#since i'm just attending sunday services like a normal person

[toashesireturn]

I've talked about this interest briefly on here in the tags of some posts before but I figured I'd actually clarify that I am doing my capstone on church architecture and culture and how that intersects and to kick that off finally I'm visiting a local episcopal church today

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Salvation In Destruction - Father Antonio (Intruders 2011)

Welp...I have no excuse. I know this idea has been done already, but I don't care. Daniel Brühl as a priest is something I didn't know I needed. I HAD to write something for him, he be looking like a whole snack in the Garden of Eden and I wanted a taste of that forbidden fruit...I'm sorry.

NSFW WARNING - MINORS DNI: SMUT, male masturbation, oral (f receiving), priest kink, use of Bible verses, and just overall sacrilege and debauchery

3.2k Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

It was Sunday mass. A beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, a nice contrast to the chilly weather that came with Fall. The congregation that flooded into the pews all dressed nicely, thankful that they didn't have to bundle up quite as much because of the slight warmth the sun produced.

Father Antonio tried to greet everyone as he normally did before he started his sermon, making the place feel welcome and comforting. Ever since Antonio came to be the priest, more and more people started to show up on Sundays. He didn't like to think it was because of his looks, but in his heart, he knew it was true, for a few people, at least. But he liked to think that anyone who did come to church for his looks found God through him.

The last priest was old and quite brash, which did frighten some people. Shouting at people was definitely not the best way to win over people's hearts for God, Antonio learned that a long time ago. After the old priest retired, Antonio took that opportunity to start preaching sermons differently. Actually talking about the love of God instead of talking about being sent to Hell for this, that, and the other proved to be a welcome change. He found more new people actually choosing to keep going to the church instead of trying different ones. Antonio knew pride was a sin, but he did feel that him becoming the priest was part of that nice change and he was glad.

But there was one thing that Father Antonio had internal struggles with, one problem that he had that he couldn't seem to pray away. Father Antonio stood at the pulpit, looking over the congregation as he preached his Sunday sermon, his eyes always coming back to look at one person; you.

You always sat at the front, innocent doe eyes looking up at him attentively, hanging onto his every word during each and every sermon. You had been going to his church for years now, never missing a service. You were devout, it seemed, not one of those whose parents forced them to attend, and Antonio didn't know if that made his attraction to you better or worse.

But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

Remembering that verse, Antonio could feel a slight buildup of sweat collecting on his forehead, starting to feel his robes sticking to his body uncomfortably, the sight of you only making him feel worse. You were wearing a dress that hung loosely just above your knees, the top half hugging your chest but not overaccentuating your breasts, you looked perfect. Antonio gulped as you uncrossed and crossed your legs, unknowingly giving him access to peak underneath to catch a tiny glimpse of your white lace underwear. You had the end of a pen between your teeth, a habit of yours whenever you weren't scribbling notes in your small notebook you had settled on your lap, brushing it over your lips absentmindedly. If you were anyone else, Antonio would probably think that you were doing it on purpose just to tease him.

Thankfully, the time was up and had the sermon come to a close. As he greeted everyone at the beginning of service, Antonio always made sure to say goodbye to everyone that exited the building, offering thank you's whenever someone told him how well he preached. Antonio almost felt his heart skip a beat when you gave him a smile as you passed by, giving you his own nervous smile in acknowledgement.

Antonio walked into the comfort of his apartment, sighing as he plopped down onto his bed. He thought about how pretty you looked that morning, how nicely that dress fit you, how the light from the stage hitting your lip gloss made them shine and look so enticing and kissable. Antonio could already feel his hardening cock press against the material of his trousers, aching and begging to be set free and touched lovingly. He was lucky he waited to think about you until he got home, rubbing one out in the back room of the church would definitely be frowned upon if caught.

Antonio closed his eyes, lightly trailing his hand down his torso, inching his way to the belt of his pants, imagining it was your hand that was touching him. So hard, Padre, is this for me? He palmed his erection through his pants as he imagined your sweet voice, feeling the guilt build up inside him as well as the pleasure as he finally released his cock from the confines of his pants. He knew it was wrong, he knew he should not be doing this, especially to the thoughts of you. He gripped his cock and slowly pumped up and down, imagining it was your mouth, that same lip gloss you were wearing smearing onto his shaft as you sucked him. "Y/n…" Antonio whispered, pumping himself faster, moaning as he felt his balls tighten as he got closer and closer to his climax.

Come for me, Padre. Let me make you feel like God Himself. Antonio moaned loudly as he finally released, hot cum pouring out of his slit and onto his stomach, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. He sighed, getting up from his bed and settling down on his knees, bringing his hands up and putting them together. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…"

It had become a habit, as much as he hated to admit it. He just couldn't help it, but he was still ashamed how little self control he had in himself. He was thankful that he had weekly intervals when seeing you, he didn't know if he could handle seeing you everyday without losing his composure. But as the saying goes, God works in mysterious ways.

Antonio started to notice you coming in to church more often, only for a few minutes to pray, and then you would leave. As a priest, he was probably supposed to ask you if you were alright, but with the memories of every time he touched himself to the thought of you, he couldn't possibly look you in the eye without blushing. Every time you came in to confess, Antonio would conveniently not be there. His attraction to you became debilitating, and he started to worry if he was losing his faith.

When it was quiet and nobody seemed to be around, Antonio got on his knees to pray at the alter. He asked for guidance, for strength, self control, but he was only met with silence. As he stood up and turned around, there you were, sitting in a pew. You looked distressed, and Antonio knew he couldn't ignore you any longer, not when you looked like you needed someone to talk to. "Is everything alright?" Antonio voiced softly, taking a seat beside you.

You smiled weakly at him, a pained look in your eyes that you were trying to conceal, but Antonio could see through you. "Not really." You chuckled.

"Well, you can talk to me, you know? If you're comfortable with that."

"It's just…I feel like I'm starting to lose my faith. When I was younger, coming to church, praying, reading my Bible, always made my spirit feel so rejuvenated. But now, it's starting to feel empty to me. Every time I come here and pray, I feel like such a phony."

Your answer shocked Antonio. In his mind, you seemed so engaged during his sermons, but he guessed everyone had secrets, and you were no exception. "I appreciate your honesty, Y/n. It's not an easy thing, to admit something like that. If I may be so blunt, to me, you always seemed to be the perfect example of Christianity. Not once in my being here have I seen you miss a service, I always thought you enjoyed my sermons."

"I do, Father. That hasn't changed. But I'll also admit, I just enjoy hearing you talk." You smiled nervously, playing with the hem of your dress and Antonio noticed, it was the same dress you wore that one Sunday. He so wanted to rip it off of you, take you on the pew right there. Antonio shook his head slightly, annoyed by his thoughts at such a time. But your smile quickly dropped at the sight, immediately regretting your words. "I'm sorry, if that was inappropriate." You stuttered out.

"No, no." Antonio quickly replied, mindlessly placing a gentle hand on your skirt covered thigh. "It wasn't. I'm sorry, it was just-" He stopped himself before he revealed too much. Quickly realizing what he had done from the look on your face, he removed his hand, uttering another apology. "I suppose I'll admit something myself, just to make it even. I enjoy seeing you attend my sermons, if that's not inappropriate to say as well."

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, it's not."

Antonio's heart was beating rapidly, hearing that you must have an attraction to him as well, he felt overjoyed. The temptation to kiss you was so strong, and he couldn't keep his thoughts to himself any longer. "I, too, have also been struggling with my faith." He admitted, lowering his head in shame.

"I didn't think priests could struggle with that."

"We're human too. Just because I'm a priest doesn't make me invulnerable to sin."

"Well," You inched closer to him, "you can talk to me too. It's only fair."

Antonio smiled, nodding his head. "Sometimes it feels like I have no self control. For the past several months, I've had…sinful thoughts. I've tried to push them away, can't count how many times I've prayed to be rid of them. But, I've yet to receive an answer from the All Mighty."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering his words. "What kind of sinful thoughts, Father?" You got up the courage to ask.

Antonio sucked in a sharp breath, debating on if this was a good idea. "Ones of lust, desire. Some days, it's all I can think about."

"Lust for who?" You whispered.

Antonio looked at you knowingly, a stare so intense it almost made you choke on your breath. The hand that was once on your thigh returned, squeezing the flesh softly as Antonio moved even closer to you until you could feel his heavy breaths on you. You placed your hand on top of his, bringing your other to rest on his shoulder. His honey brown eyes bore into yours, making your face heat up and your heartbeat quicken. Before you could think it over any longer, you leaned forward, closing the small gap between you and connected your lips with his.

You sighed shakily as Antonio pulled away, the kiss not lasting nearly as long as you hoped it would. "Would it be unbecoming of me to ask you to join me in the back room?" Antonio whispered, gently caressing your cheek.

"No. No, it wouldn't." You grinned, allowing Antonio to take your hand and lead you to the back of the church.

When you first started attending the church, you couldn't imagine that it would've led you here. Sure, you always thought Father Antonio to be handsome, but you were always taught to push away lust and desire from such a young age. You only had your first sexual experiences when you started going to college, meeting so many different people from all walks of life. Your first time with a man was pretty lackluster, both of you not really knowing what you were doing, but you were glad overall to finally have it over with.

Of course, you felt extreme guilt afterwards, the teachings of having to wait till marriage ringing in your ears over and over. Antonio didn't really have any sermons relating to sex specifically, but you were all too uncomfortable and shy to bring it up at confession. You were also afraid to be judged, remembering how judgmental the last priest was, and you didn't want Antonio to think terribly of you. Unbeknownst to him, you were having a similar struggle of attraction; telling yourself, it was wrong to be attracted to a priest, right? Though, you had more control over controlling your urges than Antonio did, surprisingly.

You were always afraid of your attraction bubbling to the surface and spilling over, afraid that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from confronting him about it. But thankfully, you didn't have to worry about it any longer. All you had to worry about now was not getting caught with Antonio's tongue down your throat.

"I've wanted this for so long." Antonio whispered in between kisses, trailing his hands down to grip your hips roughly, pushing you up against an extra pew that stood in the center of the room.

"I never thought you'd feel the same way." You smiled, running your fingers through his tufts of hair.

"I know I'm not supposed to say this, but part of the reason I love preaching is because I love seeing you every Sunday. Wearing those little dresses, driving me absolutely insane." He growled, gently biting your collarbone, making you gasp, then pushing you down to sit on the pew next to him.

With shaking hands, you reached up to pull on his clerical collar, pulling the white band loose and slowly unbuttoning his shirt; so desperate to feel him, you could already feel your core throb needily. But you were soon stopped, Antonio gripping your hands. He stepped away for a moment, locking the door of the room with a smirk. "So we won't be interrupted." He said, then attacking your lips with his once more. "Have you ever done this before?" Antonio asked huskily, running his hand up and down your thigh, gradually pushing the skirt of your dress up your legs.

You blushed in slight embarrassment. "Yes, but it wasn't all that memorable."

"Don't worry, I intend to make this time as memorable as I possibly can." With widened eyes, you watched as Father Antonio sank to his knees; looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, something you hadn't expected to see from a priest, kissing each of your knees before trailing up your thighs.

You bit your lip as Antonio gently pulled your underwear down and off your legs, shivering as the cool air hit your dripping sex, aching for stimulation. Slowly kissing up the inside of your thighs, you gasped as he soon latched onto your core, lapping up your wetness and swirling his tongue around your clit, grabbing onto his hair and trying to stifle your own moans. "You taste as sweet as I thought you would, querida." He groaned, continuing to suck on your clit, making your head spin and eyes roll to the back of your skull briefly.

"Feels so good, Father." You moaned, involuntarily bucking your hips against his mouth, feeling him smile and chuckle breathlessly against your cunt. You let out a soft squeal as he pushed one of his fingers into your tight entrance, curling the digit as he kept tonguing your sensitive bundle of nerves. The pleasure built up quickly, shocks of electricity shooting throughout your body, almost becoming too much. "I think, I think I'm gonna-" You whined as he pulled away, delaying your orgasm.

"Not yet." Antonio wiped at his chin with his fingers, placing them in your mouth and watching intently as you sucked off your own slick. "Take this off." He ordered, tugging at your dress then starting to remove his own clothes, but you were quick to follow. Not ashamed in the least, you took a moment to ogle at his body, admiring his smooth skin and how it seemed to shine under the dim lights of the room. You smirked as you noticed Antonio was doing the same. "Eres tan hermosa." He spoke softly, kissing your lips lightly before joining you on the pew, settling in between your legs.

Antonio stared into your eyes lovingly, gently rubbing his cock in between your folds, gathering your slick and his saliva before guiding himself to your entrance, just waiting for your conformation. You nodded eagerly, moving your hips upwards to meet his, both of you moaning in tandem as he finally sunk into you. He kissed and nipped at your neck as he patiently waited for you to adjust to his size, his cock stretching you out deliciously. "Are you okay, mi amor?"

"Yes, more than okay." You smiled, bringing his lips down to meet yours in a passionate open mouthed kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist as he started to thrust into you slowly. He already felt so deep, the tip of his cock hitting that special spot inside of you every time he plunged into you. "Oh, my God." You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, digging your nails into his soft skin.

Antonio grasped onto your throat, squeezing gently, just enough to make your head feel dizzy. "How does it feel? Do I feel like God to you, chica bonita, huh?" He groaned, picking up a quicker pace, one that almost started to shake the pew beneath you.

"Yes, so good, Father, fuck-!" You cried out, feeling him hit your cervix over and over, the pleasure so intense it was borderline painful, but you didn't want him to stop. You were so close, you could almost taste it, the shocks of euphoria reverberating throughout your entire body. Your walls pulsed and clenched around his cock tightly, his loud moan at the feeling only accelerating your body's need to release.

"You're gonna come, aren't you, hermosa?" You nodded, a tear rolling down your cheek as you tried to push away the feeling. "It's okay, amor. Come for me." He stared into your eyes as you finally let go, a vice grip on his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm; Antonio wasn't that far behind. "May I come inside you, angel?"

"Yes. Please. Fill me with your cum, Father." You begged.

Antonio latched onto your shoulder with his teeth, muffling a loud groan as he released inside you. He stilled as his last ropes of cum filled you, collapsing on top of you in exhaustion, placing light kisses along your collarbone. "How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights." He started, kissing the valley between your tits. "Your stature is like that of a palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit." You gasped as he placed one of your nipples in between his teeth, biting and pulling gently. "May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath likes apples," He trailed his kisses back up to your face, kissing your lips softly. "And your mouth like the best wine."

You giggled, hiding your blushing face in his shoulder. "You're really quoting the Bible while you're still inside of me." You teased, making him chuckle.

"In all honesty, I've never felt more closer to God than I do right now. And it's not just because we…you know." He blushed. "If it's what you desire also, I'd really like to continue this relationship of ours."

"Wouldn't the church fire you if they find out?"

"Maybe it's God's will. Even if it isn't, I'm not planning on letting you go now that I finally have you."

You smiled softly, running a hand through his disheveled hair and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Good, cause I'm not going to either."

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm a Christian, so that makes writing this okay right?...Right??

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

I am a queer Catholic (since infancy). In my region the dispensation that said attending Sunday mass was optional during the pandemic is ending in early June. Being away from mass for over a year has led me to a point where I'm not sure I can go back but the reason I still consider myself Catholic is a constant draw toward the eucharist/the doctrine of transubstantiation/the Real Presence. (multi part ask, will sign as Bread Anon)

The Eucharist is the reason I would go back, because I don’t know of any other denomination that shares the doctrine of transubstantiation. Or maybe they do and I was just taught that only Catholic consecration actually was effective? I’m feeling frustrated because I want to be part of a queer and expansive God-seeking community, but there is no way my local Catholic parish can be part of that. But I still want the Eucharist. (Bread Anon 2 of 5)

To me there’s something so visceral, physical, carnal, expansive, abundant about it that even if it is a Mystery in many ways to me, I don’t want to let it go. I also am feeling frustrated because the reason my politics are as focused on care and inclusion as they are is *because* of my Catholic upbringing, but in my region all I see now is obsession with being anti-choice, anti-sex, anti-divorce, trying to convert people, and being nice, law-abiding citizens. (Bread Anon 3 of 5)

For months before the pandemic I was only coping with mass by leaving the sanctuary during the homily and reading queer-inclusive theology on my phone until it was over (I stood by the church’s lost and found bin for this, which I had to laugh at as a rather heavy-handed metaphor). I’m looking for any advice you have about going back or not going back, whether the Real Presence can be exclusive to a church I am so frustrated with, (Bread Anon 4 of 5)

and how to address the feeling of danger I have that missing mass on Sunday is an insta-hell sin if I randomly die. (For the record, my intellectual position on hell is that a God worth worshipping must be more compassionate than I am, and I would not condemn anyone to eternal torture no matter what they’d done. But worries of mortal sin are deeply installed buttons.) (Bread Anon 5 of 5)

____________________________

Whew, anon, I feel all this so deeply. I also grew up Catholic and deeply love Catholicism, particularly its beliefs around the Eucharist (as well as Saints, Mary stuff, and the deuterocanonical books of the Bible). 

Deciding to seek out a different denomination was a really hard choice, but I am grateful I finally did. I now retain what is most dear from my Catholic roots, while having expanded into an affirming tradition as well.

Eucharist:

I recommend looking into the ECLA (Lutherans) and Episcopal Church for traditions with very similar views around the Eucharist. (I’ve heard some people say that apart from a couple places where liturgy diverges, they can hardly tell a Catholic Mass and Episcopal service apart!) I believe that “consubstantiation” rather than “transubstantiation” is the term for Lutheran views, but look into it and you’ll see the similarities! Both Lutherans and Episcopalians very much uphold the Real Presence of Christ within the Eucharist.

(...Unlike in my own denomination, the PCUSA, which has a very “low” view of the Eucharist as “only” “sign and symbol.” That was a big struggle for me for a while. But I have come to appreciate the diversity of beliefs around communion as much as around just about anything else you can name across Christianity. I have a post about my journey in this regard here. I also have a poem celebrating the differences.)

__________

Addressing fears and finding nourishment:

I totally feel you on believing one thing to be true (like God not sending people to hell) and still having that deeply ingrained fear. That’s something that will take a long time to uproot, as I’m sure you realize. 

I’m not sure I can be the best help to you beyond letting you know that’s totally normal -- you might just need time, or you might need to seek a qualified counselor to talk this out. (If you one day find a church you love and feel safe in, it could be that a minister there would be able to provide this care for you.)

I do have a couple posts about fear that you might appreciate:

This quote on the fear of hell and desire for heaven that I adore

this post

Either way, to me, that kind of fear, combined with the fact that you cannot even bear to hear the homily any longer, makes it clear that you do need to move beyond Catholicism. You deserve a community that brings you the abundant life that God wills for you!

Catholic nun Sister Macrina Wiederkehr speaks of how the same church that has left her more fed than failed may leave another person feeling more failed than fed -- and when that happens, it’s logical they move elsewhere.

You don’t have to do it all at once. You could do an alternating schedule of Catholic Mass one week (or every Saturday evening) and visiting another church the next week (or Sunday morning) for a while. 

You may also end up like me -- someone with one foot still in Catholicism, and one in Protestantism (/ Episcopalianism). It’s a weird place to be, but fascinating and fulfilling, too. 

I’ll be praying that God cover you in courage and wisdom as you journey. Please let me know if you have more questions.

And if anyone else has tips or encouragement for anon, please share!

[katblu42]

Tie Me to the Moon

Installment 4 (of 5) in my Whump Wheel spinning experiment. This spin was for John and gave me Cuddling For Comfort and Cemetery.

It is another Young Tracys fic, but it requires some WARNINGS as it deals with grief/mourning, funerals and of course a cemetery. I'm also tagging for social anxiety, sensory overload and panic attack, although I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm putting John through. If there's any additional warning or tag I need please let me know (or if these ones don't hit the mark).

Possibly more angst than whump.

The day started early. Scott had spoken with John and Virgil the night before about how much he was relying on them both to help get Alan and Gordon ready, since Grandma and Dad would both have a lot on their plate. So, John had set the alarm for 6am to give them time to wake themselves up before tackling the tinies.

By 9am all five boys were awake and fed and dressed in their Sunday best, shoes shined and hair combed awaiting final inspection before the cars arrived to take them to the church. Normally it would have been Dad who inspected the troops before such an important occasion but, like many other things over the last week or so, today the job was taken on by Scott. He left no stray hair or speck of lint unscrutinised, while their father was barely able to do more than glance at his boys and give Scott a pat on the shoulder as he passed on his way out the front door.

Scott decided it would be best if he went in the lead car with Dad. It was the one that had been fitted with the kiddie seats for Gordon and Alan, and Scott could sit between them and keep them settled. That left John and Virgil to ride in the second car with Grandma. The car trip was mostly silent, but Grandma told them they both looked very smart and did her best to smile despite clear indications she was holding back more tears.

As they neared the church it was impossible not to notice the large number of parked vehicles, some still offloading passengers. John let out a large sigh as their car pulled up in front of the chapel. The soft murmurings and general bustle of the gathering crowd penetrated their insulated little bubble even before the driver opened the door to let Grandma out. Virgil waited until he’d caught John’s eye and received a nod before opening his door so both boys could exit on the same side of the car.

The kindly young driver from the funeral home seemed to be keeping most of the well-meaning mourners at bay as the family gathered and were solemnly led into the church and ushered to the front pew. John tried to focus on the flowers, the quiet organ music, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through stained glass rather than the coffins or even the photos of Mom and Grandpa, and definitely not the endless stream of people filling the rows of seats behind them. It was a slightly tight fit getting all seven of them in the one pew, even with Alan on Dad’s (and later Scott’s) lap, but John was glad of the warm press of Virgil on his left and Gordon on his right.

The service was a simple, no-frills affair with the Minister officiating, but friends and family doing most of the talking. John listened through Dad and Grandma retelling stories he’d heard before, but there were little details revealed that he had never known. The anecdotes shared by the others who stepped up to the pulpit microphone – one of Grandpa’s farming neighbours, and an old friend of Mom’s from school – almost felt like stories about other people. It didn’t feel like they were talking about the people John had lost.

For John losing Grandpa was like a constellation of stars going missing from the night sky. It was Grandpa that had told him people are all made of the same stuff as the stars. He had been a quiet, watchful presence in his life, providing light and joy whenever he looked up and saw that twinkle in Grandpa’s eye. Like Ursa Major and Polaris, Grandpa was always there guiding him, giving direction when needed, but never wanting to overstep or overshadow his parents. Not the brightest light in his orbit, but an important, comforting presence that meant John always knew his place in the world.

Mom had been the sun at the centre of his life, his family, his everything. Without her all the light and warmth was gone from the world. Instead of a regular (though slightly wonky) orbit his world now felt like it was tumbling through space and gravity was constantly shifting. One moment he was too heavy to move and the next he was so light might be flung out into space. Night and day and seasons, years and everything he measured his life by had been connected to his Mom – waking him and tucking him into bed, making sure he dressed warm enough or wore sunscreen or had his raincoat, keeping track of birthdays and holidays and school excursion days were all her.

During the service no one spoke of Mom and Grandpa like that.

There was music. One of Mom’s favourite piano pieces. Virgil had wanted to be able to play it today, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to even sit at the piano, much less play at all since the accident. So a recording had been found and it was played as a backing track to the slideshow that flickered through image after image of happy memories telling part of two life stories.

There were prayers. Reassuring words from the minister about heaven and God’s love, and the love we should all share with each other. John wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about heaven, or God calling Mom and Grandpa home to his kingdom.

There was a poem read out by one of Mom’s work colleagues. It was something about not crying or being sad because they were gone, but being happy because they had lived. Many of the people in the room were obviously ignoring the advice – his immediate family included. There were a good many wet handkerchiefs and tissues in hands, a great deal of suppressed sobs and eye rubbing, and a few sleeves swiped across cheeks before the service was over.

Scott and Dad were among the pall bearers who carried the coffins out of the church and onto the waiting machinery that would take care of their final movements. John and his brothers and Grandma were the first of the mourners to follow in the sombre procession. Only a small number of people were permitted to follow the hovering gurneys across the grass and through the little cemetery to the waiting square-sided pits. Just family and a few close friends to witness the way the machinery slowly and smoothly lowered each coffin down into the earth, hear the minister recite the final ritual words, and each place a flower or a sprinkling of dirt atop the coffins in a last goodbye.

The rest of the large crowd had been encouraged to make their way into the Sunday School hall where the wake was to take place. Refreshments had been generously laid out on the tables inside. More photographs of both lost loved ones were on display throughout the room, along with so many more flowers and a large number of cards. But many of the people in attendance that day were still milling about outside the church buildings when John and his family returned through the cemetery for the wake.

John’s feet dragged as he approached the gentle hubbub of mingling friendly faces with sympathetic expressions. He could pick out people he knew well if he let himself concentrate, but the sheer number of individuals he was heading towards was a little overwhelming. They didn’t make it inside the hall before the onslaught began. Almost everyone wanted to say something, speak of sympathy, tell a story, offer “any help you need.” So many wanted to reach out, hold a hand or squeeze an arm, some came in for full-on hugs, cheek kisses and loud, teary exclamations of how sad it all was.

John lost his Dad and Grandma to the throng faster than he thought possible, but before he could be swept up in it himself he was thrown a lifeline. There was a familiar presence by his side, a brush of hand against hand, or specifically pinky against pinky – a request and an offer. John grabbed hold of Virgil’s hand and held fast, tethering himself to his brother like an anchor.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or how long it had taken, but eventually they all made it inside the Sunday School hall. John was only aware of Virgil’s hand in his, the rest was a blur of faces, voices, bodies. Virgil dealt with anyone who stopped them to offer their personal condolences, listening to what they had to say and responding politely but managing to keep the interactions brief and shielding John from most of the attention. Somehow they made their way to a cluster of chairs where Grandma and Dad were seated, Alan in his father’s lap, still accepting condolences from well-wisher after well-wisher.

John was aware of sweat beading on his forehead as Virgil told him to take a seat next to Grandma for a bit, and then his brother disappeared into the crowd to go and fetch Grandma a cup of tea. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers as he tried to look around the room. His eyes fell on Scott standing a few feet away, taking all the sympathetic social interactions in his stride, nodding, smiling, shaking hands, accepting embraces.

John’s mouth was dry and he wondered if he could make it across the room to grab a drink from the trestle table against the wall, but there was a sea of bodies he’d have to negotiate in between. For a moment his vision blurred and the vague images of people swam in a dizzying fashion before he could find something to focus on. Alan had obviously grown tired of the hair ruffling and cheek pinching and wriggled free of his Dad’s grasp, and was now trying to run through the small gaps between grown up pairs of legs. Gordon was keeping an eye on him – in between snaffling more cakes and cookies from the food table. John watched the terrible two until they were obscured by too many featureless figures.

Despite the late-winter-cool of the day, the church hall felt uncomfortably warm. The large space with its vaulted ceiling, tall, wide windows and polished wooden floorboards felt dark and gloomy and so very crowded. And the non-stop undercurrent of murmuring voices appeared to build in an unbearable crescendo John could not shut out. Too many bodies, too many voices, too much, too close . . . he needed space, he needed air, he had to get out!

Virgil saw his brother get up and hurry a little unsteadily to the exit as he came back with Grandma’s tea. He tried to keep an eye on the red-head so he could follow, but he had to excuse himself to Grandma and Dad, make his way over to Scott, politely interrupt the conversation and whisper in his big brother’s ear.

“John’s bolted. I’m going after him.”

Scott acknowledged with a nod as his eyes darted to the door, already closed again after John’s escape. Virgil wasted no more time in following, but once outside it took him a moment to figure out which direction John had taken.

John had no particular destination in mind, he just needed to get away. His feet carried him across the gravel driveway and through the grass without him registering the change of surface. He ran through the little cemetery without seeing the tombstones he passed, slowing only when he approached the boundary marked with a low stone wall before a neat, tall hedge. Unable to go any farther he turned and wobbled dizzily. His vision narrowed leaving dull blurred impressions of light and shadow. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, and he sank down to the ground, sitting heavily, knees bent and pulled up towards his chest. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block it all out.

Virgil approached slowly, but without trying to hide the sound of his footsteps. He lowered himself to sit facing John, resisting the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Seeing his brother in such distress clawed at his heart. He couldn’t let him struggle through this alone.

“John?” He kept his voice quiet and hoped he could be heard despite the hands staying firmly pressed against ears. “I’m here with you. Just me. No one else is around.”

There was no noticeable response.

“If you can hear me, I need you to try and slow your breathing down a bit, John. Deep breath in,“ and Virgil inhaled, “and out nice and slow.” Virgil waited for a second, watching John’s shallow, ragged breathing for any change. “In,” another inhaled breath, “and out.”

As Virgil continued repeating the instruction like a mantra John’s breathing gradually began to even out into slower, deeper, more controlled breaths. He wasn’t sure, but he thought John’s vice-like grip over his ears might be relaxing a little too.

“You’re doing great, John. Keep focusing on your breathing. Keep listening. Hear the breeze whispering through the leaves? Did you hear those birds?”

John did hear the cry of a bird overhead, and an answering call a little farther away as his hands drifted away from his head. As he lowered them to limply rest on the ground beside him he heard a gentle gust of wind rustle the hedges, and he registered that it did indeed sound a bit like a whisper.

“The sun’s broken free of the clouds. Can you feel it on your face, John? Can you feel the wind in your hair? You do realise there’s dirt and leaves beneath your fingertips, right?”

John turned his focus where his brother’s voice directed it, feeling the warmth on the left side of his face, and the breeze toying with his hair. There was indeed leaf litter and slightly damp dirt beneath his flexing fingers.

“If you’re ready to open your eyes you’ll see the moon’s out. I like the way the moon looks in the day. Against the blue of the sky the shadows make it look almost see-through.”

Translucent. That would have been a better word for what Virgil was trying to say. The thought flitted through John’s mind as he let his eyes drift open and scan the sky until they latched onto the gibbous moon framed by scattered cumulous clouds. He was also aware there was irony in the way his brother was effectively using the moon to anchor him, to bring him back to earth and ground him in the here and now.

Virgil had stopped talking, leaving the wind and occasional twitters and cries of the birds to fill the silence as John watched the clouds dance around the moon. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him almost as tangibly as he could feel the damp earth he was sitting on and the cool stone of the wall at his back. Now feeling much calmer he took a deep breath and brought his gaze down from the sky to meet the concern and compassion contained in those warm, brown eyes.

“Welcome back.” A hint of a smile played across Virgil’s face as he spoke.

A quiet moment stretched between them. No words spoken, but information passing from brother to brother through eye contact alone.

Content that John was no longer caught in a spiral he couldn’t escape on his own, Virgil glanced over his shoulder towards the Sunday School hall.

“I should go back, but you can stay here if you want. I’ll come and find you when it’s time to go. Just don’t wander off or anything.”

John didn’t speak as he chanced his own glance back toward the ongoing wake. Then, as Virgil made a move to get up and leave, John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay. Please?”

Virgil stopped and stared first at the fingers digging into his wrist, then into pleading, desperate aquamarine. He simply nodded and adjusted his position so he was sitting next to John, their shoulders touching. John loosened his grip on Virgil’s wrist but didn’t let go, so John’s arm looped around his knees and Virgil’s arm crossed his body to keep the connection. There was an almost imperceptible hesitation, but then simultaneously John leaned in towards his brother and Virgil wrapped his arm around John, pulling them into a secure embrace.

John finally let go of Virgil’s wrist, bringing his arm in close, grabbing a fistful of Virgil’s suit jacket and snuggling closer into his brother’s chest. This enabled Virgil to employ both arms in the hug. John rarely cuddled up like this with anyone, but all the times he could remember doing so were with Mom. His next intake of breath hitched at the realisation, and Virgil held a little tighter. The threat of tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he was grateful that, while not the same as a cuddle from Mom, he was still able to find this level of safety and comfort in the arms of someone who loved him.

“I want her back,” he sobbed, letting the tears flow and drip onto Virgil’s jacket.

“Yeah. Me too.”

John heard the tears in Virgil’s voice, but he already knew his brother felt the same absence in their hug.

Neither boy could say how long they stayed out there, huddled together, holding tight while hot tears streaked their cheeks. Time may as well have stood still for all it mattered. Nothing else was important, just the feeling that this moment, however sad, was there’s alone to share until Scott came and found them to tell them it was time to go home.

[emma-what-son]

(Echee post) Emma Watson wants her privacy at Café Pacifico in Covent Garden

Posted on May 22 2014.

From standard.co.uk May 2014 "Emma Watson has gone from unknown schoolgirl to Hollywood actress, thanks to playing Hermione in the Harry Potter films. But fame ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.The Londoner spotted Watson at Mexican hotspot Café Pacifico in Covent Garden on Friday, heading to the bar to order some drinks. Heads swivelled, eyes turned upon her and Watson retreated to the corner where her boyfriend Matthew Janney was sitting. Even that didn’t do the trick. Shortly afterwards, he was seen asking a table of customers, all chaps, to move away from their spot to give the star some privacy. Watson is lucky: few would argue with her rugby-playing beau, but he still said please." So she was at a public place drinking and because people were looking at her she had her boyfriend ask them to move so she could have her space and privacy? If she wants her privacy she can go home to drink. Those patrons have every right to be there like she does. Was she being heckled? No. It's natural for some people to get a little star struck around celebrities. Society or more like the business they work for have them made out to be such perfect specimens and better than everyone else that people are bound to check them out when coming across one in public. It's not like they were running up to her asking for autographs and selfies. They were looking going, "Hey look it's Emma Watson". And it's really no different when people spot a really attractive person in a bar or pub. I think it could have been worse don't you? What is it with celebrities like Emma who talk about wanting to be normal and treated like everyone else but then expect special treatment when around us "commoners"? Or maybe they don't want to really fit in. They just want the best of both worlds? As the saying goes they want to have their cake and eat it to. Idk but this is a shit move on her part. Total diva moment for sure.

Here is a couple other stories from this year where Emma is being less than nice and sociable From jamesmeets.wordpress April 2014: ….This only left the two big guns to arrive, Russell Crowe and Emma Watson. A couple of cars pulled into the Square together, which meant one of the two was arriving, but which would it be? Heart in my mouth as out got Emma. Here’s the point at which I should probably provide a bit of a back-story… At one stage, Emma was my favourite person; I grew up watching the Harry Potter films, and when I started this crazy hobby nine years ago there was a (small) list of people I wanted to meet most, and she was very close to the top of that list. However… four years ago I went to Wimbledon for the tennis finals. Rafa Nadal had beaten Thomas Berdych in straight sets in b-e-a-utiful weather. A perfect Sunday afternoon, topped off by spotting Emma leaving the VIP pavilion. I genuinely don’t think I had (or since have) ever been so excited to see one person. I asked her and she said no. It wasn’t a polite no, I’d have no issue with that, but was a downright rude no. It’s hard to describe, but her attitude was really bad. Maybe she was a Thomas Berdych fan? Joking aside, I was gutted, and since then the overarching thought whenever anyone mentioned her was that experience. Even getting an autograph from her at the BAFTAs in 2011 didn’t help change my opinion, as even the hardest signers’ sign at the BAFTAs. Anyways, back to the present… Out got Emma, and in some kind of twisted fate, came straight over to where I was. She signed for the person next to me, and then it was my turn. Despite internally combusting with a mix of excitement and nerves, I managed to tell her I met her at SW19, even with the details of Rafa winning in straight sets, that she’d said no to a photo and I was gutted. I was probably less eloquent than I picture. I asked her if she’d make up for it by posing for a picture now, and she agreed. Say whaaaaaaaaat!!! Her brother (I presume it was her brother, I’ve no idea) took the camera and took an absolutely belting photo. His fan photo

Some comments from this person's page about Emma and the photo: Moviefan2k4-“No offense intended, but are British people always really serious? I’m only asking because Emma’s not smiling in that picture. She almost looks like she didn’t want to be at the screening.” James-”She’s not the nicest person in the world - she probably didn’t want to be there!” Moviefan2k4-“That’s sad; I hope she was just having a rough time, and that isn’t her daily temperament.” Dancingirl1-“Wish she would’ve smiled.” James-“It is. I met her four years ago and she was plain rude. Only reason I got this photo was because I told her how disappointed I was back then.” I bet if he was a hot guy she'd have no problem taking a photo with him. I bet that had something to do with it. She just seems like the type that would be so shallow. Plus she is there to promote Noah so she should be nice. It's part of the job detail. She can't work the crowd a little? It's not like she does it everyday. Idk but if I was making millions solely off the backs of working people I'd be ecstatic that they wanted my autograph. Here is another one From raleightelegram.com April 2014, "The after party was at the Central Park boathouse and they packed up 10 tour buses to get everyone over there.Jennifer Connolly sans any bodyfat whatsoever was shivering on the freezing cold carpet. Russell Crowe, who isn’t known for his social graces, was a surprisingly pleasant and social butterfly both on the carpet and at the after-party, even snapping selfies with me, Stephen, and rapper 50 Cent, while Jennifer Connolly looked on. At the party, Emma Watson sat drinking surrounded by friends and a formidable blonde haired woman guarding her. Emma didn’t chat with guests like Russell and the rest of the cast did, and she was a bit rude and snotty to me and other folks. Her guard was equally as unpleasant. I later learned this tough blonde was a hired bodyguard to protect her from stalkers. Emma was also the last celeb to leave the party, probably waiting for the bar to close." Ok she has a bodyguard but does she have to be rude to people at a party where you have to have credentials and be invited to attend? I'm sure she's as safe there as she would be in a panic room. She has her "formidable" bodyguard with her. Is it that much of a task to be nice to people.   And one more From skinnygossip.com Feb.2014,  "When she was in Iceland filming Noah she went to the bar I was working at. I didn’t see this but I heard some yelling from outside. Later I was told that she threw a hissyfit at a doorman for not letting her skip the line. She apparently kept screaming and yelling “do you know who I am?”. Such a cliché, I hope she was drunk…" Here is her latest tongue lashing moment of a service worker At first I thought she was upset with her new boy toy but actually she is giving some lip service to the security guard in the parking lot for a Rugby match. Her boy toy has to console her because she's upset about something. Oh the humanity!! lol

Click here to see her same reaction when yelling at cab driver in London and if you want to see her on video get upset at another event click here to watch her get animated about having to walk with Rupert Grint instead of staying on the arm of HP producer David Heyman. For more diva stories visit Sue at emma-what-son.tumblr.tumblr and click on her diva tags and check out my diva posts on this page. Once again: I'm no longer accepting comments here. If you have any questions or comments you can reach me at meettherealemmawatson.tumblr.com where I spend the majority of my time. I will still post here when I feel like it and when there is something worthy

[a-year-abroad-blog]

End of the Semester

Somehow it’s already the end of my first semester here in France. The time has gone by so fast. The last few months have really just been filled with school (boo). It’s the end of the semester and I’ve had a lot of important deadline, projects, and presentations. I just finished my last final exam of the semester yesterday, so it’s officially summertime 😎

I went to Malta with my roommates this month. I had a great time and really enjoyed being by the beach for the first time in a while. It was a little chilly, and really not quite warm enough to swim. But obviously I did anyway. For some reason, I became even more clumsy than I normally am in Malta, and took SEVERAL tumbles. The worst was on Easter Sunday, walking down a hill in my Easter git-up and heels. It was the type of slow motion fall where you really can't do anything but let it happen— full on banana peel type slip. All the way, fully laying on the ground and everything. It did hurt, and left a gross scrape that is still very much in the healing process, but I think it was more embarrassing than anything, and maybe I’ll have a little scar to remind me of my literal TRIP to Malta.

Also in Malta, I attended my first ever Catholic Mass! The girls on the trip were all Catholic and I  just wanted to attend some kind of service on Easter so I was happy to go with them. The service was in English and we sat in the very front row, up close and personal. Honestly not much was different than the Protestant services I’m used to other than a whole bunch of prayers on the knee cushion thing. We sang familiar songs and it was nice to be in a spiritual environment for the first time in a while. 

Another important thing that happened recently is when I met a new friend! I was in a coffee shop in Paris working on something for school, and I sat at a big shared table. The girl in front of me was speaking English doing what seemed like an informational interview with someone via Zoom, and I swear I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but she was being super encouraging and I could tell she was really smart and friendly. So when she was done I summoned up all my courage and asked her where she was from. We ended up having a really good conversation. Since then, we have gone to Musee d’Orsay together and made plans for a biking around the city. Meeting new people and making new friends organically in one of the greatest cities in the world is just ??!!!!???!!!

I also had a couple of visitors in the past few weeks! First, my friend Brendan came for a weekend and we had a lovely time catching up over Escargot. Brendan is one of the funniest people I know, while also being such a good listener and understanding person. He’s in a study abroad program similar to mine, so it was nice to have someone who understands the same struggles. Also, my friends Stella and Jack came to Paris for a weekend! I haven’t seen Stella in almost a year now (she’s been off doing lots is cool things and big internships), and it’s always good to see Jack, who is a fellow study abroad-er in France. We had a great visit to the Château de Versailles and walk around the city of Paris, getting coffee by the Eiffel Tower and and strolling around the Latin Quarter. I also had to say goodbye to a friend I made in Paris, Sydney, who was here for the semester. We had a great finale dinner at the restaurant of Ladurée on the champs-elysees, the same night election results came out. Yay for Macron! 

Anywho, I’m optimistic for the future and what the summer holds. My lease is over at my apartment and as of this morning I have officially moved out of Cergy. I'm sitting on the train writing this, on my way to Amsterdam. I will be spending the month of May living in a hostel and volunteering at a center for people suffering from dementia. I've never been to the Netherlands, I don't speak Dutch, but I am excited for the new experience and I think it will be really fulfilling and meaningful. I can’t say I’m not scared for the upcoming month in a place I’ve never been, and in an unfavorable living situation, but I saw some quote that said “Do it scared.” No one ever said you couldn’t be scared. So that’s what I’m gonna do.

See ya later!

[corybanter-original]

Closing in on a year of Covid

It's hard to believe that, in just a few weeks, we will reach the anniversary of the very first shutdowns due to coronavirus, aka Covid-19. So many things have changed. For one, I can barely remember what it was like to leave the house without making sure I had a mask with me. My kids haven't been to in-person school since everything first shut down. The list goes on.

I remember thinking early on, "Maybe this will only be a few months. When warm weather gets here, maybe things will get better." And here we are, almost a YEAR later. The church I serve as Director of Music Ministries has had in-person services since May of 2020, but those generally have between 30 and 40 people in attendance. We used to average somewhere around 200 on a Sunday. We also offer an online pre-recorded service, and frankly, I'm getting sick of it. Having to get 2 or 3 people together to record music for the following Sunday is not how I've done things for most of my church music career. I miss my choir.

My wife and I have commented many times on how weird it is to see movies or TV shows where people are together in big, tightly-packed crowds. I find myself thinking, "What about social distancing? Are those people washing their hands after touching each other?" It's bizarre.

I'm looking forward to the day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, where I don't have to worry about so many of the things that are daily worries for me now. How many people will be at the grocery store? Why isn't that person wearing a mask, don't they know we're in the middle of a pandemic? I've gotten less obsessive about following the graphs on the New York Times website, something I used to do every day.

Like most people, I think, I'm just looking forward to a time that I can call "normal." And by "normal," I'm hoping I'll mean something like "the way things used to be." Honestly, I don't know if that time will happen soon. But I pray it will. I, like most folks I know, am just tired of the whole thing.