m-archived

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john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

john is now @monsignr.

[m-archived]

archiving this blog & rebooting on a new one. like this post if you'd like to be followed from the blog, once it's up.

[m-archived]

archiving this blog & rebooting on a new one. like this post if you'd like to be followed from the blog, once it's up.

[m-archived]

archiving this blog & rebooting on a new one. like this post if you'd like to be followed from the blog, once it's up.

[m-archived]

archiving this blog & rebooting on a new one. like this post if you'd like to be followed from the blog, once it's up.

[m-archived]

archiving this blog & rebooting on a new one. like this post if you'd like to be followed from the blog, once it's up.

[m-archived]

pain burns: a twisting, writhing flame, burning like the candles flickering amongst the aged pews. it mangles expression into ugly contortions he tries to conceal — to little avail. sweat only beads more, tongue tripping behind teeth to muster out anything but garbled prayer. he watches, in silence, as hands take his; the coolness of her fingers against his sending a chill through bones. ❛❛ how can i be of help? is there — ❜❜ he manages, through grit teeth & fevered flush, thinking no further past the surface of her words, ❛❛ is there something the matter? something i can . . . provide guidance on? ❜❜ another cringe of hunger, insatiable hunger, passes through him. indiscriminate as it strikes, arms crossing tightly over middle that bends ever just so, letting go of her hands. the night racks my bones, & the pain that gnaws me takes no rest. [ 𝐉𝐎𝐁 𝟑𝟎:𝟏𝟕 ] ❛❛ i'm — sorry. i haven't been feeling myself today. it'll pass, ❜❜ a deep, almost shuddering breath, an echo of himself, of his prayers, ❛❛ it'll pass. . . ❜❜

"so long since i've been in church." delicate hands --prayer-hands, hands that had once twisted rosaries and made promises -- trace the wall, spider-walking over stone and plaster. drusilla knows she shouldn't, knows she's been naughty. but the night is cold, and the lights of the church beckoning, and she's oh, so lonely.

she casts her gaze across the room slowly -- crosses, an altar, symbols that used to mean the world to a living girl. symbols that would burn her, now, with all that she is. does she look penitent, in her white dress? is she a congregant, in the holy man's eyes? a saint?

tears her eyes away from stained-glass to face the speaker. it's been so long since she's seen a holy man without his slit-throat gaping at her. this one's beautiful, like her, and lonely. so lonely, she can taste it, hold it between her teeth like a pulsing vein.

"forgive me for my lateness, father," drusilla crosses the floor soundlessly to take his hands in her cold ones. she is wearing her human face, drawn and lovely, but something monstrous glitters in her eyes all the same. "but i felt the need to come see you... dear, hungry little thing you are."

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@psychiatrhist ✝ [ 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻. ]

rebirth, resurrection, eternal life — life that rises again. blood stains everything, everywhere, soaking through floorboards to rectory's foundation: only a reminder of last night's hunger, the loss of control. with upright heart, he shepherded them & guided them with his skillful hand. [ 𝐏𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝟕𝟖:𝟕𝟐 ] against all else, his hunger has gone.

the red on fingers & mouth long - since dried; he has watched lewis's lifeless body for the better part of the day, morning sun peeking carefully through worn curtains. waiting, praying. i am the resurrection & the life. whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. [ 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝟏𝟏:𝟐𝟓-𝟐𝟔 ] ( does the angel's blood work through you as it does me? will you tread the same journey? ) ❛❛ lewis — ❜❜ words fail where brain remains clouded, as lines blur & the angel's voice has gone silent. still, he tries: ❛❛ you'll — you'll be okay. . . i know it doesn't feel that way right now. are you awake? ❜❜

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it's (almost) midnight thoughts time with arieeeesss. and i'm just thinking about how so many people like to incorrectly interpret john as being intentionally evil when i believe his intentions were very truly pure. yes, those intentions got warped by others (the angel and beverly, to be exact), but he wanted nothing more than a second chance — not only for himself and for millie, but for the entire island. he brought the angel to the island with the intent to save everyone, as he had been saved; he had no idea what he would turn into in the weeks to come. and when that did happen, he was desperate to make it make sense in his mind, in his faith; if it's a blessing from god, then it's a small price to pay for eternal youth and another chance at life. he did not bring the angel to crockett with intentions of being a cult leader, or with the idea that he was the second coming of jesus christ, or any of that. he brought the angel to the island to save his community — the people who'd been the closest thing to a family that he'd had in all of his years of priesthood.

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@drunivers ✝ [ 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻. ]

hunger persists as an ache: throbbing, red divinity, pulsing through the priest in waves. a small price to pay for renewed youth, for rebirth & resurrection. he finds sanctity in knowing the angel, his angel, will come to bless him once again — to fill the sacramental monstrance, to satisfy that unnameable, painful emptiness. they shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any scorching heat. . .

the sun past set, lowered behind water's expansive edge — & john paces the pews of st. patrick's, restless. fervent prayers spilling from lips, 'till the heavy church doors begin to squeak open. heart skips a beat, expecting another holy call. for the lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, & he will guide them to springs of living water. ❛❛ welcome — ❜❜ he musters, words plainly strained. sweat beaded on brow & hair out of place, barely a smile offered. ❛❛ to st. patrick's. i'm sorry, i — i wasn't expecting anyone this late. . . ❜❜ & god will wipe away every tear from their eyes. [ 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝟕:𝟏𝟔-𝟏𝟕 ]

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the ocean, the smell of home: an old smell that brings comfort, suffused down to newly young bones. only a few steps from ferry, hand wound tightly around the worn handle of antique trunk behind him — & he finds the need to pause, to take crockett in again anew, revitalized. let not your hearts be troubled. a harrowing journey, traversed the line between life & death, finally at its end. yet heart pounds in anticipation of what's to come; the end of death nearer than ever fathomed. rebirth, resurrection, eternal life.

believe in god; believe also in me. a voice pulls him from thought, & the smile that is donned is natural, habitual. a familiar face — to john, not to paul. ❛❛ oh, ❜❜ exhaled gently as the captain speaks, watching absently as the opposite handle is taken, doe-eyed in his shining gaze. in my father's house are many rooms. if it were not so, would i have told you that i go to prepare a place for you? [ 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝟏𝟒:𝟏-𝟐 ] he, too, will be saved. the monsignor, behind his mask, rests easy in such a thought. his smile grows. ❛❛ i was told the people here are kinder than most — friendlier. thank you for your offer, though i'd hate to pull you from your work. . . ❜❜

▴ㅤ❝ 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚. ❞ down reaches his hand, long outstretched fingers now coiling around the handle of a rather 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 looking trunk. ❝ i can't imagine it would do your back much good to carry it alone. ❞ let me share the burden with you. he stands humored, captain & priest face to face : so much in common ⎯ their hands indirectly linked by opposing handles.

the thought lingers until it's broken by his own voice. such a speaking above the sound of waves lapping at the dock in hasty caresses. [ . . . ] THERE'S A STORM BREWING. ❝ i know the way, if they have not given you directions to the church . . . we are best to make haste, 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗. ❞ the last thing this island needs is another priest being swept away, be it by time or the fierce storm that threatens.

@monsignr ♡'d

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hi big fan....quick question.....do you think maybe millie was the one to move on first? because she's a Baddie and also that scene where she leaves church because "thats not my god" seemed like she has her head screwed on straight about who she is and what she wants. maybe she wanted more and he could'nt give that to her?

ignore this if its off, i just enjoyed reading your meta!

yes!!!!! i'm sorry for the ugly mobile post but yes!! millie Absolutely moved on first imo, especially because even at the end of the show — when everything is coming to a close and john realizes he's in the wrong — she still holds firm to the notion that they were in love, yes, but ultimately an ill-timed affair that never would've worked for either of them. even despite john's misguided beliefs otherwise (aka the i would've taken this collar off dialogue). i think it was less of her wanting more/him not giving that, but kind of the opposite: john wanted to be with her and was willing to give up everything to be a family, millie on the other hand knew that doing such a thing would ruin both of them (priest breaking his vows/wife cheating on her husband/etc). so i think she moved on, but john clung to the idea of what they could've been.