#popes posts

[pope-posts]

Hey. I'm still alive and doing my best. Hope you're doing ok 💖

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[fish-tetris]

thinking about how law was (apparently??) being raised in the one piece catholic church™. thinking about how he specifically refers to the victories of the strawhats as miracles. thinking about how luffy has a god's devil fruit. thinking about law inclining his head and closing his eyes like he's praying towards the end of gear 5 luffy fighting kaido. is this anything.

[gin-juice-tonic]

what are you two TALKING about

[emptyjunior]

Well idk have any of you guys considered that maybe there Was an air of faggotness at the vatican like let's hear him out

[slut4sigourney]

tern haven

[isabelle-primrose]

Lucretia Borgia Reigns in the Vatican in the Absence of Pope Alexander VI by Frank Cadogan Cowper circa 1910

[fungal-rot]

saw that tweet awhile back and immediately thought of these two dumbasses (affectionate)

[pope-posts]

[undeadorion]

A wild Saturday night with Frater Imperator

Sometimes life just gets to be too much and you time to snuggle with a squishy demon and play some old school video games.

Baphomet plush based on the specacular creation by @emmathorne

[drewsephrry]

OBX SEASON 5 CONFIRMED!!!!

[official-penis-posts]

I'm of the opinion that dick and balls should be cleanly detachable. And when they come off, you have a perfectly functional vagina. You can put the dick and balls back on and they will also be perfectly functional.

Could you forward this to god?

I could, but we have an in-person on Wednesday, so I’ll just tell Her then. Good idea btw!

[cosmopretty]

MY GIRL — Kiara Carerra

synopsis: coming home after hanging out with the Pouges and JJ’s relentless flirting Kiara can’t help but make you remember your her girl, and no one else’s

warnings: smut, nsfw

Walking into her house, both of you just in bikinis after being on the beach all day with everyone. Hanging out with the Pouges was amazing, the only problem Kiara had was JJ flirting with her girl. You met her friends a while ago when you first started dating, and ever since JJ would always make his little comments about you and it would piss Kiara off, that’s why he did it.

Looking back you watch at your girlfriend drops y’all’s stuff on the floor before grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs into her room.

She lets go of your wrist and pushes you down on her bed before climbing on top of you. Her hips straddle your waist, keeping you under her “You my girlfriend not his JJ needs to keep his mouth shut” she groans, talking a deep breath.

“I’m yours Kie you know that, not JJ’s” You tell her your hands coming on hold her waist. She rolls her eyes and moves down her head going into your neck leaving wet opened mouth kisses down your jaw.

Jealousy ran through her, as she starts to bite and suck on your neck, she had to prove that you were hers, and no one else’s.

You suppressed a moan when she started sucking on the sweet spot below your ear. Her hands pulling at the strings of your bikini before sliding it off of you. She sits up licking her lips, admiring you for a moment before leaning down and sucking on your breasts.

Kiara bites down on one of your nipples holding it between her teeth as she looks up at your face morphing into pain. She smirks and lets go moving down your body, leaving kisses down your stomach. Stopping right above your bikini she kisses your hip and sucks down leaving a bright purple hickey.

Sitting up she looks down at your admiring your beauty and her work on you.

“Please Kie, don’t tease anymore please” You beg her your hips trying to move into hers. She smiles and rips your bikini bottoms off, throwing them somewhere in her room.

Leaning down she moves her body so she’s lying on her stomach. She licks a stripe through your folds watching as your moan “Your so wet baby, all for me huh? Not JJ all mine” she whispers possessively as you nod your head at her words.

Shaking her head she leans up and looks at your “Words baby come on” she encourages you, her hand playing your clit.

“M all yours Kie, only yours— please” You beg her wanting nothing more than to cum. She smirks at your words and plunges two of her long fingers into you.

Her fingers start pumping in and out of you hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. Kiara moves up and kisses you as she speeds up her fingers inside you.

Your lips try and follow the pace of hers but she takes control of the kiss and bites down on the bottom of your lip. She pulls your lip between her teeth before letting go, she stares at your face as your jaw drops “Your so beautiful baby, and your all mine” she says smiling her free hand coming to caress your cheek.

“I’m all yours pretty girl” You tell Kiara your hand coming to hold her jaw pulling her into another kiss.

Her thumb comes to rub your clit in circles as your stomach tightens. She can feel you’re about to cum, by the way your gummy walls are squeezing around her fingers.

She pushes them deeper and harder inside of your hitting your sweet spot over and over causing your head to fall back a symphony of moans leaving your lips.

Pulling away from the kiss she rubs your cheek “Come on baby come for me” she tells you rubbing your clit faster.

The band in your stomach breaks as you cum all over her fingers. You whimper when she continues to rub your sore, red puffy clit. You shake your head “Too much Kie, too much” you tell her breathing heavily.

Kiara nods and pulls her fingers out of you slowly before bringing them to her mouth, she sucks your juices off of them. She moans at the taste of you before pulling them out of her mouth “Good girl, you taste so good” she praises you.

Moves closer to you she kisses your lips making you taste yourself. Your moan is muffled by her lips on yours as you taste yourself.

Pulling away from the kiss she smiles at you and pushes some hair behind your ear “Your all mine baby” she mumbles laying down next to you.

[devonaoki]

mom i want this one

[heywardsdoll]

the one time you got sick, you'd never forget it because pope heyward was with you the whole time. at your worst, as you stomped up his doorstep, he took care of you with all his being.

it was a chilly season, as the autumn leaves turned a bright crisp. cascades of oranges, maroons, and golden floated down to gently scrape the floor. you liked it the best, with your sweaters, and knitted hats. you'd made pope some matching ones, and jj teased him for being so pussy whipped.

of course, pope wore it everywhere the two of you went. it was crochet so you'd taken extra time to make sure it fit him. you liked making him these sorts of things because sometimes it was hard for you to use your words. sometimes your tongue felt like an awkward sludge in your mouth—but pope had this way of making you feel enough. there were times where his expression brown eyes, and that smile he gave you was enough for you to sigh and hum.

see it was you acting dazed around him was where you got this cold in the first place. no, that wasn't really the answer, but you'd like to think it was.  

"if you hadn't distracted me, i wouldn't have this cold!" you croaked out, sniffling quietly as pope gave you a cup of tea. you'd stomped onto his step, shaking from the cold, your lips cracked. this was the day that the two of you had put aside for a date.

pope had gotten a few scholarship things done, and you'd put time aside from school. but as you stood there on his doorstep you knew pope was looking at you with nothing but sympathy. but you still raged on.

"hmm, how did i distract you?"

you could tell he was trying to distract you. (or maybe take care of you, but you were too mad to distinguish the difference between the two,) it was that absentmindedly way he was gently dragging into his room. it was the way the space between his forehad creased as he studied your temperature. it was the way he told you to sit down on the bed.

"by..." suddenly you felt a bit inadequate, stumbling on your words as you watched pope dabb your forehead. then you just huffed, folding your hands across your chest. it was very hard to be unreasonable when pope was being so kind, but the ache in your throat was helping you become more vengeful.

"by being too cute!"

at this pope hummed again, a smile on his face, "yea? by being too cute? that's your reasoning?" he laughed again, but then watched your face crumble up, and quickly looked serious again.

"shit, i'm sorry. i'm not very good at this," pope muttered, quickly trying to fix your spacing. "c'mon bambi, no need to cry," he cooed. then suddenly he was shuffling everywhere at this point, fixing the blanket, bringing you a different cup of tea because the goddamn tea was too cold, and then telling you maybe he could put on a nature film because you really liked those—

and that's when you burst into tears, "i'm so mean."

he stilled. you took that as an agreement, and you settled again. tears streamed down your face freely as you clutched the stupid childhood stuffie in your hand. apparently pope had thought that little paddington bear had magic powers when he was younger. he had given it to you because he thought you'd feel better. he was so good to you.

"pope, i'm cranky, and i'm blaming you," you cried, then you snuggled closer to the bear, "and you gave me your bear! you gave me the bear," you whispered those words quietly, solemnly like a grave mistake that would never leave.

finally, he turned back to you. his face was soft as he wiped away your tears. he was staring at you with a gentle fondness, "you're sick. you're a little grumpy. you're going to be fine."

you stopped your sniffling at that, feeling your heart swell up. your voice was soft, a bit creaky as you whispered to him.

"you think?"

"i know."

you laughed, in that watery way of yours as you brought the bear closer to your chest, "of course you know." then you bit your lip as you watched pope purse his lips in that solemn, all-knowing way of his.

"yeah, baby, i know."

then despite the fact that you probably had snot running down your nose, that your hair was a mess, and that you had been awful to him, pope pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and that was it.

you knew you were going to be fine.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა ♡