspiration for this piece was the book 'Dressed: Fashionable History in Aotearoa [New Zealand] 1840 to 1910' by Claire Regnault. (A book I'd highly recommend, by the way, if you're curious about early colonial NZ history.) While it primarily focuses on the lives of the settlers, especially regarding their fashion, the earlier chapters provide fascinating insights into the interactions between the first settlers and the Māori people pre-dating them.

Pronunciations (there will be a few of these scattered where they are relevant):

Aotearoa- Ow-teh-ah-rowuh (like rower) [aɔˈtɛaɾɔa]

Māori- Mow-ree [ˈmaːɔɾi]

While there were, of course, a variety of reactions (ranging from incredibly racist to surprisingly sympathetic) on the European side, the predominant Māori reaction is what most drew my interest. Presumably because British settlers assumed themselves to be entirely superior to the natives of Aotearoa, they would look condescendingly onto the Māori people and their practices- but the Māori people largely did not hold the same view. As such, Māori who traded with the early Europeans were entirely willing to incorporate aspects of European culture and tradition into their own existing norms.

(**Fair warning for some quotes of racist thinking: Hilariously, to the modern eye, in one European attempt to 'civilise' the Māori women and to instil "moral and industrious Habits" (to quote the Reverend Samuel Marsden), Marianne Williams (née Coldham, 1793-1879) began to teach Māori women how to sew, dress themselves, and generally behave in the European way, horrified by their 'lack of womanliness'. Her sister-in-law would join her three years later. At the time, the Church Missionary Society, who were largely in charge of their endeavour, far preferred married couples to join them in 'educating' the natives, for they feared that single men were "likely to fall into the traps which are continually put in his road by native females". And while men were certainly not involved in the teaching of sewing to Māori women, Marianne and her sister-in-law were not without their own... struggles in this aspect. To quote Marianne: "The tall muscular forms of the Newzealanders flitted before my mind's eye whenever I endeavoured to sleep." I had to laugh when I read that. Oh, the irony. **)

**I'd like to quickly note who, exactly, I'm portraying in my piece. This will better contextualise my illustration. On the right is England (as might be obvious), though the left is a bit more complicated. I personally do not agree with the canon depiction of New Zealand in Hetalia (which, of course, is my own perspective, and I welcome other opinions as well), and so I've created my own oc NZ character. However, she is not in this image. In creating her I had to wonder about her origins- and where she stands considering the great racial divide in her country. My perspective is that, prior to European arrival, there was a representative of the Māori culture as opposed to individual iwi. The colony of New Zealand (and later the country) is both her younger sister and the younger sister of England, stuck in the middle. On the left in this image is the Māori representative (who likely goes by Aotearoa in modern time, at least as one among many names, but who at this point I can only see her calling herself Tangata Whenua)- there will be more explanation on her to convey why all of this is as it is in my mind.

Tangata whenua- Tah-nga-ta fen-oo-a [ˈtaŋata ˈfɛnʉ.a]

In particular (and as is depicted here) the Māori people became enamoured with blankets. This is likely because they could be wrapped around the shoulders and look remarkably like kākahu (picture below) cloaks, which were a way to show social status in Māori culture. Eventually, the Māori traders became so proficient at judging the quality of the blankets Europeans would trade to them, that they were far better judges than the European traders attempting to sell them.

Kākahu- kaah-ka-hoo (couldn't find an IPA for this)

(Taken from Academic Dress Hire. Kākahu is the general word used to refer to Māori cloaks, though there are many individual types with their own names. This depicts one type.)

Another key point of interest is how Māori incorportated European sewing, etc techniques into their own garment creation. Red (whero- pronounced ferroh or ferraw) is a very important colour in Māori tradition, representing high status. Your historic Gucci watch, if you will. So Māori traders were likely ecstatic to see red wool among the many goods offered to them by European traders- both for its presumed price and abundance, and the prior context. This can be seen through kākahu cloaks produced following European contact, many of which incorporated red wool. Below are two examples (both taken from Dressed- apologies for any issues):

(Second image originally from George French Angus' book 'The New Zealanders Illustrated', published 1847)

This mixture of techniques is something I have attempted to depict in this illustration- however I am no expert in kākahu creation, and am not here to pretend that I didn't get something (or multiple things) quite wrong in that aspect. I'm no expert!

This illustration is set vaguely around the 1840s - 50s, though leaning more towards the early 40s. Arthur's outfit is mainly inspired by the following two illustrations from Panorama's 'A History of Fashion: From Loinclothes to Lycra' by Jacqueline Morely, David Salariya, etc, which date to 1828 and 1847 respectively, so take that how you will.

In the illustration, Tangata Whenua and England appear to be working together to construct this kākahu which combines both of their cultural practices into one garment. However, upon further observation, inequalities in this exchange of culture can be observed. For example, Tangata Whenua is entirely clothed in European garments. While she wears the blanket as a cloak substitute (making it a distinctly Māori appropriation), and undoubtedly hasn't bothered herself with the layering of undergarments, etc under her dress, and her hat depicts pohutukawa (paw-hoo-too-kawa) flowers as an added accessory, the point stands that she's made an effort. England, meanwhile, dresses himself in only the European style. Tangata Whenua is the one explaining the process to him and grasping the weaving. While he is curious, it is implied that he's done none of the work. This is meant to draw comparison to relations between Māori and Europeans at this time and onwards. The Māori held respect towards the European way of life, and tried to meet it on equal grounds. Europeans looked condescendingly down onto the Māori way of life, and, while initially intrigued, over time and with more concentrated governance, this would be forgotten, and te Ao (teh ow) Māori would be steamrolled over. For now, Māori remain friendly- but as the wrongs begin to add up, this will change.

(Let's just say New Zealand's early years will be spend embroiled in civil war.)

If you've just read this far for explanation of the post, you've reached your conclusion. From here, I'm gonna talk about my oc and the inspirations behind her :)

Tangata Whenua draws inspiration from two Māori women depicted in Dressed- one in personality, one just had a stunning hat. I've not quite figured out a human name for her yet, but I'm fond of the given name Māra (Maahra). However, Māori traditionally changed their names often, and so this is likely only one of the many names she is known by. Mara (without the ā- pronounced exactly as it looks) is both a term of address to someone close to you in the north, and a word meaning piece/scrap/rag. Māra can mean a garden/cultivation, and related to Māra Tautāne (toe-taahne)- a ceremonial garden where the plants grown within are offered to Rongo (rawngaw) (god of cultivated plants). I feel she got this name when someone (aware or unaware of her nature) addressed her by mara, and she realised its second meaning, as well as its connections to gardens (which I can see as a metaphor for societies, etc, and their growth/cultivation) and thought it quite fitting.

As for her hat, that is inspired by this painting, also by George Angas:

This depicts Toenga (taw-enga) of Ngāti Maru (ngaah-tee Maroo) in a quite fashionable hat. I quite like it, and adapted it (though replaced its flowers with pohutukawas) for Tangata Whenua. I also enjoy the energy Toenga appears to give off- it feels very suitable for Tangata Whenua's personality. However, her primary personality influence is...

Rangi Topeora (Rangi Taw-peh-awhra) of Ngāti Toa (taw-uh) and Ngāti Raukawa (roe-kawa) was a female chief of Ngāti Toa (or so my research seems to imply- sources are frustratingly vague on this) and composer. While there is little information on her- I can find nothing on her birth date, and the range given for death dates is nearly a decade wide- what there is sparks much joy. In Dressed, her relationship with European trader Mayhew (one of many she took) is the main focus where she is mentioned. She admits to being a woman "notorious for following her 'hearts desires'", and I believe that if I had to summarise Tangata Whenua into one short phrase, this is what I would use. Māra is a woman of emotion and desire- that is what motivates her above all else. Another move of hers that I adore is, upon her baptism, Rangi would accept no name except 'te Kuini' (teh koo-ee-nee), which translates to 'the Queen'. She would also at some point adopt the name Wikitōria (wee-kee-taaw-ree-ah), which is the Māori equivalent of Victoria, and one of her husbands was given the name Arapeta (as it looks), which means Albert. She became commonly known as 'the Queen of the South'. Here's a portrait of her from circa 1863, painted by Gottfried Lidauer:

In regards to other notable points of Tangata Whenua visible in this illustration:

I debated with myself over and over again about what I should do regarding her moko kauae (mawkaw k-oh-ay)- the tattoo on her chin, lower lip, and around her upper lip. These are incredibly personal to each individual, and I am no expert in them. Anything I give her will be incorrect, but not giving her anything even more so. Eventually, I settled on referencing a historic tā moko (taah mawkaw- the general name for traditional Māori tattoos)- one which is depicted small and vague enough that surely nothing I interpret from it can be exactly accurate to the original. In that sense, at least, I am hopefully not stealing anyone's identity. If someone happens across this who is more knowledgeable in tā moko than I, I would welcome your opinion on this matter. My intention is absolutely not to appropriate something so personal, but I find myself conflicted on what action to take in this situation. Here is Rakapa Ngawai (rakapa nga-why) with her sons Eru and William, whose moko kauae I have referenced:

This illustration was made by Joseph Merrett in 1852.

Finally, though it is practically impossible to spot unless you zoom in REAAALLLLY close... I shall mention Tangata Whenua's necklace. It is made of pounamu (poe-nah-moo)- a type of jade only present in New Zealand's South Island, on the west coast. Tradtionally, necklaces (and other jewellery, though necklaces are most commonly known) made of carved pounamu were family heirlooms passed down from generation to generation. They come in a variety of general shapes, each with their own symbolism. For Māra, I've decided on a Hei Matau (hey mah-toe) (fish hook) shaped pounamu necklace. It is said to grant good luck, strength, and safe travel. It also draws from the traditional tale that New Zealand's North Island was a huge fish raised from the ocean when Māui (yes, just like in Moana) caught it on his fish hook- which is said to be made from his grandmother's jawbone. The ocean, in addition, is deeply important in both Māori and pākehā (paah-keh-haah- a word initially intended to denote European New Zealanders by Māori, but which can generally refer to non-Māori New Zealanders) cultural traditions. As such, fish hooks were quite important back in the day, to the point that people would always keep one on their being. Upon European contact, this constant wearing of fish hooks was taken as a sort of ornament- and gradually it evolved to be such. I imagine Tangata Whenua has only gotten her pounamu Hei Matau in recent years upon this illustration, replacing her fish hook tool. When New Zealand reaches adulthood, Tangata Whenua will pass this necklace down to her.

Here are some different styles of pounamu Hei Matau- the latter two incorportating two other styles as well. Tangata Whenua's necklace is most similar to the curved design, though they're not identical.

So that's my long ass explanation finished! If you read this far, reblog/comment with a cookie so I can be surprised people listen to me speak!!

Edit: I forgot to talk about Tangata Whenua's inordinately long hair!!! Here's the gist (from Day 3's post):

In Māori culture, the head (and thus hair) is considered very tapu (sacred). Long hair often indicates high status. In fact, in traditional Māori culture, one's hair may only be attended to by one of more mana (generally refers to reputation/status/legacy- doesn't have a close English concept unfortunately, but for now think of it like rank or status). As the personification of the Māori culture, Tangata Whenua was probably viewed as quite an important atua (god, sometimes translated as spirit), meaning no mortal could have more mana than her. As a result, unless any other atua decide to stop by for a chat, there is no one who can style her hair, or cut it. (I imagine she still brushed it, at least because unkempt hair was a sign of mourning.)

Apologies for any confusion that may have caused!!

[theres-bugs-in-my-brain]

Dude

I’m so fucking close

In like two months I’ll be done

I’ll be out of this fucking hell hole of a high school

And I hope I can get out of this house

I want to leave and never look back

But god

Oh god dude I wish

I wish my entire high school experience wasn’t wasted on this fucking cult

Growing up in the Mormon church as been living hell

I missed out on so much just having to survive

I still remember shit of having to constantly be afraid of my own well being because I didn’t know if my family was safe, the people at church where safe, if my own friends where safe

Dude my parents OH MY FUCKING GOD dude they home schooled me for middle school then signed me up for a fucking Mormon private school taking their online course

I was so fucking isolated from anyone outside the fucking church

It was wake up, go to seminary at 5 FUCKING 30 AM, than listen to your classes talking about Jesus and how you can find him in every subject there is, after that go to a church activity, still have some time? How about we invite the MISSIONARIES over for a small FUCKING DINNER PARTY.

THIS WAS MY LIFE FOR YEARS

Im an atheist

I’m gay

I’m trans

I’m half Mexican

The treatment I’ve mostly gotten has been micro aggressions at best and physical/sexual assault at worst

I will never know what it’s like to just be a normal kid because of the people that preach they want “kids to just be kids” 

IF YOU FUCKING WANTED THAT THEN YOU COULDVE JUST LEFT ME ALONE

It’s so fucking shitty

Ever since I was outed at the age of 12 or 11 it’s been hell

At first I was fine because I still had my best friend that supported me

It was funny even

You’d be minding your business, then someone would try to talk you out of being gay, try to argue why it’s wrong, get mad at you for being gay. You’d fight back

Laugh at them with ur friends. Poke the bear with a stick

Then the tide would shift

Suddenly they didn’t try to pray the gay away, they weren’t trying to argue you out of it

Now they saw you as a threat

A threat to their friends’ sexuality, a threat to their kids’ sexuality, a threat to their own sexuality.

They where more aggressive

Often yelling at out, picking on you, singling you out, even threats that they love to call jokes

But that’s okay,

You’ll hold your head high

Stand your ground

you won’t swallow your pride

so you’ll fight with your words

And if they decided they didn’t want to play with words

Then you’d fight with every tooth and nail you have

You’d be very really win a fight

Like ever

They usually get broken up by adults or they’d get the upper hand and stop when they’re bored

A rare occurrence actually having to fight

But it changes you

Before you where creepy

Now you try to be off putting, to appear as batshit crazy as you can

But it’s okay because when it gets too much you go to your friends

Then

The tide shifts again

Your friends are closer to other friends than before

They stop hanging out

Then the excuses come

“My dad thinks you might be making me gay. Sorry. Yeah I’m going to have to block you.”

“My mom said if your mom weren’t friends with her, that she wouldn’t let me hang out with you, can we maybe stop hugging?”

“Being gay is one thing, but being trans is a bit much. You’ve always been a girl and i can’t see you any other way.”

“Are you just trying to be a guy so girls can like you more? That’s really creepy.”

And the worst of all you best friend

“I just think marriage should stay between a man and a woman.”

“But you said that you’d support gay marriage despite what your parents say. Your aunt is gay, and you’re a witch.”

“changed my mind.”

Now it’s harder to hold your head high

To stand your ground

You start to retreat

You cant appear normal for the life of you

But now you laugh at their jokes

You play along with them

Make yourself small

You’ll expire soon

It doesn’t matter

You promised

You took away life now it’s your turn

But you can never actually mange to do it

Then your friend finds out

He makes you stay

You decided to brake that promise but now it’s too late

Now your sister knows

You make another promise

Before you know it there’s too many promises to brake

They watch you like a hawk

Make sure you get better

But it doesn’t erase the fact that they pushed to here

You’re at this point because of them

And now it’s less than three months from graduation

You’ll never have a real high school experience

You’ll never be able to be a real teenager

You’ll never be able to be a real teen boy

What are you going to do about it

You graduate in less than three months

Can you make it to crawl out of this hell hole?

Or will you lay there in the grime you’re so well acquainted with?

[emmashouldbewriting]

oh boy, anon would be FUMING if they knew how many of my dreams made it into my books. i've had whole books inspired by them.

Hey, I’m the twilight dream anon. I don’t actually care if books and plots come from dreams. People have written some great stuff based on dreams or random thoughts.

My issue with Twilight coming from a dream is rooted in the author’s religious beliefs. LDS is not female-friendly at all and I see the issues in Twilight (the emotional abuse of Bella, the toxic masculinity/patriarchy represented by the vampires, the Edward-Jacob rivalry which is essentially based on how each boy feels they can protect Bella better, the culty Cullens, the grooming of Bella) as a manifestation of many LDS core beliefs.

I mean, let’s not get into how the character of Carlyle is a metaphor for the church’s teachings of missionary work under the leadership of a prophet. Or how Jacob’s imprinting on baby Reneesme is pedophilia but wait, it’s okay because it comes from Native American mythology - yay diversity!

My comment that Twilight comes from a dream is more or less a comment that Stephenie Meyer even dreams in LDS philosophy and somehow she’s managed to brainwash an entire generation of girls into thinking the pinnacle of true love is someone who treats you badly but that okay because he can give you immortal life…just like the LDS promises immortal life through their faith. Joseph Smith couldn’t have done it better himself.

And finally. What kind of effing name is Reneesme? That choices deserves all the hate it got. (And still gets.)

Hi!!!! You're absolutely right. I never made it through the books and after watching the movies like once, I've never watched it again. 50 Shades was the same for me, but that was twi fanfic (EL James is a lovely person but her books aren't for me)

I had no idea she was Mormon or how it connected to her books so this was really interesting! I'd actually love to hear more about it.

[wowbright]

Fic: Prodding

Klaine Advent 2022: recast

Words: ~ 3000 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Kurt gets surprising news from Mercedes.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2022! This vignette takes after Philosophies of Men.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

--------

“No!” Kurt shrieked from the kitchen at such an ear-splitting volume, Blaine almost cut himself with the razor. “This is not happening!”

Blaine went into emergency management mode. His heart pounded, but he made himself take deep, steady breaths. If Kurt had hurt himself, it wouldn't help to have both of them panicking.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Blaine asked as he rushed into the kitchen. Kurt sat at the table, staring at the letter from Mercedes. Ah, not a physical wound then, but an emotional one. That might be even worse.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, his cheeks flushing a ruddy pink. “Sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

Blaine sat next to him. “It's OK. Is it something you want to talk about?”

“You still have shaving cream …” Kurt pointed vaguely to Blaine’s neck.

“That's OK. I was almost done. If it's uneven, I can touch it up later.” Blaine grabbed the face towel that was draped over his shoulder and dabbed at his skin. “Presentable?”

“I'm not the right person to ask, Blaine. I always think you're presentable.”

Blaine felt the edges of his ears go hot. This felt like flirting. Was this flirting? No, of course not. Kurt was in the middle of having strong emotions. That's why Blaine was here. “Um, so I'm guessing Mercedes said something that upset you?”

Kurt set the letter down and buried his face in his hands. “It shouldn't. I don't know why it does.”

Blaine tried to think of situations in which that phrase could apply. He wondered if Mercedes was having a once-in-a-lifetime event—a wedding, a Broadway premiere—that Kurt couldn't be there for because he was here in Germany. Kurt would deny himself the right to feel sad about it, because missionaries were supposed to be happy to make sacrifices. “So, good for Mercedes, but bad for you?”

“No.” Kurt muttered through his fingers. “Good for me, and bad for Mercedes.”

Blaine drew a blank. "How so?"

“It’s … I swear, if I had any other mission companion than you, I wouldn't be able to share my disappointment with this. And maybe you won't get it, but ... I'll give it a shot.” Kurt had uncovered his face by now, but was looking away from Blaine, his gaze set on the kitchen window. His voice was full of foreboding. “She's meeting with the missionaries.”

Blaine didn't understand the sentence at first, it was so far removed from any of the terrible-type news he might have expected. He had to play it over in his head a couple of times before he processed it. “Wait. That's good, isn't it?”

“She's black, Blaine.”

“Right.” Blaine still wasn’t following.

“You're the one who woke me up to the church's problems with racism. How can I, in good conscience, support her investigating a church that sees her as less?”

Oh. Blaine knew the things he had told Kurt about Brigham Young had shaken him, but he hadn't realized how much. For Blaine, the racism of the second prophet of the restoration was disturbing, but it was part of a larger picture. Because Blaine didn't have blind faith in the leadership, even their worst actions couldn't harm his faith in the goodness of the church or its ability to bring people closer to the truth.

Blaine suddenly understood that, for someone like Kurt, who had spent his whole life thinking Brigham Young was as perfect as Joseph Smith or Jesus Christ, learning he wasn’t would make him question all his beliefs.

It was like those looms Kurt had shown him at the Deutsches Museum. There were ones that made fabric by weaving many different strands together, and others that did so by knitting a single strand into a sweater or an enormous piece of cloth. Blaine’s faith was like woven fabric—if you pulled out a single thread, the worst that could happen was a small gap in the fabric. And this wasn’t always a bad thing—sometimes clothmakers did this intentionally, to create texture and beauty in an otherwise monotonous design.

But Kurt’s faith was like a knitted fabric—if you pulled too hard on a thread, the entire thing would eventually unravel. There was no upside.

Blaine have never meant to damage Kurt’s faith like that. He'd meant to enrich it.

“I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't realize how much that affected you. But Brigham Young's been dead for more than a hundred and thirty years. He said and taught horrible things and, yes, a lot of our members believed them far after they should have known better. But that doesn't mean the church is inherently racist—just that it’s made mistakes. Our leaders have flaws. That’s why we have the guidance of the Holy Ghost—to confirm or disaffirm the things they’ve told us.”

Kurt looked skeptical. He broke a cookie into quarters, but didn't put any of the pieces into his mouth. “It’s not just Brigham Young. Black members were kept out of the temple until 1978. The temple, Blaine. The place we need to go to be with our families forever.”

“And that's awful. But I think of those leaders before 1978 the same way I think of Brigham Young. They were wrong. And the thing I hold onto is that they eventually came to understand they were wrong, and they repented. Do you know about Bruce R. McConkie? As an apostle, he taught that black people were spiritually inferior to everyone else on earth. But when the revelation came ending the priesthood ban, he said, ‘Forget everything that I have said, or what President Brigham Young … or whomsoever has said in days past that is contrary to the present revelation. … We have … a new flood of intelligence and light on this particular subject, and it erases all the darkness and all the views and all the thoughts of the past. They don’t matter anymore.’”

“But they do matter, Blaine. Because those policies hurt real people. And racism is still a problem in the church. All these pasty missionaries from the Mormon Corridor who want to pretend they can't see color, the fact that we can't sing gospel music in sacrament meeting because it’s too ‘ethnic’—”

“Yes. And that’s bad. Of course it’s bad. But it’s a problem everywhere, Kurt, inside the church and out of it.” Blaine spoke from experience. He'd been made to feel inferior for not being one-hundred percent white by some church members, but he'd also been made fun of for it at school and in playgrounds, too.

Kurt scoffed. “Not in Mercedes’ church! Everyone there is black. At least, almost everyone. The first time I went there with Mercedes, after I got over feeling out of place, I started noticing how comfortable she felt there. Just—safe, you know? In a way I hadn’t seen anywhere else. She wouldn't get that at one of our wards. She'd be surrounded by white people, just like she is everywhere else.”

Blaine was struck with a sense of longing. He wondered what it would be like, to be in a place like that. He often passed as white, but that still didn't mean he felt one-hundred percent safe in groups of white people. There was always the risk, even among the seemingly nicest folks, that someone would start making ethnic jokes or ranting about immigrants. And while he didn't have to worry about that as much when he visited the Philippines, there were so many cultural nuances he didn't understand, besides the fact that his Tagalog was terrible and his English was so obviously American-accented. It left him feeling like he did much of the time in his early days in Germany, on constant alert.

If a sense of belonging was so hard to come by, it couldn't be the only thing you considered in choosing a church. “Look. If she feels a pull toward the gospel, then she feels a pull toward the gospel. I've been a minority in every ward I’ve ever attended. But the church still works for me. What did she say in her letter about it, anyway?”

Kurt looked down at the letter and huffed. “Not much. Just ‘In Chicago for an entire month! Met a pair of female missionaries on the L train and have talked a couple times. They gave me a Book of Mormon—sorry, Kurt I didn't bring the one you gave me in high school on tour with me.’ Then she put in a smiley face. ‘It’s interesting. I like the story about the tree of life. We should talk about it when you get back! We’ll be in Columbus…’ et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

“OK. Well, that doesn't sound like she's on the verge of converting. Maybe she's just bored. I understand those national theater tours can be grueling.”

Kurt scowled at his scuffed CTR ring, twisting it back and forth over his finger. “I don't even know if that's what I'm upset about. Maybe I'm just angry at myself. You know how much time I spent trying to convert her in high school? Because I thought this church was the best option for everyone. And because she was the only girl I could remotely see myself marrying, and if that was the case, she had to convert. I wasn't going to go through the sacrifice of marrying a woman unless it was a temple marriage. Which, honestly … how many lectures did we get in priesthood quorums about not objectifying the sisters? But isn't looking at a woman as a ticket into heaven objectifying, too? I never considered her feelings about it. If it was good for me, it was good for her. But now, thinking about her reading the Book of Mormon and reading some of the stuff in there—It makes me feel queasy, Blaine.”

Blaine thought he knew what “stuff” Kurt was alluding to. “You mean about the Lamanites been cursed with the skin of blackness? If she's talking to the missionaries, they'll explain it to her the same way we explain it to investigators. That it’s a metaphor, like when we say someone is having ‘dark thoughts.’”

“Do you really believe that, though? Because if Brigham Young was a racist, then maybe Joseph Smith was, too. Maybe he put some of his own opinions into the Book of Mormon.”

“No. First of all, Joseph Smith wasn't a racist. He ordained black men. Second of all, God’s not a racist, so the Book of Mormon can’t be racist, either. It’s the one that tells us God ‘denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male female.’ Even the Bible doesn’t say that.”

Kurt studied Blaine dubiously, then picked up one of the long-abandoned pieces of cookie he'd left on his plate and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it completely before speaking. “I just can't stop thinking about when Elder St. James told me about the doubts Elder Thompson was having. It wasn’t just vague, generic doubts. Elder St. James went through this whole list of specific passages in the Book of Mormon and the Pearl of Great Price that Elder Thompson said were racist. And I've been reading over them since and … Blaine. If I take my believer goggles off, if I really look at the passages and take what they say at face value, without trying to find a reason they can't be as bad as they sound—they really do sound racist. I mean, the ‘skin of blackness’ passage sounds even more literal in German. In English, it says ‘because of their iniquity … the Lord God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them,’ which—I mean, now when I read it? Interpreting that as  dark thoughts seems like a real stretch. I've heard the theory that ‘come upon’ means the same as ‘drape upon, and so ‘skin’ actually refers to ‘clothing’, and it all means that they were no longer allowed to wear the white temple clothes and were forced to dress in black once instead. But in German, it says ‘their skin became black.’ There's none of that idea of being clothed in something. And the German translation is approved by the brethren. So the whole idea of ‘skin of blackness’ being about clothes goes out the window.”

Blaine felt a little queasy. He grabbed one of the German Books of Mormon from the bookshelf and flipped open to 2 Nephi 5. “No, Kurt, that's wrong. It says ‘their skin became blackish.’”

Kurt sat back in his chair, his arms crossed. His mouth was closed, but Blaine could see his tongue moving under his cheeks and lips, probing his teeth. “And how is that any better?”

“Well, schwärzlich could also mean darkish instead of blackish, so maybe it just means their skin got dirty or … OK, it doesn't sound better. But it could still be a metaphor. Joseph Smith was translating from Reformed Hebrew. All languages have idioms that don't translate well. Maybe this is one of them.”

"Sure, maybe. Except that it keeps getting repeated over and over in the book of Mormon. Not just Nephi, but Jacob in Alma talk about good people’s skin being white and bad people’s skin being dark, and if skin means clothes in Reformed Hebrew, then why didn't Joseph Smith translate it that way? Or if it means countenance or spirit, then why doesn't Joseph Smith translate it like that?”

Kurt stood up from the table and began pacing, fidgeting with his CTR ring the whole time. Blaine hoped the jeweler would be done with his new ring soon. It would be much easier to fidget with. “When you or I translate the word ‘in’ from English into German," Kurt continued, "we pick a different word depending on the context. Sometimes it’s in, and sometimes it's im, an, auf, hinein, or unter. Der Hahn can be a rooster or a faucet, but if you're talking about a sink, you should translate it is faucet, not rooster. If Joseph Smith had the gift of translation, then he should have been able to translate things correctly. So either what was written on the golden plates was racist, or Joseph Smith translated it badly and in a way he knew would be interpreted as racist, because he was an American living in the 1830s. Which means he wasn't using his gift of translation to its full extent. Because I'm not gifted, Blaine, but I know that if a German says, ‘My grandparents live where the fox and hare say goodnight to one another,’ I can't translate it that way into English or nobody will understand what I'm saying. I have to say that their grandparents live in the middle of nowhere.”

It was a lot to take in. Blaine was all for Kurt questioning things. He'd been trying to get Kurt to do that for most of their time together, prodding Kurt to recast the beliefs that constrained him into ones that would lead to his liberation. But now, instead of Blaine being the one doing the prodding, it was Kurt. Blaine wasn't so comfortable being poked.

Maybe he could chide Kurt for spending his personal scripture study time scrutinizing passages that gave him doubts, instead of focusing on things that would help them with investigators. But that would be hypocritical, since Blaine had been spending his personal study time fawning over Song of Solomon and anything in scripture vaguely resembling a gay love story—not particularly useful for helping with investigators, either.

“Fine,” Blaine said defensively. “Maybe those passages really are racist. But that would still be a matter of men inserting their beliefs in place of God's teaching. Joseph Smith said that the Book of Mormon was the most correct book of any book on earth, not that it was perfect. And yes, Brigham Young was a racist and tons of our leaders have been racists. It was racism that kept the church from letting black members into the temple until 1978. And there are still people in the church like my granddad who lean on those false teachings, and people in the church who are well-meaning but insensitive, and maybe the leaders could do more to denounce teachings of the past.”

Blaine took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to prod back. “But I still don't understand why you think all these things make the church an unacceptable place for Mercedes. Because you’ve found a home here, despite all the terrible things the leaders have said about gay people, despite the cruel expectations they put on you. And I'm not saying you shouldn't be concerned about racism. What I don't understand is why the church’s racism is so bad that Mercedes shouldn't even be taking lessons with the missionaries, but the homophobia is so hunky-dory you can give your whole life to the church, no questions asked.”

Kurt stopped pacing. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “That's different. Being gay is …” Kurt drifted off.

“A sin?” Blaine asked, even though it raised his bile just to speak the words. He didn't know if he was gay, but he knew what it was like to love another man. And it was the opposite of sin.

“No. Being gay isn't a sin.”

“But thinking gay thoughts is?”

Kurt shook his head. “I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Doing gay things?”

Kurt sank back into his chair and contemplated the surface of the table. “Maybe? I'm not sure. If you asked me a few weeks ago, I would've said ‘definitely.’ But if the church can be wrong about other things ... I don't know.”

“So,” Blaine said gently, “is it different at all?”