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copias-girl · 1 year

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Lenten Sacrifice

Antichrist Popia x Catholic Reader

A/N: So Ash Wednesday was on Feb. 22 to mark the start of Lent, and instead of solemnly repenting, I was thinking of this. Since I’m on my way to hell, does anyone wanna tag along? <3

•♥︎𖤐₆⁶₆𖤐♥︎•

You’d just gotten back from Ash Wednesday mass, strolling through the grand halls of the ministry until you reached your beloved’s papal suite.

Upon opening the large door, you were met with the graceful sight of Copia, sitting on the sofa, waiting for you with a predatory glint in those dichromatic eyes. He wore his black ruffled blouse; the fitted leather vest that he wore on top was embroidered ornately in gold.

“Papa.” You greeted the man, a shyness suddenly coming over you.

Copia remained silent, instead just rising to his feet and adjusting his gloves while he pierced you with his sharp gaze.

You swallowed nervously, intimidated by the man you called your lover. You found yourself taking a small step backwards as your Papa slowly stalked towards you, only halting his steps once he was right in front of you.

He looked you over, huffing out an amused little scoff at the ashes on your forehead.

“No kiss for Papa?” Copia prompted you, and you immediately closed the gap between you, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders as you eagerly kissed him.

Copia’s arms were snaking around your waist as he forcefully deepened the kiss, letting out an obscene moan that you hungrily swallowed.

He loved the way your kisses would sting at his lips and tongue after you’d taken holy communion. His cock hardened at the way your fingertips would burn his skin after you’d dipped them in holy water.

It was gravely unconventional, a good little Catholic girl like you dating the Antichrist. Copia’s congregation found it strange, and if your mother ever found out, surely she’d be planning your funeral. But love doesn’t discriminate; and you truly did love each other.

Suddenly, your Papa pulled away, panting as a glistening saliva string still connected you. Lust swirled heavily in Copia’s eyes as he studied you while he caught his breath. These singeing, after-mass kisses never failed to rile him up, the bit of pain mixing with the pleasure to create something even more maddening. Your Papa was such a dirty old man, relishing in the taboo aspect of your relationship; getting a thrill out of the fact that he was corrupting such an innocent little thing like you. Reveling in the fact that he, the Antichrist, had taken your precious virginity and continued to ravish you every day that you visited him at his unholy ministry. Copia delighted in the thought that your family and your church would be absolutely appalled to find out that you were dating a man who was a whole lifetime older than you; and the Antichrist nonetheless. He was everything you had been warned about, and yet you took a big bite out of the forbidden fruit, the decadent juices dripping down your chin.

“Tell Papa, Dolcezza, what did you give up?” Copia asked.

“Wh-what?” You squeaked, a hot blush painting your cheeks as you gazed up at him.

“What did you give up, hm? Cioccolato?” He smirked condescendingly.

“Y-yes…” You cast your gaze down in chagrin, feeling silly.

“Ahh, you give up cioccolato for your god like a good little girl, yet you come here and suck the Antichrist’s cock every day.” Copia chuckled, causing your cheeks to burn in shame.

“I-!” You tried to protest, but your voice died in your throat as you realized you had no rebuttal.

“I wonder what your god would think about that, eh?” Copia growled, eyes glinting with dangerous mischief.

Before you could muster up a reply, the man turned on his heel, plucking something off the table, tearing the wrapper, and holding it up to you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at it. Damn it, pink chocolate. Your favourite.

Your uncertain eyes nervously flicked up to your Papa’s.

“Go ahead, little one. Take a bite.” Copia’s voice was eerily calm, almost verging on passive aggressive. When you made no move to obey him, the man clenched his jaw.

“Dolcezza, do you love Papa?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“Of course I do, Papa!” You cried, desperately reaching for him, upset that he’d think any differently.

“Then take a bite, Topolina mia.” He insisted. “Be a good girl and break your Lenten sacrifice for me, si?” A smirk was playing on Copia’s painted features as he taunted you.

Conflicted and guilt-ridden, your wide doe eyes stared into his half-lidded ones until you eventually nodded hesitantly. A small, barely-there little nod.

Eyes glimmering with delight, your Papa held the pink chocolate bar up to your lips once more, satisfied when you timidly leaned in and took a bite.

“Ah, what a good girl for Papa.” The man purred, discarding the chocolate onto the coffee table. He didn’t ask you to eat more, didn’t demand you to finish the entire bar, he just wanted you to take one bite. And somehow, that was even more despicable, because he made you eat just enough to have you breaking your sacrifice for him.

But who were you fooling? You’d do anything for your Papa, anything at all. He had bewitched you, and you were his willing victim.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Copia felt the exact same way about you. You were pretty clueless to the fact that you had the mighty Antichrist under your spell, all wrapped around your little finger.

Copia leaned in and gave you a kiss, humming at the taste of the creamy ruby chocolate on your sweet lips as you needily kissed him back.

“Such a naughty little thing, you are. Playing both sides likes this.” He teased you as you squeaked out pitiful protests, trying to tell him that no, you were good, you were a good Catholic girl. But how could you be, when you were with this man? You felt oh so dizzy; dizzy from his sinful kisses and dizzy from trying to justify your actions.

You gently bit Copia’s lip as he deepened the kiss, your tongues swirling together passionately as you helplessly melted into him, running your fingers through his luscious grey hair. You whimpered into his mouth when you felt his long, thick, hard cock straining against the corset of his pants and grinding into you; all while his gloved hands wandered lower, reaching under your short, frilly dress and grabbing two handfuls of your ass.

Before you knew it, you were being dragged into the Antichrist’s luxurious bedroom and forced into your knees.

“Fucking tease.” Copia growled, unlacing his pants with skilled gloved fingers. He pulled his heavy cock out, already reddened and weeping considerably as he ordered you to open your pretty mouth.

He didn’t give you any warning before he shoved his length past your lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair and beginning to fuck your face at a brutal pace.

You moaned in surprise, gagging on his cock as tears immediately began welling in your eyes. You did your best to take all of his impressive length, choking and coughing when the sensitive head of his cock hit the back of your throat over and over again. Your sounds were music to Copia’s ears, only spurring him on further.

“Do you go to confession after sucking Papa’s cock, Dolcezza?” Copia chuckled cruelly. “Do you get on your knees and pray for forgiveness? I only- fuck- I only want you to get on your knees for me.” He hissed, gazing at the ashy cross on your forehead as he continued to thrust roughly into your mouth.

You squealed out a humiliated moan around his cock, tears spilling onto your flushed cheeks as you stared up at him with bleary eyes, bracing your hands on his muscular thighs.

“You belong to Papa, little one. No other god, just me.” Copia snarled.

“You understand, si?” Using his grip on your hair, he pulled you off his cock so you could answer, satisfied when you only nodded rapidly while coughing and gasping for air. Barely giving you a break, Copia forced his cock back into your mouth as soon as he got your affirmation. Your Papa could be so merciless sometimes, but that was just one of the many exciting things you loved about him.

Gripping the sides of your head and continuing to fuck your throat, Copia growled out obscene moans, panting heavily. Shoving his length as far in as it would go, he held you there for a few moments, gurgling and sputtering around his girth while your nose pressed into his happy trail.

“That’s it, Dolce. My sweet girl.” The man shuddered breathlessly, seeing stars from the way your tight throat spasmed with each dry heave.

You suctioned your mouth around him, wanting to give your Papa as much pleasure as you could. He let out a loud, broken moan at that, beginning to thrust roughly once again.

“You suck my cock so well, oh- my good little slut!” He moaned, hips beginning to stutter as he neared his end.

You were fully crying on his cock now as you took everything he was giving you, his addictive praise causing your heart to flutter.

“Fuck! Oh, this sinful little mouth of yours! Dolce, I’m-!”

With a loud groan, Copia pulled out of your mouth and blew his load all over your face. Thick white ropes of hot, sticky cum painted you; dripping down your flushed, tear stained cheeks, your swollen lips, and even on the cross on your forehead. His big cock twitched as he came; and the man never failed to astonish you with how much he could give you, just cumming and cumming and cumming until he was finally spent.

You must have looked a mess, with cum and drool shining on your flushed and swollen lips, your thick lashes wet with crystalline teardrops. Copia smirked at the sight of you, smearing his unholy cum into the ash on your forehead.

“You pervert.” You pouted as he destroyed your holy marking. “And you got cum on my church dress too.”

Your Papa grabbed your upper arm and hauled you to your feet. “Oh? My little cockslut is worried about her church dress, eh? Her slutty little church dress?” He cooed, stroking a gentle finger across your cheek. “Look how fucking short it is. I’m surprised they even let you into that place wearing this.” He growled, causing you to shiver.

“I-it’s not slutty, you’re just a dirty old man who sees it that way.” You sniffed pitifully, egging him on.

“You call your Papa a dirty old man?” Copia echoed in exaggerated disbelief. “Is that what you think of me, Dolcezza?”

You only nodded, still pouting cutely as you licked some cum off your face, wiping away the rest with your sleeve.

“Well, what does that say about you, eh? You’re a little Catholic girl who loves fucking dirty old men.” Your eyes widened as he turned your quip around on you like a goddamn Uno reverse card. “You’re supposed to be a good little virgin, yet you spread your legs for a dirty old man every day and let him do what he pleases with you.”

“Papa!” You whined, clutching the fabric of his sleeves as you shamefully buried your face in his chest. You loved teasing each other; you loved it when Copia put you in your place. The shame only made your pussy wetter.

Copia didn’t waste any time in shoving you down onto his plush bed, planting a firm hand on your upper back and pushing you into the comforter when you tried to get up. He lifted your dress up over your ass, unceremoniously tearing your sinfully small panties down and off your legs. With a hand on each side of your ass, he stared directly at your pussy, which was dripping with an embarrassingly large amount of slick.

“Principessa, tu sei così bagnata.” Copia gasped, exaggerating his shock just to tease you. “Tell me, Dolce, if you are such a good little Catholic girl, why is your pussy so wet, eh?”

You now willingly buried your face in the bed to hide your shame. “P-Papa please…” You whimpered.

“What would your priest say, hm? If he could see you right now? Soaking wet and begging for the Antichrist’s cock like a whore.” Copia growled, cracking a sharp slap onto your ass and causing you to cry out.

You felt ashamed; what would your priest think? He would obviously be horrified and oh so disappointed in you.

“Does he know you’ve even let me sodomize you?” Copia taunted you with a condescending smirk. “Have you told him that during confession, Tesoro? That I’ve taken your virginity everywhere?”

“N-no!” You squealed, closing your eyes, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing. You hoped that the wicked man didn’t see, but of course he did; nothing ever slipped by him.

“Ahh, do you like the thought of that, Principessa? Perhaps you should tell him what a naughty little thing you are. How you’ve given yourself to the very beast you were warned against.” Copia purred into your ear, voice dripping with lust. It always seemed as though his accent got thicker when he was aroused.

His fingertips trailed along your glistening slit, teasing just the opening of your pussy and pulling a high pitched gasp from you as he gathered your sticky juices. He pulled his hand away, licking his painted lips and watching as it webbed between his gloved fingers. He flipped you onto your back with one hand while he sucked your wetness off his digits, his intense eyes boring into yours as he did so. You cried helplessly at the sight, feeling an indescribable ache in your core.

After licking every last drop of your arousal off his gloves, your Papa forced your legs apart and, without warning, shoved his face between your thighs, his tongue immediately licking a hot stripe up your pussy and swirling around your clit before giving it a hard suck.

You screamed out at the intense pleasure, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, trying to somehow ground yourself. Copia’s grip tightened on your hips as your thighs closed around your head, grinding right onto his face. Your Papa never failed to make you feel like you were free-falling in the best way possible.

“So pink and tight. So wet for me.” He murmured before licking into you feverishly, slurping up your sweet nectar like a starving man. Your little mewls, yelps, and moans only spurred him on until you were writhing and whining in a pleasure-crazed frenzy.

Copia stopped just short of you cumming, leaving you desperately pleading for more. But within a second, he was ripping your dress off, roughly slinging your legs over his shoulders, and stuffing his thick cock inside your tight heat. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size, immediately beginning to fuck into you in an almost animalistic manner, hard and fast and merciless.

“Oh! Papa!” You felt like the wind was behind knocked out of your lungs with each of his deep thrusts, causing your eyes to roll back as he stretched you and filled you up so perfectly.

In this position, Copia’s big cock reached so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He precisely hit every pleasure spot inside you, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix as he muttered out strings of Italian curses.

You were utterly in awe as you gazed up at the man; his mouth hanging open, a few locks of grey hair falling into his face, and panting heavily as he used you as his fuckdoll.

“Take it! Take it! That’s it, Dolce, take my cock!” Copia growled, his gifted eye gleaming dangerously. It almost frightened you, the way it would practically glow in situations like this; but that little bit of fear only served to make you wetter. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises as he relentlessly fucked into you over and over again, showing you no mercy as tears rolled down your hot cheeks.

“Are you- fuck- are you my good little Catholic cumslut?” Your Papa moaned, trailing a finger across your lower lip.

“Yes, Papa! Aah-! Yesyesyes!” You gasped, lovingly nipping at his finger when it dipped into your mouth.

“That’s right. That’s fucking right, Dolce.” Copia snarled, his hand then trailing down to pinch at your nipples, causing you to arch your back off the bed, your legs tightening around the man.

You wept with pleasure, incoherently babbling and squeaking as you reached up to thread your fingers through Copia’s hair once more, pulling him down into a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongues and broken moans. Every time you were intimate with him, you were absolutely astonished at how hard this old man could fuck you. His thrusts were brutally relentless, taking your breath away; and before you knew it, you were about to tip over the edge.

“P-Papa, I’m-! Y-you’re gonna make me-” Your little voice almost sounded alarmed, helpless, as if you didn’t know what to do.

“Cum for Papa, little one, cum all over my fucking cock.” He hissed, sucking a dark hickey into your neck as his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive little bud.

With a piercingly high pitched moan, your orgasm came crashing over you like a ton of bricks. You wailed your Papa’s name over and over again, pussy fluttering and spasming around his thick length as your grip tightened almost painfully in his hair.

You convulsed under him, nearly feeling your soul leave your body as you just kept cumming and cumming; your pleasure so intense that you even squirted for him.

“Goddammit!” Copia cursed as he pulled out, giving himself a couple quick strokes before he was spilling his hot cum all over your pussy, grinding the sensitive head of his cock right into your clit, causing your eyes to cross and roll back as you moaned desperately.

It was all too much, the sight of your Papa shuddering and gasping as he stared at his seed painting your pussy and mixing with your own juices that were oozing out of you. You whined and mewled from oversensitivity, your legs falling open as your body went completely limp. Copia collapsed on top of you once he was finished, letting out a heavy sigh and wrapping his arms around you. Feeling his full weight on top of you was so comforting, especially as the post-orgasmic euphoria washed over the both of you like gentle ocean waves.

When you’d finally regained most of your senses, you were giving the man a gentle shove, and he rolled off you with a groan.

“Stay here.” You pecked his lips, limping into the living room, completely bare and dripping with your mixed cum.

When you returned, you found your Papa shirtless as he lay against the headboard, his blouse and vest discarded onto the floor, the corset of his rat-bitten pants still undone.

Your gaze swept over his beautiful form; his tousled grey hair, the 666 marking on his chest, the delicious little happy trail peeking out from his pants.

“Che ti preso?” He enquired curiously, but a mischievous smirk spread across his face as soon as you held up the chocolate bar and hopped back on the bed.

You bent down, kissing along his happy trail, his tummy, up his chest. You swiped your tongue over the mark on his chest, causing the man to exhale shakily.

Snuggling into Copia’s side and hooking your leg over his, you took a bite of the creamy chocolate, holding the bar up to his lips so he could have some too.

“I love you, you devil.” You giggled, placing gentle kisses along his jawline.

“Mm, ti amo così tanto, my little angel. Più di tutto in nel mondo.” Papa hummed dreamily, putting an arm around you and holding you oh so close as he gazed at you wondrously, his mismatched eyes sparkling with nothing but love.

Who knew the Antichrist was such a hopeless romantic? You sighed happily as the man leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss, simply unable to get enough of you.

The two of you remained in bed for the rest of the evening, sharing pink chocolate kisses and relishing in your sweet forbidden love.

𐕣𖤐 end <3 𖤐𐕣

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mcx7demonbros · 1 year

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Papa mortuus est (The Boys x M!MC)

Warning. Mention of religion (Catholicism in this case). Natural death mention. Diavolo forced his will on reader. Season 4 spoilers.

Angst 💔

No proofread

“You have come.” You used the pact’s power to talk to the Avatar of Pride through telepathy as there were many others inside the room with you, but none saw him. It was the first time you used the pact’s power in more than 70 years.

“Do you know why I came here?”

“Yes, to tempt me for the last time. After all, Popes fall under your jurisdiction.”

“MC.” Lucifer said. “Do you know the state of my emotion right now? Anger, sadness, pain, feeling betrayed, despair, etc. everything negative is in here.” Pride pointed at his heart.

“I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer didn’t reply, he began to channel his infernal power to tempt you one last time. However, he remembered your smiling image all those years ago and all the infernal power disappeared. He knew he couldn’t do it.

“MC.” Lucifer sat on your bed and held your wrinkled hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect. I should have stopped Diavolo.”

Pride still remembered that fateful day like it was just yesterday.

On that fateful day more than 70 years ago, the Pope before you died. While you, a good Catholic, were mourning for him, Diavolo had a disastrous idea, to make you the next Pope. It all started with Mephistopheles’s newspaper, announcing the death of the Pope and informing demons how the new Pope would be chosen. It turned out all baptized unmarried male Catholic could become the Pope, however, for hundred of years, Cardinals only elected one among themselves to be the next Pope. The future Demon King thought the idea would be beneficial to the exchange program.

Diavolo arranged to make it possible for you to go to Rome to attend the Pope’s funeral. He pulled the strings, false miracles happened that seemed to be done by your hands, a dove appeared and landed on your head right at the funeral, etc. . Most Cardinals believed you were God-chosen to be the next Pope, so after obtaining your name and entering the Conclave, they voted for you. The people also acclaimed you with happiness and joy.

With Solomon’s help, you escaped Rome and returned to the Devildom to confront Diavolo, only to receive “I will do anything to make my dream of peace between the three realms come true” as an answer. Lucifer and his Brothers, the Angels, Solomon, and even Barbatos voiced their objection, but to no avail. Diavolo was too strong, and he forced his will on them and you.

“I’ll make you and your f*cked up kingdom pay, Diavolo.” You shouted with teary eyes before leaving the Devildom with Raphael. The Archangel took you back to Rome. There, you accepted the election and the people’s acclamation. Henceforth, you were known as Pope [Papal Name].

And you proved Diavolo wrong…deadly wrong. As Pope, you utilized what you had learnt during the exchange program to wage war against the Devildom. The Celestial Realm also had your back. For 70 years, demons were shoved back to the kingdom of darkness where they came from and never dared to leave. As a result, the exchange program was cancelled. Luke, being your Guardian Angel, followed you. Simeon left to travel the world, as he had become a human. Solomon just vanished, you never found him again, maybe he was angry at you for destroying the witches and the Sorcerers’ Society during the war.

With no demons leaving the Devildom, its influence in the mortal realm greatly diminished. Celestial influence became greater, peace and order were restored in all corners of the world. And it was greatly thanks to you. The faithful called you “Pope [Papal Name] the Very Great”, “the Valiant Pontiff”, “Father of World Leaders”, “Champion of God”, “the Conqueror of Devildom”, etc., all of which you refused out of humility.

After more than 70 years on the Chair of St. Peter, you were now on your deathbed, surrounded by Cardinals, Bishops & Priests whom you viewed as your friends & children.

“What are you doing here, Lucifer?” Luke entered the room with a group of angels. Upon seeing the Avatar of Pride, he took out a Holy Sword and pointed it at the prideful demon. “Don’t ever think of taking MC to Hell in his last moment.”

“You really have grown up, Chihuahua.” Lucifer only took a quick glance at the young man with blond haired before him. Luke really had become an adult during the time serving you as Pope, he had become a seraphim Archangel with six pure white wings.

Pride’s attention soon turned back to you as he held your hand up and let it caress his face. The other angels prepared to take action but Luke stopped them. He also dropped his sword. He knew Pride had no intention to harm you.

“I’m sorry.” You told Lucifer one more time. “I never wanted things to become like this.” Your eyes had become teary.

“You have nothing to say sorry, Holy Father. You are a saint.” Your secretary said as he helped you wiped your tears away. It turned out you had said out loud in your old forgetfulness, instead of communicating by telepathy with Lucifer.

“I’m only a great sinner, not a saint, son-cough…cough…cough.”

“Holy Father!!!” The clergy around you intended to help but you gave a signal with your other hand that you didn’t need it.

“If time could be turned back,” you turned back to Lucifer and said to him by telepathy, “I wish I had never become an unwilling Pope who bore hatred towards Diavolo and Devildom, but an exchange students living with you seven at the House of Lamentation.”

After those words, you began to feel your ghost leaving your body.

“No, MC, stay with me. Don’t leave.”

“Father, please forgive my trespasses.” Your last tear dropped before you closed your eyes forever.

At the same time, Lucifer could feel the pact being broken with your death. The deep and affectionate connection between you two were…forever lost. He turned to a more loathing demon form letting out a painful growl, inaudible to human, but the angels heard it all.

Over the next minutes, the Cardinal Camerlengo performed the last rites on your body. He called your baptismal name three times, and after receiving no response, he announced, “Vere Papa mortuus est.” (The Pope is truly dead)

Lucifer was so sad that he sat by the side of your deceased body, refusing to leave. In the end, Luke and other angels had to carry him away so that your body could be taken away for washing and vesting.

It was the midnight before the funeral, the Basilica of St. Peter, where you were lying in state, closed it doors to pilgrims and other visitors. Some clergy came to check your body before resting, though some of the most intimate to you decided to stay awake all night to pray for you.

Your body was vested in traditional papal vestments in red color. On your head a golden mitre. Your hands were wearing red gloves and holding a crucifix with a rosary. For you feet, they put on a pair of red shoes with embroidered golden cross on each of them. Under your body was a red catafalque and you were surrounded by large beeswax candles. Your body was guarded by Swiss Guards. Luke also stood guarding beside your body.

No one, aside from Luke, noticed the shady figures entering the church and looking at your corpse.

“Aren’t ya a fashionista yourself, MC? Look at what ya wearing.” Mammon said and smiled. However, his smile soon became twisted and he began to cry.

Beside him, Belphie, leaning on Beel, closed his eyes and wanted to sleep, he wanted this to be just a dream. But he couldn’t, tears were flowing from his eyes. Beel wanted to cry to but he tried to stay strong for his twin. He embraced Belphie, trying to comfort him.

Levi was sitting down on the floor beside the catafalque and he cried even louder than Mammon. He kept mumbling “This must be a dream” or “The reunion should be a happy ending, not a sad one”.

Lucifer, Satan and Asmo were standing beside the catafalque. The latter two were crying, and Asmo leaned on Satan. Lucifer didn’t cry because he knew he had to stay strong for his brothers, and he no longer had any tear to cry as they were all dried up on days after your death and before this night.

Simeon was kneeling, praying facing the altar. One would think of a pious young man kneeling to pray seriously. However, his shoulders were shaking and tears sometimes escaped the corners of his eyes. After a while, he was joined by Solomon, who decided to pray the first time in more than 2000 years or so, only because of you.

Barbatos was standing in the corner, his expression unreadable. While Diavolo stood behind him, further in the darkness of the church. The Prince had to admit, he mistreated and failed your trust. He shouldn’t have forced you to do something you didn’t want. He had made it like your heart…your love…was nothing to his dream of peace…to his ambition. He didn’t foresee that you would fight against him so vehemently that you made his kingdom crippled. And even then, he refused to say sorry. It was one of the times he fell truly mad. You had sullied his pride. He told himself that you would be the one to say sorry first. But now he had no chance to say another word to you.

“I’m sorry, MC.”

Diavolo shoved aside his royal pride, got down on his knees and kneeled for a split second before leaving. He knew he had no eligibility to stand here.

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cardinal-copia-popia · 1 year

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I'm With You Always (Papa IV x Female Reader)

Like I said in that last Terzo fic I posted, I wanted to write something for Copia involving his possible demise, but I didn't want to think about it, and I couldn't come up with a good plot. Well. With the help of my ghestie @copiousloverofcopia I managed to come up with something.

This is largely inspired by the short movie The Evil Clergyman, at least the first half of it, and I've included some of the lines from it.

I also listened to the theme from the movie while I wrote, so if you'd like to also listen while you read...

Also here on AO3

NSFW below the cut

This was not supposed to happen. He assured you it would not. Promised. And you believed him. How could you not? How could you not believe the promises he whispered against your skin as his fingers and mouth brought you over the edge again and again?

But there he was, laying before the altar in the glass coffin you so dreaded seeing, grieved long before this day of seeing your lover in one of them.

You had avoided this for as long as you could. You did not even go to the funeral. How in the world were you supposed to face this, face the sight of him? He broke his promise, broke your heart, and broke you. But after nearly two weeks, the thought of never seeing him again became unbearable. You decided you had to make peace with his memory, no matter how much it hurt.

So that was where you found yourself, in front of his coffin, in front of him. He looked just the same as the last time you saw him, still in his papal paint, chasuble, and miter. You should have noticed the difference in him that dreaded night, but he did not want you to see. He wanted you to go on believing he would be fine. But it was a lie. It was all a lie.

You hated him in your grief, so much so in that moment that you stalked up to the coffin, angry tears in your eyes, and hit the glass top. It only made a dull thud, and your lover remained still and peaceful within.

“How dare you,” you hissed. Your vision was so blurry with tears that you could not make him out anymore. “How dare you leave me after you promised!” The hate gave way to despair as your tears choked you and poured down your cheeks. “You promised me you’d be safe!” you sobbed, half lying over the top of the coffin, your fingers stroking over the cool glass directly above his face. “You promised…. I love you so much, Copia….”

You completely broke down after that, hard, body-wracking sobs leaving you, finally letting all of the grief you had felt over the past two weeks spill forth. If only Copia had not remained so still and cold in his glass coffin beneath you…

Somehow, once you had no more tears to shed, you managed to stumble back to the papal suite, thankfully not running into anyone. You felt numb and exhausted now. You just wanted to curl up in his bed — in your bed — and fall asleep surrounded by his scent that you hoped would never fade.

You stopped by the balcony window, staring out at the fading sunlight, wondering if you would ever feel whole again. You had been with Copia since he was Cardinal. It had taken a while, but the two of you eventually managed to admit your feelings. It was not until the night he ascended that you made love for the first time. After that, the two of you could not get enough of one another. The papal suite became your sanctuary, and his bed your place of worship. Copia always made you feel like a goddess, and you assured him that he was meant to be Papa. The heights of pleasure you brought each other to were unmatched. No one would ever love you the way he did. You did not want anyone else but Copia. He was inextricably bound to you, heart, body, soul, everything.

But now that was gone. He was gone. The suite that had once been filled with the warmth of love was now cold and empty. But even so, you could not bare to leave it yet. Occasionally, you could still feel Copia’s presence, and that was enough to draw you back.

Like right now. You rubbed your arms, feeling a slight chill go over you. If you did not know you were alone in the room, you might have thought someone was watching you. But the window overlooked a grassy field, and you could see no one. Just as you had been for the past two weeks, you were entirely alone. Alone. The thought made you sniff back the tears you felt once again threatening.

“Amore, please don’t cry.”

You froze, immediately recognizing the voice, though your mind would not accept it. The window was not open, but the whispered words sounded like they floated in on a breeze.

“Amore,” it came again, a bit louder this time.

“C-Copia?” you murmured, turning slowly to look around the room.

It was empty, just as you knew it would be. But now you were certain there was another presence there. You could feel the change in the air.

The voice spoke again, this time your name. It was a caress to your ear, bringing about a fresh wave of tears. You were shivering now, honestly feeling a little scared.

“Copia, is it you?” you asked, your voice wavering.

“Sì, amore mio, it is me. You visited me, and then you left…. Why?”

You took a few steps away from the window, still looking around for the source of the voice. Surely, this was your mind playing tricks on you, or could someone really be so cruel as to do this to you?

“I had to see you. Just one more time to— to say goodbye.”

Before you could say any more, there was suddenly a solid presence at your back and a pair of arms wrapped around you. You gasped as gloved hands slid up your stomach to restlessly knead and grope at your breasts. The touch was so achingly familiar that your grief was supplanted by desire. Your hands covered the gloved ones as if the touch was not enough proof that they were real.

“You would give up on me so easily, amore?” the voice asked, a warm breath on the back of your neck.

A hand then moved up to your neck to caress the skin there. You always loved the feeling of the leather gloves against your skin…. The hand then moved to your cheek.

“You’re dead,” you whispered, turning into the warm touch. “Aren’t you?”

“Could a dead man do this?” the voice breathed, the hands caressing your breasts again. You moaned, arching into the touch. “Could a dead man make you feel this way, amore? The way I always used to make you feel?”

“Copia.”

The voice moaned quietly, and you could have sworn you felt lips press against the side of your neck.

“How?” you breathed.

“Am I alive?” A hand slid into your shirt, pushing past your bra to get directly at your breast, making you moan breathily again. The voice chuckled. “Am I? Alive?”

And then, just as suddenly as the presence and arms and hands appeared, they disappeared. You gasped, this time from the sudden cold you felt at no longer being surrounded by the familiar warmth, and spun around only to find no one there. You were losing your mind; you had to be. There was no other explanation.

There was no way you could stay the night there now. You had to get out.

With one last glance at the window, you took a few hurried steps forward—

—and abruptly stopped when a figure appeared in front of you. You gaped, staring unbelieving at the man standing there. Copia, in his papal paint, smiled at you; the warmth in his eyes would have been your undoing had you not been so shocked to see him.

“Copia?”

“Hi,” he said, his smile widening a bit.

You blinked a few times, so sure your eyes were playing tricks on you. “Is it really you?”

He pulled the glove off his left hand and held it up, still smiling and looking at you in that way only he could, like you meant the absolute world to him. Hesitantly, with a shaky hand, you reached up and slid your hand into his. Fresh tears stung your eyes as you felt the warmth of his skin against your own. You nearly broke down again as Copia wrapped his fingers around yours, humming, and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

You whimpered and moved forward, touching your forehead to his. “Copia.”

Copia let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you, his lips now finding your cheek. “I missed you, amore mio,” he murmured.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you cried, melting into his embrace and tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He felt so warm, so alive….

He brought his hands up to your face and left a trail of kisses along your cheek. “I was waiting for you to visit me. And then you did, but you left before I could get to you.”

You breathed his name again as though if you said it enough, it would help your brain understand what was going on. Your lips met his briefly in a barely there kiss. “I don’t….” Another brief kiss. “I don’t understand.”

Copia gazed at you for a second before finally sealing his lips over yours in a proper, full kiss, stealing your breath away. If this was a dream, you never wanted to wake up. He pulled you tight to him, leaving no doubt in your mind that he was real. His hands roamed over you again, but not so frantically as before. He tugged at your clothes, slowly undressing you. You did the same to him, unbuttoning the alb he usually wore under his chasuble, revealing his bare chest beneath.

You moaned into the kiss as you touched his skin, felt the rise and fall of his chest as he gasped against your lips, obviously just as thrilled to feel your hands on him again.

“Please help me understand, Copia.”

His hands rested on your hips, his lips brushing along your cheek again to catch the tears that fell. “Did you really think I would leave you? After the promise I made? I’m with you always, amore mio.”

“But you died. You were killed onstage in front of the whole world. There was no doubt—”

Copia covered your lips with his fingers and took your other hand to press against his chest, right over his heart. “Do I feel alive to you?”

You nodded, looking down at his chest. You pushed the alb aside so you could see his tattoo, and without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed it. Copia murmured your name, drawing your attention again.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

You did, kissing his lips gently and continuing to undress him, pushing his alb off and letting it fall to the floor. He finished undressing you as well, the feeling of his hands on you once more making you shiver with want. He had you completely undressed while you were still fumbling with his belt, your hands trembling. He then grabbed your hand and kissed your palm down to your wrist.

“Tell me you want me again, amore mio.”

“I want you, Copia,” you sighed. “I want you to love me again. Please, I want to feel whole again.”

Copia turned you and guided you back to the bed, following you down as you lay back on the rich, blue sheets. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants as he went, the sound of the zipper sending an aching throb through you. “I always love you. You know this, tesoro. Always.”

He kissed you again and hummed as your bare torsos touched and your hands ran over his back. You could not get enough of the feeling of his skin under your hands.

"And I will make you feel whole again," he breathed against your heated skin as he kissed down your neck to your breasts. The whisper of his skin along yours as he moved lower made you shiver. "How often have I worshiped you in this bed, amore?"

He covered your breasts with his hands again and kissed down between them to your stomach.

"Always."

Copia hummed. "Sì," he said with a growl in his voice as he reached the apex of your thighs and lifted your legs over his shoulders. “Your body is my religion.”

You threw your head back and cried out as his lips met your intimate flesh, his tongue immediately finding your clit. Your fingers tangled in his hair while his splayed across your lower back that was arched up off the bed.

He lapped and sucked at your folds, driving you to heights of pleasure as only he could. And once he had two fingers buried within your dripping core, it did not take long before you were cumming for him.

As you were coming down, you briefly worried he might disappear, that all of this had been a dream your grief-ridden mind had conjured up to help you cope with the loss. But Copia was above you again, kissing your lips, and you could taste yourself on him.

It was not enough; you needed more proof. He let you roll him onto his back easily enough, his hands immediately moving to your hips to hold you tight against him as you continued to kiss, your tongues tangled together.

Your fingers stroked over his shoulders and down his chest, carding through the hair there. Again, you were reminded of how alive he felt.

"I love you, tesoro mio," he whispered.

"And I love you," you whispered back, moving to kiss his neck. The paint on and around his lips was smeared, and as you kissed down his neck, you left faint black and white smudges from where the paint had transferred to you. "I want to return the favor," you murmured, kissing down his chest.

Copia hummed, stroking his fingers through your hair, a smile in his voice. “Kiss me like you used to, amore mio.”

You smiled, too, and withdrew his cock from his pants. Copia moaned and lifted his hips into your touch, prompting you to lick the tip of his cock, lapping up the precum beaded there. He sighed your name as you wrapped your lips around him. The heat, the rigidness, the taste, and the smell of him all seemed real enough. He was just as perfect as you remembered.

How could this be a dream if it felt so real?

And Copia's responses to your ministrations were real enough as well. The way his fingers grasped your hair as you sucked on him, drawing out one of those deliciously broken moans from him.

You were lost enough in him that you were a bit surprised when Copia pulled you off of him and, in the next instant, had you pinned under him again, his cock slowly pushing into you. You both moaned raggedly. The delicious stretch of him filling you once more, of becoming one with him again, made you cling to him tightly, refusing to ever let him go.

"Oh, dolcezza, you take me so well," he moaned when he was fully seated within you.

You whined, desperate for him to start moving. Thankfully, he did, and despite the desperateness, you both felt, he was determined to make this last.

Copia fucked you slowly with one hand holding onto the headboard, his mouth against yours though not quite pressing into a kiss, each snap of his hips deliberate. He would withdraw slowly before quickly sheathing himself with you again. Each thrust seemed to steal your breath away.

He made you fall apart that way, his name tearing from your lips, before he had you on top of him, encouraging you to ride him, to use him for your own pleasure. And you did. You moved with abandon while Copia’s hand drifted between your hips and your breasts, kneading and squeezing your flesh.

Just like all of the nights you had spent with him before, the moans and sighs and cries and scent of your lovemaking filled the room. He did as he said. He made you feel whole again.

When Copia finally let himself go, he was sitting up, arms wrapped tightly around you as his cock kicked, filling you with hot ropes of his cum. That felt real, too, as did the pleasant ache between your legs when he eventually let you go. He only did so long enough for you both to rest and recoup before he was on you again, his lip sealed over yours.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when you could take no more. You rested on top of him, half propped up on a pile of pillows, your arms and legs tangled with his. The sheet was half across you and partially on the floor, but the pair of you were too boneless at the moment to do anything about it. Besides, Copia was warm enough that you did not need it. You were not about to let him go anyway.

That fear you felt before — that now that this was over, he would disappear — came back. Fresh tears filled your eyes at the thought. All of it was too good to be true. As soon as you fell asleep, he would be gone, and you would wake up in a cold, empty bed.

Copia must have felt your tears on his chest, for he gently pushed you away to look at your face. “You are crying, amore. Why?”

"Please don't leave me again," you whispered brokenly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Copia kissed them away, his hands tenderly holding your face. "Never, amore mio. I never left you in the first place. I have always been here, and I always will be. You know this. You know it in here," he said, lowering a hand to press over your heart. "I promised you, tesoro mio, I'm with you always, and I meant it."

You sniffed and nodded. "I believe you."

He smiled and pulled you back into his arms. You fell asleep that night, safe in his embrace, surrounded by his warmth and scent. It did not matter how he was here, only that he was.

The next morning, as you strolled through the garden, the first time you had in two weeks, each faint breeze that brushed your cheek was his hand, and the rustle of the leaves was his laugh.

You paused in front of a giant oak tree, the same one you and Copia had your first date under, and later made love for the first time. To your surprise, you did not feel sad, especially not when you felt a hand slip into yours. You looked up into Copia's smiling face.

You both moved in tandem, his hand coming up to caress your cheek as your lips met tenderly.

He was here with you, just as he promised he would be.

Always.

#my writing #ghost fanfic #ghost band fanfic #ghost band #the band ghost #papa iv #copia #reader

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simshousewindsor · 7 months

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KINGS CITY, San Myshuno (SNN) - - Queen Katherine I and Prince Rainier had an audience with Pope Francis XVI at the Vatisim on Thursday. The pope expressed his “deepest personal esteem” for the queen for bearing “the weight of such vast responsibilities with so much simplicity and dignity.”

Francis Benedict XVI, the Holy Pope, is Chief Pastor of the worldwide Cathlosim Church and Head of The State of King’s City in San Myshuno. It was the first time Queen Katherine met Pope Francis and she took with her on the plane home gifts for the royal children. Pope Francis also handed the queen a precious stone brooch with a cross on it.

His late Majesty King George I visited the pope during an informal visit the month before his passing.

Queen Katherine was invited for a formal visit and was greeted by Dean of the College of Cardinals, Abraham Criste, one of three Cardinal bishops.

Nathan Banks, Windenburg's ambassador to the Holy See, described the visit as a "reaffirmation" of the ties between the Holy See and the UK, noting that it was taking place in the centenary year of the formal re-establishment of diplomatic relations between the two.

However, the visit was not without its potential tensions. Ronald Jacobs, a papal expert at the University of Reading, said: "Thursday's meeting comes at a time when, on the surface, relations between the Cathlosim church and the Church of Windenburg are at an all-time high. But dig a little deeper and issues arise."

He singled out the C of W's ordination of female priests and push for female bishops. Another issue that some said could have set the two heads of state on a collision course is the status of the Manushkin Islands, the Windenburg territory in the Simmy Channel over which Windenburg and Mt Komorebi went to war in 1979.

Queen Katherine (wearing Princess Amelia's Fife Fringe tiara, Queen Lara-Leigh's 4-strand pearl necklace, the Order of the Garter, and the Royal Family Order of King George I) and the Prince consort (in the Order of the Garter) joined Cardinal Criste and the other two Cardinal bishops, Walter Tesmond and Luke Nicholas, for a photo op in front of the Vatisim.

Breaking from tradition, the Camerlengo, Benjamin Carmichael III was among the Cardinal bishops greeting the queen.

The Vatisim has a dress code - those visiting cannot wear low-cut or sleeveless dresses, miniskirts, shorts and hats. Black lace is customary when visiting the Pope and Queen Katherine stayed with tradition rewearing the classic “Till Death Do Us Part” dress.

On their website it states: 'The Vatisim is an independent state in which the Catholisim Church is based and imposes its dress rules throughout the city.

'The clothing required is modest and requires for respect of the sacredness of the institutions the coverage of certain areas of the body.'

Before a private audience, the queen gave the pope a hamper of what the Vatisim said was "jams and drinks" produced on lands owned by the royal family. One of the drinks was a bottle of whiskey from Windsor Vineyard.

As a pair, the queen and the pope are leaders to millions of sims around the world.

The pope did not attend His late Majesty's funeral and is not confirmed to attend Her Majesty's coronation in May.

While in San Myshuno, the Queen is also scheduled to meet Henry Myers, 4th Earl of Stafford. Myers is head of one of the five noble families in Windenburg, a fourth-generation homesteader and devoted father. Lord Henry controls the largest contiguous ranch in Windenburg - the Stafford Myers Ranch.

#simshousewindsor SNN #simshousewindsor on snn #SNN has the tea #simshousewindsor #simshousewindsor ts4 #simblr #SNN on ts4 #simshousewindsor the vatisim #simshousewindsor story #simshousewindsor the pope #simshousewindsor royal engagements #simshousewindsor simblr #ts4 #sims 4 simblr #ts4 royalty #simshousewindsor monarchy #the sims 4 #ts4 story #ts4 royal engagement

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fuggivaboutit · 4 months

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Had a dream I was in Italy for a Papal funeral, and I stopped into an Italian bookstore. Before I left, it shifted into a Japanese Costco. I bought some stuff and left. Out on the streets of Japan, a loudspeaker system was playing music, which was Welsh rock music.

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kiss-the-ghuleh · 1 year

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Sinbound: Chapter 2

No warnings.

I awoke as the sunlight hits my face. I pull the covers over my head, taking in for a moment the events of the night prior. A small smile creeps upon my face. I feel around the bed, looking for Papa. I sit up and glance around the room. A mannequin that keeps his papal suit and miter upright is naked. He must have to attend to church like matters. The more Papa talked about his religion and the band associated with it, the more it all started to make sense and sounded a lot less evil than how others perceived it. Would an evil satanic man really comfort me during a terrible storm? A total stranger to him? As I get out of bed, I noticed a note on the coffee table. Papa told me he had mass to attend to and that I should wait for him to finish. He informed me of my room number and how to get there from his. Since its mass, most people of the Abbey would be busy there. I'll feel a little less embarrassed walking back to my room in this nightgown I was given.

The walk back to my room is peaceful. A few siblings are still wandering about and a few uh, ghouls are talking to each other. Papa told me that his bandmates are 'nameless ghouls' despite very much having names. I finally come to the door of my room. Upon entering, I see yet another note and some breakfast sitting on the table. This note was from the Cardinal. He informed me that he was told by Papa to send up breakfast and to check on me often while mass was in session. The smell of pancakes and juice fills my nose. A single black rose is sitting in a small vase on my breakfast tray.

Once I finished eating, a familiar small knock is heard again at my door.

"Good morning, Miss Lucrecia. I hope you sleep well last night, yes?" Cardinal Copia says upon entering.

"To be frank with you, Cardinal, I had an awful night. I ended up running out of my room and getting lost in the dark halls. I'm very much afraid of storms. Luckily, I ended up accidentally finding Papa's room. He took me in and held me without question."

"Ah. Well, the end of the night didn't seem so bad, huh?" Cardinal said with a wink. I giggle at the small man in red.

"I suppose you're right."

A monstrance-sounding clock rang out, signing it was the end of mass. A few moments pass before another knock is heard at my door. Terzo walks in, still dressed for mass.

"Ah, cara mia. I hope you had a wonderful morning, hm?" He said walking closer to me.

"I did. Thank you for sending the Cardinal up here. And uh, thank you for last night. Letting me stay the night and comforting me during the storm."

"It was an honor, my dear. Truly."

"I better be going now. I do have to get back home and go to work."

"Of course, of course. But please, don't be a stranger, eh? Come back anytime." Terzo said, holding my hands together in his. I nod in response. Papa walks me down to the front door. As we said our goodbyes, he kisses my cheek.

"Please, cara mia, do come back." I blush at his words.

"I will, Papa. I promise." I said back to him.

The walk back through the forest was just as peaceful as the day before. Coming out of the small, hidden path from the cemetery, a funeral is being held. I keep my head down and avoid the gaze of the people attending. I walk quickly back home, changing and leaving for work. The workday is long and boring. I keep catching myself thinking about the Abbey and everyone I met. I can't help but smile thinking back to how sweet Terzo was. An elderly lady walks up to the desk I'm standing at, ready to check out some books I assume.

"I know that smile." The old lady said.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"I was young and in love once, too."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. But, I don't think I am in love." The old lady smiles at me.

"Bambina, I can see it in your eyes when you smile. You are very much in love with someone. I've been around for many, many years. I've seen many, many people in love." The woman signs her name on the receipt and winks at me, leaving with her bag full of old books. I shake my head at the thought. In love? I chuckle to myself.

A few days have passed since my morning of leaving the Abbey. It was finally one of my days off and I take my usual walk to the cemetery. I wander over to the fresh grave from the other day. Morbid curiosity. I give my most sincere blessings to the departed. Making my way around the small paths that cross one another, I see a small figure ahead. A small man, dressed in red, looking rather panicked.

"Cardinal Copia?" I said aloud. He looked over at me and smiled, clasping his hands again.

"Ah, Miss Lucrecia. Just who I am looking for." He said. "Papa has sent me out to find you. However, I don't know where you live, so I just decided to stand and wait, hoping you would show up."

"Cardinal, how long have you been out here?"

"About 9am. I did not want to go back to Papa without you. So I was either going to wait for you or wait out for Papa to go to bed and sneak back in later." I shake my head at him and smile.

"Alright, well, here I am. Shall we go?" I ask. Cardinal Copia offers me his arm and we walk back to the Abbey. Moments pass with idle conversation as we approach the steps of the Abbey.

"Papa should be in his office by now. Please, let me take you there." As we enter the doors, I see two familiar men in the corridor. I glance up at the windows. It's the first two brothers.

"Copia! You got yourself a lady, hm?" The bald one says, sipping his coffee.

"Huh? Oh! Uh, no. No. This is Miss Lucrecia. A friend of Terzo's. She was here a few nights ago." A knowing glance is shared between the two brothers.

"Ah, that makes much more sense." The same man says. "Pardon me, Miss Lucrecia. I am Secundo and this is my brother, Primo."

"Hello. And please, don't be so formal. You can just call me Lucrecia." I say with a bright smile. The brothers smile back as I take my leave to find Terzo.

"Cardinal?" I ask.

"Yes, Miss Lucrecia?" He replied.

"Primo and Secundo gave each other a glance and smiled when you said I was friends with Terzo. Why?" Cardinal's eyes grew in size and his speech started to stutter.

"Uh, well. You see, Terzo has a lot of...friends. And he's often with them." I look at him again, still very confused.

"Oh would you look at that, we're here. Well, I'll see you later, Miss Lucrecia." Cardinal says and quickly walks off.

"What the hell was that?" I said aloud to myself.

"What the hell was what?" I hear a voice behind me ask. I turn around and see Primo again.

"Oh, hello again, Papa." I bow my head slightly.

"Nonsense, my child. Now tell me, what troubles you?" I told Primo that I didn't understand why he and Secundo smiled at each other once they found out who I was. Primo sighs.

"My child, you really don't know?" I shake my head. "My dear one, Terzo is a bit, active in the church. Sexually. With many siblings of sin. So, when Copia said you were here a few nights ago with Terzo, we both just assumed you were one of his one-night stands." Primo tried saying in the most caring way he could.

"Oh."

"Are you alright, child?"

"Yeah, of course. Who am I to judge?" I laugh awkwardly. Primo nods his head and clears his throat.

"If you need anything, Lucrecia, please come find me. I'm usually in my garden or my reading den. I will always have a listening ear." Primo said and knocked on Terzo's office door, walking off once he did so. A busy-looking Terzo appears at the door.

"Who is it? Oh. Lucrecia. It's wonderful to see you again. Please, please, come in and sit." Terzo gestures inside his office and guides me to a comfortable-looking chair sitting by his desk.

"I uh, I was told by the Cardinal you sent him looking for me?" I asked.

"Indeed I did, cara mia."

"Why?"

"Well, I wanted to make you an offer. Come live here with us. Let us teach you the ways of The Old One. I think you would make a wonderful addition to the clergy."

"You want me to just pick up my life and convert to a religion I know nothing about other than what I was told as a child?"

"Well, don't word it like that, cara mia."

"Then, please. Word it for me?"

"Please, Lucrecia. Attend a few masses and let me know how they make you feel. Remove all the negative information you were told about us and open your mind." I agree to Terzo's request. I agreed to live in the Abbey for a week and attend every mass during the week. I was given a habit like traditional nuns wear and gold grucifix. Each day, Terzo preaches to the masses of The Old One. He talks about not judging another, loving and caring for others, to live a free life however you see fit. He talks about how we will never walk alone. We can always reach The Old One. Even when we're dead and gone. Lucifer will be there for us. In the worst of times and the best of times. To support his children. He is shining and the light, without whom we cannot see.

After a week of living in the Abbey, Terzo comes up to me after mass and asks how I felt.

"I will admit I was wrong, Papa. This truly is a wonderful place and Lucifer cares so much for his children. You convey that concept very well. I can see why you were chosen to be Papa. I will take up your offer and become an unholy sibling of sin, if you still have me, of course." Papa's eyes grow large and his smile matches.

"Oh, Lucrecia! You will make the most perfect and unholy of siblings. You are always welcomed here, by The Old One himself. We will prepare the baptism soon! First, let's get you fully moved in, yes?" Papa takes my hand and kisses it, giving me butterflies.

#papa emeritus lll #ghost band #ghost fanfiction #papa terzo #terzo emeritus #terzo fanfic #ghost bc

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deadpresidents · 1 year

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Every minute of my 2023 has been spent without electricity so far.

But at least there's nothing going on that would interest a historian like, say, a Papal funeral being presided over by another Pope for the first time in historical memory. Or a rare contested election for Speaker of the House that is not only a disastrous, newsworthy mess for the incoming Republican majority (as I immediately predicted following Election Day in November), but has featured the added bonus of spineless Kevin McCarthy having his ambitions crushed and getting publicly humiliated over-and-over again.

It's a good thing I'm not missing anything like that, right?

I guess I should feel lucky since Pacific Gas & Electric's legendary incompetence and notorious customer "service" hasn't killed anyone this time around. But there's plenty of time for that to still happen if PG&E's repairs continue at their current pace.

Happy New Year!

#California storms #California #Pacific Gas & Electric #PG&E #Politics #Pope Benedict XVI #Papal history #Papal funerals #Death of Pope Benedict XVI #Funeral of Pope Benedict XVI #Speaker of the House #Kevin McCarthy #Congress #House of Representatives #118th Congress

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essence-of-femininity · 2 years

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Blessed Karolina Kózkówna 🇵🇱 - Virgin and Martyr of Purity.

Karolina Kózka was born on 2 August 1898 in a hamlet near the village of Zabawa, Lesser Poland, at that time occupied by Austria-Hungary. She was the fourth of eleven children born to peasant farmers, Jan Kózka and Maria Borzęcka. She was baptized on 7 August at the local parish church of Saint John the Baptist. Her childhood was spent on the family farm. From 1906 until 1912 she attended the local primary school and had further part-time schooling from 1912 to 1913. She would often gather neighbours and relatives and invite them to read the Bible together under a pear tree near her home. Kózka loved reciting the rosary using beads her mother had given her. She would fall asleep praying to Mary. Kózka would pray on her long walk to Mass. Her uncle Franciszek Borzęcki was an inspiration to her and she would help him in his role of librarian. She also helped out teaching the catechism to children of the parish. During Lent she would lead her family in singing about the Passion of the Lord and at Christmas would intone carols. Some of the villagers referred to her home as "the little church".

Kózka received her First Communion in 1907. She was confirmed on 18 May 1914. She is said to have had a particular devotion to the Mother of God evidenced by her custom to recite the rosary deep into the night. In 1914 with the outbreak of World War I Russian forces began occupying Polish towns and cities under Austrian rule and in mid-November entered Wał-Ruda. Tensions grew as stories swirled about soldiers looting and raping women which exacerbated fear in the area. At the start of the occupation a Russian soldier come to the Kózka farm but he left after he was offered a meal.

On 18 November 1914 at around 9.00 in the morning an armed Russian soldier came to the house asking questions about Austrian forces before ordering Kózka and his daughter to accompany him to the commanding officer. When the pair and the soldier reached the edge of the forest the soldier ordered the father to return home, which he did reluctantly, leaving his daughter with the Russian. Two Polish men, Franciszek Zaleśny and Franciszek Broda, were in the vicinity and witnessed from behind the bushes, the soldier's attack on the Kózka daughter. From their account, the soldier attempted to force himself upon her but she struggled and thwarted his attempted rape. Enraged, the soldier then stabbed her with his bayonet multiple times. She managed to escape and ran some 800 meters towards nearby swamps which saved her from further attacks. The soldier saw her fall and gave up the chase believing her to be dead. However it would have been too late to save her as her carotid artery had been slit and she consequently bled to death in the swamps, some time before 9.40. In the event, it was not until 4 December 1914 that her body was found and she was buried on 6 December with around 3000 people attending her funeral.

According to Rozalia Łazarz, a nurse present at her autopsy, Karolina is said to have died a virgin. Her remains were relocated on 18 March 1987 beneath the main altar of the Zabawa parish church, at the behest of the Bishop of Tarnów. The site where she died is marked with a cross. On 18 June 1916 a monument was erected in her honour by the Zabawa church.

The beatification process opened in Tarnów diocese with an informative process on 11 February 1965 which later closed in 1967 before all the documents were sent to Rome for further assessment. Her writings received theological approval on 10 September 1977 before the formal introduction to the cause was given on 4 March 1981 when she was raised to a Servant of God. The Congregation for the Causes of Saints validated this informative process on 20 September 1982 before receiving the Positio in 1983. Theologians approved this on 22 January 1985 as did the C.C.S. on 7 May 1985.

On 30 June 1986 her beatification received papal approval after Pope John Paul II confirmed that Kózka was killed "in defensum castitatis" - in defence of her virginal state - and beatified her in Tarnów while visiting Poland on 10 June 1987.

#Karolina Kózkówna #virginandmartyr #martyrofpurity #follow me #god #jesuschrist #i need followers #faith #roman catholic #catholicism #god loves you #amen #faithful #iglesia católica #Igreja Católica #catholic church #chiesa cattolica #polish blogger

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diocletianscabbagefarm · 1 year

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There's something silly about the way the news is trying to blow up the occasion of the former pope dying; BBC used the word 'unprecedented' about 10 times in a 5 minute segment. Yes, yes, he was the first to abdicate in centuries, but apart from that it's not like we haven't seen papal funerals before (last one being in 2005), except this time we won't even get the spectacle of a papal election with the white smoke and all. It's not that unprecedented.

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isabella-of-castile · 2 years

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The Political Funeral of Isabella the Catholic in Rome (1505), Álvaro Fernández de Córdova

As the symbolic centre of Christendom, Rome could not remain on the sidelines of an event involving a monarchy that was increasingly involved in Italian affairs, especially after the war in Naples. The Isabelline funeral held in the Urbe was an indication of this, its originality noted upon examination of papal diaries.

The Italian sphere was jeopardised by this event. It raised worrying questions about the future of Naples, now under Spanish rule following Garellano’s victory over the French, especially when the kingdom once again became a bargaining chip in the Franco-Imperial alliance of Blois, isolating the Catholic Monarchs and threatening their Venetian ally. Nor did Ferdinand and Isabella’s unstable relations with Pope Julius II, who was reluctant to hand over the Neapolitan investiture to them and reproached them for their friendship with Venice, usurper of papal enclaves, help to improve this murky outlook. In this tense context, it is understandable that the death of the Queen was considered in Italy to be an “event of great importance”, and gave “much to talk about” in the Eternal City, where the news arrived on 24 December via French couriers sent to the treasurer Francesco Alidosi, Julius II’s adviser. His triumphalist tone explains why Spanish agents reacted with scepticism, and why the viceroy of Naples did not publish the rumour, nor order the mourning “so as not to discourage your servants, nor give hope to the opponents.”

Aware of the disturbances that could arise in Italy, Ferdinand sent his wife’s will to his ambassadors, clarifying the order of succession. The Aragonese also sought support in the Curia by re-establishing relations with the only Castilian cardinal, Bernardino López de Carvajal, a former procurator who had had some disagreements with the monarchs. The Catholic King wrote to him in the most cordial terms, asking him to indicate to Julius II that nothing had changed following the death of his wife, and that he maintained his determination “to do everything that would comply with his Holiness,” ie continuing with the pontifical legitimisation and the safeguarding of Venetian friendship. Ferdinand was thus retaining Carvajal’s services. A month later Philip of Habsburg adopted a similar approach, and the cardinal found himself in a privileged position to mediate in the foreseeable tensions between two monarchs.

On Christmas Eve, Francisco de Rojas—the royal ambassador in Rome—communicated the news to the Pope and the Spanish cardinals. He had most probably read the Queen’s will before the Curia. The Spanish cardinals then wore “cappas violatias” as an expression of mourning, forming an emotional community that defied the curial liturgy, and could be interpreted as a form of political protest. It was a provocation that Ambassador Rojas prevented by ordering the cardinals to abandon their mourning and honor the Apostolic See.

This did not prevent Carvajal—the Queen’s “creature”—from retiring to his palace “very pained,” without making an appearance at the Christmas Vigil. He thus circumvented the ban by expressing mourning through seclusion, practised by the Spanish community in Rome as a form of political contestation. In fact, Carvajal’s gesture provoked the indignation of other members of the College of Cardinals for postponing the universal joy of Christ’s birth. With this provocation, the cardinal was declaring himself in the Curia as an inevitable interlocutor in the possible confrontation between the Aragonese monarch—ready to unleash his aggression against France—and the young Habsburg, whose Francophilia could hinder his accession to the Castilian throne, as Carvajal revealed to the Venetian ambassador.

Julius II also expressed his grief at the death of the Queen, aware that he had lost an important supporter for his recovery of the lands held by Venice. Additionally, there was no shortage of curials close to the Pope to express their affliction with the “very sad news” that had shaken Italy, such as the pontifical preacher Friar Egidio da Viterbo, convinced that with her the light of the sun and the stars was extinguished, or the secretary Segismundo da Conti, who lamented the disappearance of that “glorious woman, a distinguished ornament of our century and of the Catholic faith.”

Meanwhile, Ambassador Rojas began to organise the Isabelline funeral. He therefore urged the cardinals to obtain permission from Julius II to hold the funeral in the papal chapel, as Alexander VI had granted in 1498 in honour of the recently deceased Prince John. However, relations with Pope della Rovere were not as easy as those with Pope Borgia, who—in need of Spanish support—had made the heir of the Catholic Monarchs the first non-ruling prince to receive funeral honours in the Vatican chapel. Julius II not only refused to cede his chapel, but vetoed the celebration of the Queen in Rome, claiming that such honours were only paid to sovereigns. The Spanish prelates replied that both Ferdinand and Isabella had been crowned, and Isabella had ascended the throne even before her husband as Queen proprietress. For this reason, since Isabella died before Ferdinand, she should receive the honour due to her, even if it meant forcing the papal ceremonial.

Faced with this argument, Julius II postponed his decision for more than a month. Beyond the protocol dispute, this delay must also have been due to the tensions that had arisen between the Flemish and Fernandine courts, which explain the letters the Catholic King sent to the Pope at the end of January, expressing his willingness to cede the throne to his daughter Juana—whom he was expecting with her husband—and his hope of achieving the peace the pontiff longed for: happy omens that belied the news of Philip and Juana’s imminent journey through France—a power hostile to the Catholic King—to take possession of the Castilian throne. Hence, in early February, Julius II decided to send a nuncio to the Iberian Peninsula to oversee the transfer of the succession. All this must have been on Julius II’s mind when he communicated his decision to deny the Vatican chapel for the Isabelline obsequies, allowing them to be held instead anywhere in Rome and the participation of the whole Curia. With Vatican diplomacy, the Ligurian pope avoided committing himself to a celebration that could displease the French or be manipulated in the face of Castilian succession tension.

The liturgical celebration was significantly better attended. Following Roman custom, the pontiff did not appear, but the entire College of Cardinals did: twenty-five cardinals—six of them Spanish—more than double the eleven who attended Prince John’s funeral (1498), and many more than the eighteen who attended the funeral of Charles VIII of France (1499). Two aristocrats and the Prince of Salerno, Roberto II Sanseverino, struck a discordant note at the celebration, refusing to leave the seat they occupied with the cardinals—despite Carvajal’s attempts to relocate them elsewhere. In a city like Rome, where political tension translated into protocol conflicts, this gesture could be interpreted as an attempt by some Francophile aristocrats to tarnish the Spanish obsequies.

Instead of a Spanish ecclesiastic as was customary, Cardinal Bernardino Carafa presided over the celebration, showing with his presence the support of an important sector of the Neapolitan elite. Carafa concelebrated with seven chaplains, two more than usual, thus intensifying the solemnity of the ceremony. It was a sung Mass, and at the end the officiant and the four archbishops went to give absolution to the sovereign by singular pontifical privilege, “as cardinals do at the funeral of the pope or other cardinals.” According to Grassis, Julius II granted this intolerable novelty “with great difficulty,” at the request of the Valencian Cardinal Juan de Vera and with the approval of the College of Cardinals.

Such manoeuvres reveal the Spanish interest in offering a spectacle out of the ordinary thanks to a liturgical and artistic display, combined with innovative details that did not go unnoticed. In this case, the Spanish community in Rome undertook a process of accommodation and assimilation to project an image of prestige, elegance, and solidity understandable to the Roman audience.

#spain #history #isabella of castile #ferdinand of aragon #isabel

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diogenescynic2288 · 2 months

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Sunday Sermon One: Be Chill and maybe nice to people

Greetings all. Welcome to my first Sunday sermon. Currently people in the real world call me JustiN in my day to day life, I'm trying to decide how I feel about that. You can see my screen name for this platform up there. But, I think my most relevant identifier here is my Discordian Papal name; I am Pope Orion Orangutan Omnibenevolence Kosmos, Yes; call me POOKY.

Some of my earliest memories involve attending church of a particular Christian denomination. My mom and my late former stepdad who was dad around the house during my youth were both ordained clergy members of this denomination. I haven't been back except for a few weddings and funerals in years. At the moment, I identify as an Ecumenical Heathen, which is largely synonymous with an Eclectic Pagan but the words are cooler. I am probably the only person following my particular syncretism, and despite the fact that I'm about to sermon, I don't proselytize.

I think I like the work that is called The Gospel of Thomas, which is often characterized as a Gnostic gospel. I like the way that it's entirely or mostly sayings without a surrounding narrative, which makes it quite different from the gospels canonical to modern orthodox Christian communities. It feels like the Dhammapada, which was the first religious/philosophical text that really resonated with me when I was a younger being. There are even sayings in Thomas that sound similar to the philosophy-religion ways of Asia like Buddhism or Taoism.

For instance, Rabbi Yeshua tells the disciples to chill. Saying 91 by my version of Thomas:

They said to him,

Tell us who you are that we may believe in you.

He said to them,

You examine the face of Heaven and Earth

But you have not come to know

The one who is in your presence,

And you do not know how to examine this moment.

Now consider section 63 of the version of the Tao Te Ching that I'm working from:

Do nondoing,

strive for nonstriving,

savor the flavorless,

regard the small as important,

make much of little,

repay enmity with virtue;

I'm going to intrude here with a tangent: I think that one line might be the seed of a future sermon on the topic of forgiveness. Let's just say that forgiveness seems to be a core idea that keeps civilization working and shows up in most religious ways somehow.

Do nondoing,

strive for nonstriving,

savor the flavorless,

regard the small as important,

make much of little,

repay enmity with virtue;

plan for difficulty when it is still easy,

do the great while it is still small.

The most difficult things in the world

must be done while they are easy;

the greatest things in the world

must be done while they are small.

Because of this sages never do great things;

That is why they can fulfill their greatness.

If you agree too easily, you'll be little trusted;

If you take it easy a lot, you'll have a lot of problems.

Therefore it is through difficulty that sages end up without problems.

I will admit that the end kind of contradicts the rest of the passage, but that's a thing about the Way of the Way. It uses paradoxes. But I'd feel wrong chopping it up just to seem to have a consistent message without contradiction.

So, the version of the Dhammapada that I'm working from starts with a part called the twin verses, I like this bit and hope it thematically coheres:

“He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me” – in those who harbor such thoughts hatred will never cease.

“He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me” – in those who do not harbor such thoughts hatred will cease.

For hatred does not cease by hatred at any time: hatred ceases by love, this is an old rule.

The world does not know that we must all come to an end here; – but those who know it, their quarrels cease at once.

So, the theme I'd weave together out of this is examine this moment; strive for nonstriving, and cease quarrels. Chill out. And maybe be nice to people.

So, to reiterate, my message for the day is Rabbi Yeshua, Buddha Gautama, and Lao-tsu all want you to chill out and maybe be nice to people. Have a blessed day. Happy Day of the Sun unto you all. Chill be with you.

#sermon #Buddha #Tao #Christianity #Gnostic Christianity #Gospel of Thomas #Discordianism #Pope Orion Orangutan Omnibenevolence Kosmos Yes #POOKY

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