plaguewormart

[plaguewormart]

Thank you so much!

(Also apologies, i accidentally reblogged this on my ouaw blog first..)

But this is genuinely such a good and important addition to the conversation, I really appreciate it and I think everyone should read it!

I got this comment from @greygulfh

and while I was replying to it I realized how interesting the Tedesco/Benitez parallels are so I had to make an entire post instead!

In the book, it is mentioned that Tedesco eats in a peculiar way - Quote from the book: “Tedesco hasd a curious way of eating. He would hold his plate in his left hand and empty it with great rapidity using a fork in his right. At the same time, he would glance frequently from side to side, as if fearful that someone might be about to steal his food. Lomeli presumes it was the result of coming from a very large and hungry family.”

This is obviously a result of food insecurity from his childhood. We know Tedesco grew up in a large and poor family. - Quote from book: “He came from a peasant family and Basilicata, right down in the south, the youngest of twelve children (…) His nose had been broken in his youth and was bulbous and slightly bent.”

It’s interesting that his broken nose is mentioned. We don’t know what happened to him, but he obviously faced some kind of violence in his youth. As his nose never healed correctly, we can assume that he never received proper treatment, perhaps because of the financial situation he grew up in.

The way Tedesco eats is a well known example of how some people act after growing up without proper access to food.

However, it is then noted that Tedesco has managed to educate himself very well. Two degrees, five languages. He must have put a lot of effort into becoming so well educated.

Quote from book: “He had two degrees in theology, spoke five languages fluently, and had been a protege of Ratzinger’s at the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, where he had been known as the Panzer Cardinal’s enforcer.”

Now, in the movie, Tedesco is portrayed as a man who cares very much about his appearance. He is the only one who wears the ferraiolo (cape), most likely to further emphasize his importance and the power he has.

He also wears his pectoral cross, which is large and golden

The artist who made it says this:

Which makes it clear that Tedesco is very proud of his work and his church. (I also found the engraving interesting, and I know it most likely is just another reference to Venice itself, but I couldn’t help but to think that this story:

Fits Tedesco very well. I wonder if this is what he would’ve wanted to do- save his own family through his studies and faith?)

Now, as Patriarch of Venice, one would assume that Tedesco did indeed manage to get the money he so obviously longed for during his childhood. But we see later, that Tedesco is one of the cardinals with the least amount of money.

Quote from book: “Tedesco’s was a mere €2,821, and Benítez seemingly didn’t have an account at all - but others were rich men.”

I wonder why this is?

I don’t actually have an answer to this. Perhaps he sends money to his family, or perhaps his childhood made him more prone to spending money because he was never able to do it before? Maybe he has most of his money as cash or in stocks or something?

The only thing we do know is that from what we are told, Tedesco is not a rich man. Yet he chooses (in the movie) to present himself as such. Most likely because he thinks that it will earn him the attention and respect he lacked growing up.

I did also find Tedesco’s language rant interesting, quote from book: “Yet vhen you and I were boys, Dean, and the Tridentine Mass was still the liturgy of the entire world, the cardinals at a Conclave were able to converse with one another in Latin. But then in 1962, the liberals insisted we should get rid of a dead language in order to make communication easier, and now what do we see? They have only succeeded in making communication harder!” Quote 2: “But how can a thing be considered universal if it speaks fifty different languages?”

Yet, we also know that Latin is not one of the languages Tedesco is fluent in. Quote from book: “Yes, well, I confess that my Latin is poor, but I would inflict it on you all nonetheless, simply to make a point.”

Despite preaching about communication in the church, and despite obviously being very good at languages - Tedesco has not become fluent in Latin. Obviously he uses the excuse of wanting to understand others as a way to argue for the reinstatement of the Latin mass.

Now, Vincent on the other hand:

We don’t know much about his childhood. In the book he is Filipino, but we don’t know what part of the Philippines he comes from, or what his family’s financial or social status was.

We do know that he worked in Manila, the capital city, quote from book: “I am so proud. We are proud. The whole country will be proud when it hears of your elevation. Dean, you do know that this man is a legend to us in the diocese of Manila? You know what he did?' He turned back to Benítez. 'How long ago must it be now? Twenty years?' Benítez said, 'More like thirty, Your Eminence.”

Quote 2: “'Thirty!' Mendoza began to reminisce: Tondo and San Andres, Bahala Na and Kuratong Baleleng, Payatas and Bagong Silangan . . . Initially the names meant nothing to Lomeli. But gradually he gathered they were either slum districts where Benitez had served as a priest, or street gangs he had confronted while building rescue missions for their victims, mostly child prostitutes and drug addicts. The missions still existed, and people still spoke of 'the priest with the gentle voice'”

Now, I’m going to be very honest and say that as a Swede, I’m not very familiar with the history of the Philippines, so I apologize if any of my facts are wrong, and would greatly appreciate if anyone with more knowledge would correct me in that case or add further information if they feel like it!

The Philippines were colonised for a long time, first by New Spain, and later by the US after the Spanish war. When the first Philippine Republic was promulgated, it led to the Philippine-American war which caused the deaths of up to 1 million civilians. Many Filipinos were put in concentration camps by American forces.

During WW2, Japan invaded the Philippines, and horrible war crimes and atrocities such as the Bataan death march, women being forced into sexual slavery, and human experimentation on civilians.

A large resistance movement operated underground, but by the end of the occupation, more than half a million Filipinos had died.

This is obviously an EXTREME simplification of the events, but it's needed to understand how the Philippines was doing during the post war era, when we can assume that Vincent was born.

I would assume that Vincent's family was not spared from the post-war difficulties, such as food insecurity, financial stuggles etc.

Now, having established that Vincent, just like Tedesco, very likely grew up in poverty, we can start thinking about the different ways the go about their lives.

While Tedesco copes with his background by trying to gain the power and security he lacked as a child, Vincent instead moves in the other direction. Like Tedesco, he also educates himself, but instead of using his education to rise through the ranks and get power and fame, he instead seeks out the places where he can be of most help.

Quote from book: “Well known for his work in the poorest areas of Manila, he established eight shelters for homeless girls, the Project of the Blessed Santa Margherita de Cortona. In 1996, following the assassination of the former Archbishop of Bukavu, Christopher Munzihirwa, Fr Benitez, at his own request, was transferred to the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where he undertook missionary work. He subsequently set up a Catholic hospital in Bukavu to assist female victims of the genocidal sexual violence perpetrated during the First and Second Congo Wars.”

About the communication aspect: Tedesco uses communication as a tool to argue for the latin mass, but does not actually want a better communication in the church, as seen by the fact that he has not become fluent in Latin. We don't know which languages Vincent speaks, but we do know that he practices actual communication by travelling around the world to help where he is needed.

Tedesco dresses nicely and wears clothes that he believes will grant him respect, while Vincent comes to the conclave in his normal clothes, showing that he does not care for that kind of thing. Instead of trying to become someone else after leaving his home, Vincent embraces the trauma of his background, and uses it to help others.

I find these parallels very interesting, how two men come from similar backgrounds and use their experiences in completely different ways. Tedesco by trying to become someone new, someone who is given respect and who has left the poverty behind. Vincent by embracing it and using it to his advantage, to help and soothe those who are in similar situations.

[plaguewormart]

1300s AU: two priests working in a parish. People dying all around them. Other clergy has fled to the countryside. Their graveyard is overflowing. They no longer get called to give last rites. The smell of death hangs in the air, bodies lay on the streets, their faces disfigured by boubous.

The church is empty on Sundays. Vincent and Thomas give mass to an eerie silence. In the distance the faint cry of a dying child can be heard. Doors are marked with white crosses. Not even the priests can enter those houses.

Vincent is the first to fall sick. He finds a weak child, cast out from her home in fear of the plague. He can’t stop himself from scooping her up in his arms. From making the sign of the cross on her feverish forehead. He digs her grave himself.

It starts with a cough. He locks himself in the sacristy. Doesn’t allow Thomas to enter. He spends his days praying until he’s too weak to kneel. His coughs are wet with blood, it stains the white fabric of the altar.

Thomas breaks down the door. He cradles Vincent’s shaking body against his own. He presses his lips against Vincent’s locks. His tears mix with the blood that Vincent’s lungs expel.

It doesn’t take long for Thomas to contract the illness. They lay side by side, bloodied hands joined in prayer.

The church falls silent. The parishioners walk by the quiet building, they know what has happened. A white cross is painted on the large wooden door. They wonder if this is the final curse. If God has finally left them.

Two men lay on the stone floor, unmoving. Their hands are still clasped. Their blood has mixed into one. They’re together in death as they were in life.

[plaguewormart]

thinking about how Vincent basically babytrapped Thomas with the pontificate.

[plaguewormart]

Tw child death

Vincent is a good liar.

No one thinks the pope would be a good liar. No one excepts the vicar of Christ on earth to be able to twist his words and mask his expressions. A lying pope? Even the idea is sacrilegious.

Vincent uses this to his advantage. He’s not proud of it. He kneels until his scarred knees ache and prays until the rosary makes his fingers bleed. He asks for forgiveness. He repents in bruises and scratches from where his fingers dig into his own skin. He might not be forgiven, but he will be punished - even if he has to do it himself.

Lying is second nature to Vincent. He lies about his past, he omits details and reconfigures stories. He speaks of children in his parishes, the way they played or sang, their smiles and excitement. He tells people that he isn’t sure what they’re up to now.

Lie. Vincent lies. The bodies of children lay 6 feet under the ground. Sometimes he sees their blood on his hands. He hears their cries.

He tells himself that he’s fine. It’s a lie. He sees broken bodies behind his eyelids. Nights are spent repeating names of the ones he failed to save.

Sometimes he isn’t sure wether the blood staining his white cassock is real or not. It’s the truth. He’s asked about the stains. He says he doesn’t know where they come from. It’s a lie.

Thomas asks why he isn’t eating. Vincent blames a stomachache. It’s another lie. The truth is that he doesn’t deserve the food. The large amounts of fresh vegetables and meats disgust him. Living in excess when others have nothing. He hates it.

God, he wishes he knew how to tell the truth. To receive the support and love he knows would be so easily shared. He imagines it sometimes - falling into Thomas’ arms, being hugged after a sleepless night, his tears being gently wiped from his face.

He can’t bring himself to do it. He’s always been strong. He can manage it. He doesn’t need help.

He lies to everyone, but none more so than himself.

[plaguewormart]

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

[plaguewormart]

Vincent, a man who has spent his entire life being independent yet surrounded by love. Vincent who has seen how love can persevere even in places where God’s presence feels distant.

Vincent who has seen children smile as they play in the rubble of houses. Who has seen mothers sing for their children to distract them from explosions.

It isn’t until he becomes pope that he’s truly lonely.

He’s constantly watched. He is public property. Every word he says is broadcast to the world, every decision he makes scrutinized. He’s surrounded by people, by the faithful, by guards, by ones he dares to call friends in private.

Yet, no one refers to him as their friend. No one tells him jokes or invites him to dinner. He is holy. He is sacred. He is a relic, not to be touched.

Once, he musters up the courage to ask Thomas to refer to him as Vincent, even if only in private. He’s met with a laugh. Sacrilege, he’s told.

He cries himself to sleep. Vincent is gone. Innocent remains.

[plaguewormart]

Listening to Les Mis in the therapists waiting room and hhhh thinking about

“The very words that they had sung

Became their last communion”

And

“Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me

That I live and you are gone,

There’s a grief that can’t be spoken

There’s a pain goes on and on”

It’s so Vincent after the deaths of Thomas and Aldo I feel sick

[plaguewormart]

Vincent, after living in warzones for decades of his life is obviously very good, and completely natural in crisis and it is very interesting to think about.

I imagine he's developed a very accurate sixth sense for danger, like he's out in Saint Peter's square and there's someone with a weapon, and he absolutely picks up on it before the Swiss Guards who are assigned to him. Which leads to the pope tackling the man assigned to protect him, who has a good head of height on him, before the would be assassin can get a shot off. (We can discuss how Vincent would feel about the 20 to 30 year olds who are swore to give their lives for him, when he has buried many many young soldiers before coming to the Vatican)

Like, he knows how to disarm someone who's holding a gun on him. He know how to safely handle the firearm. He knows how to disarm it. Knows how to talk someone down when they're determined to commit violence against you or others. Knows how to stall, how to delay. Probably can lie pretty damn well, if the situation calls for it.

And with so much of his ministry health focussed, I have to assume he knows a lot about medical care. He knows how to triage, how to determine who can be saved, and who should be made comfortable, he can splint limbs, and stitch wounds, and calculate doses of morphine in his head. He knows how to comfort those in pain, and those in mourning, and those who are going to die. If need be, he knows how to deliver a baby. (I don't know how that particular one would come up after his election, but I really want to think of a scenario where it does).

If he is injured, he probably knows exactly how bad it is, and what steps should be taken, and whether he's able to continue on for a bit before seeking help (not that people would let him). He probably has a very high pain tolerance, and can grit his teeth, and carry on.

He is so good, arguably at his best in a crisis. And I sometimes imagine sometime into his papacy, he is faced with one- not a diplomatic crisis, or a political crisis, but a real on the ground disaster, and and after jumping into the thick of it, despite the warnings of his guards, and officials, he realizes he finally, once again, know exactly what he's doing.

[plaguewormart]

This + the HIV/AIDS trope🙏

Vincent seeing Aldo’s soft hands.

This is a man who hasn’t worked a day in his life, he thinks. A man who sees himself as too good to get his hands dirty.

Vincent doesn’t like judging others, but after a lifetime spent bandaging wounds and burying the bodies of innocent children, a part of him cannot forgive those who spend their lives in comfort.

Vincent’s hands are calloused. Hardened from the wood of a shovel. Digging graves is hard work. They are scarred. Rummaging through rubble and broken glass to find survivors, often only pulling out lifeless bodies.

Aldo had been so short with him when he arrived to the Vatican. Vincent assumes the man sees him as competition. As the man who stole both Thomas and the papacy.

Vincent finds Aldo kneeling in one of the chapels. He’s crying. Silent sobs wreck his body as his clasped hands rest on his knees. His joints ache as he kneels down next to the crying man.

A calloused hand covers a smooth one.

Aldo speaks.

He speaks about friends dying in masses. Of wiping tears from cheeks of men whose families refuse to see them. He talks about praying in the mornings, visiting the sick during the afternoons, and attending funerals at night.

He recalls some of their names.

He has to close his eyes in shame as he thinks of the men who were forgotten, not only by him, but by the world. The ones whose obituaries were changed to protect their families social standing. The ones who were never given one. The funerals of young men where he was the only one in attendance.

Vincent can’t tell if it’s Aldo’s hands or his own that are trembling. The distance between them is somehow gone. Their joined hands are a lifeline.

Vincent speaks of the women and girls who contracted the disease as they worked in brothels. The ones who had blood transfusions meant to save their lives - the way they died a slow and painful death.

He talks of the babies born with the illness already in their blood. Of mothers passing away with their children in their arms. Of the children joining them not long after.

He’s also unable to remember all of their names. Some of them didn’t get the chance to have one.

Vincent looks at Aldo’s smooth hands.

He sees the callouses in Aldo’s heart.

hey. ‘if you bet on a losing dog’ readers. Aldo fans. @sburbling. consider this.

Aldo Bellini has a father who works for close to nothing repairing the shoes of rich ladies. he works in a cramped room. he smells of glue and shoe polish. his hands ache. he resents these women, and by extension everything soft and feminine. his son likes to read, likes to draw, and he hates him for it. no son of his will grow up a pampered little soft boy. Aldo Bellini retreats into books, into his own brilliance. Aldo Bellini learns to look down on men like his father. Aldo has soft hands and he’s very, very proud of it. his father would have him be an entirely different man, a man of no elegance, a man of brute cruelty.

a new man comes to the Holy See. he sees Aldo’s soft hands and thinks - oh. here is a man who has never worked a day in his life. here is a man who doesn’t get his hands dirty. he will not have my vote.

a man who was a stranger only three days before is Pope. his hands are rough and callused when he presses them against Aldo’s. there is no comfort, no blessing, in his touch. only memory

[plaguewormart]

You all talk about Vincent's Converse shoes but I think Vincent has heavy duty hiking boots he got on sale somewhere obscure 30 years ago and they have remained in good shape since and have saved his ankles and his life multiple times. He is unwilling to part from them for one moment.

They make him stomp quite loudly in the echoey spaces of the Vatican, so everyone knows when the pope is approaching

For reference:

[plaguewormart]

Okay look I don’t have the energy to write a full one shot about this rn but I had the idea and I need to post it here so I’ll remember it later but ,,

Aldo as a young priest in New York during the AIDS epidemic - his friends dying around him, suffering. The pain and fear and anger. Praying over bodies in black bags. The conservatives calling it the gay plague - a punishment from God.

Vincent working in the Congo during the same time. This who get sick there aren’t primarily homosexuals. It’s sex workers, young women. Babies born to infected mothers.

The sentiments expressed by conservatives are similar. Both Aldo and Vincent are looked down upon. People spit at their feet as they enter the HIV/AIDS wards to pray. They both hold the hands of dying patients, they wipe the tears from emancipated cheeks - even as doctors and nurses refuse to touch the bodies of the sick.

Aldo has a hard time trusting Vincent at first. He was close to the late holy father, and Vincent is so inexperienced, so naive. Despite Thomas’ insistence that Vincent is the right man for the job, Aldo cannot help but to question him.

The stalemate only ends when Vincent holds mass on December 1. It’s one of his first sermons. Most popes would stick to non controversial statements this early in their pontificate.

Vincent doesn’t.

He speaks about World AIDS day. Not only that.

He speaks of the men and women affected by HIV/AIDS he’s met. He speaks of teenage sex workers, of those given contaminated blood transfusions. He speaks of children born with the disease in the same breath as he talks about the gay and bisexual men who died in masses. He doesn’t place blame on any of them.

Aldo hasn’t cried at a sermon in years. But he can’t keep the tears from falling as Vincent speaks of victims by name, as he keeps the love in his voice and how his voice doesn’t waiver as he speaks of a gay man he once knew. Aldo has to put a hand over his mouth to silence a sob when Vincent casually mentions still being in contact with the dead man’s boyfriend.

They don’t speak about it. Not for years. But from that day onwards, Aldo stays at the pope’s right hand. There’s a connection between them, a shared history of love and mourning.

[plaguewormart]

Had a bad pain day yesterday and now I have to make Vincent suffer sorry 🙏

Pain has been Vincent’s constant companion. Some of his earliest memories include crying in his mother’s arms, his hips feels as if they’re on fire, when he twists in pain he swears a knife pierces the bones in his back. “Growing pains” his mother tells him, “When you’re older they’ll go away”

The pain doesn’t leave. Vincent learns to stop mentioning it. He walks to church on Sundays, and his trembling legs ache for days afterwards. He prays to God, and when it doesn’t work, he wonders if the pain is a punishment.

Vincent tries so hard. He does everything right. He helps others whenever possible, he spends hours on his knees, both praying and working in gardens, scrubbing floors, picking flowers for his elderly neighbors. No matter what he does, the pain remains.

In seminary, he learns how to write. His fingers feel stiff around the pen, the joints ache as he spends hours writing. He cracks his fingers for relief until a nun notices and finds the sound so distasteful that she uses a ruler to try to beat the habit from his already pained hands.

Vincent spends countless nights awake, the pain moves around his body as if it were a fire, consuming him from the inside out. He bites down on his aching hands to stop cries of pain from escaping.

At age 16, Vincent accepts his fate. He has always been in pain, the pain will never leave him. He ignores the ache whenever he can, he learns how to make his smile hide the agony. He holds his shaking hands behind his back and locks his knees in place to stop them from trembling. Clenching his jaw makes it hard to eat and speak as it locks up, but it gives him a feeling of control as the pain is expected for once.

During his ministry it’s easier to ignore the pain. When those around you are suffering, your own pain feels negligible. Vincent bandages wounds and holds the hands of the injured, and no one comments on his tremors or the way he sometimes falls into a limp.

After the surgery, Vincent is sure. The pain has been a punishment. A warning, perhaps. One that Vincent has ignored. God has been telling him how unworthy he is from the moment he was born - and Vincent has ignored His command.

Blades twist inside his knees as he kneels in front of the Holy Father. He deserves the pain. His shoulders shake with his sobs, and the movement makes his joints klick and ache. It’s God’s will.

The holy father’s words may convince him that the organs inside of him aren’t sinful, but the pain must be a sign. Perhaps it is his penance.

Vincent is called to Rome for the conclave. The hours of traveling makes each joint in his body protest. He arrives at the Vatican in a cold sweat. His legs are shaking as he’s led into a small room, and he has to close his eyes to escape the nausea crawling from his muscles into his stomach.

He’s presented with a cassock. It’s too big, and the buttons are too small. His aching fingers can barely grip them. He cries in the darkness of his room. When he steps out to join his brothers in Christ for dinner, his face is washed, and his vestments are immaculate.

The long hours of voting makes daggers envelop themselves in his back. His hips are on fire. His face betrays none of this.

Thomas finds him crouched in front of the turtle pond. He isn’t lying as he speaks about his love for the tiny creatures, but he does omit the part where he only found himself in the position after his knees gave out. Walking back to the sancta Martha, he smiles at Thomas even as electricity is running through his body, stinging him wherever possible.

A bomb goes off, and Vincent is on his feet immediately. His mind is full of memories of broken bodies and crumbling houses, yet his body trembles not in fear but in pain. He relishes in the ease of ignoring it as he walks around the Sistine chapel and administers first aid to his fellow cardinals. He doesn’t notice the cut on his own face until it’s pointed out to him.

Vincent has to hold the bannister of the balcony as he looks out over St. Peter’s square. He is terrified, but the pain in his knees and hips keep him grounded. His aching fingers curl around polished stone, and he presses his hands into the material until he can feel the pain radiate into his shoulders and onto his back. The pain is all that is left of the man that was once Vincent Benítez.

Pope Innocent XIV does not mention the pain. It has been with him since his birth, and will stay with him until he takes his final breath. Innocent is a prisoner of the Vatican and the pain alike.

It’s harder to hide the pain now. Being the pope means being public property. He has no privacy, he is constantly lonely yet never alone. His shaking hands are visible in meetings and masses alike. The sleepless nights and red-rimmed eyes are obvious to those around him. There’s no proper way to excuse oneself to go vomit from pain in the middle of an audience with a president or king.

A doctor is called. Innocent doesn’t know by whom. He refuses to tell the doctor about his pains. They are between him and God. The doctor moves Innocent’s joints around, pokes his muscles, pulls his skin, takes notes on each and every scar that litters his body. His feet are examined, and so are his teeth. The scribbling in the notebook the doctor carries drives the pope insane. He smiles politely.

The doctor takes his hand as he speaks. A diagnosis. Innocent’s heart races. Chronic, the doctor says, no cure.

Vincent is 57 years old as he learns that the pain is real. The doctor says things like nociceptive, genetic, instability, chronic pain. Vincent’s head is spinning. He’s conflicted.

An answer. Finally.

Yet… there’s no cure. Despite never having hope of a pain-free existence, the confirmation is somehow still horrifying. He cannot bring himself to call the disorder a punishment anymore. Doing so would mean that others would be deserving of the same pain. Vincent doesn’t think God would punish others with this pain.

It takes 57 years and becoming the Vicar of Christ on earth for Vincent to get the help he never knew he needed, the help he never thought he deserved.

Splints for his aching joints are delivered from the doctor. Thomas buys him pen-grips that makes it possible to write without the extreme pain. Aldo brings him a heating blanket that soothes his aching joints. Ray is constantly making sure there’s a chair close to wherever he’s standing.

His schedules are reworked, Vincent doesn’t know how anyone managed that, but suddenly there are breaks between meetings and half-days off after traveling or public appearances.

A chair appears in his shower, and the umbrella stand suddenly includes a cane.

For the first couple of months, Vincent hates it. He’s been handling the pain alone for his entire life. He doesn’t need help, doesn’t need adjustments or mobility aids, or splints over his joints. He glares at his friends as they ask if he wants assistance.

Slowly… he notices that his pain lessens whenever he lets his friends fuss over him. He starts wearing the splints, starts curling up under the heating blanket after long days. Starts spending his time off resting instead of working.

The first time he asks for help, it’s the most terrifying thing he’s done in years. He spends hours contemplating his words. Wonders if it’s selfish, if he’s taking advantage of his friends. fears that they will make a big deal out of it. That they will see how weak he is.

He can’t procrastinate it any longer once the workday is over. Thomas is packing up his papers, Aldo is shutting off his computer. Ray is looking at something on his phone. Vincent is still seated. His knees have been bothering him all day, and while he knows he could make it back to his room, he knows that it will make the pain worse.

He clears his throat. His face feels hot, and he’s ashamed as he speaks. “Would… would one of you perhaps be so kind as to bring me my cane?” His eyes are closed. He’s waiting for the reaction.

There is none.

All that happens is that his friends look at him for a second. Ray is closest to the door. He smiles, not in pity, but in encouragement. He grabs the cane from the umbrella stand, and passes it to Vincent without comment. Thomas wordlessly offers him an arm to help him up. Aldo grabs Vincent’s papers and puts them in his own bag.

Vincent hasn’t felt such love in decades.

[plaguewormart]

I fear I have been unable to stop thinking about Vincent and Janusz friendship 💔

Janusz being the only member of the Curia to have met Vincent before the conclave, the only one to have known about his elevation to cardinal. Janusz seeing pictures of Vincent from the pre-conclave mass and even in his state of mourning finding time to pray for the archbishop of Kabul.

The news of the attack against the Sistine chapel reaches Janusz, and although he worries for his brothers in Christ and prays for the innocent victims, he cannot help but to thank God that Vincent was there, he knows that no other cardinal would have been able to take control of such a situation.

The white smoke makes Janusz’s heart drop, he clasps his shaking hands tightly and prepares himself for Tremblay stepping out onto the balcony. He wonders if Tremblay will grant him the dignity of resigning, or if he will be cast out from the Vatican as if he were an unwanted pest.

The crowds around him are cheering and crying. A nun is praying silently, next to her a man is waving a rainbow flag. A child is screaming, and Janusz feels the urge to hide away, to disappear.

“Habemus papam”

Flashes of memories of his time spent serving the late holy father flash before his eyes. Dinners taken in the popes private chambers, watching movies together late at night, shared smiles and laughter. Hands brushing against each other. Late night conversations, two men speaking in whispers as they sit too close to one another.

The man who steps out onto the balcony is not Tremblay. The crowds cheer as Pope Innocent XIV is announced to the world.

Janusz’s knees feel weak as Vincent Benítez faces the world in a too large white cassock. The man chosen to be the vicar of Christ on earth is the same one who had cried into the arms of the late holy father, the man who had joined them for dinner in the papal apartment, who had smiled through red-rimmed eyes and taken Janusz’s hands in his own and asked for his prayer.

The late holy father has never revealed exactly what the two had discussed, only that Vincent Benítez had single-handedly made the pope trust and believe in his church more than he had done in years.

Janusz and Vincent had spent some time together that week, Janusz showing the archbishop of Kabul around the Vatican. Janusz now remembers the way Vincent had spoken about the place, as if he would never return. Now instead, it seems as if Vincent will never leave.

As Pope Innocent XIV stands over the crowds in the st Peters square, praying for the city and the world, Janusz feels at peace for the first time since he entered the late holy father’s bedroom three weeks ago and found the corpse of the man he had dedicated his life to. He smiles, and the “amen” he utters is sincere.

[plaguewormart]

Being a conclave fic author and having a (Lutheran) priest as a mother is so funny bc sometimes I’ll just ask her about theological stances / bible verses / different interpretations of scripture etc and then she wonders what I’m doing bc I’ve never been very interested in religion before and I have to explain I’m writing fanfiction about a fictional pope…

[plaguewormart]

Feeling genuinely sick thinking about Vincent having to live after Thomas and Aldo retire and eventually pass away

[plaguewormart]

Ugh I’m sorry I was annoying @greygulfh by writing more sad stuff in the comments of my previous post and it gave me this idea,,,,

Tw death

Vincent dies alone.

It’s been years since the last of his friends passed away. He never found anyone quite like them.

He no longer remembers their voices, the way they smiled. He can’t recall the colour of their eyes.

He often prays that he will be reunited with them after his earthly life ends. He fears he won’t be.

The day Vincent dies is normal. He has dinner with some of the nuns. He accidentally calls one of them Agnes. She smiles at him, and doesn’t remind him that Sister Agnes has been dead for nearly a decade.

His guards help him back to his apartment. He thanks them, doesn’t invite them in for tea. His old guards have long since left the service, sometimes they send him cards, photos of their wives and children. They don’t visit.

Vincent has to lean on the bed as he sinks to his knees to pray. His hands shake as they grip the rosary. Prayer no longer comes easily. Sometimes he fears that God has abandoned him in the same way everyone else has.

Death comes not as an enemy, but as a friend. The room is cold and the floor hard against his knees. Death gently takes Vincent’s hands, and the rosary falls to the floor.

Vincent isn’t afraid to die. He’s surprised that Death has waited this long. He feels comfort in the embrace of Death.

He prays for forgiveness as his body gives out. He prays that his friends will welcome him. Death is gentle as it leads him away.

Pope Innocent XIV’s body is found the next morning. “Faithful until the end” is the headline as it’s revealed that the pope died while praying.

His body is placed in a chapel for viewing. People cry over the coffin. They hold his cold hands and pray for his soul. None of them know the reason why Innocent’s last will and testament make it clear that no autopsy will be performed.

Despite his wish to be buried in a simple grave, Vincent’s body is laid to rest among the former popes. He is placed in a cold room, his body surrounded by stone walls. Cut off from the world.

Even in death, Vincent is separated from those he loved. Not even death will allow Vincent to feel loved.

Anyways I wrote most of this in a taxi and just got to my dads house bc I’m cat-sitting so here’s the baby as an apology❤️

[plaguewormart]

How much do yall wanna bet that Vincent keeps falling asleep in random spots and situations??

Vincent has lived more than half of his life in active war zones. He has learned to sleep in uncomfortable places, in loud spaces, surrounded by others. He can fall asleep anywhere as long as he feels safe enough, normally whenever surrounded by people he can trust would wake him if something happens.

It begins quite unremarkable. The pope falling asleep on the couch in his apartment while having tea with Thomas. Vincent dozing off during long car rides or flights. A guard nervously shaking a sleeping Vincent awake after watching him fall asleep next to the turtle pond.

The events are shrugged off. No one can expect the new pope to be energetic constantly, especially after long days spent working without breaks.

But as the months pass and Vincent starts getting even closer to his staff, his body starts betraying him. After a night full of nightmares, Vincent falls asleep at breakfast, in front of everyone in the Santa Martha dining hall. No one mentions it, but the concerned looks he gets make him blush in embarrassment.

After a particularly tough week, the Holy Father dozes off in the middle of a meeting. He awakes to six pair of eyes staring at him. Aldo reschedules the rest of the meeting and sends Vincent to bed, where he lays awake until dinner.

Aldo and Thomas bully Vincent into seeing a doctor. They think the pope might have some kind of medical issue. Vincent reluctantly agrees to the appointment. The doctor finds nothing that can cause the fatigue, but he does note down a suspicion of PTSD and chronic pain in Vincent’s medical records.

Vincent starts finding ways to keep himself awake. He finds that copious amounts of coffee help a bit, and so does the pain of digging his fingernails into his skin whenever he notices his eyelids getting heavier.

None of them realize what is actually happening until over a year later.

Vincent gets sick. It’s nothing serious, a case of the flu that’s been going around the Vatican. He’s ordered to rest, and sent to bed.

The fever makes him confused, and he’s not sure exactly where he is. He does know, however, that it’s not safe to sleep. He’s alone, and that’s dangerous.

Thomas comes to check on him, and finds the Holy Father curled up in a corner. His feverish eyes scanning the room for threats. Luckily, some part of Vincent seems to recognize Thomas as a friend.

After showing Vincent that there’s no threats in the apartment - by opening the closets and looking under the bed, as if calming a scared child - Vincent finally agrees to return to bed.

Once the pope is tucked in, Thomas starts to make his way to the door, but Vincent grabs his arm.

Thomas is confused at first, but what the Holy Father tells him next makes him understand the past year for the first time.

“Don’t go alone, it’s not safe.”

Thomas spends the night on a chair next to Vincent’s bed, and Vincent sleeps through the night for the first time since he left his flock.