#catholic errors

[boredgramlin]

My catholic parents be like: I just don't want this lgbtq stuff to be forced onto my child

Also them: *proceed to force their religion on all their kids without a single question*

[canisalbus]

Imagine if Machete was Muslim instead of Catholic. His name would be something like Saif سيف, and Vasco would probably be something like Dhahabi ذَهَبِيّ

.

[brucewaynehater101]

Matt Murdock, Daredevil, and his religion.

Do y'all think about how he condemns himself to an existence he knows goes against everything he believes?

Lucifer is an example of what not to be and do. He's been cast out of Heaven, he's a fallen angel, he's never to return to his father's side. He spends eternity judging the damned and enacting punishment over sinners.

Matt, as heavily inspired and motivated as he is by Catholicism, knows the guidelines for what will allow him into his heaven and what will prevent him access. He knows what's a sin and constantly seeks out the confessional.

What does this man do?

He uses Lucifer as a template. He names himself DareDEVIL and personally punishes those he perceives to be deserving.

Matt's version of heroism isn't by his God's path. It's the precedent set by the scourge of his Father.

[shortnotsweet]

Pearl of the Realm [Part 1, 2]

inspired by Twitter posts about Lucerys showing up to court in this pearl lingerie set and blowing Aemond’s virginal, incel mind to absolute smithereens, bringing him to his knees in a public space like the loser he is. I don’t know which Lucemond Twitter account talking about this specifically caught my attention, so lemme know/tag them if you do bc they got the gears in my brain TURNING ok I went into a trance and when I awoke, Luke dripping in pearls appeared. As he should. Also, fun fact, the reference pic had white pearls but I used Tahitian/black pearls instead, because Team Black, and also they’re generally more rare.

@twincomets i present these pics as proof. I swear it happened and got confirmation that there is, indeed, a god in this universe! how exciting

[lesbianchemicalplant]

wrt how people talk about ireland on here: one thing that's odd to me is like, the relatively little mention of the utter dominance of the catholic church over almost every aspect of life in the republic for most of its existence. there are occasional references (when there's news, mainly) to some of the church's child abuse coverups and magdalene laundries, but usually not put in that context

I think maybe it's because of (correct) aversion to the inane liberal framing of the occupation/resistance as a Religious Conflict. but overcorrecting from that into like, just politely not mentioning something so central to the republic's consolidation and functioning as a state and irish politics in general

[grewlikefancyflowers]

Hi,

Can forging the yin tiger tally be called WWXs mistake? Apparently some people think he made it due to his resentment during ssc. Also there is emphasis on that he regrets making it which can be shown by him destroying it and the following conversation making it seem like it was his mistake.

“I’ve always been the one using this to deal with others. Today it’s finally my turn to have others use it against me. Now I know just how obnoxious the Tiger Seal is. If I were them, I would’ve wanted to kill the person who created this damn thing as well.”

On that note, i have also seen fandom using the following instances-

1)“It’s not that I want to bargain about such a thing, but that I don’t want my charges to be doubled just because of some words from another. I won’t shoulder what I didn’t do.”

2)The things I did, not only do you remember them, I remember them too. You won’t forget them, and they’ll stay even longer in my mind!”

Use as an evidence that he regreted(personally, i dont think he has done any wrong) his actions during nightless city when all i get from this is that he is just accepting the fact that he did kill a lot of people during nightless city. Can this be said that he is regreting for it?

The novel explicitly states WWX's reason for forging the yin hufu in chapter 30.

'Back when Wei Wuxian had created it, he hadn’t thought too deeply about the whole thing: if he were to take control of the ghosts using solely his own spirit, he was bound to get tired. Then, he remembered a very rare piece of spirit-infused iron which he had happened to come across inside a monster’s abdomen, retrieved it, and forged it into a Tiger Tally.

But once the Yin Tiger Tally was created, Wei Wuxian realized that something was very wrong after using it just once.

The power of the Yin Tiger Tally had far exceeded his original expectations. He had merely wanted it for assistance, but who could have guessed it would turn out so mighty it would almost triumph over its creator?'

His cultivation was having some effect on him that he wanted to avoid, so his original intention was that it would help with that.

We're told he thought about destroying it at the time, he gives two reasons for not doing so. 1, it was very difficult, apparently 'demanding an incredible amount of his time and energy' (let's not forget that destroying it contributed to his death, this isn't some flimsy excuse). 2, he kept it for his own protection, 'he already vaguely sensed that his own situation was precarious, and sooner or later, everyone would turn on him. The immense power of the Yin Tiger Tally meant that no one dared touch him while he was wielding it'

Then, as we all know, he broke it in half and 'decided never to use it without thinking carefully through the consequences.'

The yin hufu situation is another example of how MXTX subverts typical villain tropes with WWX. The expected tropes of a character forging a powerful, dangerous weapon then keeping it should be that they're greedy for power, they arrogantly assume they can control it and are then tempted by it to give in to darker desires, which eventually brings about their downfall. Rather than greed or arrogance, we see that WWX's reasons for forging the yin hufu are humble, he recognised his own limitations and sought an aid to avoid wearing himself out, and he foresaw the danger he was in and kept it for his protection.

About this line,

“I’ve always been the one using this to deal with others. Today it’s finally my turn to have others use it against me. Now I know just how obnoxious the Tiger Seal is. If I were them, I would’ve wanted to kill the person who created this damn thing as well.”

It's giving us an insight to the mindset of WWX's opponents, and that their fear/anger/resentment of him & this insanely powerful weapon he wielded is actually a justified and rational response, which WWX empathises with. But I think it takes a leap in logic to say that understanding the motives of people who opposed him indicates that WWX thinks he has done something wrong or made a mistake. WWX notably is understanding of JZXun's reason's for ambushing him at Qiongqi Path, but that certainly doesn't mean he thinks it is his own fault.

So can forging it be called a 'mistake?' I guess, but only in the sense that it did not fulfill the purpose that WWX expected it to. Keeping it is a different topic... it's true that him having it gave people more reason to oppose him, yet there were also a myriad of other reasons people opposed him, and the yin hufu did provide him protection from that. Yet, in the end they attacked him anyway, and he ultimately decided to destroy it, yet that also resulted in his death (WWX couldn't defeat the sects with the yin hufu so I think it's pretty clear he couldn't have survived the siege without it). Ultimately the judgement in MDZS on the yin hufu is that it shouldn't exist, it's too dangerous. However, there isn't clear condemnation in the text or from WWX himself for him keeping it, because he had completely fair and logical reasons for feeling it was beneficial to him at the time. It can be called a 'mistake' that he didn't foresee things clearly, but I also think it is absurd to say this is because of some terrible flaws on his part. Humans can't predict the future or know everything, that's not a flaw.

I already spoke before about how I don't think WWX was right at Nightless City, not because of strictly his actions but because of his intentions. The people at Nightless City attacked him first, they wanted and planned a fight, so there's no argument to be made for them being innocent or victims, nor any reason they should be spared from something they willingly signed up for. However, in this situation, WWX was also neither innocent nor a victim, he went to Nightless City because he also wanted a fight, he waited for them to attack first because he wanted to go apeshit on them. He was lashing out after everything that happened prior because 'anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart.' (ch.78)

WWX undeniably does not feel all his actions in the past were good or right, because he makes different decisions in the future. But I do not get the impression that he feels particularly sad or remorseful about the people he killed (aside from JZX). Actually throughout his second life, WWX's attitude towards those who'd led the siege on him is fairly scornful, so it doesn't seem like he feels it was justified or that he deserved it. During the second siege he is dismissive of the people coming at him with their grievances... this is not the behaviour of someone who has a lot of guilt or regret for what he did to them.

Imo, his regret is more centred on himself and how he lost himself back then, giving in to his anger and lashing out at the world. How he gave up everything do try to avoid this kind of conflict, hidden away in what he calls a 'hellish place,' only it to all be pointless because he fell apart at the end anyway. He couldn't stop the siege, so what was it all even for?

Though he has some regrets, to WWX this is all in the past, he already died once and he has moved on from it all (MXTX expressed this same sentiment in one of her author's notes btw).

[likeabxrdinflight]

me to my therapist: so what exactly do you know about the concept of original sin?

her: um....what's original sin?

me: ...oh.

[stjohncapistrano67]

I was going to leave this comment on a response I did to a post. But I want to get this out there.

In my opinion, one of the biggest mistakes that the pre Vatican II Council Catholic Church made, was it's pigheaded stubbornness to keep calling Catholism/ Catholics "christian".

In the wake of the protestant revolt, not making a distinction between Catholics and heretics calling themselves "christian" is a recipe for disaster.

The ignorant and indifferent can't or won't tell the difference, and from my own history, I can attest to this error.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I might be more excited about civilizational collapse if I thought anyone had any idea what would be better

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

when has the Christian religion ever not been corrupt. Show me one Christian community that isn't racist or sexist or homophobic or xenophobic or covering up abuse or severely neglecting the poor or misogynistic.

and if you say "we all fall short of God's glory" it isn't hard to not be an abuser of people in those ways. like that's the lowest possible standard of human is to not be bigoted.

Let’s break this down a bit - I’m answering this as being asked in good faith.

“When has Christian religion ever not been corrupt? Show me one Christian community that isn’t racist or sexist or homophobic or xenophobic or covering up abuse or severely neglecting the poor or misogynistic”

You are asserting that Christian religion has always been corrupt by that first statement but fail to provide evidence how, at its inception, a faith built around Christ and his teachings of love for one’s neighbor and divine goodness, Christianity is corrupt.

Are the Coptic Christians of Ethiopia who did not partake in the Crusades for respect and love of their Muslim neighbors (among other complex socioeconomic reasons) equal to modern Alt-Right RadTrads who call for another Crusade? Are the priests who died administering last rites and tending to bubonic plague victims undifferentiated from those overseeing the abuse and genocide of indigenous peoples during Spainish colonization? Are the nuns who live and work among the homeless and petition for housing and food and social change as detestable as the bishops and archbishops who demanded indulgences of peasants for forgiveness of sins?

Every faith of humans has individuals who do good, and those who do wrong. There have been many, many wrongs, small and great, committed in the name of Christ; but to dismiss the many, many good deeds, small and great, done in the same name is willful ignorance.

I did not in my post say “we all fall short of God’s glory,” but you are correct to assume that such a sentiment is a slippery slope to “all abuses and wrongdoings are expected and therefore tolerated.” It is true that, as humans with free will, we are liable to sin. Part of the act of contrition is “I firmly intend, with the help of your Son, to make up for my sins and to love as I should.” Christianity, in Catholic dogma, calls all people to reflect on their actions and to make a conscious effort to do penance for sins and to avoid committing sins in the future. But Christianity does not call one to simply be “the lowest possible standard” either - we are all called to be Saints devoted to serving God through our work - service to the poor, company to the imprisoned, and aid to the immigrant are common dedications in religious orders.

Now that I’ve answered your ask in good faith, I’m going to be honest and say I don’t actually think you sent this in good faith. I’m assuming you have had personal or cultural negative/traumatic experiences with Christianity. Your feelings regarding this faith are valid, and I’m not answering this ask to convince you of it’s merit or convert you to its cause. I only ask that you reflect on your sweeping generalizations of a religion that spans thousands of years and across continents, practiced by millions of people as an important part of their life and identity.

[thisismenow3]

Life is always half work and half luck

Any kind of progressivism in my beliefs has so much to do with the flukes of fate in my upbringing. I wanted to be better but would I have found the way as a religious kid if I didn’t have a very left leaning fransican priest running Bible study and masses? If the other half of my church experience wasn’t in a historically black church would I be able to believe as I do or would I just see religion and faith as only a poisoned apple? It def seems like in most white churches in America Catholic or otherwise this kind of can be the case. But not having my father in my life to much things up, and the people I had in churches and school and martial arts, being these exceptional people both men and women… being born and raised in the south but my mom and the family that claims me being from the north. Being Christian but not Protestant in the Bible Belt. Could I be the leftist I’ve become as an adult just through my desire to be better and find the righteous way? Hard work always has to be there, but luck rules so much as the beginning and end of what’s possible. Making your own luck is often just a euphemism for power or being diligent in your hard work as you wait for luck to finally come in. I hope I can not only raise people to be better than myself, I hope I can be part of the luck for other boys and even men, for white people, for believers in pushing toward the truly righteous. We should always keep pushing up that hill

[ultramontanism]

Msgr. Joseph Clifford Fenton, "The Doctrinal Authority of Papal Encyclicals":

The distinguished theologians who deny the papal encyclicals the status of infallible documents teach, none the less, that the faithful are bound in conscience to accord these letters not only the tribute of respectful silence, but also a definite and sincere internal religious assent. [...]

‘Hence it follows that the authority of the encyclicals is not at all the same as that of the solemn definition, the one properly so-called. The definition demands an assent without reservation and makes a formal act of faith obligatory. The case of the encyclical’s authority is not the same. This authority (of the papal encyclicals) is undoubtedly great. It is, in a sense, sovereign. It is the teaching of the supreme pastor and teacher of the Church. Hence the faithful have a strict obligation to receive this teaching with an infinite respect. A man must not be content simply not to contradict it openly and in a more or less scandalous fashion. An internal mental assent is demanded. It should be received as the teaching sovereignly authorized within the Church. Ultimately, however, this assent is not the same as the one demanded in the formal act of faith. Strictly speaking, it is possible that this teaching (proposed in the encyclical letter) is subject to error. There are a thousand reasons to believe that it is not. It has probably never been (erroneous), and it is normally certain that it will never be. But, absolutely speaking, it could be, because God does not guarantee it as He guarantees the teaching formulated by way of definition’. [32] [...]

The faithful owe the obedience of respectful silence and of an internal mental assent according to which the proposition thus presented is accepted, not as infallibly true, but as safe, as guaranteed by that authority which is divinely commissioned to care for the Christian faith."

Extract from the American Ecclesiastical Review, Vol. CXXI, August, 1949, pp. 136-150.

[urhoneycombwitch]

shrine of your lights

🍯 honey flavour: edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one? 

🐝 the bees: FWB!Eddie x reader 

wc: 4.8k

content warnings: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all. 

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing. 

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out. 

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath. 

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin. 

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance. 

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears. 

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts. 

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera. 

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place. 

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson. 

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him. 

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business. 

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention. 

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard. 

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby. 

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.” 

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.  

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache. 

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons). 

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass. 

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look. 

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes. 

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack. 

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up. 

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot. 

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space. 

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ‘cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side. 

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm. 

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks. 

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

[till-the-soil]

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Thus, then, as the heavenly spirits with perfect unanimity exalt and glorify God, so do we pray that the same be done over all the earth; that all nations may come to know, worship, and reverence God; that all without a single exception may embrace the Christian religion, may devote themselves wholly to the service of God, and may be convinced that in Him is the source of all sanctity and that there is nothing pure, nothing holy, that does not proceed from the sanctity of His divine name. According to the testimony of the Apostle, The church is cleansed by the laver of water in the word of life: and the word of life signifies the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost in which we are baptized and sanctified.

And since there is no expiation, no purity, no integrity, in him over whom the divine name has not been invoked, we desire and pray that all mankind may abandon the darkness of their impious infidelity, and, enlightened by the rays of divine light, may come to recognize the power of this name and look to it alone for true Sanctity, and that thus receiving the Sacrament of Baptism in the name of the holy and undivided Trinity, they may receive the Plenitude of sanctity from the right hand of God Himself.

The Catechism of the Council of Trent; Part IV, The Lord’s Prayer, Hallowed Be Thy Name

Benediction of God the Father by Luca Cambiaso, c. 1565, oil on wood

[c0smicdaisy]

assigned male from the cinema ticket website. it's doesn't let me change "Mr" to "Mrs" so now all my emails and reciepts say "Dear Mr Tina" 😌👌