Please stop trying to cancel His Holiness. He can reclaim.
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Please stop trying to cancel His Holiness. He can reclaim.

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before the new year i would love to create a list of the ways i plan to improve in life and as a wife and mother in the next year đ
My vindication towards your mere existence is only amplified by my dormant, unyielding homosexual lust. I will make you mine.
@strange-aeons
The pope taking y/n for a ride in the popemobile? I love this blog
Thank you, child of Christ. I'm sorry it took a while to respond.
----
You have been asking Francis about the popemobile for some time now. Each time, he becomes cagey and distant, like when you ask him about the Dirty War.
One day he asks, "Why would you want such a thing?"
The question takes you by surprise. It had never occurred to you that he might not enjoy riding in the popemobile, that tending God's flock might be frightening rather than invigorating. "I could help," you say.
Francis looks troubled, and says no more.
----
One Tuesday after Mass, Francis summons you to St. Peter's Basilica.
It is before visiting hours, before the masses of gathered faithful come to pay their respects, before the disorganized scene you've always seen. This is quiet, more peaceful, holy. You try to express as much to Francis, who says, "It is always holy, my child."
"I know. But..."
"One can forget how."
The two of you continue on, silent, thoughtful. He pauses occasionally to speak to a custodian or security guard in his melodic Italian, asking after their children, wives, personal lives. When you're quite sure none are listening, you ask, "Is this about the Popemobile?"
He smiles slightly, in the knowing way that lets you know you have guessed correctly. "Do you know its history?"
You shake your head. Briefly he tells you about the palanquins that used to carry popes, their replacement with standard cars, standard cars' replacement with bulletproof ones. Standing before the tomb of Pope John Paul II, you consider the full weight of what he's saying.
"The Romans, pagan though they were, had some wisdoms," he goes on. "The memento mori, among them. We kept some remnants from them, being as we are in Rome. The popemobile is one such remnant, a reminder that I will die, not that I am alive."
With that he leaves you in the silence of the Basilica, to ponder the echoes of his departing footsteps as he returns to his chambers to get ready for the day.
----
The next time Francis is scheduled to go in the popemobile, you beat him there by five minutes, managing to look calm and composed by the time he arrives.
He says nothing, though you can feel his smile gracing the top of your skull. With deep casualness, he informs the driver that there will be another riding with him today.
As you pass through street after crowded street, the bulletproof prism of glass concentrating liquid sunshine in the very air the two of you breathe, you get the deep sense that it might not be so horrible to remember death, if all of life is like this.

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can i request an imagine of pope francis taking the reader to pride? <3<3<3
You decide you want to bring your friend Francis to Pride someday over Lent. Though it might just be a fish deprivation flight of fancy, you start making plans. By May, you have worked up the courage to ask, and say, âJorge, would you want to go to Pride with me?â In response he makes the emoticum subductisupercilicarptorium face (đ¤¨) and says, âThatâs not til next month.â In the end he agrees. You two settle on going to a street fair pride as to be accommodating of Francisâs sensory issues (he is neurodivergent (autistic and adhd)). While there you buy him an ace pride pin and he puts it on his cassock. You think you might be in love, maybe for the first time. But you say nothing. One day it will be the time, but why spoil a day like this...? Maybe it is better to live yearning than to ever know regret. You see now why he is so much closer to God. Maybe one day. In the distance you see the Down With Cis bus handing out free ice cream and t shirts. You suggest to Francis to go get some, and he agrees. You two meander down, but as soon as the driver sees you two, he is overcome by an insatiable bloodlust. He accelerates, killing both of you (and some innocent passersby) instantly.
One day is today.
pope francis mpreg
You find Pope Francis nesting in the belfry, surrounded by wooden debris. He has been missing for a few days, and the entire Catholic world is in shambles. Pope-catchers roam the streets with comically large nets, searching and crying out his name in vain. You wondered why he would do this to his beloved Catholic people, but now, after stumbling upon him, you understand.
âJorge! Congratulations!â you exclaim, immediately falling to your knees beside him and pressing your hand flat against his distended belly. He hisses at first by instinct, but quickly adjusts to your presence. You let him sniff your hand. âYou must be so blessed!â
âIndeed I am blessed, my child,â he says, but his eyes are sad.
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask. âArenât you honored to be blessed with the Lordâs child? It must be another incarnation of the Savior, and you will go down in history as the Virgin Jorge, like Mary before you.â
âThat is true, but, like Mary before me, I must be destined to lose this child to an unbearably cruel death,â he says. âThe Lord demands a crucifixion, or some other awful end, for this innocent childâŚâ He studies you, and his eyes gleam. âUnlessâŚâ
âUnless what, Father?â
âYou are an innocent child yourself, arenât you, Y/N?â he asks.
âIndeed,â you say. âI am a Tumblr user, and therefore have taken a solemn vow of chastity.â
His mouth splits in a tiny grin - itâs gone in a moment, but you catch a flash of his teeth. âThen perhaps one can be substituted for another.â
Before you can react, he springs toward you, his gnarled hands outstretched. With preternatural strength, he pins you to the floor by the neck with his left hand and reaches out with his right toward the pile of fallen wood beams in which he made his nest. He assembles something out of the wood as you splutter and writhe in his grasp. In only a few seconds, he has finished a life-sized wooden cross. You realize whatâs happening and struggle, but your strength is gone, and your lungs lack the air to scream. Frantically, he nails your hands to the handmade cross. With your free leg, you manage to kick the bell, and a flock of crows scatter from the window. It is a meaningless gesture; he captures your last free limb and finishes his gruesome work.
Only when heâs finished does a mist of regret fall over his eyes. He says a quick prayer over your bleeding body, then disappears from the belfry.
Pope Francis x Y/N after Y/N decides to get an abortion?
The clear sky rings with the sweet, chirping liturgy of the morning birds. An idyllic morning, on the outside.
Deep inside the labyrinth of the Papal Palace, you are in the bathroom. You place it on the side of the bathroom sink with a nervous tap. You hunch over the small plastic strip, nauseous, waiting, murmuring to yourself, âCâmon⌠Letâs go!â One line appears. Another. âSweet cheese!â
Sagging with dread, you slump to the side of his bed. Pope Francis, your beloved, snores loudly, one furry arm thrown over his face. Such a dramatic, twisted pose, his mouth open, fanged, drool-slicked, as if thrown agape by some rapturous ecstasy of dreamâŚ
But you have to break into that ecstasy. After he hears what you have to say, he may never feel it again.
âFrancisâŚâ you murmur. âFrancis!â You shake his shoulder. âFrancis, câmon, wake up!â
âWeâre off duty todayâŚâ he grumbles hazily.
âFrancis, I have something important to say.â
âJust text me please.â
You fling yourself up onto the bed, grab his head, and shout, âPOPE FRANCIS FROM CATHOLICISM! I am serious!â
âOkeh! Okeh!â he splutters, dizzily sitting up. âGeez, when you call me Pope Francis from Catholicism, it means Iâm in great danger.âÂ
âYou bet!â
Francis stumbles out of bed, yawning, his sharp, vulpine teeth on full display. âMay I take a shower and do other things before you ruin the rest of my day?â
âYes, itâd be good, I think,â you say, folding in on yourself. You sit on on the sofa, staring down at your hands, as he sings in the shower.Â
He emerges, bright as the outside morning, running a towel over his furry ears. âWow! Iâm feeling much better now!â he says. âWell, what is this important thing you want me to know?â
Your heart hammers in your chest.
âFrancis, I⌠Iâm pregnant.â
For a moment, his face is rigid with abject shock.
Then he laughs. âHa! Nice try, Y/N. You almost got me! As if it were even possibâ...â
You stare up at him with your huge, unnaturally front-facing eyes, begging him with your soul to understand.
âYour⌠your noseâs twitching! So that meansâŚâ he gasps, kneeling and grasping your shoulders. âCarrots! Are you for sure? Is this real?â
âYes,â you say, âit is. I just took a pregnancy test andâŚâ
Youâre cut off by the sudden squeeze of his red, furry arms. âY/N! Oh, Y/N!â Francis cries, lifting you off the ground and nuzzling his elongated snout against you. âThis is the happiest day of my life!â He presses you tighter and his fur mingles with your own. âI love you, Y/N! I love you so much! Youâve made me the happiest mammal on Godâs Earth!â
âFrancis!â you shout. âPlease stop! Stop!â
âOh! Sorry! I didnât hurt you, did I?â he frets, putting you down.
âNo, Francis, you didnât. But this isnât the problem.â
âProblem? You mean, âcause weâre from different species and keep the vows of chastity, you think the baby might have some problem, right?â
âThat wasnât what I meant.â
He reaches for you. âI donât undersâ...â
âFrancis, please! Donât make things worse for us!â
âY/N, what are you talking about?â
âFrancis⌠IâŚâ you sniff, â... I donât want this child!â
Darkness crashes over his face. âNo! I - I canât believe you said that!â
âFrancis, hear me out.â
âPlease tell me I heard wrong!â he cries, grabbing you by the shoulders with his claws. âWhy, Y/N?! Why?!â
âLet me explain, Francis!â
âSo explain yourself!â he says, releasing you. âWhy donât you want the Lordâs baby?â
âThereâs no baby yet!â you protest, standing up straight on the couch to be at eye level with him. âIâm just in my first month of pregnancy!â
âAnd you decided on your own that this is gonna be the last month, ainât you?â he persists, misusing the word âainâtâ in his distress.
âIââ you trail off, clutching at your pounding head. âFrancis⌠letâs talk about it like adults, right? âŚRight?â
âOk.â he says. âTell your tale.â
âWell⌠at first I believed the Lord couldnât get me pregnant. Yes, I do know there are some cases of virgin births, but theyâre extremely rare and none of them involved a couple formed by a pred and a prey. So I foolishly believed we didnât have to take any precautions. But⌠how wrong I was...â
âI still donât understand why you -â
âBecause Iâm afraid!â you blurt, nose twitching.Â
âAfraid? Of what?â
âWell⌠in part, I fear our child might be⌠you know, some kind of freak.â In your mind, you see a dark, slathering beast, with fox claws and teeth and long, perverted rabbit ears.Â
âYou really think so?â he gasps.
âWhy not? It isnât impossible. Moreover,â you say, clutching your abdomen, âa baby of Godâs might be⌠a little too big for me.â
âYou donât know for sure.â
âNobody knows and it scares me.â
âSo what youâre saying is,â he says, frowning, ââhey, Francis! Even if God can get me pregnant, I donât want to raise any children with you.â Did I hit the mark, Y/N?â
âFrancis, I should have had this talk with you earlier, and Iâm really sorry for not doing so,â you say, closing your eyes, âand you have no idea how hard it is for me to tell you these things. But I must say that there is another good reason. And it isâŚâ Your eyes pop open. â...my career!â
âWhat?â
âYou know Iâm about to be promoted to Bishop and if I accept this risky pregnancy my career will be halted for months. Or years â or even forever in the worst case scenario â if I suffer any sequela of an ill-fated pregnancy.â You spread your hands. âItâs not only my life and my career that are in danger here, Francis. I became a symbol, an inspiration to those small mammals out there who also want to help make the Zootopia Vatican a better place to live. The more I am successful in my career, the more they get confident in their own abilities. For this cause and to make this dream come true, I did my best and sacrificed many things. And I donât want to let those achievements slip through my fingers like sand.â
Francis turns away, showing you the side of his beautiful white cap and his long, pointed ear. âThatâs it,â he says flatly, âyour career. I shouldâve known you were going to throw it in my face but you surprised me, Y/N. I thought I knew you but⌠I was wrong.â
âYou donât have the right to say that to me!â you shout. âYou know who I am! You know what I am! You know whatâs at stake for me since we first met!â You jab a finger in his face. âAnd you know full well that I did everything for my career!â
âYes, I do know,â he growls, showing his fangs. âIt seems like you could even kill our baby for your career.â
Your mouth drops open and your body goes rigid. On pure instinct, you strike him across the face, and he falls to the floor with a thud. You regret it immediately and fall to his side, already crying. âFrancis! Francis! Forgive me, I lost my temper!â
He stands, leaving you kneeling there.
âFrancis?â you ask, very small.
He starts packing a bag.
You tug impotently at his arm. âFrancis, I beg you, please forgive me! You donât need to do that! I didnât mean to hurt you!â You watch as he takes a picture of his mother from its place on the dresser top beside the picture of the rabbit Virgin Mary. âPlease donât leave me this way!â you beg. âI need you! I need you now more than ever! Trust me when I say I still love you! âŚFrancis?â
A teardrop splashes down onto his motherâs smiling face.
âY/NâŚâ he says, âwhat wouldâve happened if your mother, while pregnant with you⌠had decided to interrupt her pregnancy?â
âFrancis, itâs useless,â you sigh. âI know what youâŚâ
âIâll tell you what wouldâve happened,â he continues. âIf you hadnât been born, Y/N, the world would have been as bleak as ever. Without your light, Iâd still be the head of the Vatican, living a life thatâs pretty much the same as it is now to be honest.â
âThatâs not true, Francis! Iâm sure you would -â
âY/N, listen. There are people who make a difference in the world.â He still hasnât looked at you. âAnd you are one of them. Even being a little bunny, you stopped an absurdly nasty conspiracy and helped change the minds and hearts of millions. To me, things like this could never have happened without you.âÂ
âFrancisâŚâ
âFor Godâs sake, Y/N!â he cries, wheeling around on you. âGive this unborn child the opportunity to do the same! I beg youâ please let your light continue to shine through him or her!â (In his distress, Pope Francis has forgotten to use gender neutral language.)
For a moment, your vision is filled with bright shapes, representing your hope for the future.
But you turn away. âNo. As I said before itâs useless. Sorry, Francis, but Iâve made up my mind. My body, my rules.â
âI see,â he says, trembling. âAny chance you might change your mind?â
âNo, Francis.â
â...Neither will I,â he says, shouldering his bag.
âFrancis!â You chase him down the hall. âPlease stay with me! Letâs talk more about this!â The Papal Palace is so huge and ornate, it takes you three hours to chase him to the door.Â
âYou wanna talk? Well thereâs something Iâd like to know,â he says, his snout pressing against the front door. âWhy didnât you keep it a secret from me? I mean, why didnât you just⌠get rid of the child without me knowing anything?â
âItâŚâ you murmur, âit wouldnât be the most honest thing to do.â
His ears shoot up. âWhat?â
âI thought you deserved to know.â
âHumph!â he scoffs. âItâd have been better for you â for us â if you had kept me in the dark about your premeditated sin.â Francis stands in the half-open door, haloed by the daylight outside. âGoodbye, Y/N.â
His keys clatter in the Vatican key bowl.
âFrancis!â you call. âWhere are you going?â
âDonât worry,â he says, his face half-turned, a tear trailing down his furry cheek toward the torn claw marks from where you struck him. âI will survive.â
âFrancis!â you sob. â...If you walk out that door⌠you donât have to come back anymore!â He doesnât stop. âFrancis! Franciiiiis!â Tears gush down your cheeks. âOh no! No! No!â You fall to your knees with a plop before the door.
Nothing lasts forever. Even an apparently everlasting love⌠that has triumphed over the odds⌠and many challenges⌠may eventually come to an⌠end.
Outside, Pope Francis remembers that the Papal Palace is his house, not yours. He comes back inside and bites and claws and bites and bites and bites and wrends you asunder with his horrible, sharp teeth. He eats your tender rabbit flesh like one might take the Eucharist. After he finishes, he burps loudly, and leaves nothing left of you but a sanguine stain on the palace floor.