#televangelist

[whgtv]

[lingrimmart]

L: Tilazis from an AU set in a fictional 1980s America, where he’s a televangelist “healing souls.” Actually a snakefolk reptilian lol G: I needed to draw him too!

[ken-doll-roy]

There isn't gonna be a hunt, is there?

I can't even describe how much I love this scene. The way you can actually see Lestat come to the realisation that Louis is saying goodbye to him in such a gentle way is just so sad.

Please feel free to comment, I love a chat :)

[sshenandoah]

tbh ptolemaea is the soundtrack of my life

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

John Hagee American Pastor and Televangelist

John would SO catch a dick from me.

Of course, he'd disapprove.

Or would he?

[saywhat-politics]

Televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, whose ministry was toppled by prostitution scandals, dies at 90

Jimmy Swaggart, the televangelist whose multimillion-dollar ministry was crippled by his encounters with prostitutes, has died. He was 90.

BATON ROUGE, La. (AP) — Televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, whose multimillion-dollar ministry and huge audience dwindled following his prostitution scandals, has died. He was 90.

Swaggart death was announced Tuesday on his public Facebook page. A cause wasn’t immediately given, though Swaggart had been in ill health.

[celebrityfanfictionblog]

Pastor Hagee

Chapter One: The Pulpit’s Paradox

The Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, Texas, pulsed with the electric fervor of a Sunday service, its cavernous sanctuary alive with the charisma of Pastor John Hagee. In his 80s, the 5’6” televangelist stood stocky and robust, his broad frame filling a mustard-brown suit with wide-leg trousers and a matching jacket. Silver hair, neatly combed to the side, shimmered under stage lights, and his brown eyes, framed by thin-rimmed glasses perched on a broad nose, blazed with conviction. His booming voice thundered through the hall, age-spotted hands gesturing passionately, a gold wedding band—symbolizing his marriage to Diana and his role as father to five grown children and thirteen grandchildren—glinting on his left hand. Beneath the tailored fabric, his 6-inch cut cock, thick and veined, hinted at a vitality he kept tightly leashed.

In the sea of worshippers sat David Palmer, 29, his 5’11” lean, athletic frame taut with disdain. His brown, wavy hair, styled in a modern, slightly rebellious cut, framed a face that flickered between magnetic charm and brooding introspection. Raised in a rigid Southern town, David’s contempt for televangelists like Hagee—hypocrites who railed against homosexuality while mired in scandal—had shattered any trace of piety. Yet, his inexplicable attraction to short, chubby men like Hagee, with their stocky allure, sparked an unwelcome heat. As Hagee’s sermon on sin roared, David’s 8.5-inch cut cock, long and thick, hardened traitorously in his black trousers, the white dress shirt and dark blue tie doing little to hide his tension.

David was there reluctantly, dragged by his cousin Sam, a production crew member. As the service ended and the congregation dispersed, Sam slipped out to pack equipment, leaving David alone in the emptying sanctuary. Hagee lingered by the altar, adjusting his dark striped tie, his polished brown dress shoes gleaming. A rush of defiant courage surged through David, and he approached, his voice a low, provocative whisper.

“You know, Pastor, there’s something about your fat ass that some men find irresistible.”

Hagee’s fair complexion flushed crimson, his eyes flashing rage and fear behind his glasses.

“Blasphemy!” he thundered, voice echoing off the stained-glass windows. But his trousers betrayed him, a visible bulge straining against the mustard-brown fabric. David’s lips curled into a smirk, and he closed the gap, his 5’11” frame towering over Hagee’s stocky build.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he murmured, grabbing Hagee’s collar and pulling him into a fierce, bruising kiss. Hagee resisted, gasping, “God help you, boy!” but his 6-inch cock pressed urgently against David’s thigh, hot and undeniable.

David’s hand slid down, palming the bulge, heat searing through the fabric. He unzipped Hagee’s trousers with a deft tug, revealing the pastor’s thick, pulsing cock, its tip glistening with pre-cum under the soft altar light. Hagee’s lips moved in a frantic prayer—“Deliver me from these sinful thoughts, Lord!”—but his hips twitched, betraying his need. David dropped to his knees, the cold marble floor biting through his trousers, and inhaled the musky scent of Hagee’s groin: a heady mix of sweat, starch, and forbidden sin. He leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside of Hagee’s shaft, savoring the salty tang of skin and the faint pulse of veins beneath. His lips parted, taking the head into his mouth, tongue swirling around the ridge, lapping at the slit where pre-cum beaded like a guilty confession.

Hagee’s hands clenched at his sides, his wedding band catching the light as he muttered, “God! Help your servant withstand this evil!” But his resolve faltered, fingers tangling in David’s wavy hair, pulling him closer despite his protests. David’s mouth worked with deliberate skill, lips sealing tight around the shaft, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks. The wet, sloppy sounds of his efforts filled the sanctuary, obscene against the fading echo of hymns. He took Hagee deeper, throat constricting as he pushed past the gag reflex, the pastor’s white pubic hair tickling his nose. His tongue danced along the base, then dragged back to the head, teasing the sensitive frenulum with slow, deliberate licks before plunging down again, deep-throating with a rhythm that made Hagee’s knees tremble.

“Lord, forgive me!” Hagee cried, his booming voice cracking into a desperate chant. His hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into David’s mouth, the pastor’s prayers dissolving into guttural moans. David pulled back briefly, spit-slick lips gleaming as he growled, “Shut up and let go, Pastor.” He dove back in, tongue swirling the head in tight circles, then sucking with relentless pressure, drawing a strangled “Oh—God—no—yes!” from Hagee.

The pastor’s climax hit like a storm, his body shuddering as hot, bitter cum flooded David’s mouth. David swallowed greedily, throat working to take every spurt, savoring the taste of Hagee’s surrender as the pastor’s hands dropped to his shoulders, trembling.

Standing, David freed his 8.5-inch cock, long and thick, its veined length jutting proudly from his unzipped trousers. Hagee’s eyes widened, disgust and fascination warring as he stared, his softening cock twitching traitorously.

“No,” he muttered, chest heaving, but David stepped closer, voice dripping with challenge. “Taste it. Prove your sermon wrong.”

Hagee’s face contorted, lips trembling with a broken “Lord, have mercy,” before he knelt, the marble floor unforgiving against his knees. His tongue flicked out, hesitant, brushing the tip of David’s cock, tasting the bead of pre-cum with a shudder. Then, with a muffled groan, he took David in, lips stretching wide around the girth, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat.

Hagee’s technique was clumsy at first, but an undercurrent of repressed desire guided him. His tongue traced the thick veins, tentative licks giving way to bolder strokes, swirling around the head before dipping to the base. He sucked with surprising rhythm, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed, taking David deeper until the tip brushed the back of his throat. David moaned, “Fuck, Pastor, just like that,” fingers threading through Hagee’s silver hair to guide the pace. The pastor gagged softly but pressed on, nails digging into David’s hips, leaving faint crescent marks. David’s phone appeared in his hand, recording the act with a wicked grin.

“Smile for the camera, preacher,” he taunted, thrusting gently to meet Hagee’s mouth. Hagee’s tongue worked faster, lapping at the slit, then sucking hard, lips tight and slick with spit. The wet sounds grew louder, mingling with David’s low groans and Hagee’s muffled whimpers.

“You better get ready!” David warned, his climax surging. He thrust once, twice, then erupted, hot spurts of cum flooding Hagee’s mouth. The pastor choked, throat constricting as he swallowed, the bitter taste overwhelming but undeniable. He pulled back, gasping, lips swollen and glistening, his glasses askew.

“Hell, you didn’t take photos of me, did you?” Hagee rasped, spotting the phone, his voice hoarse with panic. David smirked, playing the video. “No photos. Video. Grandpa-porn.”

Hagee lunged, mustard-brown suit disheveled, but David stepped back, waggling the phone. “Not so fast, Pastor.”

The sanctuary fell silent, the faint scent of incense now laced with their musk. Hagee knelt, silver hair mussed, his prayers replaced by a hollow stare of guilt and awakening, the weight of his paradox settling like dust on the altar.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of FICTION, and it does not reflect any real events, or the true nature of the individuals involved.

[ohowthemightyhavefallen]

on televangelism and art

so first things first

a lot of people have recommended ethel cain to me since i started my horror series. my series focuses on televangelism and charismatic christianity, two things i, like ethel, have grown up with and was surrounded by constantly. we have a lot of things in common (including being from the feral state of florida) and i love that.

ethel's world reminds me of my grandmothers. at least, parts of them. my grandma on my dad's side was catholic, but still had a lot of christian imagery and old 80s/70s fixtures in her house down in south florida. my grandma on my mom's side is an avid lover of jimmy swaggart and rodney brown. ethel cain's work reminds me of both of these worlds combined. instead of 90s reruns of my little pony playing on the tv down in south florida, i see swaggart and copeland.

that's just me crossing my memories the wrong way.

grandma #2 used to be a live-in caretaker. the televangelists went with her. when i visited, they were on a new screen-- a 25 inch flat one, that is. there's an air of comfort, littered with hypocrisy and damnation that follows these men. i think ethel captures that beautifully. it's paternal and oddly nostalgic, and i connect with it.

that's why i find it so intriguing to examine how my artistic expressions of televangelism and charismatic christianity differ from hers.

i like to explore heresy and scandal when it comes to televangelism. there's no denying that there's power behind these men, but they are also terribly cocky. but i am, somewhat helplessly, enamoured by their potent charisma. i grew up in a world that saw more of revival, of yelling, and shouting, and miracles. i grew up on the weird side, with conspiracy theories and tracts chock full of disturbing imagery. that's why i ended up falling in love with analog horror-- because that's what televangelism is to me-- almost liminal, always glamorous, sometimes sinister, and rarely quiet. i don't talk about the quiet ones that much, haha

so yea, i just wanted to share

i don't do many text posts but this is my twitter now