#seraphima16

[seraphim16]

Collab art with my trans-friend (joke) 🔫🇻🇦

As always, I started beautifully, but it turned out to be crap

Друзья, явахуе

[seraphim16]

Joaquin Sorolla - "Motherhood"

I was a little inspired by this painting and painted Lawrenitez with their daughter Cecilia.

Vincent lay motionless, completely covered by the blanket up to his shoulders. Beside him, her tiny body pressed against his side, two-month-old Cecilia slept. Her little head, with its soft dark hair, was nestled comfortably against her father’s chest, and her tiny hand clutched the hem of his shirt.

Vincent wasn’t really asleep. He was merely dozing, but even in his sleep his arm gently cradled his daughter, not letting her move a single centimetre. He was afraid. Afraid that if he let her go for even a moment, she would wake up and realise that it had all been just a dream.

The door creaked almost inaudibly.

Thomas entered quietly, almost silently. He stopped by the bed and simply looked at them for several long seconds. His face bore a look of weariness mixed with such deep tenderness that it was almost painful.

— Vincent… – he whispered very softly. – Let me take her. You’ll get a bit of proper sleep.

Vincent opened his eyes. His gaze was heavy, but there was no anger in it — only a quiet, almost desperate resolve.

— Don’t even think about it – his voice was low and slightly hoarse. – I won’t let her go.

Thomas sat down on the edge of the bed.

— Vin… you’ve hardly slept for three nights now.

— No – Vincent pressed Cecilia closer to him, burying his nose in the top of her head. – She’ll stay with me. I… I can’t let her go. Not yet.

He fell silent. Only his breathing grew slightly faster.

Thomas didn’t reply straight away. He simply reached out and slowly ran his fingers through Vincent’s long dark hair—from his temple to the nape of his neck. Gently. Soothingly. Just the way Vincent particularly liked it.

Vincent closed his eyes and relaxed slightly under the touch.

— Good – Thomas finally said quietly. – Then stay like that.

He leaned down and kissed Vincent very gently on the temple, then barely touched the top of sleeping Cecilia’s head with his lips.

— I’ll be nearby, in the next room. If you need anything, call out.

— No… – Vincent took Thomas by the wrist. – Stay here and sleep… please.

Thomas lay down on the other side of the bed under the duvet, looked at his daughter, and was finally able to close his eyes in peace.

[seraphim16]

No one is stopping me from writing a story where my OC becomes a pontiff.

Evening had long since fallen over the Vatican. Most of the work was done: the documents had been signed, the final meetings concluded, and even a brief report for the press office had been sent. Seraphima could feel the day’s tension slowly easing from her shoulders, but a sense of heaviness still lingered within her.

She allowed herself a short walk — without security, without her secretary, wearing only a simple black cassock with red trim and a white cap, which she had taken off anyway and was holding in her hand. Her feet carried her down to the small courtyard of the House of Saint Martha, where there was a modest enclosure with tortoises.

They had been given as a gift to the previous pontiff several years ago, and since then they had lived here peacefully, almost unnoticed by the rest of the world. Seraphima approached the low fence and crouched down.

One of the tortoises—a large one, with a dark shell and wise, old eyes—was moving slowly across the grass. Seraphima reached out and gently ran her fingers over the warm, rough shell. Then, with one finger, she touched the tortoise’s head very gently, right between its eyes. It wasn’t frightened—it merely slowed its movement slightly, as if listening.

— You’re so calm… – Seraphima murmured quietly. Her voice was low, soft, almost tender. – You just walk about, sometimes escape from the enclosure, eat salad… and that’s all. Yet you live longer than any of us. Such clever creatures.

The tortoise blinked slowly, in a tortoise-like manner. Seraphima smiled—wearily, but sincerely. The smile came out slightly crooked, with a hint of annoyance.

— God created you for a reason, you marvellous creatures. You’re in no hurry. You’re not afraid of running out of time. You don’t sign papers that nobody reads. You don’t stand in the rain because you can’t move from where you are…

She fell silent, watching as the tortoise carefully nibbled a piece of lettuce leaf. Serafima’s fingers still rested on the shell — warm, reassuring, as if over hundreds of years it had absorbed all the peace in the world.

Seraphima sighed, this time more deeply, and rested her forehead against the railing.

— Sometimes I’d so love to be like you. Just to live. Slowly. For a long time. Without all those titles, without the white cassock, without every word being weighed on the scales of the whole world. Just… to be.

The tortoise turned its head and looked at her with its ancient eyes. Seraphima laughed softly — briefly, almost silently.

— Yes, yes… I know. You’re thinking right now: “Here’s another crazy two-legged creature who comes here to complain.” But you won’t tell anyone, will you? It’ll stay between us.

She ran her finger along the edge of the shell once more, as if stroking a big old friend.

— Thank you for letting me come here. At least here I don’t have to be Papa. I can just be Seraphima… who’s tired and who sometimes just wants to sit next to someone who isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.

An evening breeze swept through the courtyard, gently ruffling Seraphima’s hair. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing — quietly, muffled. She remained crouched there for a few more minutes, simply watching the slow, measured movements of the tortoises.

Then she stood up, brushed off her cassock, put her white cap back on, and said quietly, almost as she was leaving:

— Goodnight, friends. I’ll be back tomorrow. Unless, of course, I drown in paperwork… or in the rain.

As she climbed the stairs, she felt a slight sense of relief wash over her. Not much. Not enough to make everything easy. But enough so that tomorrow didn’t seem quite so unbearable.

And the tortoises went on with their slow, eternal lives — eating salad, basking under the lamp and occasionally escaping from their enclosure, reminding us that even in the very heart of the Vatican there is a place for simple and wise things.

[seraphim16]

I'm out here trying to shove the un-shoveable into Conclave.

I'm rewriting the entire movie with my female cardinal OC.

So far I've only done about 12%, but I'm going full gremlin mode with this.

If you're interested — read.

If you're not... well, read it anyway 😉

↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

Something has happened that no cardinal ever wants to see. The Pope has died. He suffered a stroke whilst he was asleep. The cardinals pray and accompany the late pontiff to the next world, to the Lord.

Cardinal Lawrence is appointed to take overall charge of the conclave. He did not want this, but so it is. The Sistine Chapel is being prepared for the conclave, and the House of Saint Martha is also being readied for the arrival of the other cardinals. But then Thomas Lawrence learns that Cardinal Tramble has been dismissed, though no one knows why. And Tramble should not be here; he should have no vote in the conclave. But Tramble insists otherwise, claiming it’s all just rumours.

Soon the cardinals arrived. 108 cardinals, from different countries and regions. Cardinal Bellini was the penultimate to arrive. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the papacy. Many were convinced that Aldo Bellini was the right man for the role of Pope. But he also does not want to give way to Cardinal Tedeschi, who has just arrived last.

And so it seems everything is in place, but...

A couple of hours later, Raymond O’Malley approaches Thomas Lawrence and says that a problem has arisen. Lawrence immediately thought that perhaps someone had passed away, but no, quite the opposite. Two more cardinals have turned up.

Lawrence: Have we missed someone on the list?

O’Malley: They weren’t even on our lists. The snag is that they were appointed ‘in pectore’. One is called Vincent Benitez, Archbishop of Kabul, but he’s actually from Mexico. And the second...

Lawrence: What about the second?

O’Malley: It’s a woman.

Lawrence: A female cardinal?.. Perhaps you’re mistaken? It’s impossible for a woman to be a cardinal.

O’Malley: Her name is Seraphima Wolfram, Archbishop of Donbass, but she’s German.

Vincent sat there, holding his bag with one hand and a rosary in the other. Seraphima, meanwhile, had her head bowed over a bag on her lap; it looked as though she’d dozed off a little.

Lawrence and O’Malley entered the room where the two of them were sitting, and tried to wake Wolfram, though she wasn’t really asleep. Although the dean initially thought they were simply impostors, the documents proved the truth. Things were a bit complicated with Wolfram; she was the only woman in the male order of cardinals, yet she still had a vote in the conclave.

A couple of minutes later, the two were introduced to the other cardinals. Goffredo Tedesco was immediately taken aback when he saw a woman in cardinal’s robes. Tedesco was a staunch defender of tradition and custom, but when he saw Wolfram, it was as though a barrier that had been unbreakable had suddenly been shattered.

[seraphim16]

A Night at the Seminary.

It was well past midnight. The room was pitch-black, and the “great silence” was supposed to be observed.

But, as always, for Antonio Tagle, that rule existed somewhere far away.

— Bob… – he called out in a loud whisper. – Robert! Prevost!

Robert, lying on the bed next to him, sighed heavily in his sleep and replied in a hoarse, sleepy voice:

— Chito, go to sleep…!

— Oh! Great, so you’re not asleep, – Chito noted cheerfully, as if that were official permission to continue.

Robert groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

— Listen, I was thinking… – Chito continued, ignoring the obvious signals. – What if one of us becomes the pontiff in the future? Can you imagine?”

— Give it a rest…

— No, seriously! – Chito propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. — Which one of us is better suited for it? Me or you?

Robert sat up silently on the bed. For a few seconds, he just sat there, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he stood up, walked over to Chito’s bed, calmly took the glasses off his nose, carefully set them on the nightstand, and without a word, threw a pillow in his face.

— Good night, – he said dryly and walked back to his own bed.

[seraphim16]

Me 🖊️

(Well, actually I wear regular glasses, not sunglasses.)

[seraphim16]

Apologize.

She was always there, with her thin fingers and fragile wrists.

Her look, voice, gait - all of this drove him crazy.

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, press her against the wall, and... Goffredo blushed even more

[seraphim16]

I don't mess around, I'm writing Russian subtitles for the short film "It Gets Dark Too Early"