#before I bailed catholicism
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Okay, I just found out that historically Mary was between fourteen and fiteen yo when the archangel Gabriel gave her the pregnancy news. My whole Jesus is somewhat real on Good Omens so how did THAT conversation went made me actually more curious now because it's not only Good Omens Gabriel gives bonkers news to a human but Good Omens Gabriel gives bonkers news to a teenager.
#mary being a teen when she got magically pregnant is uncomfortable af but it was also normal for the time period#and while some christian schoolars will try to sell the image of Joseph being an old man to explain away Jesus potential sibblings +#and mantain Mary as an eternal virgin#and while some weird conservatives will also use it to say the bibble defends this type of marriage#this isn't the case#there is no reference in the bibble itself of their ages or of a age gap#so based on context clues is likely they just followed the normal marriage rules at the time#this means their engament would have been made by their parents when Mary was between the ages 12-14#and they would meet and marry when she was 15-16 and he was 18-20#still an age gap but not a overly creepy one#the other explanation to jesus sibblings used to keep mary an eternal virgin is that it was a misstranslation as sibblings and cousins +#i don't remenber if the langague in question was old hebrew greek or latin because I heard it from my comunity preacher as a kid#before I bailed catholicism#mother mary#good omens#gabriel good omens
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I'm not sure if you're still doing writing requests, but I really loved your oneshot about Leo coming out to Splinter - it brought a few tears to my eyes thinking about my own coming out experience :') if you want, could you maybe do something about Mikey giving Usagi "The Shovel Talk"? It doesn't have to be serious, I just thought it'd be funny if Mikey went all Dr. Delicate Touch while Leo tries not to die in the background. Hope you have a good day/night! :D
I'm so sorry this took FOREVER to get out, I went through several drafts before I finally had to say it was fine XD Hope you enjoy :3
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First Impressions (Part 2)
Miyamoto Usagi has become a regular guest in the Hamato household.
After introductions went about as smoothly as one could expect—Splinter warring between outrage and panic and glee that his Baby Blue was dating, and the rest of the family stunned that Leo actually has game (or maybe Usagi is just as dumb as he is)—the clan don't go long without seeing him wandering the lair, usually side by side with Leo.
In hindsight, that makes the death glares Donnie drills into the back of the rabbit's head make much more sense, but that's another issue.
Apparently, they'd been together three weeks before the introductions, and Mikey believes it. Just yesterday, he'd caught them through the crack of Leo's open bedroom door sitting together on the bed, sharing a pair of earbuds as Leo shuffled through his Spotify playlist, letting Usagi in on his atrocious taste in music.
“Hey, glam-rock is the shit,” Leo nudged Usagi's shoulder. “And you can't talk when all you listen to is J and K Pop, classical, country and Lofi.”
“Shut up, baka kappa,” Usagi nudged him back, grinning wide and showing off the buck front teeth that Leo found adorable. “Classical is thought-provoking, good for meditation. And I'll have you know Lofi is calming, something you never are about anything ever.”
“Okay, I will allow that just this once but you cannot defend country or K Pop—”
“Contrary to popular belief, not all of your western music is about human Christian values, tractors or drinking—in fact, give me your phone, I'll show you my jazz playlist—”
“No!” Leo pulled his arm up, holding his phone out of Usagi's reaching paws even as the rabbit clambered over him. “Knowing you it'll be some awful jazz-lofi remix or somehow have Catholicism involved, people are getting creative in converting the masses—ow! No, get away from me—!”
“Your music sucks! You must be properly educated! Jazz is soothing for the soul!”
“But Queen! David Bowie! Prince!”
“All of the Hidden City knows you're gay, Leonardo, you don't have to blast it on speaker, too!”
“You attack me?! I let you into my house! I trusted you!”
“Gankona baka! Kōfuku shite horobiro!”
“Conejito idiota! ¡Fuera de mi trasero!”
They'd tousled for a bit before falling over on the bed and giving into giggles, barely any space between them. Leo's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and his grin a wide, dopey thing. Usagi called him a fool and nuzzled his nose against Leo's, earning a delighted chirp from the slider, and it was the happiest Mikey had seen him in months.
He's so in love it's gross. Mikey means that in the best way.
And Usagi seems like a nice guy. A really nice guy.
But they've been fooled by a pretty face and flowery words before. Last time, Leo had to bail them out. This time, Leo is too high up on cloud nine; he won't notice the danger until it's too late, and the fallout will be devastating.
Leo is strong, the strongest of them all as far as Mikey's concerned, in little ways they've never noticed until he'd showed them all by locking himself in hell with a demon. He's faced bigger, scarier things than any teenager—any person—ever should. But relationships? Dating? Being vulnerable with another person, opening your heart and trusting that person to take care of it, and in turn care for theirs? That's a beast of a different calibre.
Heartbreak happens to everyone; it's just how life is, and ignoring the ugly truth of it serves no one. Leo had barely survived his physical body breaking under metal fists driven by hatred and mindless bloodlust. Mikey doubts even he, with all that strength he possesses in spades that have carried him through some of the worst moments of their lives, would last long with a wound that deep.
Mikey loves him too much to let that happen.
(That, and he really doesn't want to kill Usagi, bail costs a lot, and not even Donnie has that much in his many wired accounts.)
So the trio meet up in Donnie's lab late one night and make a plan.
Miyamoto Usagi is gonna learn what'll happen if he messes with the Hamato clan.
~0o0~
A week later, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door.
The samurai in training doesn't startle when he drops from the ceiling or flinch at the smile that would have his brothers running for the hills. He smiles back, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder.
“Hello, Michelangelo. Nice of you to drop in,” he says, completely straight, and Mikey kind of wants to die. Leo did say they've been dating for a while. More than enough time for him to be a horrible influence on the otherwise straight (ha) laced samurai.
“Hey, Usagi! Here to see Leo?” Mikey asks like it's not obvious.
Still, Usagi nods. “That I am. We'd talked about some traditional Japanese snacks he hasn't tried before, so I bought some from the marketplace near my home.” He unzips his bag to let Mikey peek inside. “I'd be happy to share some with you and your brothers. I may have over-purchased.”
Mikey is dazzled by the array of absolutely delicious-looking snacks—including mango-flavoured mochi, oh be still his heart—but he shakes his head. Focus. Leo's heart and Usagi's continued existence depend on it. “That's great, Usagi, but I'm good for now. Actually, we gotta talk with you real quick before you see your boy. May I take your bag?”
Usagi blinks at him. “Oh. Um. Certainly?” He zips the bag up and shrugs it off, handing it to Mikey, and damn, he wasn't kidding. Did he buy out the whole store?
Mikey shoulders the bag and smiles. “Perfect! Now, stay still so Donnie doesn't accidentally knock you out.”
“Okay—wait, what—?”
Donnie drops from the ceiling and shoves a pillowcase over Usagi's head.
And as Mikey expects, Usagi doesn't immediately struggle or fight: he freezes, an innate rabbit instinct kinda like how Mikey retreats into his shell. He almost feels bad for exploiting that weakness. Almost, because it gives Raph enough time to grab him in his massive arms, pick him up and carry him off to the atrium. Mikey and Donnie follow behind, the latter wearing an unsettling grin that tells Mikey he's enjoying this far more than he should.
Blindfolded and trapped in Raph's solid grip. Usagi doesn't panic. Though his voice carries a twinge of worry when he says, “Is this a game? Am I being kidnapped? Did Leonardo put you up to this?”
“All will be revealed in good time,” Donnie says with a chuckle meant to sound ominous but it comes off as dorky. “Just relax, don't ask any questions and everything shall run smoothly and without the removal of a thing attached to another thing, like your head from your neck.”
“Alright?” Usagi says. Mikey bumps his hip against Donnie's and scowls. Donnie rolls his eyes.
They reach the living room, Dad's chair thankfully unoccupied, and Raph drops Usagi into it. Mikey sets the duffle bag down and quickly zips to his room to grab the sweater, glasses and pants, shrugging into them. When he returns, Donnie has just finished duct-taping Usagi's arms to the chair—
“Donald!”
“What?” Donnie has the gall to look offended. “This was your idea!”
“Not to tie him up!”
“Who's to say he won't run, hm? He's a rabbit and they're fast as frick, we'd never catch him before Leo gets back, and then our whole plan is ruined. Also, no teenager is comfortable talking about 'feelings', so I'm just taking extra precautions—”
“I can still hear you, you know,” Usagi says, the pillowcase still over his head. He doesn't seem bothered about this whole situation, which both amuses and concerns Mikey a little.
“You shush, or I'll bring out the chainsaw,” Donnie says.
Mikey looks at Raph. “You didn't think to stop him?”
Raph folds his arms and shrugs. “I'm just the muscle here, big man. This is your show.”
Dr Feelings appreciates the level of trust and respect Raph has for Mikey that's been a slow-growing thing these last few years. Dr Delicate Touch wants to strangle his oldest brother for being a wise ass.
He rolls his eyes instead and gets in position while Donnie sets up the projector. He nods to Raph, and the snapper pulls off the pillowcase.
Usagi blinks, adjusting to the brightness and looking around. “You blindfolded me to take me to the living room? Where I've been multiple times?”
“Shush,” Donnie hisses, “second warning. We'll be doing the talking here, bunny boy.”
“Don, chill,” Raph says, looking seconds from bursting out laughing. “We're just here to have a nice, friendly chat.”
Usagi arches a brow, pointedly dipping his chin down at his taped arms.
Raph's smile twitches, a drop of sweat trickling down his brow. “... I'm just the muscle?”
Mikey clears his throat loudly, snapping their attention back to him. He smiles and rolls his shoulders back, relaxing into the role that's become a blessing these last few months than the curse it was two years ago (at least to his brothers).
“Good evening! I'm Dr Feelings, and welcome to my newest seminar—!”
He clicks the button for the next slide on the PowerPoint, a photo of the three turtles glaring down at the camera from a high angle, a shovel in Mikey's hands. Underneath, the title reads in comically bright, bubblegum pink letters--
“—Shovel Talks!”
Usagi stares at the slide and then at each of the present turtles. Mikey keeps his smile bright while his brothers (mostly Donnie) no longer hide the touch of sadistic glee in theirs.
“... ah,” he says carefully. “I see the position I'm in now.”
“See, I don't think you do,” Donnie drawls on Usagi's right, Raph looming over on the left. “So we are going to educate you, and do not interrupt or talk until you are spoken to as we have much to go through and very little time before our dearly devoted dum-dum returns from April and Splinter's distraction outing. Dr Feelings,” Donnie turns to Mikey and gestures grandly, “Proceed with your first slide.”
“Thank you! Let's start off by asking our patient some simple questions. Question one!” Mikey flips to the next slide titled 'Spill The Tea' with a doodle of a teacup underneath it. Under that is a photo of Leo flashing a peace sign at the camera with a goofy grin. “What are your intentions towards one Hamato Leonardo?”
Usagi blinks. “... I would think my intentions were obvious? We're dating, are we not?”
“Sigh, yes, we can see as much given how you two are all but attached at the hip whenever you're so much as in the same vicinity,” Donnie mutters before getting right up in Usagi's face with a glare, fisting the front of his blue hoodie and shaking him once. “What we don't know is why you are dating Leonardo! Were you dared to by compatriots or colleagues of similar age or older for a cruel joke? Or are you a spy sent from a yet unknown enemy seeking to destroy us from the inside, integrating yourself into our inner circle by seducing our resident feeble-minded little gay only to turn on us at the last second, surrendering us to your evil leader and shattering the heart of the boy who fell in love with a person that never truly existed?! Speak, heathen!!”
Usagi stares at Donnie with wide, mildly disturbed eyes. Donnie glares at Usagi, right eye twitching.
“Jeezy heckin' creezy, Don,” Raph squeaks after a beat. “How long've you been holding that in?”
Donnie whirls on Raph with a half-crazed grin without releasing Usagi's hoodie. “The whole dub, baby!” he says.
Raph facepalms.
Mikey gathers himself quickly and clears his throat again. “Donald, if you would please let go of our patient—”
“Prisoner, guilty until proven innocent—”
“—patient, so we can hear his clear and honest answer? Don't you test the waters of my patience, boy, I will bring out Dr Delicate Touch on your ass.”
“Language,” Raph sighs, working Donnie's grip from Usagi's hoodie and bodily lifting him up and away from the rabbit. Donnie goes without a fight, but not without a spitting glare aimed at Usagi. Ignoring him, Raph offers Usagi a smile, cementing his role as the Good Cop. “Sorry about him. Just answer the question so we can get this over with.”
“And we'll know if you're lying!” Donnie adds. “I have lie detectors under the seat that'll fry your cotton ass six ways to Sunday—!”
“There are no lie detectors.”
“Raaaaph, you're ruining it, I'm trying to instil fear—!”
“Yer doin' enough of that to me right now! We were worried about Dad goin' all 'Daddy with a shotgun' on him when we really should've been watchin' the 'Overprotective Twin with his Middle Child Nonsense'—!”
“May I speak, now?”
Usagi's tone cuts through the idiocy as neat as the katana he wields, and the boys fall silent. Raph sets Donnie down, and Donnie steps back, his glare fading to make way for open confusion and surprise.
Mikey, who'd been on the cusp of dropping the act and wringing his brothers' necks, takes in Usagi's expression—purposefully neutral, the way he shuts his eyes as he takes a breath, his fingers drumming the armrests he's tied to while the heel of one foot bounces on the floor—and wonders if they've crossed a line here.
Then Usagi sighs, slow and measured, and opens his eyes. “I understand why you're concerned,” he says. “Leonardo has been through... a lot, to put it mildly. You all have, which is why you're so protective of one another. I admire and respect that; you hold true to the ancient belief that founded your clan centuries ago. Anata wa hitori janai, I believe. Leonardo told me about it. About the Shredder, the invasion... and the prison dimension.”
A shudder runs through the brothers. Mikey sees Donnie's jaw lock, Raph's fingers curling into fists. Mikey pulls at his fingers and bites his lip. “... he told you?” he asks in a smaller voice than he intends.
Usagi's gaze softens minutely, and he nods. “Not everything, but yes. I never prompted, but... he saw me fit enough to know.” His brows furrow, his frown deep and angry as he glares at his lap. “It sickens me to hear what that creature put you through—what he did to Leonardo. And it frightens me to think of how you'd come so close to losing him... how I'd come so close to never meeting him at all.”
Oh, Mikey thinks, almost floored. Oh wow.
Usagi takes another breath and raises his head, meeting each of their gazes. “... So yes, I understand your fears regarding our relationship and your hesitance to trust me. Leonardo's well-being will always be your top priority. He's precious to you.” Then Usagi smiles. It's small but bright, warm and quietly delighted, proud and certain. “He's precious to me, too.”
This time Mikey is floored. Oh. Wow.
“To answer your question, Dr Feelings,” Usagi continues, heedless of the turtle's altering perception of reality, “my intentions towards Hamato Leonardo are simple: I want to protect him. I know he's more than capable, and knowing him, he'll never ask me for help outright. But when he does, I want to be there—no, I will be there, because I care about him. Very much. We haven't known each other long, but my life is brighter and better with him in it, and I'll do whatever I must to keep it that way.
“I want to make him as happy as he's made me because he deserves that much. He deserves every good thing in this world.” He shrugs, flashing a bashful, buck-toothed smile. “For now, I hope he can settle for just me.”
Mikey stares. Donnie stares. Raph stares.
Oh. Wow.
Either he's the greatest liar ever, or they've had him pegged so wrong. But then, not even Big Mama, the Queen Bee Bitch of lies, could fake that kind of devotion.
No, Usagi really is just a good guy. A great guy.
“Dammit!” Donnie cries, throwing his hands up. “I can't even fully hate you ironically anymore, what the hell!” He hangs his head with a sigh. “I suppose I shall have to settle for 'jealous older twin suffering from attention withdrawal from the younger twin' until further notice. Also, you get to live another day. Congrats.”
Usagi smirks. “Thank you, I think?”
Raph rolls his eyes, but he's grinning from ear to ear, slicing away the tape binding Usagi to the chair and helping him to his feet without prompting. He drops a heavy hand on Usagi's shoulder, his grin widening when the rabbit doesn't buckle under his strength. “What I think Donnie means to say is... well. We're glad you have Leo's back. And we're sorry for thinkin' the worst of you when we're all still gettin' to know each other. I mean, we've seen how happy you two are together, and we just—well, we wanted to—”
Usagi huffs a laugh, patting Raph's massive bicep. “As I said, I understand. My sensei often warns me against jumping to conclusions, but it's different for family. Especially younger siblings. I should know, I have a little sister.”
“Right?! You get it! My little brothers are literal demons even the devil's too scared to look at, but you get it—!”
Mikey shoves his way between them and barrels into Usagi for a hug, squeezing him tight. The rabbit squeaks in surprise and possibly pain, but his arms carefully come around Mikey's shell a heartbeat later, a chuckle running through him. “I suppose this means I have the youngest's seal of approval?”
Mikey nods against his chest, raising his head to beam up at the rabbit. “You do. Welcome to the family!”
“Thank you. I'm honoured to—”
“But we didn't finish the slide show, so I'll run a tee-ell-dee-arr for you. Hurt Leo and you die.”
“... ah.”
“They'll never find your body,” Donnie adds, “because I will reduce it to atoms. I have a ray in the works, I can show you the blueprints.”
“And if that fails, Raph will break every bone in your body and dump you in the Hudson!” Raph says brightly. “Ever swim there? Pretty deep. You find all kinds'a weird stuff. A rabbit yokai won't stand out much.”
“... I understand. I'll definitely deserve one of those fates.”
“Oh, you will,” Mikey chimes. “Thank you for understanding, and thanks for coming to our TED talk!”
“Pretty sure I did most of the talking.”
“I will yeet your ass across this house—”
“Are you chuckleheads done harassing my boyfriend, or can I have him back now?” drawls a familiar voice that has them leaping a foot out of their shells. They turn to find Leo leaning against the back of the couch with one arm, the other hand propped on his popped hip. He arches a brow at their stares.
Mikey jumps back from Usagi to wildly point at his immediate older brother. “How long have you been standing there?!”
“About a minute,” Leo says. “I've been behind the couch the whole time, though.”
“What?! When'd you get back from hanging with Dad and April?!” Raph cries.
“Never left,” Leo pushes off the couch and swings his arm around Usagi's shoulders upon approach like its second nature. Usagi leans into him likewise, one arm curling around his waist. “I kinda figured this whole 'shovel talk' thing was gonna happen sooner or later, so the minute April and Splinter tried to drag me out for a 'father-son-daughter thing' the same day Usagi said he'd come over, I knew you assholes were scheming and told 'em I wasn't leaving.” His eyes narrow a little, and Mikey almost shrinks back. “Didn't think you'd tie him up, though, or that Raph would just let it happen.”
“I'm just the muscle!”
“And I am hurt and offended that you all thought so little of my absolutely innocent Bunny Boo! You look at this face—” He unwraps his arm to squish Usagi's cheeks between both hands—“and tell me there's a single bad thought behind those beautiful pink eyes!”
“Weonawdo,” Usagi mutters, fur tinted pink with embarrassment.
Quick as a whip, Donnie says, “There's not a thought whatsoever if he's dating you.”
“You're a thot.”
“Different words and spelling. And it takes one to know one.”
“Die.”
“You first.”
“Both of you knock it off,” Raph sighs, pinching his brow the way he's done since he first knew the pains of being the eldest. It's a miracle there's not a permanent mark between his eyes. He turns to the rabbit. “Sorry, could we borrow Leo for a sec? Then I swear you two can finally go hang out and... do whatever two teenage boys do when they're head over heels for each other but still in their parent's house so they gotta keep it PG, 'kay?”
“Um, wow?” Leo scowls, dropping Usagi's face to plant his hands on his hips. “Who do you take me for, a horny teen with no self-control around my significant other?”
“That is exactly what we take you for,” Donnie says.
“I don't!” Mikey says, raising his hand. “You're just a dumb gay hoppin' mad for your bunny boo!”
Leo's eye twitches. “Gee. Thanks.”
Usagi snickers, taking Leo's hands, and Leo instantly melts like putty. “It's fine, Leonardo. I'll wait in your room and get the snacks sorted,” he says, then he leans in to kiss the corner of Leo's mouth. Right in front of everyone.
It's not something he's done before—being openly affectionate with Leo when his siblings or fathers were around—but then Mikey isn't surprised.
Maybe this whole 'hesitance' and 'mistrust' thing hasn't been as one-sided as he'd thought.
Mikey never knew a slider could turn pink, but Leo manages it, steam funnelling out of his ears as the rabbit walks away, grabbing his duffle bag as he goes. There's a pep in his step, and Mikey wonders if the kiss or their acceptance put it there.
Once he's gone, Donnie breaks the silence, staring in the direction Usagi had left in—“Should I get the tranquillizer?”
“You've done enough today.” Raph puts a massive hand over Donnie's face and shoves him onto the couch, ignoring his indignant squawking as he faces Leo. The slider collects himself quickly and crosses his arms, flashing that devil-may-care grin that irritates and amuses Mikey.
“So? You gonna tie me to the chair and subject me to the horrors of dating life via Dr Feelings?” Leo drawls, “Or are you finally gonna admit that you were wrong about my totally amazing and hot boyfriend?”
Raph sighs. “Yes, we may have taken it too far—and in Donnie's case, we were overly paranoid, even by my standards, but we learned our lesson about jumping the gun. Again. And you were right.” He smiles, broad and warm. “Your boy is cool with me, little brother. You got yourself a keeper.”
Leo blinks, his smirk falling. “... wait, wait—for real?”
“Did you not hear his heartfelt speech not even two pages ago? It was rather dramatic and moving,” Donnie says absently from the couch, eyes now on his phone to avoid looking anyone in the eye, but Mikey knows what's up. They all do, but they're nice enough not to say anything. “And if I'm being honest—which isn't saying much because I can't lie for shit and you can clock one with an accuracy that borders on mystical—I don't actually think your new beau is inherently evil. I cannot say that I like him... but I approve. For now. My earlier threats still stand, though, so please try to keep him in line, or I will turn him into a hat.”
Leo falters again in the face of sincerity, however masked, from his twin. “...oh. Um. Wow. That's—uh, cool. That's cool, Dee, I, um... thanks...”
And finally, Mikey steps forward, shrugging off the sweater, glasses and pants. “What? You really think it's that odd that we're lookin' out for you? It's like Usagi said, you're precious to us, bro! And he was damn right sayin' you deserve every good thing. You deserve to be happy with someone who cares about you as much as we do.”
He darts forward again even before Leo's eyes take on a misty sheen, bundling his brother in his arms as much as he can and squeezing. “And if Usagi makes you happy, we're happy too.”
“... you guys,” Leo whines, his voice thick as he holds Mikey impossibly close. Donnie tosses his phone aside to hop up and join the hug, cheek resting on Leo's shoulder. Raph lumbers over and plucks them off the floor, nuzzling the top of Leo's head with a low grumble from deep in his chest.
Later, with mostly dry eyes and a megawatt smile, Leo jogs off to find Usagi. Mikey stands with his eldest brothers and folds his arms. “Our work here is done, gentlemen.”
“But we didn't really do anything,” Donnie says.
Mikey swishes his cape and departs.
“Where the hell did you get that cape?!”
~0o0~
The following week, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door and tackles him with a hug. Usagi laughs and returns it freely.
In the living room, Donnie's eyes are glued to his laptop, fingers typing away. He lifts one fist, Usagi wordlessly bumping it as he sits on the couch with Raph. Setting his comic book aside, Raph reaches out to ruffle his white bangs and chuckles when Usagi's paw bats him away.
Leo enters from the kitchen and immediately brightens when he spots Usagi, leaping over the top of the couch to bounce in the open space beside the bunny. “Hey!"
“Hey, yourself,” Usagi snickers. "You couldn't possibly have missed me that much to come running as soon as I walk in."
Leo swings an arm over the top of the couch, the other pressing a hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he bemoans, batting his eyelids at Usagi, "that I shall say good night till it be morrow!"
Mikey laughs so hard he gives himself hiccups. Raph chokes on his soda. Donnie whirls on Leo, looking downright mutinous. "You did not just quote Shakespear so you could flirt with your boyfriend!"
Leo gestures to a madly grinning Usagi trying to hide behind his hands. "It worked, though! You guys hate it when I use the cheap pickup lines off Google, so I consulted the world's finest wordsmith instead."
"You are abusing and defiling William's good name! Thou crusty batch of nature!"
Leo rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You're just jelly 'cause I've officially got more game than you."
"Or Usagi has terrible taste in men."
Leo opens his mouth to say something he'll probably regret, but Usagi swiftly intercepts with a kiss on the cheek that stops him cold. "I thought it was creative," he says, "Much better than your awful pickup lines."
At that, Leo forgets Donnie completely, leaning in with a dumb grin to peck Usagi on the lips. Raph shakes his head with a secret smile, and Mikey giggles as he lays across Raph's thighs, Switch in hand.
Donnie gags. “Get a room.”
“But keep the door open!” Splinter calls from—somewhere.
Usagi tugs an ear over his face, flushed and embarrassed. Leo throws his head back and laughs.
Mikey grins, basking in the glow as he plugs into his game. He can get used to this.
---
Reblogs are appreciated :3
Feel free to send more requests <3
#rottmnt#rottmnt fic#leosagi#rottmnt leosagi#rise usagi#miyamoto usagi#my writing#fic request#i love these idiots
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You know, between talking about the funeral in House of Wax and writing my Horror novel(where the deuteragonist is a retired serial killer turned priest), it's REALLY funny to me personally how weird be religious upbringing was.
Like my parents divorced when I was three, but my dad got me on weekends, so every Sunday until I was 11(Great-Grandparents moved to California) I was forced to go to church (because my Great-Grandfather was the priest) BUT MY DAD DID NOT ATTEND WITH ME. HE JUST DUMPED ME OFF AT THE CHURCH.
My dad is this big, 6'1 death metal dude, long hair, always wears black clothes and a perma-scowl, would drop a tiny girl version of him(I insisted on black shirt red skirt EVERY CHURCH DAY since I was little) at the steps of the church and bail before he had to see his Grandparents(Fun fact, they raised him, because my Grandma--while she is the most loving soul on the planet--is not a competent parent).
Putting the rest of this under the cut because it's just a rant about my weird relationship with religion as a child, if I'm being honest.
The religious weirdness started at my baptism, actually.
When I was that age, apparently my FAVORITE toy was a little Hades figurine--a McDonalds toy from the movie Hercules. My mom, while carrying me up to the big water basin or whatever where my Great-Grandfather(we just all called him "Grandfather", our family had a huge "Head of the Family" complex until he passed), noticed that I HAD HADES WITH ME, so she tried to take it away from me really quickly, because Grandfather was already kind of rude to her(fun fact, she's been a wiccan my whole life and hid it from me until I was like 12).
Well, like ANY child with a comfort toy in an unpleasant situation when the toy is being taken away, I held onto that toy with all my might and mustered my tiny lungs to scream "THAT'S MY HADES"...as loud as possible, in my Great-Grandfather's church.
I should explain that my Great-Grandfather was an Episcopalian Priest. Episcopalianism shares all the aesthetics of Catholicism, with mostly superficial differences (The MAIN differences being that Episcopalian priests can marry, an they don't do confessional).
ANYWAY, it only got worse.
I attempted to accept communion wine all of TWO times; once as a very small child, and once when I was around 8 or so(memories of my childhood are very spotty due to Trauma, but I know I had to be younger than 9 because my brother wasn't born yet). Anyway, BOTH TIMES I tried to take the wine, I projectile vomited all over the velvet altar, as well as my Great-Grandfather's vestments. BOTH times old ladies whispered shitty things about it, and no one tried to comfort me. It was some bullshit then, but it's a hilarious inside joke with my close friends and I now. Funny part is? I'm not a puker in general, and those were the only times in my whole life I ever PROJECTILE vomited.
FUN FACT: When I was little, I believed the Christian God and Santa Claus were the same entity. Both beings are always watching you to judge your merit, and I equated Hell's Brimstone to Santa's Coal for naughty children.
I wouldn't say it got WORSE after my Great-Grandfather retired, but it WAS weirder for me. I was still forced to go because he and my Nana still attended services(I was allowed to stop going when they moved when I was 11), but because I was his Great-Granddaughter I was like...church famous?? I was always highlighted in Sunday School, and special attention was always drawn to me when they'd round the kids up to send us off.
Problem is, I HATED the new priest. He creeped me right the fuck out, and I was not shy about showing that.
I made a scene EVERY single time I got bad vibes, and the congregation always laughed like it was some kind of staged act.
On the flip side, every winter I would always ask my favorite priest to get the shovel for me because I shoveled the ramp and steps every sunday because I was afraid the advanced elderly people would fall; so I was very much A Good KidTM, just HATED every second of being in church.
My Great-Grandfather was a VERY interesting person, but most of that I didn't know until after he died, because all he ever wanted to talk to me about was Jesus. It really hurt my feelings, because I was a science kid--I got GREAT grades--and I worked really hard for it, yet this most revered person in my family only ever responded to any of my achievements with "Thank Jesus for your Gifts." (I was nominated for a Student Ambassadorship that would have taken me overseas to study three times in a row. I was never able to go because we were broke as shit, but like, I worked fucking HARD and all he ever saw were the "gifts from Jesus", and I full on hated Christianity for it)
Now, on my MOM's side of the religious stuff, I mentioned already how she kept it under LOCK AND KEY that she was Wiccan until I was twelve. The reason being, because she didn't want my dad to point at it and tell people she was getting me into Devil Worship, because she was SUPER paranoid about me being taken away (that did not stop HER from abusing the hell out of me, but long story short that was psychosis and memory loss from a medication she was on long term; we are on good terms NOW).
Funny story, I DID have a Satanism phase, but that was a direct result of hating Christianity and wanting to piss off my family, if we're being honest.
ANYWAY THOUGH; I have been Pagan since I was ten years old, and went YEARS guarding that as a well kept secret, because I was afraid I'd get in SO much trouble for not being Christian, until one day when I was 12 I had come into my mom's room when she still had her books out and I was like !!! "WITCHCRAFT!!???!?!?". It was one of our biggest parent-child bonding moments tbh lol.
I went hardcore Atheist for a brief time during a massive mental breakdown I had in college, which was IMMEDIATELY followed by Performative Satanism, but when I Calmed DownTM I went back to general paganism. I have a very loose spirituality and a hyperspecific belief system, but I don't need to get into that here.
ANYWAY RANT OVER. I just think it's really funny that I grew up the way I did and now I write nasty blasphemy kink shit lol OOPS.
#Praey screams#Yeah this is just a big ass rant but it might be fun who knows#religious trauma#vent post#Not sure if it counts as a vent post because I'm not upset about it I just wanted to share the info no one asked for
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Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part III}
Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)
masterlist
Kay stood by the sanctuary doors under the pretense of greeting his parishioners, but really he was searching for one in particular.
He’d barely been able to eat or sleep since their mid-week lesson, [y/n]’s confession of feelings leaving him conflicted and distracted, barely getting this week’s sermon prepared on time. Unsure what he would even say to her when he saw her— he knew nothing he could say would make things alright, not after he’d rejected her, but that didn’t stop him from just wanting to see her.
But when her fiance and his parents walked in, [y/n] nowhere to be seen, his heart dropped to his stomach, sharp disappointment filling him til he nearly couldn’t breathe.
“No [y/n] today?” he asked as he shook the others’ hands, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“No, she’s not feeling well today,” Matthew answered. “She’s been feeling off for several days now actually.”
“Poor dear, hopefully it’ll pass soon,” his mother murmured and Kay nodded, watching them as they took their seats, a frown twisting his lips.
What were the odds that [y/n] was actually sick and not just feigning illness to avoid him? His stomach churned at the thought, but he made his way dutifully to the altar to start Mass.
If he thought it was hard to concentrate when [y/n] was out in the congregation watching him, this was even worse, his thoughts continuously straying to what she was doing, and if she was alright.
He ended up losing his place several times and by the end of the service he felt so anxious he thought he might be ill himself. He idly thought about calling her from his office to check on her, but it wasn’t as if she’d be likely to answer, and there was no way he could just show up at her apartment — that’d be incredibly inappropriate, besides, what would he even say?
He already knew there was nothing he could say, though he wanted to.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he noticed someone enter the confessional and he sighed, heading that way.
This is your duty, get yourself under control, Kay, he told himself, opening the door to the priest’s compartment and took his seat. Through the latticed partition he couldn’t tell exactly who was on the other side, and his thoughts returned to the other day.
“I’ve been having… impure thoughts.”
He shivered at the memory, his mind wanting to chase that line of thought to speculate what sort of sinful scenarios she’d been imagining him in.
No, Kay, what is wrong with you? He thought frantically. Do not be swayed by sweet temptation.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been, uh… well, a while since my last confession.”
Matthew’s voice on the other side of the partition jerked Kay back to the present, his gut twisting with guilt at what he’d nearly allowed himself to think about the other man’s betrothed.
“Go ahead, my child,” Kay prompted, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was.
“Right, okay, uhh, where to start…?” Matthew mused. He paused for a long moment as if thinking. “Well, I’ve had a lot of sex… like, a lot,” he began, and Kay’s gut twisted farther at the thought of him and [y/n] before he forcefully pushed that image from his head. “—And not just with my fiance. There’s been others, sometimes even two at once—“
Kay frowned, interrupting the other man.
“Wait, are you saying you’re been unfaithful to [y/n]?” he asked, trying to keep the sharp bite of his anger from his voice.
“Well, yeah,” Matthew replied. “I mean, as good as she in in bed, I don’t wanna be stuck having the same boring sex with one woman my whole life. In fact, this whole marriage was my parents’ idea in the first place, and if I don’t go along with it they threatened to cut me off,” he explained, Kay’s anger mounting with each word.
“Does… does [y/n] know about this?” he asked, seething, his hands balling in his dark robes.
“No, I mean, she’d flip out if she did, and then she’d bail.”
Kay couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t even warn [y/n]— confession was sacred. What he heard in the confessional couldn’t be revealed to anyone. But the worst part about it was the irony. He’d pushed her away when she’d tried to tell him she wasn’t happy, thinking he might be breaking up a loving marriage, but it was already doomed to begin with. Of course [y/n] was unhappy.
“So… what, Father, how many Hail Mary’s do I need to do to be good?” Matthew asked, pulling Kay’s attention back to him and he scowled.
“That’s not how it works,” he countered. “To be forgiven, you must truly repent and feel sorry for what you’ve done, and vow to the best of your abilities to not give into temptation and repeat your sin,” he explained sharply. “If you have no intention of ceasing your adulterous ways then you cannot truly be forgiven.”
“Alright, alright,” Matthew relented, “I promise to the best of my abilities to avoid temptation,” he exclaimed, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he had no intention of stopping.
In a hollow voice, Kay absolved the man of his sins and sent him on his way, unable to bring himself to leave the solitude of the confessional yet. [y/n]’s words swam in his head, guilt and desire and temptation following them, gripping him.
“I never wanted this! I still have feelings for you. They never went away!”
Who was he kidding? She was still all he’d ever wanted. And if Matthew couldn’t see just how special she was, he didn’t deserve her. [y/n] was right, he couldn’t give her what she wanted… but maybe Kay could.
“Ah shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Without another thought, lest he talk himself out of it, Kay pushed open the door and hurried back to his office, shedding his robe and grabbing his keys.
——
It was the insistent pounding at the door that roused you from your fitful slumber, and you rolled over to check the time on your phone. It looked like Mass would be over by now, but you couldn’t believe that that was Matthew at the door.
Maybe if you didn’t answer, whoever it was would give up and go away. Besides, you weren’t exactly fit to be seen at the moment—!not having bothered to shower or change for the last few days, your eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying for hours on end.
However, when the knocking persisted, growing, if possible more frantic, you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed and threw your robe around yourself as you shambled to the door.
“I’m comin’, hold your fucking horses!” you called, peering through the peephole while your hand rested on the door knob.
When you saw who was standing outside, looking nervously around, you jerked back, your pulse instantly pounding loudly in your ears.
For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the door, trying to decide what to do.
“[y/n], please, I know you’re in there! I just want to talk,” Kay called through the door and you took a steadying breath, unlocking the deadbolt, but leaving the chain in place, pulling the door open only a crack.
“What’re you doing here, Kay?” you demanded, though you didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I think you already know why I didn’t come to church today, and if you’re here to ask me to come back to do my lessons, I’m not going. I’ll call the Parish office tomorrow and request a new teacher—“
“That’s not why I’m here!” he exclaimed hastily, cutting you off and your eyes widened. “Please, can I come in? I don’t want to speak through the door and I want — I need to talk to you!”
The desperation in his voice and the wild light in his emerald eyes made you pause. Biting your lip, you considered his plea.
“Okay, just… hold on a sec.”
Shutting the door to unlatch the chain, you wondered if you’d come to regret this, but something in his voice, in his eyes had swayed you. You’d never seen him quite so frantic before. Opening the door fully, you stepped aside so he could enter and you noticed he wasn’t wearing his white collar.
“Thank you,” he murmured as he passed and you quickly shut the door behind him, turning to face him while folding your arms defensively over your chest.
You were about to demand why he was there again when he spoke first, rendering you momentarily speechless.
“Oh, [y/n], you look awful” he exclaimed softly, worry lacing his voice as he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out.
Quickly looking away, you wiped at your already raw eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were once more gathering.
“Kay… what do you want?” you asked instead, hating how your voice wavered.
He sighed heavily, his eyes going to the floor for a moment before lifting once more, his thick brows drawn down over a piercing gaze.
“Do you love him?” he demanded, his question taking you off guard and you faltered.
“I… I don’t know. Why are you asking me that?”
At your answer Kay gaped at you in disbelief for a moment. “Then why are you marrying him, [y/n]?”
“I don’t know,” you replied automatically, your voice growing stronger as you continued. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? I need the stability Matthew can give me. Besides, it’s not like I have much say in the matter, my parents—“
“That’s not a good enough reason!” Kay snapped and you recoiled as if slapped, knowing in your heart he was right. “What about love? Don’t you deserve that?” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes you’d never seen before.
The question stung and you bit your lip to keep from trembling. “Yeah, well, maybe the man I love, I can’t have. You made that clear enough the other day,” you muttered, drawing your arms around yourself and turning away so he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. “So, what does it matter anyway?”
Kay shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he closed the distance between you in one stride, his hands going to your face as his lips collided with yours, taking you by surprise.
As soon as his lips found yours, his hands reverently cupping your cheeks, you froze, your mind reeling and your breath catching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back with a desperation that nearly tore you in two.
You were dreaming. You must be.
But no, he was real, and solid, and right there, kissing you like you’d imagined so many times.
Clutching at his shirt, you pulled yourself against him and his hands left your face, his arms wrapping around you, embracing you tightly and you responded in kind, slipping your arms around his neck as your lips moved against his hungrily.
Gasping a hasty breath, you didn’t pull back for long, your tongue darting out to taste him, and he moaned into your mouth as he gave in.
All too soon however, he was pulling back to look at you, his long dark curls falling into his face, and you lifted your chin, your eyes finding his. “What made you change your mind?” you asked softly, barely daring to breathe, afraid all this would be taken from you again if you questioned it.
“I...I made a mistake,” he replied uncertainly, but as he continued, the fierceness from earlier returned to his voice. “I was a fool, alright? I lied, when you asked if I still felt anything for you. I’ve been lying to myself for most of my life,” he exclaimed.
“All I’ve ever wanted was you. I never stopped loving you, [y/n],” he confessed, the ache in your heart growing. “You deserve so much more than… him,” he nearly whispered.
At his words a myriad of questions sprang to mind, all clamouring for attention — what did this mean? How was it supposed to work? You were technically still engaged. It would look rather suspicious if you and Kay were suddenly to run off together, but—
Before you could focus on any one thought for too long, Kay’s mouth was on yours once more and this kiss, if possible, was more passionate than before, your back making contact with the wall behind you with a soft thud and all those thoughts fled.
All you wanted to think about was what was happening now, in this moment, everything else could come later.
Afterall, how long had you imagined this?
“Kay,” you murmured, whining softly as he drew back, though he still held you tightly.
“[y/n],” he sighed, affection thick in his voice as he pressed his forehead to yours, his curls brushing your face. “I need to get back,” he continued reluctantly, and you whined louder.
“Stay,” you begged, not loosening your grasp on him. Part of you was afraid if you let him go, he’d disappear.
“I can’t,” he choked, as if it took all his willpower to refuse you.
“But… what happens now?” you asked, reluctantly, letting him step out of your embrace.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head as he caught his breath. All he knew was that he wanted to stay and that was his sign to go… for now. He was still a priest after all, even if his heart had given into this temptation. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, holding your face to press a kiss to your forehead.
Watching him walk back out your door was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but his promise echoed in your ears and you clutched to it.
We’ll figure it out.
-------------------------------
Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @the-freckled-luba @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits
#season of the witch#priest!kay x reader#priest!kay#robert sheehan character fic#my writing#fic: want#priest kink tw#catholicism tw#infidelity tw
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14,10,7?
14) Is anyone religious? What are their religions?
Everyone is more or less religious. Except maybe Jack. There has been a "Yeah, the host and the Core 7 are Catholic, and you at least have to respect that" conversation with everyone (except I(lane)...we haven't had that convo with her yet. Whoops), and we've introduced almost everyone to the Abrahamic God too. Whether or not they worship Him is their choice - but they all at least know of Him.
Of the "originals" (non-fictives), Rose is the most wary of committing to religion. She's had bad experiences with "religion", and with her perception of what God is, and so doesn't really know what to make of everything. And Tanit...is Tanit. She believes in the Abrahamic God. She just chooses not to follow Him.
As for the fictives, the easiest ones to explain are my Elves. For them, Eru is synchronous with the Abrahamic God (which, given that Tolkien was Catholic makes sense), so they came in already believing.
Bail and Leia are a little more complicated, but they've settled in better than some of their counterparts. In their world, their gods are very much aspects and personifications of the Force, which is very real for them. They understand, though, that the Force is not present in this world, and that there are therefore different gods/Gods here. They kind of just followed the Core 7 into Catholicism.
Alanna is having the most difficulty with the system's general consensus of "belief in the Abrahamic God/Catholicism". As someone who was her patron goddess's champion in her world, she wants to keep worshipping the Goddess even now. Unfortunately for her, polytheism is kind of the big No in monotheism, so most of the rest of the system doesn't want her worshipping her.
Everyone else is more or less down for the Catholicism. Except, like I said, maybe Jack.
Oh, a funny story about my system and Catholicism and though: only Ash went through RCIA, the Catholic conversion process. When the rest of us started emerging, we had a mini crisis about that, and we as a system almost demanded to be allowed to go through RCIA again, this time so everyone (or at least the rest of the Core 7) could convert properly.
7) What does the headspace/inner world look like? Is it just one building/area, several, or more?
We call our inner world Liminal Space, and it's actually really massive. It consists of a large palace (complete with stables and, if I had to guess, kennels, falconry, and forge), an Enchanted Forest, and a far-distant mountain range. No one has made it to the mountain range yet, though F(inrod) tried (before learning that his sister was here and returning to the palace). Because of this, no one knows what is beyond the mountain range.
The palace is backed up to a seaward cliff on the south side. There are gentler beaches to the east, and cave systems in the cliffs.
The Enchanted Forest is...dangerous, though only F(inrod) has gone deep enough in to encounter those dangers. Closer to the palace, the Enchanted Forest is more of just a thick forest with massive trees, open glades, still pools, and a few waterfalls.
10) Unexplored rooms/areas?
Vast portions of the palace are yet unexplored, especially consciously. No one has been down to the beaches yet, or explored the cave systems. (I actually only discovered the beaches and caves today, when I went looking to see if there were places I didn't know about yet.) As I mentioned earlier no one has made it to the mountain range yet, so we've never explored that, or whatever lies beyond.
Basically, there's a lot we haven't explored yet. I should...do that.
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Thoughts: New Orleans (Part III)
We first made our way across Rampart to Louis Armstrong Park. I was already excited as it was here where I laid eyes on the famed Congo Square. You see, under French and Spanish colonial policy, African slaves were allowed a day off. On this day, this was the place where they would gather to sing, dance, play music, make and sell wares and just keep in touch with their original cultural identity. A strange….happy feeling came over me as I walked around it. I would say hopeful even, and it’s not hard to see why. The Louisiana slaves were quite lucky to have a brief escape from their predicament such as this; you can’t quite say the same for slaves elsewhere in the south.
Anyway, after briefly stopping in Congo Square, we then walked over to the edge of Louis Armstrong Park……only to learn that said park was built over dead bodies. Apparently, the southern portion of it was originally the location of St. Peter Cemetery. In contrast to the above-ground tombs, crypts and vaults ubiquitous in the locale today, this was your run-of-the-mill, six feet underground-style cemetery. Given the region’s high water table, it was quite the morbid sight to behold when it was still in existence. Any time there was even just a little bit of flooding, the bodies would resurface, sometimes even floating down the street. Fed up, the residents of New Orleans insisted that they get a Catholic-style cemetery akin to the ones in France and Spain (being well-acquainted with the area’s disposition to flooding and hurricanes, you’d think they would have done this in the first place but I digress). So, in 1789, they got one, and it’s still in operation today. St. Louis Cemetery No. 1; the oldest continually-used cemetery in the entire United States.
A literal city of the dead, with 700 tombs, and over 100,000 burials. Okay, I’m sure you’ve gotten confused again, so here goes: The reason why there can be so many burials despite the limited amount of tombs is because the tombs double as cremation ovens. They never embalm anyone before burying them here; that way, the natural cremation process won’t be interrupted. Each vault is checked after an arbitrary period of a year and one day to see if the body has disintegrated into ash yet. If it has, then the ash is to be swept down a chute that has been installed into the back of each vault. Thanks to this process, each tomb can be reused an infinite amount of times. And let us be real here; this just makes SO much more sense than having large, sprawling fields of graves. After death, the human body will eventually decompose into dust anyway, and as the generations pass on, said person’s grave will likely have fewer and fewer visitors. At some point you’re just going to have empty coffins using up space. It’s a wonder why this technique isn’t utilized by more people; but there were some stubborn people who simply weren’t having it. More on that later.
Thanks to years of vandalism, grave robbery, gangbangers and drug dealers using the alleys to conduct business, and muggers attacking visitors (the now-demolished housing projects of Iberville used to be right next door if that says anything), you can now only enter this cemetery if you’re with a licensed tour guide or have been granted permission by NOLA’s Catholic diocese. It felt so odd having to show wristbands and identification to enter a cemetery of all places, but given all of the aforementioned issues, I can understand why. Then again, this was a strange and odd place. There was just something so simultaneously beautiful and eerie about weaving in and out of these pathways and alleys between tombs. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind the place is haunted AF.
One place where things get even creepier (or utterly hilarious, depending on your interpretation) is in this little corner deemed the “American Section.” Remember what I said about some people not being down with above-ground burials? Yeah, this is what I was talking about. The backstory goes a little something like this: After the Louisiana Purchase, Protestant Americans started flocking to New Orleans in droves, despite the fact that most of them detested Catholicism (again: what is this logic?). Naturally, they perceived the Catholic way of laying the dead to rest as an abomination and insisted on being buried underground. Even after receiving explanation of why that was a bad idea, they still didn’t care, so when the time came, they were buried in the Protestant fashion of six feet under, with heavy concrete slabs atop their graves to prevent the bodies from resurfacing.
The concrete slabs worked, but only to an extent. Whenever heavy rains and the associated flooding occurred, the underground water would still penetrate the grave. While the heavy concrete on top did prevent the coffins from resurfacing, said coffins would still rise up and loudly bump against the concrete (………could you even imagine hearing something like that in a CEMETERY?). Catholic parents used this to tell their frightened children to be good Catholics, lest they wish to be restless in death like the noisy Protestants in the corner. Eventually, Protestant burials were moved to Girod Street Cemetery, that cemetery now being underneath the Superdome (no wonder the New Orleans Saints are cursed). Interestingly, despite being designated as a Protestant/American cemetery, the former Girod cemetery also had above-ground tombs and vaults. I’m guessing the Americans learned their lesson after the fiasco at St. Louis. Anyways, moving on.
Something of note is how, eschewing Protestants/early American migrants, the cemetery was never really segregated. French, Black, Mixed-race, Italian and what have you were dispersed throughout the entire plot of land equally. It did have “sections” but they were never strictly enforced. Example: Marie Laveau (a free person of color in her life) was interned in the Glapion crypt (a prominent white Creole family). Oh yeah, that’s right, Marie Laveau!
Arguably the most famous tomb in all of St. Louis No. 1, for years upon years, people would leave offerings and write “XXX” before putting their hands on the vault and praying to it. It’s even long been alleged that her spirit inhabits a crow that can be seen perched atop said crypt at night. Because of that, this particular tomb used to look a mess with old candles, rotting flowers, Mardi Gras beads and other sorts of junk all over the place in addition to being covered in scribbles of XXX. That’s all been cleaned up in recent years, and the only thing anyone’s allowed to do these days is bring flowers. A necessary move, because not only was all of that disrespectful vandalism, but none of it actually worked anyway. This little ritual was not Voodoo of the Louisiana variety, but of the Hollywood variety……something Marie Laveau indirectly created herself.
In regards to Marie Laveau’s life, not much is known with certainty (though it must be said that American Horror Story: Coven wasn’t even close to accurate). It’s said she had fifteen children, but the only ones much of anything is known about are three daughters, also named Marie, who looked identical to her. General consensus is that her day job was hairdressing, but there’s also evidence that she worked as a liquor importer, in addition to claims that she was a matchmaker and/or the madam of a brothel. She was known as being a devout Catholic with a strong sense of justice and charity for her community, regularly nursing patients of the infamous yellow fever back to health and posting bail for jailed Blacks. Ironically (and disappointing if it was true), it’s alleged that she may have had a slave or two herself despite how much she championed for fair and equal treatment (sadly, it wasn’t uncommon at all for free people of color to own slaves back in those days, especially in Louisiana).
One has to wonder just how much of the mystery was intentionally created by Laveau herself. After all, when she divorced her first husband, a man by the name of Jacques Paris, she called herself his “widow” even though he was still very much alive. Apparently, she took the divorce quite hard and her reasoning was that he was dead to her. Coincidentally, several months later Paris DID turn up dead, and the circumstances surrounding his death were very mysterious (seeing a pattern here yet?). Everyone in town insisted that she must have predicted his death, even though she was shocked by the news herself. Her reaction? She just went along with it. And thus the legend was born.
During the early/mid-19th century, Laveau was probably the most popular woman in town. People came from far and wide to her home on the corner of St. Ann and Burgundy in the Quarter, in hopes of her using her powers for good fortune, be it in wealth, relationships, lawsuits, business or a number of other matters. Now, she was quite competent in Voodoo of course, or else she wouldn’t be officially sanctified as a Voodoo Queen, but as far as her practice with the Creole elite of New Orleans is concerned? She was basically a fortune teller. Being a hairdresser to upper-class women put her in a prime position to hear a LOT of gossip and rumors. If Miss Robichaux told her all about Mr. Delacroix having an illegitimate child with his Quadroon mistress over in Marigny, then she would know exactly what to tell Miss Delacroix when she stopped by to ask for marriage counseling.
Laveau had no qualms about passing the torch either. There was one daughter in particular who would regularly make a spectacle of her rituals on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, inviting all to stop by and watch. Interestingly enough, she wouldn’t address herself as Marie Laveau’s daughter, but as Marie Laveau herself. And in spite of her significantly younger appearance, it worked, leading some to allege that the OG Laveau was immortal. Whether this was part of her mother’s instructions or not is unclear, but the myth was only further amplified after her death. Mere days after her burial, either Marie II and/or another one of the alleged lookalike daughters would begin to regularly emerge from her home and go about town, dressed head-to-toe in the same manner as their mother, and claimed to be her. This explains the rumors that swirled around for years after her death that she was still alive.
Regardless of what’s fact and what’s fiction, one thing that’s for sure is that Laveau-Mania never died. Our tour guide, Dartanya for those who missed it in the first post, told us that the cemetery tours have long been plagued with people who were only there for Marie Laveau. In frustration, many tour guides would pick some random tomb and claim it was hers, and people would perform the phony ritual on it and everything. This has led to a number of tombs called “Faux-Laveaus,” with “XXX” scribbled on them. I spotted about five myself.
Aside from Marie Laveau, there’s a number of notable people also buried in this cemetery, including, but not limited to: Homer Plessy (of Plessy vs. Ferguson fame), Ernest N. Morial (the first black mayor of New Orleans), Barthelemy Lafon (noted architect in 18th/early 19th century New Orleans who was in cahoots with the pirate Jean Lafitte) and possibly Delphine LaLaurie (more on THAT woman later *shiver*).
Another thing of note is that the cemetery is slated to be the future resting home of Nicolas Cage (the cemetery is still in operation today, remember?). He has a large pyramid vault smack dab in the middle of the cemetery that’s impossible to miss. Strangely enough, before the recent crackdowns, just like Marie Laveau’s tomb, his future tomb had a little ritual of its own. Apparently, girls were kissing it for good luck which is weird because…….he’s still alive? And his religious background is Catholic? And he’s still alive? And he’s a has-been actor that’s been plagued with financial problems? And he’s still alive? And who on Earth told you to do that? And did I mention that he’s still alive?
One hour and enough sweat to fill a bucket later (for some reason the cemetery is ten degrees hotter than the rest of the city), it was time to go and I must give my compliments to our tour guide, Miss Dartanya. It was truly a pleasure listening to her talk, even making the heat slightly more bearable. She was very thorough and informative without ever being boring, backing up her facts with examples and adding lots of humor as well. If you do any tour through French Quarter Phantoms, I highly recommend requesting Dartanya as your guide. When I visit New Orleans again, I plan to do the same myself.
Of course, I had to ask about the second most famous burial site, St. Louis No. 2. A number of early Jazz and R&B musicians as well as slightly more recent notable figures in New Orleans history were entombed there. However, very few tours go through there because, in comparison to No. 1, it’s a longer walking distance from the French Quarter, hasn’t been kept up very well, with an even worse vandalism problem and has a rather unsafe location to boot. You see, as already stated above, both cemeteries were located on the fringes of a notorious public housing complex known as Iberville. Not even tourists visiting the cemeteries were safe from the rampant crime in the area; with No. 2 having it even worse due to having a somewhat more isolated and hidden location in comparison to No. 1.
In 2013, most of it was demolished in favor of a mixed-income development called Bienville Basin, and the neighborhood is much safer now as a result, although caution should still be exercised. Interestingly enough, I did see one building of the former complex which still stands, being protected by the National Register. Even more interesting is how, before Iberville came into being, this plot of land used to be Storyville.
The city’s official red-light district from the 1890’s to the 1910’s; in a locale already known for sin and debauchery, this was an interior island where the morals got even looser. Judicial loopholes were exposed that allowed prostitution and recreational drug use to be legal within the 38 blocks that made up the district. There were numerous brothels side by side, from fifty cent joints or “cribs” housed in Creole cottages to the lavish, high-rent mansions on Basin, all of which had white, black and quadroon/octoroon girls offering their services. The saloons and restaurants in the area were also early hotbeds for the then-burgeoning sound of Jazz.
Thanks to being a close neighbor with Basin St. Station (it’s been said that prostitutes would stand on their balconies to wave and blow kisses at train passengers……….while naked), many New Orleans residents began to protest the presence of Storyville. The then-heavy Navy presence in the area brought even more tension. The scandal that emerged when several servicemen from the local base turned up dead within the district definitely didn’t help matters in the slightest. Eventually, under intense federal pressure, Storyville was formally shut down as a red-light district in 1917. It still continued on in a more sanitized capacity well into the 1930’s however, with a small number of speakeasies, casinos and brothels still operating undercover until it was all razed in favor of Iberville. Very little of the district remains today aside from a few buildings which once operated as saloons, but operate today on more benign terms (Lulu White’s old saloon in particular is now currently occupied by a grocery store). Well, unless you count Basin Street Station.
Although its days as a train station have long since passed, the structure has found new life as a time capsule of New Orleans history. On the website it’s termed as a “welcome center” for New Orleans, and it definitely fulfills its purpose in that regard. Oh, it’s also free. Within, you’ll find small exhibits about Jazz, French and Spanish colonial history, Afro-Creole/African-American history, Pirates, Mardi Gras, Hurricane Katrina and several other topics in addition to a gift shop. After leaving the cemetery, we came in here to cool down from the humidity before requesting a shuttle to Mardi Gras World. Stay tuned.
#new orleans#louisiana#Southern U.S.#U.S. Gulf Coast#st. louis cemetery#treme#congo square#louis armstrong park#iberville#storyville#basin st station#french quarter phantoms
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do you remember when we got lost in the city?
Lyric from Steve Moakler’s “Cleveland” that’s been stuck in my head this entire trip on repeat. I had full intentions of wandering around Prague and getting lost, but I’ve made a friend so it didn’t work out that way and I’m still thrilled!! I’ve been hanging out with Lizzy, the friend I mentioned in the last post who lives here in Prague and will be ER’s new local host for our Prague apartment this summer. She’s one of my friend Mckenzie’s best friends from Denver and is here for school with her husband. We went out to our last group dinner last night (MORE ON THAT COMING) and then she and I went to a wine bar afterwards and met up with her husband, who I also fully love, and then hung at their apartment a little bit. Their penthouse place in Prague looks directly over ER’s apartment! Small fuckin’ world. Right now it’s 11:30 am on Wednesday, May 1st, and Lizzy and I are at a cafe across the river doing “work” (she actually is, I’m writing this blog and researching my trip to Paris.) It is incomparably amazing to have an American friend here who knows the city but is also from Denver and gets everything about that life too. Basically I adore her.
So! Yesterday my two colleagues and I went on another private guided city tour, of course this time in Prague. Our young male guide was nowhere near as enchanting as Ilse and I found myself pining for her and her quick wit and humor and princess-like red hair. This guy wasn’t great at reading the room and said a lot of facts that were too detailed and I zoned out during. HOWEVER, I did still learn a lot of cool facts about Prague! For example, 80% of the country are athiests!! Back in the day, all sorts of folks and crusaders tried to bring Catholicism here and they protested, saying church and state should forever be separate and that religion should be a private relationship, etc., and one of their kings/emperors whatever was burned at the stake dying for the right to be religiously free. (Facts are shoddy but you’re getting the gist.) Then the religious folk thought the problem was squashed, but actually his public death just ignited their flame even more (no pun intended) and they all said FUCK THIS! and became athiests! There’s this gorgeous memorial that says “ZAPRAVDU” that is built such that you can only see it on sunny days for a few hours a day (which I got to see) and it means “For the Truth” and it’s built to remember this martyr. Pretty baller shit. Idk what I’m willing to be burned alive for... maybe Taylor’s honor? JK but really? Or one of my nieces?!
We also lucked out having another dope-ass gorgeous weather day, which really adds to the whole vibe. I was very sleepy when we got home and Gina decided to bail on dinner because she’s pregnant, fair, and I was dreading it. It was just going to be me, Lizzy, Marlena (colleague I’ve been with the whole time who let’s just say... I’ve had enough meals with), and Yiri, our other local host who is Czech. I was so tired and couldn’t fathom making conversation over pretending to like fancy food and being embarrassed. Side note, Yiri is cool as shit - he’s quiet and Czech, but married to a Chinese woman who he met in Prague when she was working here as a Chinese/Czech translator. They have three GORGEOUS boys (obviously) and are incredibly into hockey, so we obviously bonded. I showed him my phone background of Ovi hoisting the Cup and he says, “Do you know Jakub Vrana?” Um, DUH! Jake the Snake! I get overly excited and he tells me Vrana is from Prague (should have realized) and brought the Cup here this summer and paraded through the streets. His son also plays on the same junior team Vrana played on in Prague and Jakey is basically a celebrity here. Hockey: the universal language.
So we get to dinner, and turns out it’s a Michelin star restaurant. Double fuck. I read the menu and it all looks literally repulsive. I try to be classy and just order the least gross-looking things... here are the words of my appetizer and entre: “raviola with beef cheek and saurkraut sauce,” and “veal fillet with green peas, seasonal mushrooms, and Perigourdine sauce.” I was like “.............” It was either this or rabbit?! JFC.
I vowed to myself I’d try not to be embarrassing and I’d taste everything. Luckily these dumb fancy restaurants give small portions so I knew it wasn’t much to get through if it sucked. They start with an amuse bouche that’s some cold-ass pink beet soup. Pass. Then they brought lots and lots of bread and I had All Of It. Safe way to guarantee being full if everything sucked. Then I actually really enjoyed both the starter and the entre!!!!!! I was extremely, EXTREMELY proud of myself. It was also paired with a very light Sauvignon Blanc and I can honestly say it was the first time I’ve ever seen the point in a “pairing.” Yes, it’s a happy coincidence that I chose the appetizer that paired with my favorite wine, but it also actually tasted really nice with it!! God, who am I. Then we ordered dessert and I got a gorgeous selection of sorbets that I’ll post a picture of after this. And it was entirely paid for by Marlena’s company, and free food does taste better. Afterwards, Lizzy asked if I was up for wine by the river with her husband, and we stopped at this awesome wine bar and sat in window seats with cushions and a palette for a coffee table and had three glasses each. Everything is so cheap here - I secretly paid the waitress at the end and they were so floored by the generosity. But I haven’t spent a dime since I’ve been here since Gina is expensing everything, and I am so grateful to have American friends I’d pay any dollar amount for their kindness!
Went back to their apartment after and played with their dogs and smoked a little from their vape pen - ahh, feels like home. Which, by the way, update: no more insane sleepless detox nights since that other one I talked about in my last post! Could be because I had a Unisom, half a Xanax, and a sleep gummy before bed... but hey, whatever works. I doubt I’ll have any more #weed while I’m on this Europe trip and I think I’m all out at home, so I might ride this train and see how long I can take it. Look into that “clear head” feeling all the people talk about.
I booked an Airbnb right near Lizzy, and I’m storing my bag at her house for the day until I check in later. We’re going to keep walking along the river and then see the Prague Castle in the afternoon, and then get some dinner and meet up with her husband again. I’m researching options for tomorrow. Originally I was going to head straight to Paris, but I realized I don’t really need five nights in Paris when I’ve already been. I might take a train to Nuremberg for the night because it’s along the route, and then stay in an Airbnb and take another train to Paris on Friday morning and spend the weekend there with Angie. All TBD but it’s kind of fun. “Penniless, she’s flying by the seat of her pants...”
Pictures to come! Prague is dope. (Hot travel takes from Leggi.)
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REFLECTIONS
If you stand atop the Bell-tower of Notre Dame Cathedral, you can see most of the city. Paris has been built, after all, around this wonder. Have you ever thought about it? Think of the time that it was being constructed. The 13th and 14th centuries. Such a creation made when things were so...basic. Simple. And yet, it's been made to last. Isn't it stunning how things last when there is care and thought put into it? Such as these windows...these big, stunning windows. You've never seen true beauty until you've seen the sun glimmering through the varying hues. I am a romantic though; an admirer of art. Those who work so hard to create things to last. From those who sweep the floors, to those who lay upon scaffolding for hours upon hours...it is a process. No task is insignificant.
I've always loved Notre Dame, with its Gothic Architecture. It frustrates me, however, that this revolution has essentially dechristianised the country. Whether you believe or not; it seems horrifying to me that the culte de la raison is the way of things. They mean to make us an atheistic nation and I suspect that will turn many against these 'leaders' of the revolution. They say Catholicism is one of the many causes for this damned affair, and they mean of this new fangled rubbish--for that is what it is--to be accepted by all. Its tenets including Liberty, Nature, and the victory of the Revolution. Allow me to stop laughing before I cry. They defile this grand place; fools have plundered some of the treasures kept within. There were more than twenty statues beheaded on the west façade--biblical Kings, no less. But uneducated idiots mistook them for statues of the long line of our kings. Still though. There is much beauty here...which is why I am sitting atop this tower. It's peaceful here; I blocked the sounds of the city below out. I do so loathe that the thoughts of others pry into my head. It's a dangerous thing; for I do not even know if there are other vampires in this new government--even thoughts can be dangerous.
A breeze goes by and for a moment, I am back to the 21st of January, when the death of His Majesty, Louis XVI, took place. Later this year they mean to kill Her Majesty. I have privately donated funds to assist in her escape, if possible. If not hers, then at least for Madame Royale, Marie Therese. Still...it seems like yesterday when they marched that hapless and harmless man out from his prison cell and brought him to his death in the place de la révolution. The crowds were like wolves...baying for his death, thinking that his death would bring about the change they wanted. I see no change. Just corrupt men losing their grip on things. As I am seen as Robespierre's mistress, most assume ours is a sexual relationship, but it is not. His dedication is to the revolution and his ideals. (I also think his taste runs to young foppish men.) I see first hand his frustration at how things are going. I see he is losing his grip. I simply do my part, however. I funnel information out, I pay the bail of as many as I can, I am living a double life, essentially. I could snuff him out with a mere bite. But for every action, there is a consequence. How many would I damn should I satiate my hunger?
Madame Guillotine stands proudly, likely dripping with some poor bastard's blood upon her famed blade. I closed my eyes and I could hear the sound of it dropping and severing the head from the body. It's a metallic sound with a loud 'thump' at the end. Another thump follows--the sound of the head landing in the basket. Then, of course, the head is lifted up for all to see. People of all backgrounds rush forward, dipping handkerchiefs in the blood. Some sell them, some keep them as some sick reminder. It's hard to say why they all do what they do. But for me, it's a stab in my heart. It's not what I expect from humans. They call me and those like me monsters. But they bay for blood and beg for the deaths of others; others who simply were born into a higher class than themselves. Some of those rich souls had done their best to assist the poor. Others had flaunted their wealth. Others were figures who were cruel and some might say that their fate was deserved.
Standing up, I know no one notices me. Me in my peculiar ensemble, that blends me in with those who march for the restoration of order. Blades at the ready, fangs extended. Pistols at my hips as well as my sword; I am ready for all that may befall me. Even death, should she finally take me. I am a Monarchist, but I am a Revolutionary. I ache for peace, but I am amongst the rabble who fights and kills. I am a conundrum. And yet, I play the roles on the theatre stage that I have been cast in, I play the role of a spy, I am an assassin of sorts, I am the 'lover' of the most controversial figure in all of France. And yet, I am myself. Trying to figure out my place in this mad world. And figuring out what this mad world is going to become.
I miss my home. I miss the easier days of my youth. I ache for days where the Guillotine was simply a thought or a memory; not the tool for death, or a fashion statement. Ah, yes--earbobs made in the shape of Guillotines. Very chic. And red ribbons about the throat to mock those who have lost their heads. And let us not forget the bals des victimes held at Hôtel Thellusson. Actually, death is a fashion statement now. Let us not forget the women who wear their hair in a style called, "coiffure à la victime." This is simply hair worn up to expose the neck--or they've cropped their hair. It's crass regardless.
And as night fully approaches, it is time for me to take my leave. Raising my hood up and covering my face with a neckerchief, I begin to run along the roof, this beautiful 12th-century creation, hopping from there to flying buttress to buttress. My gloved hands acting as a protector to the delicacy of the cathedral. I would not harm it; this is something that should go down through the ages. I am always in awe of the great copper bells, their massive size and yet, what beautiful sounds they create. The parapets for stone are a great way for me to move about without being noticed. And then I reach where I want to go. It's a high tower...but all one has to do is have faith. FAITH. Something that is lacking here as of late. Well, nothing will dimiinish mine. France will rise again. Reason shall prevail and that monstrosity of a machine shall vanish into the footnotes of history.
And so I JUMP.
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‘It was the end of my dreams and my life. But I never considered saying no’
Harriet Sherwood, The Guardian, 7 January 2017
It’s more than six decades since Shirley Leach swapped her debutante’s dresses for a nun’s habit and changed her name to Sister Agatha. But the “wild fury” she felt as a 21-year-old on the threshold of life at what she saw as God’s command to enter a convent is easily recalled. “It was the end of all my dreams, they were taken away in a single moment,” she said.
Now, at the age of 85, Sister Agatha has no regrets about the course of her life. “To have been asked by God to be in that particular relationship with him is the most amazing thing. I never doubted where I was meant to be.”
The former socialite has shared her story in a ghostwritten autobiography, A Nun’s Story, published this week, which chronicles her transformation from Shirley to Agatha. Despite her vivid recollections, the text cannot convey her cut-glass accent which locates her origins firmly in the British upper class.
Leach grew up in a 23-bedroom, 43-acre mansion in the North Downs of Kent. The house was requisitioned during the war by the military, but she, her mother and three much older sisters--her father had died--were allowed to remain. She remembers watching the Battle of Britain from the roof as a child.
Her mother, Ximena, was “a most devout member of the Church of England. Every day I had to read to her from the scriptures. We certainly went to church every Sunday. As a family, we were very ‘establishment’.”
Despite such religious devotion, life was far from ascetic. There were dances and parties, ponies and tennis, frocks and pearls, a governess, cook, nanny and butler--and boys. “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with someone, from the age of five when I fell for the stable boy,” she said.
Boarding school was followed by a 30-week cookery course at an establishment attached to a Catholic convent. Then Miss Shirley, as she was called, was prepared for presentation to court as debutante.
“My mother was determined to see at least one of her daughters presented to His Majesty … I was to be presented, packaged up, sold to the world of wealth and privilege and, even more importantly, to the cache of suitors seeking the hand of a rich young lady who was rapidly growing up,” her autobiography says.
After being presented to King George--”too much makeup on his face”--the debutantes “bubbled full of champagne and talked too loudly, with accents enough to cut the silk cushions to shreds.” Leach was one of the last debutantes to be presented; within a few years, the court ceremony would be abolished in a rapidly changing society.
At the same time, to her mother’s dismay, she was becoming ever more drawn to Catholicism. At 19, she converted. The following year, she became engaged to a young man, Jeremy Chittenden.
The couple planned a wedding for October 1952. A few months before, Leach was writing to her fiance to tell him about some Chippendale dining chairs she had spotted at an auction house. She suggested making a bid, “but my hand went on writing: ‘But there seems no point now as I am to be a nun’.”
She was appalled at what she had written. “It was a terrible shock but I immediately knew it was true. I was wild with fury. It was the end of my life, my dreams, everything. I was going to have 10 children and a lovely life!” she said. But, she added: “I never considered saying no. I couldn’t have lived with myself.”
A few months later, Chittenden offered to accompany her to the convent of the Congregation of Jesus, founded in 1609. “I scrubbed off all my makeup and changed into the most ghastly garments, and Jeremy handed me in,” she said.
Sister Agatha, as she became, later taught home economics at the same Catholic convent establishment she had attended as a teenager. In 1976, she was sent to be mother superior of the Bar convent in York, the oldest in England, where she still lives in a wing reserved for elderly nuns.
During her time in charge of the convent, she brought it to the brink of bankruptcy following a decision to open a business--a museum, cafe and shop--on the ancient premises. “I had no idea; I was completely clueless,” she said.
Through a man she met on a train, she was introduced to the American multimillionaire philanthropist John Paul Getty Jr, who bailed out the convent and helped it to establish a charitable trust. “He rescued me,” she said.
Sister Agatha gave up wearing a habit in the late 1980s. “It was absolutely marvellous. Everyone was frightfully courteous to a nun in a habit, and you had iron control over everyone. But if you’re in ordinary clothes, you hear a different story if you’re sitting on a bus, for example.”
Now “moving towards what supermarkets would call my sell-by date”, she has time to reflect on her life. Her memories increasingly return to “that big day, the day when I knew I’d been chosen, despite my belief I was quite unsuitable”.
During her lifetime, the focus of women in religious orders has shifted from teaching in schools to urgent contemporary issues such as human trafficking and migration. She welcomed this. “It’s a great joy to me to know that our sisters are so involved in issues such as anti-trafficking. Anywhere that women are being abused, we want to be there.”
A Nun’s Story, by Sister Agatha with Richard Newman, is published by John Blake Publishing.
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