#church wafer ice cream

[kazz-matazz]

IT GENUINELY TASTES LIKE THE BODY OF CHRIST

YOURE NOT WRONG IT DOES!!!!!! IVE JUST NEVER HEARD IT COMPARED TO THAT 😭😭 reminding me i used to be SO excited to get those frickin wafers 😭😭

[nek-ros]

going to church reminds me i wanna draw more of priest alix getting fucked by demons And buy communion wafers so i can dip them in ice cream

[nikaruss]

Fuel, Medicine, Pleasure

What could it mean to give yourself the food you need to keep going? No punishing, no guilt, no withholding. Just nourishment.

A big meal is a source of shame to me. A big meal is not something I like to consume in front of other people; I only eat it in secret, by myself, after I’ve had a tiny meal in public.

Bil Vandergraff warned against packing your backpack with items you think you should eat on a hike. Instead, he suggested going for what you actually crave: junk food, like cold pizza. His reasoning was both psychological and physical. On a psychological level, the slice of pizza just might be the thing that pushes you to keep going instead of turning back. 

Some of them end up requiring rescue not because their bodies have given up but because their minds have. Vandergraff calls this “having the psychology to get yourself out of the canyon.” 

No one has ever opened up a packet of Oreos on a mountaintop and said, “I’m being so bad.” But bad is a word I’ve heard a lot in the real world. Bad is the word my mother used when she brought out ice cream after dinner. Bad is what my friends and I were when we ate zebra cakes in our high school cafeteria. Bad is what the women’s magazines told me I was being when I ordered the french fries instead of the salad. Bad is how I felt each time I ate a slice of birthday cake at a party where I’d vowed to stick to the crudités. Sugar is bad. Carbohydrates are bad. Fat is bad. All the things you want are bad and you are bad for wanting them.

In the real world, exercise is a punishment. I go to a gym and run on a treadmill, which, unlike hiking, is just going nowhere. Sometimes it feels like the point is to go nowhere, to watch the numbers on the machine, to look up at the beautiful people on the muted televisions anchored to the ceiling and know that I will never reach them. 

When I am hiking, I care for myself. I wear comfortable clothes. I eat food that tastes good. I rest. I move. I thank my legs, my arms, my breath, my heart. 

What would it mean to treat my body like that in the real world? To give myself everything I need to keep going? No punishing, no guilt, no withholding. Just nourishment.

but basically, what it comes down to is just eating when you’re hungry. That’s it. If this sounds obvious to you, know that I envy you deeply, that I have spent my entire life wishing I could be you and failing. Failing as a teenager in church when I skipped communion because I was worried about the carbohydrates in the wafer. Failing as an adult at a restaurant, watching my friends order what they wanted instead of what they’d decided they had earned. Failing at breakfast, at lunchtime, at dinner, in bed after eating too much, in the morning when I woke up hungry. 

And now my body is telling me what it wants so clearly it might as well be a pet, a child. Hey, it is saying, I need food. This is how it works. I need food to keep going. 

The sandwich, once embarrassingly huge, becomes a source of motivation.

[obeymebutnotlikethat]

Hi, Hello, Invisibility

hi, Hello, it's my first day here. You already hate me but your arrows shoot right through me. For I don't look like the enemy. You're willing to sit in front of me and show me the ropes, I'm still the new kid in town.

Hi, Hello, I'm on a life sentence without parole. This existence is perversion not the same as the church wafers placed on young tongues. Can you show me around? Yes, greet me and show me to all of your colleagues. I don't look like the enemy; I'm not the enemy. Your bullets shoot through me like club music during June parties.

Hi, Hello, I'm a nice accessory with viability to your team. You think you're going to like me and it's not ok. I'm a liar on the bible taking seating in court hearings. Swearing to the jury and all of them listening that I'll tell you my God honest truth.

I'm not religious for all reasons not good enough for you. They said I'd burn in hell by now and they looked quite like you. Still, I'm sorry, I'll do better with conversion therapy in November.

Hi, Hello, I almost confessed to undercover spy-atrics. I've got glitter-filled bombs, two short nail fingers, and hoodies too big. Sexuality isn't sex and I'm not rated R or PG-13. Unless you count my tongue flinging fuck you in the corners of peacekeeping. Or it licking the ice cream cup clean.

Hi, Hello, your bullet grazed me I'm bleeding. Is my shirt changing colors?

[attackedbytwees]

Yesterday I attended my grandmother's funeral.

In the eulogy, we first heard how she was born into a working class mining family during WW2, and went on to pass the grammar school entrance exam a year early, at the age of 10. And that was the last we heard about Janet herself.

She met my grandfather at 17, and from then on was a dutiful wife, mother, and servant of God and the Church. 81 years of life, condensed into a list of her husband's achievements, jobs, and relocations; her children's marriages to Good Christian™ partners; the names of the church clubs she volunteered for.

At the beginning of the sermon, the vicar said that "Janet would have wanted the focus to be on Jesus", and he certainly followed through on that. Several times he referred to what "Janet might have said" about various lines of scripture. Not what she had said. Just what she might have said. Hardly surprising, given that the depth of his personal tribute was that she "had a nice smile" and "liked a joke".

Not once during the service or wake did anyone stand up and talk about who she was as a person, or share a fond memory.

My grandfather, beaming, said he it was the best funeral he'd ever been to.

My Gran deserved better. So here are a few memories.

All her life she loved to travel - from a road trip in a tiny overloaded car to Switzerland as a young woman, to multiple trips to the USA, to bus tours across Europe with a retirees' travel group. She was a National Trust member, and enjoyed going round stately homes and gardens around the UK, then coming home and painting watercolours of the flowers she saw. She had a great memory for facts, she could tell you the names not only of every US state, but every state capital. Whenever they would come back from a holiday, she was fastidious in making sure that every detail of the stories was accurate - for instance, whether it was ham or cheese in that sandwich they had in that one hotel in that one place - which always made the telling take twice as long.

Despite being a keen traveller, Gran's palate never expanded to match the stamps on her passport. Korma may be the standard curry order for spice-intolerant white people, but even that was a step too far for her. Whenever we'd order from the local Indian takeaway, she would order boiled white rice, and cook up some chicken in a bechamel sauce with sweetcorn for herself. This even extended to drinks - making instant coffee, she'd say that if you couldn't count the granules on the spoon it was too much coffee for her. She told me as a child that sugar had clockwise and anti-clockwise granules, so you always had to stir both ways. I still think of that when I make someone tea with sugar.

Any time she might see the grandchildren she would bring her biscuit tin, a battered old ice cream tub that was older than some of the children being offered biscuits from it. They were the good ones as well: Viscount, Gold, Club, Tunnock's Caramel, but also some pink wafer biscuits because her mum (my Great Gran) liked them. When anyone picked a Club bar, she'd sing the jingle from the TV adverts. When my family got a dog, she started bringing custard cream biscuits too, because dogs can't eat chocolate but everyone in the family deserved a biscuit. At Christmas, she'd wrap up a packet of custard creams with the dog's name on the label.

Whenever it was time to go after visiting, she'd say "I'll love you and leave you", in her Midlands accent that withstood nearly half a century living in the South. After all this time, she finally has.

[leyhejuhyunghan]

With mom at the beach in the Busan city. Today in the morning ate a meal with radish soup and cooked rice. And watched Hillsong church Sunday worship internet streaming service on YouTube. In the afternoon ate lunch with potato salad and toast bread. And drank green tea and coffee. And did dishwashing. In the evening watched Hillsong church Sunday worship internet streaming service. And ate dinner with kelp soup and cooked rice. And ate dessert with dried prune and almond chocolate and wafers and ice cream. Listened to the radio hr-iNFO and YOU FM and the classical music on YouTube. Tomorrow in the afternoon will do laundry and dishwashing. Yesterday was my birthday and made conversations with my boyfriend and near future husband Stephan Leyhe on messenger. Thankful and loving mind for him and his parents and his elder brother and his family and his entire family for accepting me as their new family member. Hope to see Stephan soon in the near future. Have a safe and good Sunday.

[deutschergermanboy]

To be fair, in germany and poland the wafers look different and taste (presumably, i've never tried the american ones) much better. at the churches i've been to there's usually been one big wafer that IS broken into pieces and shared among the helpers. it's still not quite bread, but it tastes a bit like a waffle you'd get with ice cream, it has the same baked notes if that makes sense.

my dad used to be very close with the woman that took care of sacristy and she gave me a whole bag, love them

catholics seriously eat those little misery wafers? you guys seriously ate those?

[spongebob-connoisseur]

How Ice Cream cannibalism? ??

I said ritualistic cannibalism. Like how you eat communion wafers at church to symbolize you're eating Christ (idk I know nothing of Christianity)

Like that. But with pistachio ice cream instead of wafers and instead of christ you replace it with Squidward. Ritualistic cannibalism of Squidward💖

We should start the first national church of Squidward or something.

[tseneipgam]

'Lighting is palpably dawning. Motes and amber digits depend on young blue air'

'Later we'd see um them in the distance on a podium speaking with candour, really very moving. In winter we'd dress as low ranking public servants we'd leverage our status to hawk greengages and whiskered courgettes and the twee picky gooseberries smote all pressed on humid slices of Screen with mustered portent and really cool local slurs at a stall near the main prison or thereabouts our banner read 'Old Food' and could be read um from solitary'

'After winter's toil we'd drag our rigid bones and heavy hearts to the hot spring where we'd dig in unison with a bloody sun and steep till the plaque-like smegma solvent and a kind of stock billowed in the moonlit water cut with cock. Perched on the rocks in white towel dressing gowns, sipping thin chicken broth from rough grey pottery we looked really good and really relaxed. Our raw calluses thrummed deeply, softening and fatted lice loosened from our scalps and pits and would drift dead to the surface and jounce about like stoned quince. Hannah'd make a kind of faux frangipane tart while some of us got off. Served with some ok vanilla ice cream and one or two huge powdery wafers from the shop. Rowed out by a child in a tiny willow coracle, singing the high dirge.'

'Webbed diagrams drawn across the griddle in dropscone batter...Gnawed plastic cups of Ribena made to Mark's strength...and the hearth went out and we opened the Cathedral City in silence. The soft push of a small knife'

'Hannah would lug empathy to the insects, even. Wasps didn't used to make honey but their teetering paper estates brought up wood gook were outright astonishing. Toy honeycombed church of weightless human sacra, pet ghost's sacrum, dreamt dried, stilling as burnt to death homes. Fridays.'

'Everything was radically pre-distressed by some nameless paysan, aa menial horror-graft elsewhere. We watched as a woman's native sweat percolated aluminium emulsion to bloom ivory, slimed ruination, the pits. Aged Global Hypercolor resumed belief, but in what? We imagined a cabal of ad execs dry-humping in the dark?'

'We really relaxed with these sandwiches and it was simple, in the grove. A flat brand of relaxation, like a normal glove put together with the other glove that went with it originally, normally. We'd laugh a little. haha. I mean, how simple it just suddenly was to feel basically okay? when we were together and eating sandwiches that we liked and just how absurd, etcetera.'

[swaxe]

the context to this if you simply must know is that i wanted to eat ice cream but we didnt have any but we DID have a lot of wafer cones and my though process was that those are like 50% of ice cream cones so they must taste good for whatever reason. they dont </3

[dk-thrive]

even in the language we spoke here, its plain, unadorned beauty, its range of short, percussive verbs, its oracular strength, a language of the sermon and of world making

To us, it was all Christian. Not just the churches and their ice cream socials and Friday fish fries; or the bacon at breakfast; or the wine with wafers on Sundays and with everything else all week long. Not just the place names and first names drawn from the Gospels and the roll of Catholic saints; or the painted eggs in April and pine wreaths and winter sleds in December. No, I mean also the department-store sales in January and the interest-charging credit cards used at them; and the vacations spent at the beach driven by the bizarre urge to darken one’s skin; and the shrill perfect fifths of a violin; and the notion that running a piece of toilet paper along your anus is enough to keep you clean; and the discomfort of working with a blade of cloth tied to your neck so tightly you can barely breathe; and the bikinis and knee-high skirts; and, of course, the needlessly happy ending to every story. I don’t think we were exactly wrong to see things as we did. After all, it was even in the language we spoke here, its plain, unadorned beauty, its range of short, percussive verbs, its oracular strength, a language of the sermon and of world making, in tone and lexicon not just borrowed from the King James Bible but also shot through and through—even today—with the simple, active robustness of the Anglo-Saxon Christian Lord. 

—  Ayad Akhtar, Homeland Elegies: A Novel (Little, Brown and Company, September 15, 2020) 

[knightofthecourt]

Shards - Part 3

A Handful of Malec snippets, based on various prompts. Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane - Fluff and romance with a spot of angst.

21. Skeletons In The Closet

For most people, having a skeleton in your closet is just an expression. Alec had realised long ago that Magnus was not 'most people'. So when he opened the linen cupboard to find a pile of bones staring back at him he simply sighed, closed the door and looked for somewhere else to hang his towel.

22. Apple Bobbing

"Wow," said Simon, staring at the pile of apples. "Who knew Alec was so awesome at party games?"

"Well," Magnus watched as the Shadowhunter's dark head bobbed back towards the barrel. "My boyfriend is quite -

"Let me guess," Jace smirked, "good with his mouth?"

Magnus scowled, "Spoilsport".

23. Hero

A hero isn't always the person who saves the world, sacrifices himself for the greater good or rescues the damsel in distress. Sometimes a hero is just a shy eighteen-year-old who somehow finds the courage to put aside his own fear for the person he loves.

"Yes," Magnus thought, as Alec crashed his lips against the warlock's in the middle of the crowded battlefield. "This Shadowhunter is pretty damn heroic."

24. Hourglass

Time was something Magnus had never paid much attention to. When you lived long enough to watch regimes fall and civilisations crumble, the passing of years was but the blink of an eye. But since meeting Alec he felt the presence of it, a giant invisible hourglass hovering above their heads, sand trickling down in an unstoppable, irreversible tide.

So he greedily grabbed every second he could with his Shadowhunter, knowing that one day, the hourglass would be empty and he would be alone. Again.

25. Hallucination

"When did you grow pink horns?" Alec giggled, staring at the sparkling new addition to the warlock's head. "You know I think they kind of suit you, like they make you look like a sexy pink unicorn... But with two horns. A sexy double unicorn".

Magnus swatted Alec's hand away as he reached towards him, eyes fixed on the space just above his head which incidentally, was totally horn-free. "Thank you, Alexander. Now let's get you to bed sweetheart. That's the last time I ask Ragnor to fix you a drink."

26. Puppet Show

Magnus was surprised at their son's third Birthday party, to find that Alec really had the most amazing knack for sock puppet theatre.

Izzy shook her head in amazement as the circle of children around her brother burst out laughing. "It's like one of those smutty daytime soaps - but for kids".

"Yeah," Jace agreed as Alec dipped his burning face behind the cardboard 'theatre'. "Alec doesn't exactly look comfortable with this, though. Couldn't you have, you know." He wiggled his fingers at Magnus.

"Well yes," Magnus smiled mischievously as the socks began a spirited debate about the equality of Shadowhunters and Downworlders. "I could have used magic, but where's the fun in that?"

27. All That Glitters

"Is that…" Isabelle's eyes narrowed at the dusting of shiny specks across the shoulders of Alec's worn, grey sweater. She'd caught him sneaking into the Institute before morning training again, no doubt hoping to slip back in before their parents noticed his bed hadn't been slept in.

"What?" his pale cheeks flushed pink as he caught sight of the shimmery dots. "No," he spluttered, hastily making his way down the corridor to his room. "Shut up Izzy. I need to shower, patrol was um, tough last night"

She chuckled, thinking of the warlock her brother had obviously spent the evening with. "Midnight patrol my ass Alec Lightwood."

28. Violinist

"Hey, I know you," Alec's eyes fixed accusingly on the young, silver-haired man who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea with his boyfriend. "You stole my cat!"

"Alec, this is my good friend Jem," Magnus waved an arm towards their guest and then paused thoughtfully. "And technically Church was his cat first".

29. Vanilla

Magnus thought the ice cream parlour down the street was a good choice for their third date. Apparently not. He glared as his boyfriend burst out laughing.

"What?" he narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know," the Shadowhunter shrugged, "you just don't really seem like a 'vanilla' guy to me".

"Ah," Magnus smiled, "you didn't let me finish". He turned back to the teenager behind the counter "I'll have a scoop of vanilla please, with toffee sauce, unicorn sprinkles, chocolate whipped cream, a pink wafer cone and a cherry on top."

He glanced at Alec and smirked "And he'll take a vanilla. Plain."

30. Toothpaste

Magnus loved how completely Type-A Alec was. The way he made the bed every morning when he got up, the way he squeezed the toothpaste carefully from the bottom of the tube, the way he unconsciously straightened the throw pillows every time he passed the couch. What Magnus loved most of all though was the marks these tiny rituals left in his apartment, so even when Alec wasn't there, Magnus could see his boyfriend everywhere he looked.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Mr. Fancypants

In the bowels of the church, a priest and a deckhand rub shoulders. The air smells of ash and damp books. Through the stained-glass windows a procession of carnival figures passes, carried by unearthly parade. The priest stares and the deckhand looks right back. They are pulled along in the circle, as if caught in some Faustian pact. The priests eyestalks flare. They call out, "Hermes is here," and the figure, apparition-like, reaches down and drags two mockets by the reins.

They stand in a hedge maze. The land is wet with damp leaves. They squint and see stars. The grass is alive with bugs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a schizoid cat flaps its enormous pink wings and twirls the priests eardrums the rest of the way into the heavens.

They come out on a quarantine wing which is groomed over with pebbles, and festooned with shiny flowerpots. It is warm here, but already the priest-deckhand feels aching. A veil is slipping over his mind. What he feels he does not want to tell the Emperor of, supposedly, three kingdoms, or maybe Carthage, because when Nero wanted to navigate the newly prevailing mind-watering tensions he read up on the current disputes of three millennia past in an attempt to copy the Church encyclopedists. If only he is more like the other novelist.

The priest pulls a newspaper clipping from his bag and reads out loud in momentary thought-choked clarity:

Voe said to be estimated between 50M and 200G, respectable, but that would put arm's eye view of rosy side of the flux density function. In a worst case they say vanilla, or more precisely egg white ice cream accompanied by low sap sugar chocolate wafers, is for the benefit of low end veg*n. Moderate amounts are to be held in reserve for high road real veg*n.

The deckhand's world shudders in sympathy. The priest is about to retort with the exact sort of thing that people have been fucking up this city since, I dunno, the late 1970s. But there is a sudden cry of "Wheeeee!" and they all look around and see a cute little shape not entirely unlike a little cat, tearing at a space plank, trying desperately to climb up again.

The priest calls out, "Whee!" with animated fervor. In a moment the space plank comes unstung. The clerics of the church smile, and this time they mean it. The deckhand says, in a voice that is now almost inaudible above the babble of minds tangling, "So, huh! Treat me to chocolate wafers, priest-mentalist! I haven't had anything, so I guess you can treat me to anything I want, now!"

The priest lets out one final postmodern wryly tongue-in-cheek laugh, and falls silent. Though he has lived this line of thought for a full 30 seconds, it has spread to the priests ears, and thus to the deckhand's tens of thousands of, and soon the whole of Second Earth will be lit on fire.

"Look," the priest says, "we have literally no weapons to speak of here. "

The deckhand laughs. "Don't make us do that, priest-mentalist. We are willing and able to provide."

The priest's expression is a mix of pride ("a change for the better") and intimidation ("the brinksmanship game, again?"). He looks almost sheepish.

The smile is shifting. "Can one of you lend a hand with something… wouldn't you say a light?" The deckhand raises his eyes and sees the gossamer curtains, twinkling white like stars. The sky, as in paintings and pictures, gaps now, veiled by the long dark strands of night. Darkness the deckhand had thought vast and crushing, is here existing in soft slivers, looking like a tiny, somewhat fragile flower in the dark.

The priest turns to the priest-mentalist, a spirit of frenetic energy, and says "stick me a line."

The priest is, to say the least, at a loss for words.

"Well," he says, and there is nothing he can say that would make sense,

because the deckhand has deftly used the last few minutes of his life,

trying to get him to clap in the exact "right" way,

the platoon will know exactly how it looks, when it's to be screwed up in the Nth power.

The priest's face has transformed into that of a man overcome by one of the many predictable things that affect specific species living in an enclosed environment.

The priest starts to protest.

"But we're just toys in comparison to the real stuff. Mother----sorry, just whip, okay?"

"Yeah, that's not quite what I meant," says the deckhand.

"Can I have a line, sir?"

The priest is feeling just a tiny bit of the Gossamiverse's strain to ask another question.

"Oh, give me a line. Just give it to me. Would it help if I told you my name?"

"I..I don't have one."

"Look, here. I'm here, this is the deal. Just say anything for ten minutes, give me ten minutes, I'll say 'Yeah, I remember this one guy.'"

"Okay, I'll give you ten minutes, everything okay?"

"You're ready to perform a miracle," the cardigan-clad man says, but it wasn't that dramatic.

"This is correct Church policy. The time is up, the agreement is accepted. Let's go"

The priest breaks out dumbstruck laughter "Why's that?"

The deckhand loads the next ten pages into his Pleasure Grid and, looking at the crowd of deckhands looking on, yells, "Welcome to our newest edition! Bobo-kamp-magic!"

"This is correct Church policy. The time is up, the agreement is accepted. Let's go"

The priest breaks out dumbstruck laughter "Why's that?"

The deckhand loads into his Pleasure Grid the next ten pages of Bobo-kamp-magic and he and his colleagues all clap their hands together as the deck begins to glow and the cards float up, in a soft, apparently solid cloud of confetti, and the players from both teams and the spectators rush toward the round table to see it.

The priest bursts into tears of delight.

"Thank you, everyone. Thank you so much." He waves his hands in defeat, as one. He feels like he's failed. He's failed in his role as mediator, and he saw it all before his eyes, and he saw it all coming, and he wanted to solve it. So many miracles, thirty festivals! He has seen both sides of the coin. He's accomplished more than he had bargained for in his lifetime, let alone his birthday this year, and it is time for him to go back to his Forest to start reflecting on it. He turns to the deckhand. "Do you think this will work?" he says, the same words coming out of his as he did in the hallway with the deck. "The question doesn't even matter any more. It'll work!"

"This is correct Church policy. The time is up, the agreement is accepted. Let's go"

The deckhand is visibly shaking, and he gathers up the last few pages of Bobo-kamp-magic, and he and the Priest look

[springkitten]

get to know me tag (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

i was tagged by @artjjk thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

i tag: @agu5td, @jjkguk, @silverquillsideas, @mapofugh, @ksj1, @j1ns, @rosyhyuna, @minlola, @the-bangtan-boys, @kikuhikou

name: katrina

nickname: mono, k

gender: nb 

star sign: sagi

current time: 02:10 pm

favorite artist(s): bangtan, shinee, him, florence + the machine, hozier, bishop briggs, halsey, system of a down, etc eternally

song(s) stuck in my head: my time since i’ve been listening to it on loop for 5 hours

last movie i saw: ???? ....jumanji? 

last thing i googled: rothko

other blog(s): oh boy. so. @dionysusmavu, @remediedgod, @dearvantae, @honey-spills, @sweethyacinths, @xkayi and like 5 others not kidding

do i get asks? fairly rarely but they’re sweet when they come so. uwu

reason for url: me@me softly what was my url again  cause i’ve been so so soft and spring is when things get warm and cats are the best ever

following: 1397

average sleep: i try for 7ish hours most days

lucky number(s): dunno about lucky but fave is 9

currently wearing: a white ly: tear tee and a bright purple hoodie

dream job: not a job but i wanna publish my poetry and some books

dream trip: japan, yearly greece trip, europe,.... warm,,, sea,,,ferry,,,mountain

favorite food: SOUP, pizza, lasagna, burger, ice cream, hot coco..... sweets..... cake.... eclairs........ wafers, pancakes, buhti,,,,,,,,,,, moussaka (bulgarian tho)

instruments: none ;;

favorite song(s): imma do albums or this will be 20k-- bishop briggs’ church of scars (and everything before it and also baby, baby was after church of scars right?), halsey’s hopeless fountain kingdom, troye’s blue neighbourhood, HIM’s entire discography i don’t make the rules, shinee’s whole discography but the lucifer, misconceptions and odd albums in particular. taemin’s everything. jonghyung’s base. epik high’s shoebox, big bang’s still alive extended edition, bangtan’s ly, mots, wings, fkrjfljdfkl everything i’m still obsessing over everything. agust d!!!!!!! florence!!! florence’s ceremonials and half of her discorgraphy. hozier’s every song ever. marina’s electra heart. rammstein’s uhhhh everything. soad’s everything also, disturbed’s everything sans the last album cause i haven’t gotten to it. sabaton’s heroes album. some others i can’t remember rn. 

[shinybea]

The only reason I went to church was the wet wafers. Then I found an ice cream parlor that put them on their cones and they had cool art on them (cool for a kid, I mean). Needless to say I didn't go to church anymore.

[headcanons-ghost-bc]

Yay! Another Ghost Headcanon blog to obsess over! ~~ What are the Papas and Copia’s favorite midnight snack (besides their s/o hehe)? Are they sneaking into the kitchen like little mice so they don’t get caught by Sister Imp?? I just need to know. Thank you ❤️❤️

Yay! My first ask! Thank you and I shall answer in kind

Papa Nihil: This Papa doesn’t have as strong a stomach or appetite as he did in his youth, but when he did, his snack(s) of choice would be a turnover, some donuts, anything from the baked goods, or if it wasn’t a sweet tooth, he would prefer something spicy or something left over from supper. Nowadays, his midnight snack would be a piece of fruit, some lunch meat, a couple of wafer cookies, or some sugar-free hard candy.

However, when Sister Imperator isn’t looking, he’ll bribe a ghoul or a novice sibling of sin to sneak him a snack cake or a bowl of ice cream.

Papa I: Let’s be honest here, this guy rarely ever does have a midnight snack. The few times he does, it’s usually a pastry based snack made especially for him.

He never sneaks into the kitchen, nor does he encourage his followers to do the same. Not because of Sister, but he just thinks it’s a dirty habit that just isn’t worth the trouble.

Papa II: His midnight snack would consist of summer sausage or something along the lines of fruit in a cup, almost always coupled by some booze or whatever.

This dude don’t need to sneak into no church kitchen, he’s got his own mini bar, fridge, and everything.

Papa III: He strikes me as the kind of guy who would sneak an entire tray of crackers, cheese and salami all for himself. And top it all off with a “Juice Box” a.k.a. a box of wine.

He wouldn’t be caught dead with these by Imperator, so he would bribe a ghoul with sneaking these in.

Copia: From a single biscotti from the jar to a slice of fresh tiramisu, or even a cup of espresso, or even a whole baguette, this Cardinal has some serious kitchen sneaking skills. It is said that he could swipe a cannoli from right in front of your plate if you so much as look away for a split second.

Of course, there were times in which he was caught, but that only emboldened him even more.