#happy catholicism sunday

[greenmantle]

#911edit #911 abc #911 fox on abc #mine #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck specialist boy on planet earth. like sea monkeys 😀 #happy catholicism sunday

[helloparkerrose]

#catholicism #roman catholic #catholic #catholic church #divine mercy sunday #chaplet of divine mercy #happy divine mercy sunday

[krist-420]

#happy Palm Sunday #palm sunday #lent #holy week #catholicism #Easter time #faith

[angeltreasure]

#Happy Sunday #Lent #St Francis of Assisi #Rosary #crucifix #Catholic #Catholicism #personal

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,” as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #Eddie munson #store manager verse

[lupuslikethewolf]

i've seen iceman's complicated relationship to religion. i've seen ridden with southern bible bumping trauma hangman seresin. what about bradley bradshaw’s guilt- and grief-ridden catholicism? hm?

some of his only memories of his father are at midnight mass and singing carols on christmas, and not the fun ones, but the ones that shined a light on the lord and filled his words with devotion. even back then, when baby bradley had no idea what 'worship' was, his daddy did it and it made him feel so happy and so warm inside.

then im sorry and it was a training accident and an american flag folded into a pristine triangle. after that his momma couldn't stand going into church. they stood outside and listened to the sermons from the road and visited daddy's grave with flowers and prayers and i-miss-yous but bradley eventually forgot where their regular pew was and what the colour their pastor's hair was and what the wine (grape juice) tasted like. but he wore the cross. he always wore the cross.

and after momma died he stopped going all together. maverick wasn't religious. bradley told himself the reason he missed it was that he missed visiting the house of the lord, but really it was because maverick had other connections to nick and carole bradshaw, but bradley only had the church and now he doesn't even have that. sure, he's fine, but his dad’s cross hangs low on his chest like a brand because ever since dad died he's never felt the same devotion. now, his prayers aren't for god or christ, they’re for his momma and his daddy and he lies to himself that they aren't. and blasphemy is a cardinal sin.

then he looses maverick too. he floats around for years and forgets how to say his hail marys.

he re-applies for the academy and thanks the lord for the first time since he was a child that he got in. he follows in his father's footsteps and find a new church. he goes every sunday. he says grace. he does everything a proper christian should. honour thy father is written into every action he takes.

because his god is still his father. his holy spirit is still his mother. his christ is still maverick. he’s still sure that his prayers never reach their lord and saviour. and blasphemy is a cardinal sin.

#it physically pained me (english-indian) to write mom i cant lie #cw religion #bradley rooster bradshaw #mhm love me some religious trauma #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 1986 #top gun #top gun maverick

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Hellfire (Priest! Miguel O’Hara x Demon! Fem! Reader) one shot

Oooooo Im very happy about this one. Based of the song from the hunchback of Norte dame. No idea how this got to the word count it did lol. Not proofread.

Religious imagery(Catholicism specifically), questioning of faith, the lyrics of the song does contain a certain that can be seen as distasteful/offensive, reader is a demonic entity (almost like a succubus), nsfw content but no smut (mdni), semi-dub con(???) (reader trying to convince Miguel to give into her, but it’s mostly teasing touches and stuff.), cursing, mentions of hell.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.6K

Masterlist

—

Confiteor deo

Omnipotenti

Beatae Mariae

Semper virgini

Beato Michaeli archangelo

Sanctis apostolis

Omnibus sanctis

—

With a heavy sigh, Miguel placed his rosary and his bible on his office’s desk. Another Sunday completed, all the services for the day were finished, along with clean up and the classes for the kiddos. It was now getting dark, the sun setting, leaving a beautiful painting of pink and orange hues in the sky. The church bells struck once, twice, three times, then one last time, signifying another hour having passed as Miguel put on his winter coat and gloves, because surely,it was still snowing outside , his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty ancient church. He stops at the start of the wooden pews, turning towards the front and placing his right hand to the top of his forehead.

“En el nombre del Padre.” (In the name of the father.)

His hand travels to the middle of his chest.

“Y del Hijo.” (The son)

To his left shoulder.

“Y del Espíritu…” (And the holy…)

To his right shoulder.

“Santo, Amén.” (spirit, Amen.)

Lastly, he brings his hand up and places a gentle kiss on the side of it, his eyes never leaving the stain glass portrait of the Virgin Mary that hung in the middle of the top of the stage as he said the prayer, before turning back around and exiting the church, a familiar sense of dread filling his chest as he closes the door behind him.

—

Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man

Of my virtue I am justly proud (et tibit pater)

—

Miguel couldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t sleep.

He rubs his large hands over his face, his eye bags have been getting darker lately, he’s been lacking energy, and thanks to the little sleep he’s been receiving, it was only making it harder for him to fight off the temptation of sin. But it’s not like he could have a full night's rest, not when… Miguel shook his head in an attempt to rid the vile and unholy thoughts. Maybe tonight will be different, that was the lie he told himself every night.

Miguel placed his toothbrush back into the little blue cup onto his bathroom sink, bringing up a small, white hand towel to clean off the excess water that was spread on his lips, and began to run down his chin and onto his neck.

what a delicious sight.

Once he finally finished cleaning up the water on his chin, he dragged the towel over his sink counter to clean the water he had spilled while brushing, before placing it back on its little hook and exited the bathroom, turning off the lights and closing the door.

Maybe he wouldn’t have the same problem every night if he didn’t look so tempting, only sleeping in gray sweatpants.

He does a once-over of his house, making sure all the doors and windows are locked. Before finishing stopping in front of his bedroom, freezing right before the threshold of the door. His hands go up and join together in a praying signal, whispering for protection under his breath.

Like that’s ever helped him.

—

Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than

The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd (quia peccavi nimis)

—

The second he took the step into his bedroom, he felt a shiver run down his back. It felt like the temperature dropped once he walked in, he swore if he focused hard enough, he’d be able to see his own breath.

Despite his fight or flight senses screaming at him to run, he continued to venture further into his master bedroom. A simple wooden cross with golden accents hung over his bed, his eyes fixated on it. Miguel O’Hara, was a man of faith, he had to be in order to be the priest of his community’s church. He’s poured his whole life, soul and being into his religion, having been raised catholic since he was a mere infant. So why was it that every night, when he’d stared at the cross over his bed, the one that was supposed to protect him, did he start to doubt?

—

Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there?

Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul? (cogitatione)

—

It always started the same.

He’d sleep somewhat soundly for a good amount of the night, once he was able to get his mind to stop racing.

He looked so adorable asleep, despite his colossal size.

He moves a lot, so his bed always becomes a bit disheveled, a pillow on the floor or a blanket halfway off the bed. Some light snores and some drool dripping out the corner of his mouth.

How could such a holy man be so delicious looking?

It was 3 am. Witching hour.

“Wake…”

“… up~”

“Wake up.”

—

I feel her, I see her

The sun caught in her raven hair

Is blazing in me out of all control (verb o et opere)

—

Miguel’s eyes shot open. Chest heaving as he takes rapid short breaths, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. His eyes darting around his dark room in an attempt to find the source of the voice, only lifting his head as he did so.

He knew you were here.

Finally he finds a pair of dark glowing eyes at the foot of his bed, how did he miss it in the first place? He chalks it up to panic. A silence fell over the two of you for what felt like hours, an all too familiar sense of panic (and to Miguel’s horror, slight arousal) filled his senses. Finally, you break the silence.

“My my my… if it isn’t my favorite priest…” You said in a sing-songy tone, as you slowly climbed onto the bed, making Miguel’s stomach twist. He should push you off of him, he should banish you to the depths of hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it for some reason. He was paralyzed. You stopped crawling once you were fully over him. “Oh father… help me for I have sinned.” You said in a mocking tone, a shiver ran down his back once again as he let out a shaky breath, feeling your sharp fingernails trail down his chest, and stopping at the waistband of his sweats tugging at the band slightly.

—

Like fire

Hellfire

—

Finally coming to his senses, (much to your dismay) he finally pushes off you. Landing on the floor to the left side of the bed, with a small “oof” as he quickly scrambled to the over side of the bed in or to create distant between the two of you.

“Get out.” Miguel growled as he readjusted his sweats. You didn’t respond, rather, you brought your hand up to move some hair that had gotten into your face as you slowly walked around the bed and towards him. You looked how you always did when you would visit him. You could even be mistaken for a human if it weren’t for the horns, the wings and the long nails.

“Don’t act like that now, father. Aren’t you tired of this little game we play every night?” You asked with a head tilt, continuing to walk towards him as you spoke, your sentence coming out slow and drawn out, your tone nothing but pure seduction. Miguel closes his eyes as if they would deafen your words. Every step you take forward, he takes one back, before the back of his knees eventually hits the back of his bedside table, his hands going behind him to help stabilize himself to keep from falling back on top of it. “You pretend you don’t enjoy this-“

“I don’t.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then why, pray tell, are you hard, father?” You smirked as you spoke., eyes drifting down to a very visible bulge in his sweats. “Have I finally done my job? Will this be the night you fall victim to temptation?” You said in a surprised, yet smug tone. Miguel felt his face burn up, a hand going behind him in search of something. “I will say, you do look quite handsome on your knees. I can give you something so much better to worship than God. You just have to give in to me, give in, father. Give in. Give in. Give in. Give. In.” You chant those two words like a mantra, your eyes begin to glow as you got closer, you were at arms length now. Your steps and words came to a sudden halt.

—

This fire in my skin

This burning desire

Is turning me to sin

—

Your eyes narrowed at the rosary Miguel was holding up in front of you in an attempt to protect himself from you.

“That’s not a very nice way to treat your guest.”

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you back to hell where you belong.” His words make you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Oh please, you would never. You and I both know that. Now put that thing down so I can corrupt my favorite human.” You attempted to move closer, only for him to double down. “Tell me Miguel, if you were really gonna ‘banish’ me or whatever. Why haven’t you done so already? I’ve been coming to you for a few weeks now? If you really wanted to get rid of me for good, you would have done so already. You’re a priest for god’s sake-“

“Don’t you dare use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“I’m a demon.” You deadpanned.

He hated to admit that you were right, he hated that he knew that you were. He’s surprised that you haven’t gotten bored in this game of cat and mouse yet. Every night you would appear in his room at the sametime, attempting to seduce him while he spat empty threats at you. Why hasn't he just gotten rid of you yet? It’s not like he doesn’t have the power to do so or the equipment. Maybe he was going insane, maybe he was losing it, or maybe…

No. He couldn’t.

He can’t just throw away his whole life’s work just because a demon who happened to be conventional pretty keeps pestering every night. He couldn’t allow himself to give in to temptation. He wouldn’t allow himself to be corrupted by your glowing eyes that seem like they could stare into his soul forever, or your sultry voice that made his heart skip a beat, your plump lips that would pull up into a smirk whenever you’d question him, how the say you would tilt your head made him weak in the knees- oh how he wish he could worship your body on his knees like you were a goddess- no, fuck.

“Get out.” Miguel repeated, his voice becoming tighter, his knuckles turning white. He takes a step forward, you take one back and frown. “Get. Out!”

He blinks, you're gone.

—

It's not my fault (mea culpa)

I'm not to blame (mea culpa)

It is the gypsy girl the witch who sent this flame (mea maxima culpa)

—

It’s been a few weeks since your last visit, much to Miguel’s surprise. He should be relieved, he should be thanking the heavens up above that he was finally able to extract such a vile presence from his life, he doesn’t feel a pit in his stomach when he enters his own home anymore, it doesn’t feel like the temperature in his room is 20 degrees colder than it is in the hallway leading into it anymore, he doesn’t feel like like there’s this constant ghost lingering over his shoulder anymore. So why wasn't he at peace?

Your lack of presence was almost just as unbearable. In a twisted way, he became accustomed to it. Maybe this was another of your tricks, attempting to perform classic conditioning on him. Get him used to you by the constant attention from your nightly visits, butter him up despite his protest, making his body burn up with the way your touch lingers on his body too long, the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you lick your lips, the way the word father would leave your lips in a way that made it sound like you’ve just sinned and he was the only one who could help you reach eternal salvation again, just to pull it all away from him within a snap of a finger to see how long it would take for him to crumble. You were Pavlov, and Miguel was just the dog whose mouth started to water at the sound of a bell.

The church was empty besides himself, he was kneeling before the crucifix that was placed next to the portrait of the Virgin Mary, eyes closed, his hands folded together in a fist as he he dips his head down, nose touching his hands as he silently prayed for forgiveness for allowing you to slowly chip away at his self-restraint. He heard the large front door open, he didn’t open his eyes but his head came up as he spoke.

“I’m sorry my child, the church is closed.”

“I needed to see you though, father.”

Miguel’s eyes snapped open. He knew that voice all too well.

—

It's not my fault (mea culpa)

If in God's plan (mea culpa)

He made the Devil so much stronger than a man (mea maxima culpa)

—

“How-“ Miguel was stunned, not only have you reappeared after weeks, you were also standing inside of a church, his church. You looked so beautiful, you looked like an actual human, your nails, although still sharp and point looked more like acrylics rather then claws, you weren’t dawning your bat-like wings and your horns weren’t poking out of your hair, if Miguel had passed by you on the street, he’d be none the wiser. It only made him crack more, imagining what it would be like in a different world where there wasn’t shame and taboo keeping him away from you. Where you aren’t a soulless, heartless creature. “How’s you get in here?” He finally got the question out, his eyes narrowed into slits as he took a step back, almost fumbling his footing and tripping.

“We can enter churches if we find a weak point.” You stated as you made your way towards him, Miguel’s eyes dropped instantly to your hips, how they swayed with each step you take, his mouth went dry and he instinctively licked his lips. “I wonder what that weak point is?” You teased as you stopped in front of him, your lips pulling up into a smirk.

—

Protect me, Maria

Don't let this siren cast her spell

Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone

Destroy Esmeralda

And let her taste the fires of hell

Or else let her be mine and mine alone

—

He don’t know how it happened, one minute he was standing face to face in front of you, then the next, you both were in his office in the back of the church, you were sitting on top of his desk as he kneeled in front of you, his rough hands wondering and running around your legs, and he planted soft light kisses all over them. In between each one, he’d whispered a small pile of forgiveness from God, but he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

—

Hellfire

Darkfire

Now gypsy, it's your turn

Choose me or your pyre

Be mine or you will burn

—

“You never told me your name…” Miguel mumbled into your skin, his face buried against your inner thigh as he looked up at you.

“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my actual name. Just… call me (Y/N).” You cooed as you ran a hand through his hair, before bringing it down to his cheek. Miguel leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. He was completely and utterly yours now.

“(Y/N)…” He whispered the name like a prayer.

—

Kyrie eleison

God have mercy on her

Kyrie eleison

God have mercy on me

Kyrie eleison

But she will be mine

Or she will burn

#Spotify #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 fanfic #spiderman 2099

[slushiepizza]

Marie and Mother Mary

Relationship : Marie & Milo Greer

Tags : Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Partum Depression, Gender Roles, Catholicism, Motherhood, Italian American Marie Greer

Word Count : 1,510

ao3

Notes and Warnings:

this fic kind of surprised me because I'm not super into the Shaw Pack. But I do find Marie Greer's presence and bits and pieces we know of her character fascinating. I wanted to explore Marie's mind and feelings about being a mother when she's dealing with a gambling husband; and for her to raise someone like Milo Greer- she must've done a great job as a parent.

I took inspiration from my own experiences growing up with Catholicism and specifically in relation to the biblical Mary as a religious figure; and how mothers often find comfort in the thought of a figure who related in their struggles of motherhood and womanhood. It also has a theme of gender roles/ alluding to rigid gender identities because of the circumstances that Marie grew up in.

This fic isn't really... religious per se, and it takes more of a neutral standing while still criticizing how religion could be used to provoke feelings of personal guilt and trauma in someone who grew up in it, while also giving comfort to anyone that needed the universe to say that everything will be okay. If any of the themes may cause distress in you, I do implore you not read this fic, as consuming writing is a vulnerable activity.

The year was 1993. Marie Greer walked into the empty church lot with her baby in her arms. It had been decades since she last stepped on its stone floors. The security guard stationed outside looked at her strangely, but let her in once she asserted that she was there to pray.

She passed the main building for a small garden in the back. There were rows of wooden benches but nobody to be found. Good. Marie didn’t want company at the moment. To call it a garden was an overstatement- it was tiny and cramped, overgrown with vines. In front of the benches, the centerpiece of all the foliage was a statue of the Virgin Mary. Mother Mary, she thought, the double entendre not escaping her. 

As soon as she sat down right in front of the statue- Milo wailed inconsolably like he always did. 

The baby’s loud cries echoed disturbing whatever peace that was left from the place. Marie sighed, tired and weary, of this. He was an especially sensitive child, smaller than other babies his age. Marie was used to catering to people who’d fuss over the littlest things, Colm had a particular affinity for order and cleanliness whenever he came back from blowing his month’s earnings in a night, after all. The addition of Milo to the family just added more on her plate- she had to catalog every single one of his many allergies, and make sure that the room was never dusty because he’d have a coughing fit otherwise. The replacement of their popcorned ceiling had not been cheap, either, not with Colm leaving barely anything left after his trips to Vegas.

She did this all for love. For him. For her husband. But oftentimes, she felt like there was nothing left of her to give. Dry. Hollow. 

She shushed Milo and lightly rocked him in hopes that he’d calm down but to no avail. He thrashed and turned, his nails accidentally scratched her in the arm. Marie winced and tried to soothe him, lightly patting his back. It took thirty minutes of rocking and soothing Milo until the baby went back to sleep. 

St. Mary’s weathered ivory-colored face looked down at her, her expression blank and unmoving. Her lips were sculpted into a serene smile. Her pupil-less eyes gazed back at Marie. 

Just like any other Italian-American family at the time, church was a routine for Marie growing up. Her mother would dress them in their Sunday’s best and wrangled her and her seven unruly siblings into the building. “Quit fussin’ your pigtails, Marie. I did that real pretty for you,” she’d chide. They’d sit in the back of the church because tardiness ran in that family’s blood like a curse. 

Past the twelfth and thirteenth pews, God felt distant. 

Marie would follow everything diligently. She stood up when everyone else stood up as the priest lifted the circular white wafer, the body of Christ, above the altar. As a child, her height wouldn’t allow her to catch a single glimpse of it. She’d comfort her younger siblings whenever they’d make a ruckus. But the whole thing- it went one ear out of the other. 

She could’ve sworn she tried her best to listen and followed whatever the adults did. 

I have greatly sinned, escaped past her lips as she did the same thing she had now, rocking her baby sister in her arms. At the time, she hadn’t even lost her milk teeth. 

She stopped going when she married Colm. He was the opposite of the man her mother wanted her to marry, and in retrospect, she felt that it was one of the many reasons she liked him. His mind was raucous, his eyes wild and unmoored. Like nothing was holding him back. Colm used to be an ambitious man- the thrill of being an Investigator for DUMP perfect for his unrested soul. 

Marie loved that part of him, the fact that he’d question everything, unbelieving in anything unproven. 

He said that he wanted to purge the world of assholes- the unjust, those who hurt others for their own sake. As he turned in empowered criminals in the pursuit of it, he became one himself. 

Marie met St.Mary’s gaze- almost challenging her hollow stare. Something surged through her, from the ache in her back settling to her tight diaphragm.

After the birth of her boy, Mary couldn’t cook or clean. All she did was stay in bed. Her sister came by to help take care of the house while Colm stepped outside as usual. She said that it was normal, her body had been through hell, after all. But the heavy feeling, the heaviness that settled in her chest persisted for the next two months.

 Marie hated feeling helpless- her house a mess, and her baby cried constantly. She was a woman of action, and stagnation shackled her, leaving her trapped. Her visit to the psychiatrist- and the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual- had told her that it was depression with a postpartum onset. She told the doctor that she refused to accept that she was a ‘bozo who was sick in the head’ and that she will cure herself with a margarita and a sorely needed hair perm alongside a fresh coat of manicure. 

And look where that got her. Crying in front of a statue in church.

She still stared at the other Mary, the statue’s size and height caused her to look like she was looking down on whoever prayed in the confined space, guiding them iin a time of need. With that, for once, Marie realized that she was angry. 

She wasn’t stuck to her mattress, fatigued, and lacked energy because of sorrow- she was so angry, the weight of her job description as wife, mother, woman, wolf, dog, bitch- Marie weighed down on her like anchors. She was angry, at the fact that Colm was nowhere to be found throughout all this, angry at her mother- for making her a mother to her own siblings when she was barely a child, angry at the fact that she couldn’t even love her child properly because she no longer had any love left in the hollow of her heart. 

The emotions had clawed the insides of her ribs and caused her to let out heavy breaths- she was a dog panting for air when there was none. 

“When does it get easier,” she demanded to the Mother of all Mothers through gritted teeth. “Tell me, Mary,” she begged, desperate, as tears started to roll down her face. “Tell me!” 

“When does being a mother ever get any easier?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as she started to sob and heave quietly. 

A soft breeze blew past the branches of the trees that surrounded her. It moved the leaves and allowed them to move gently back and forth. The statue still looked down at her, hand slightly outstretched in a supposed kind, helpful gesture. Ants crawled from the crack in the marble, they moved past Mary’s dress down to the hem, circling around her exposed foot, past the head of the sneak that was crushed triumphantly under her toes. 

Marie sank into her seat, tired. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffling. Unbecoming of her, she thought. She’d rather die than let anyone see her like this. But there was a comfort between women, she supposed. Damage from rain stained Mary’s cheek like tears- not unlike the thick mascara that currently ran down her own. The air was comfortable, easy, and Marie felt light. It reminded her of the 80s. Of girls in the bathroom of the disco, talking someone out of calling their past lovers as they applied lipstick and passed cigarettes between one another.

“I guess,” she sniffed. “I guess you know better, right?” she stared into a picture that hung on a distant wall. In it, St. Mary cried as she held Jesus' dying body. “He didn’t give you a hell of a good time either,” her voice cracked pathetically. 

Girl, tell me about it, Marie imagined the statue said. The Virgin Mary had the voice of her best friend in college. Is that not what being a mother is? The pain so bad, it feels like you’re splitting in two? Going through all seven hells for your baby’s sake?

“Why do we even put ourselves through this,” she chuckled sardonically. “If I wanted to go through pain, I’d rather just listen to Colm talk about whatever fish he caught on the weekend.” 

Mary didn’t answer, and Marie understood. Milo opened his big eyes in her arms and reached up to her with tiny hands. He giggled, light and oblivious to the puffiness of Mary’s face and the swell of her eyes. She cooed at him and held up a finger. Milo wrapped his hand around it, gentle. 

St. Mary’s serene smile was still plastered on her face, her hand outstretched in the air between them. 

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #marie greer #milo greer #redacted milo #redacted marie

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

III. 

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him? 

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him. 

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear. 

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s. 

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory. 

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them. 

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?” 

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention? 

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen. 

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature. 

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile. 

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms. 

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony. 

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch. 

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing. 

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back. 

 For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #arcane viktor #legion

[roseluxxx]

Confess to the Father

Tamaki Keigo (Hawks) x Reader

You confess your sin of lust to Father Keigo who.. seems to be enjoying just a little too much.

A/N: None of this is ok irl. I love morally conflicting fics and loved this idea.

tw: catholicism, masterbation

————————————————————————

“You will be able to see Father Keigo momentarily; he is currently in a meeting.”

“Ah, yes of course.”

You had been on the edge of your seat to meet Father Keigo for about a month now. Since you heard the new rule: every 18 year old must have a private meeting with the Father to confess, you were on edge.

This “law” of the church was freshly made, and conveniently, as you turned 18 just a few days before it was passed.

“He’s ready for you.”

“Oh- yes, thank you.”

You followed the nun to the confession booth where the Father was readily awaiting you. Stepping in, you heard him clear his voice and, although you dismissed it entirely, a soft zip of a zipper.

“Ms. y/n! How are you, my love?”

“I’m well, thank you for asking Father Keigo.”

“Wonderful. As we know, you have recently turned 18?”

You flattened your skirt against yourself, nerves slowly consuming your thoughts. Speaking to the Father was an honor you’ve only had a handful of times.

“Yes, Father. Within the last dozen days or so.”

You heard a small grown from the other side of the wall, was he feeling sick?

“Right. As you grow into adulthood you should start fresh, yes? Why don’t you give a confession about yourself, y/n, anything at all plaguing your mind. I’m eagerly listening and so is the Lord.”

Since when was this a part of confession? You took a deep breath, you always trusted what the church said was best. As long as Father Keigo says so, then it must be true.

He is connected to the Lord after all, not me.

“Okay, sure. Uhm..”

You played with the simple ring you got for your birthday, a pink tint falling across your cheeks.

“Father Keigo.. as I have grown older, I've become more.. aware- of my body.”

Hearing a happy sigh from the Father, you must have been doing a good job confessing.

“I have experimented with..”

You spoke the next words in a whisper, barely wanting the wind to hear.

“..touching myself, Father.”

A loud groan escaped Father Keigo's mouth; is he dreadfully sick?

“Father? Are you feeling unwell? I can very well come back to finish this at another hour.”

That one sentence drove Keigo insane. You were such a good girl, so sweet, so compliant. If he told you he needed help with what he was doing now.. he has no doubt you would happily agree to help the Father with anything he asked.

In fact.. he might take himself up on that offer.

“Oh, yes, my dove. I have suddenly fallen ill, my deepest apologies for the timing. How about we reconvene after Sundays’ service?”

He let his hand stroke his cock faster and faster, gently rubbing the tip with the other. He was so close. He just needed you to speak once more and he-

“Oh but Father, I have just one more confession to make. My body- I think I’ve been followed by lust, Father.”

Shit. Holy fuck.. yes. Just like that.

He smiled, the cum dripping down his shaft and pooling at his balls, he fucking loved you.

“Of course. Let’s meet after service and I’ll help you fix that alright? God wants to help you, always, and so do I. Come to my office right after service, alright sweetheart?”

———————————————————————-

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Feel free to comment if you have any questions or just wanna share what you liked/didn’t like.

Will there be a part 2?

WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL READING THIS? honestly one of my fav early fics y’all are valid🙋‍♂️

-> navigate my page! (includes m!list and ao3)

#female reader #mha fanfiction #no quirks au #hawks smut #hawks #keigo tamaki #keigo x reader #hawks x self insert #hawks x reader #keigo x you #mha keigo takami #mha keigo x reader #keigo tamaki x reader #catholic #chatholic au #roseluxworks #masterbation #keigo smut #fanfic #xmasiscoming #bnha keigo #keigo imagine #mha catholic au #mature audiences only #18+ only #pt 1 #keigo fluff #roselux mha

[iloveyouemanuelmarco]

Hmm, I've been thinking(Okay so for context, for all my life up to now aka since being born technically, I was raised into a family household that believed in Christianity but mostly leaned towards the Catholicism parts of such since I've heard there are many different types of people of faith with all different names and traditions, customs and cultures of said interest and everything which I think is pretty cool in its own right atleast but anyways- From what I can remember from being apart of my small and average main family system, my mom along with my grandmother from her side of relatives and such, are seemingly the most passionate and active in the church when compared to my dad. My father isn't hateful about such beliefs nor is he even considered an aethetist or agnostic, but he hasn't been following many of the typical "rules" or societal normaly that is considered when being apart of said group. For example, while my mom and grandma go to church every Sunday whenever they can so they can worship our lord and savior of God and his son, Jesus Christ, my dad is often uninterested in traveling to make the literal 5-10 minute journey though he mostly stays inside anyways watching old movies from different foreign countries sooo(No hate to him by the way, if it pleases him then I hope he has fun doing that^^). I'll admit, while I do make attempts to go with my mom, I often find myself unable to due to disinterest, but it's not disinterest in him ofcourse. I would never ad I love him very much and always have, but it feels like even though I do care about our Holy Father and that I haven't directly rejected him, my current daily life atleast as of lately has been feeling like I have currently abandoned him somehow or that I have somehow drifted away from the right path and have become deaf to his word. It honestly makes me very upset since I should be more loyal and honest to him now that I think about it. I used to be such a happy little girl who would pray every day in the morning before school and at every night before bed. I used to go to a private religious catholic school where I would go to church there sometimes too(half of the time it was mandatory on certain days during the hours but still)and even if I didn't understand everything due to my young age, I would quietly sit and listen I'm an attempt to learn more about the holy scriptures and such with my classmates and the other students from different grades/ages. I used to prepare for the moments during one's usual journey, being excited that I would become closer to God by wearing my white dress and getting baptized with other certain selected students(I don't remember what the specific event was called but I remember it being very important to me at the time)and I don't know...I sorta miss it. I miss being so happy and careless of all my anxieties but now I am stuck here...I don't want to stray away from God's love any longer, I don't want my true reality to break away because it makes me afraid of if I somehow commit some sort of unforgivable sin that'll destroy any sense of humanity I have left...(I know that sounds dramatic but please. I am really trying to make a solid attempt at explaining all of this right now so as complex as it may seem, keep in mind that my brain is starting to function again for once in the dying light that is my empty and boring life that while I am still grateful for, has been causing me much hurt and pain in so many ways). Currently I am a 16 year old eurocentric and privileged middle-class white-latino feminine presenting person who is actually a member of the LGBTQIA+ and neurodivergent community too according to doctors/psychiatrists or something(I don't know, that's what my dad has said since my late diagnosis at 12 which is that even late?? It's so confusing at times ughh but that's just how it is I guess haha).

On the internet, specifically here and on the couple of social media platforms that I publicly have, I have used these safe spaces to more accurately and honestly express myself when it comes to my identity not only when it comes to sexuality and gender but also with the intersectionality of my race and ethnicity, my hobbies, interests and talents, my wants and needs and etc. I have said before that I am a privileged and middle-class eurocentric 16 year old white-latino feminine person in real life but actually wants to present as more of who I am being a bisexual(male preference having)aceflux female to male transgender person who to be honest is probably more of a mostly male but still bigender or genderfluid person since I still feel connected to growing up in perceived girlhood but I don't know yet...who does know though at that point???Pfttt...I don't hate my body and I know God made me beautiful in my own way just like all the other unique people he created all through out the history of the planet Earth, but sometimes it can be hard since I think the most queer people see me as is just maybe a bisexual cis girl who might be on the asexual spectrum???I hope I am making some sort of sense with my explanation...somehow so with all that being said, I guess I've had some sort of short epiphany in my brain where I've realized something important for me that I've almost forgotten. I need to actively take steps to come back to God and I know somewhat of how to do it but I would appreciate a little more help from others with more expertise aka experience for those who don't have a big and fancy vocabulary in their inner-mind library haha- I do sincerly apologize if I have caused genuine annoyance for anyone with this post for whatever reason as my normal posts are coming back soon once I get back online but for now, I need to go study and do more research on how I can save myself and others for when he comes again. I know it sounds scary but it's actually wonderful so please don't be scared of him, because he loves us all no matter what and nothing can turn us away from him. Worship him and confess your sins because it's good to be honest and he loves you, after all he knows you best like you know yourself since he created the beautiful building of love and passion got the world that is your soul. It's never to late to choose him and to spread the good word of the gospel<3. Please stay safe and have a good day or night wherever you are and thank you if you've read the entire paragraphs of rambles I've written haha. I really do appreciate your support whether it be here, there or anywhere else!!:)You must keep surviving for you and I, for us and eachother but also for him too...

Also P.S: Hope you guys don't mind but I'm gonna put a nice scenery image here since I like being calmed down and enjoy embracing the beauty of nature, especially when we're lucky enough as humans to photograph the right moments atleast!!Other animals sadly only get to enjoy it in the moment which can be too fast since they're constantly needing to survive actively♡.

#Christianity #Catholism #Christian Faith #Catholic Faith #Christian #Catholic #Beautiful Moments #Faith In Jesus #Faith In God #Epiphany #Realizations #Realizing #Realization #Humanity #Animals #Plants #The Earth #Religious #Religion #Science #Technology #Modern Art #Hope #Staying Strong #Staying Safe #Relaxing #I Am So Happy #Jesus Christ #God #The Father The Son And The Holy Spirit

[barbiewritesstuff]

Church Encounters

-- I heavily debated posting this, because I was kind of afraid that people wouldn’t like it, but I had this idea and I needed to write it so I’m posting it anyway. I thought it was sweet. 

Also the title is a play on ‘Chance encounters’ but idk if it works lol, my pun game isn’t great

Tw. Christianity?, Catholicism?, Church? (I don’t know if I need to tag these, I’ve seen people tag them so I am playing it safe but yeah…) -- 

You had been looking forward to mass since the end of the previous one, and now that it was done you felt happy and relaxed. You didn't care about the raging storm, or the fact that you had walked from base housing to church and you would need to walk back amidst the thunder and lightning as you made your way towards the door.

Something on your right caught your attention. A group of five familiar children stood waiting, peeking outside every so often to check for cars.

"Where are your parents?" You asked the oldest one, Peter. 

"I don't know. They said they would join us but they didn't come"

"Did you call them?" 

"We don't have a phone"

You knew how Admiral Simpson felt about phones in sites of worship, due to having accompanied his family to mass a few times as backup when the girls, a set of rowdy triplets, were babies. 

You fished your phone out of your purse and looked through your contacts until you found Cyclone's number. The phone didn't even bother to ring, instead giving you the sound that signified it had no signal. The storm raging outside must have been running interference.

"No luck. I'll wait with you" 

"You kids okay? Hi, my name is --" Someone spoke behind you, you turned around. 

"Hangman!" you exclaimed, surprised.

You had never seen him in church, despite your regular attendance to services, in fact, you hadn't even known him to be religious. 

Almost involuntarily, your eyes scanned his form. He looked good, better even, than when he wore the tight navy uniform. He was dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt, black slacks and thoroughly shined shoes. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the way his hair was gelled. 

"Y/C/S" he replied, an awkward expression etched on his face. He retracted his outstretched hand. 

"I didn't -- You --" he let out a nervous cough "Do you -- err -- often attend services?"

The fact that he hadn’t recognised you didn’t bother you. You were hardly wearing base appropriate clothing with your black dress, ‘Sunday best’ shoes and Chapel veil covering your long blonde hair. If you had looked at yourself from behind, you probably wouldn’t even have recognised yourself.

"Every week"

"Ah"

"I usually sit at the back" You explained

"I usually sit at the front" He replied

"We're waiting for their parents, they didn't show" 

"You can go home, if you want… i'll stay with them" Hangman offered

"It's fine, I'm their babysitter" You waved him off 

"I am their youth minister…" He retorted

"That is so sweet, Jake" You said, your voice soft and gentle. The tone in which you had spoken took both of you by surprise

Clearly, he hadn’t expected this answer from you, as he suddenly grew interested in his shoes. He looked at the floor with a light blush and his face broke into a wide smile, the first genuine smile you had ever seen on his face.

For a reason unknown to you, the idea of Jake as a youth minister made your heart flutter. Perhaps it was the image floating through your head of him running and playing with a group of children, or even the fact that it was so unexpected that it forced you to think of Hangman as a soft, kind man. Or perhaps it was because of the way he was looking at you all shy with the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. You tried to push the feeling down, but it wouldn’t be deterred.

"Maybe, you could both wait with us?" Peter said, trying to hide the mischievous smile on his face. His eyes glanced between the both of you and you blushed.

"That seems reasonable," Jake said, coughing nervously again.

You nodded, the movement of which shifted a bobby pin and caused it to fall to the ground. Both Jake and you bent down to grab it at the same time. Luckily, you narrowly avoided knocking your heads together when Matthew, the second oldest, swiftly grabbed your cardigan and pulled to move you out of the way. 

"Thanks"

" 'S alright"

You removed the rest of the pins from your hair to distract you from the awkwardness of the situation. 

Conversation with Hangman usually flowed well. Sure, it was usually made out of bickering and insults, but the conversation flowed without too much unwanted silence. Here, under the protection of the church entrance, it seemed like a line had been crossed. It seemed like Hangman had been just as keen on keeping his private life to himself as you had, now that you had glimpsed into each other’s secrets you didn’t really know what to do with yourselves. 

The last bobby pin was stuck, everything you tried to get it to leave your hair only made it pull painfully on individual strands. Jake saw you wince and almost subconsciously, his hands moved to help you in your task. He managed to remove your chapel veil right as a familiar car stopped by the church steps. Cyclone ran out of the driver’s seat, wearing his Sunday best and carrying an umbrella. 

“Thank you both for watching the children. We had some car trouble… How was mass?”

“Dad, hurry! I’m hungry!” Peter and Matthew shouted before disappearing into the car.

“I’m sure they’ll tell you all about it” You told Cyclone, trying to cut the conversation short on behalf of his children’s growling stomachs.

“Y/C/S, how about I drive you back. You’ll get ill if you walk home in this weather” He offered. You had been about to refuse when thunder roared and lightning cracked with such force that it made you jump.

“Yes please!” 

You bid Jake goodbye and ran underneath Cyclone’s umbrella. He accompanied you to the back door of his Sedan and opened the door. You squeezed yourself in and waved to Jake one last time, he raised a hand in return.

You had spent the better part of the evening looking for your Chapel veil.

It was one of your most precious possessions, not only because of the religious aspect but because it had been your great-grandmother’s last gift to you before her tragic passing only a few years ago. You had looked everywhere from your handbag to every nook and cranny of the house. You had even walked back to the church to check your seat. In the end, you laid down in bed, defeated and distressed. 

The loss of your heirloom made your sleep restless. You woke up every few hours wondering where you could possibly have put it and wondering if your great-grandmother was looking down on you now, disappointed at the loss. You eventually abandoned the idea of rest and woke up, four hours before your alarm to make yourself the strongest coffee you could stomach. You try to read for a while, but even that doesn’t distract you, in the end, you decide to give your dog the walk it has been dreaming of and spend three hours, in pouring rain, stopping by every bush, every wall and every hedge San Diego has to offer. 

   

Training was harrowing, but it is the only thing capable of distracting you from your loss. Now that it was over, though, you could feel yourself slipping back. You had hoped Cyclone would have found the in his car as it was the only place you hadn’t been able to search, but he had said nothing when you had seen him. 

“Can you believe it?!” Halo exclaimed in a loud voice that cut through the noise of the running showers and the fog in your mind. You hadn’t heard a word she had said, although you could guess the subject. Halo had been on a date the previous evening with one of the male nurses she had met during your yearly medical exam. He had asked her out during her vision test, an unromantic gesture that had apparently been a hint of what was to come during the date. 

“Sorry?” You asked, putting in the code to unlock your locker and opening it.

“Honestly, Y/C/S, where is your head at today? Did you even listen to anything I said?”

“Yes, I did” You lied “Sorry, I --” 

You looked inside your locker to find a neatly folded piece of fabric and a piece of paper. Your heart leapt in your chest when you recognised the intricate design of your great-grandmother's chapel veil. Something was written on the note. You knew the handwriting was Hangman’s, the neat cursive handwriting a rare enough sight among men that you would be able to recognise it anywhere. 

 “Forgot to give it back to you, sorry. If you’d like, we could sit next to each other next week? We could also grab lunch afterwards? -- Jake. PS. Change your locker code, it was way too easy to guess…” 

“Everything okay? What are you smiling at?” Halo asked “Is that a note? Who is it from?”

You hid the note behind your back.

“Y/C/S, you tell me right now!” She tried to grab it from your hand but you threw it back inside your locker and shut it before she could get her hands on the piece of paper

“What’s going on?” Phoenix asked, arriving with the rest of the team for their showers. The men’s locker room having been rendered unusable by a burst pipe, you had all been made to share as a temporary measure.

“Y/C/S received a secret note from someone and she won’t show me” Halo whined

“Surely that’s the point?�� Jake said, making his way to a locker behind your best friend.

“She was smiling” She said

“So?” You asked, an involuntary smile plastered on your face.

“So? Baby, you’re smiling at a note… Clearly, you like the person who wrote it, and I will not let my best friend have a crush she doesn’t tell me about”

Behind Halo, Hangman smiled

“Crush, huh? Now I’m interested too… Go on Y/C/S, tell us about the mystery person” He said, moving in closer to the both of you. The rest of the team listened in from the sidelines, with smirks and smiles on their faces.

“I hate you all” You laughed making sure to shoot Jake a wink as soon as Halo turned back to her locker with a huff. 

#fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #original fic #jake seresin #hangman top gun

[helloparkerrose]

#Christ the king #catholicism #catholic #Catholic Church #Outdoors #Statue #Jesus Christ #Happy Sunday

[godza]

catholicism usually gets a bad rap, but it's not all evangelicism, catholic guilt, and homophobia..! not to be catholic on main but there are good ideas at the root of catholicism surrounding love and community. and catholic theology is soooo interesting. if you were to convert to catholicism then i recommend you read parts of if not all of the catechism to get a grasp of catholic beliefs, and after that, interpret those things the way you personally see fit. religion does not equal spirituality, but the two are intertwined! you can be catholic and still have your own unique practices and beliefs. but obviously, it's up to you, and i'm not trying to evangelize or anything. i just wanted to give my two cents! as a catholic (unfortunately) who loves theology !

thank you! i was raised in a catholic family, which put me off the faith at a young age. i think having religion forced upon me with boring classes drove me away. i remember bringing my leapfrog and coloring books to sunday mass. i now go to a catholic college, and ive always believed in catholic principles of love and helping others. i still have the cross my grandmother gave me, im going to think some more but i am considering it. my grandma will be so happy and i think having a new purpose in life will make me happy too. my choir practices in a church so staring at the phases of jesus on the cross have been imprinted into my brain just like theyve been at my local church. i think im gonna go to church next sunday! thank you for pointing me in the right direction, ill definitely read the catechism! might even crack open a musty bible who knows whatll happen

#having a religious lesbian in my choir class has helped a lot with my subtle issues w catholicism. im gonna try again! #ask

[irrealisms]

You dont have sex because you're waiting for marriage or because being gay is a sin?

man i dont remember posting anything abt not having sex/celibacy/being side b before this ask, idk what this was inspired by. it's probably bait (and, quite frankly, it's none of your business why i'm having or not having sex) which is why i waited almost a full week to answer but i'm going to answer it anyway (once) because i want to be open about this. if you or anyone else is interested in having a discussion on why i believe the things i do, send me a message or an ask off anon. i'm much more willing to be vulnerable in a setting that isn't "anon question that is probably bait".

as a clarification that will probably mean very little to my secular followers but will be appreciated by my side b followers (and hopefully at least mean something to my side a Christian followers): i reject this dichotomy. i'm celibate because i'm gay--but i don't think being gay is a sin. i am gay. i do not believe my existence is a sin. i believe that i've found many beautiful and true things from being gay, and that God made me gay for a reason. i am glad i'm gay, and i don't wish i were straight or pray to become straight. so, so much of side b advocacy within the Church is focused around making it clear that, while being gay comes with different temptations than being straight, it is not a sin to be gay. (note also: different temptations. not "being gay comes with temptations and being straight doesn't".) it would be a slap in the face to not start with that. i share a lot of thoughts on this with eve tushnet, who's also a side b Catholic lesbian; this post was incredibly meaningful to me on my journey, but check out her blog if you want more.

but also, yeah. i don't have sex because i converted to Catholicism with the intent of obeying the Church's doctrine. i note in my bio that i obey the doctrine of the Church. and, well, i can't get gay married as a Catholic, and i'm not supposed to have extramarital sex. so i don't i know that there are side a Catholics, many of whom i respect, but i'm not one of them. i don't believe in "ex-gay" therapy or "pray the gay away" and i don't think that being gay is inherently sinful, but (and here's the part that i assume you're reading for) i do believe that having gay sex is a sin. i follow the teachings laid out in the Catechism, to the best of my ability and understanding. that's in my about page. right now, for me, as a lesbian: that means celibacy. the Catechism is pretty clear on that, imo. i don't talk about this often because most of my friends (and, for that matter, tumblr followers) are queer non-Christians, many of whom have trauma around Christianity and Christian homophobia (which is, to be clear, very real, even if you agree that gay sex is a sin). but like... i'm just living my life. i go to Mass on Sundays and i fast during Lent (or get permission not to from the local priest, when my eating disorder makes it a health concern) because doing otherwise would be a sin; not having sex (or masturbating! which was/is tbh much harder for me to give up than partnered sex! but people ask a lot less about that, because it's less discourse bait and more clearly none of anyone else's business) is the same sort of thing, to me. was it hard (is it hard)? yes, sometimes. but God doesn't just ask me for sacrifices that are easy. maybe some day i'll change my mind again and become side a or deconvert altogether. maybe i'm wrong about things! but this is where i'm at right now.

for what it's worth, i'm happy. i don't hate myself. as mentioned earlier, i'm glad i'm gay and i don't want to be straight. my life is full of love--from friends, family, God. celibacy has had its downsides and painful moments for me, but it's also had its upsides and moments of joy. i've been able to deepen and prioritize and value my friendships. it's been valuable and beautiful and worth it. fundamentally: i believe what i believe, and i'm living true to that. if you want to unfollow me for this, go for it. if you want to filter it, my tag for religion + queerness + being side b is #too gay to live too trad to die.

#therapists dni #too gay to live too trad to die #catholic tag #follower purge time ig

[blueskittlesart]

the last thing i needed to be thinking about was the hyrule equivalent of catholicism

happy easter sunday everyone

#it's my solemn duty to remind loz fans on this holy day that like 90% of the first few games in this franchise were just biblical imagery #held together by a loose damsel-in-distress plot #asks