(no subject)
Okay I rp in a place I called St. Ulrics, it’s a reform school for young boys (Catholic), I play Tony and my dear Sara Connor. They are head over heels in love to put it simply. Connor is a social worker at the school, as well as a Boston Saint, a fact only Tony and a few choice other people know. Tony is a 17 year old student. I am a monolog whore for this place so I have written a few monologs that are practically fics about Tony and Connor, and add Murphy (a priest) into that mix. I thought I might as well post them here cause they are writing and it is my journal. But I am going to fix this little thing to each one to make it clear what’s going on.
Title- Church
Author- foreveryours311
Rating-pg
Summary- In Ireland for summer break, Tony finds himself spending more and more time in church.
Anthony spends most of his time at church now; something that seems to almost make Murphy proud.
Anthony sits in the third to last pew; he doesn’t really sit par-say, he kneels there head bowed as he mumbles prayers under his breath for hours at a time, different prayers in different languages ranging from Italian to English, Latin, Gaelic, and every so often French.
He’s not sure which language god understands so he tries them all.
His fingers curl around his rosary, that which he’s taken to wearing round his neck whenever he leaves the flat. His voice is soft and mumbling, he stays in that pew head down and knees bent till he has said almost every prayer in every language he can think of. He stays there till Murphy comes from behind and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder; almost a cue to finish up, so he can get a ride home.
Home, a word he’s come to connect with Connors flat more then his mother’s house.
Murphy’s decked in priestly robes, but Anthony’s reciting prayers.
With Murphy's hand on his shoulder, his eyes close in final prayer (And shepherds we shall be…). The rosary slips from his fingers; he crosses himself slowly (In Nomini Patri, et Fili, Spiritus Sancti) His eyes rise and open settling on those of Murphy, his knees stay grounded, Murphy’s hand sliding to his chin, tilting the boys head up towards him; leaning down and kissing his forehead, and only then does the boy rise, letting himself be embraced- absorbed by the other man.
The boy knew the priest was proud of him. Proud of the days he’d spend in church, of the prayers that flew so fluently from his lips, words that rolled off his tongue with ease.
Anthony knew Murphy was proud of him which is why what he was praying for so hard almost hurt.
All day the prayers screamed in his head so loud only Connors arms could silence them.
All day his prayers screamed in his head till he couldn’t think anymore.
All day they screamed the same words.
“Please, Murphy, please don’t take him from me."