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MIDNIGHT MASS (2021) created by Mike Flanagan Book IV - Lamentations

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john and erik (poto) are the same, change my mind.

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i swear i'm alive! just busy. replies soon :)

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thinking about the crockett island cardinals... john was the sweetest little coach 😪 think coach taylor from fnl.

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A chuckle at that. Mrs. MacIntyre is a fervent Catholic and one of the more dedicated members of St. Patrick's. Unfortunately she is just as passionate about local gossip as she is about the gospel. It seems she doesn't stray far from her rocking chair in her front window, keeping an eye on the quiet island bustle, always within arm's reach of the telephone.

John shrugged it off and accepted he'd be on the receiving end of her passive aggression⠀—⠀a sacrifice he's willing to make for his feathered friends.

"You've got to have a real keen eye to spot the difference," he hummed, "that or know which lives in what habitat." The latter was certainly easier, but John knew how to distinguish both ways. He has quite a lot of down time lately . . . in which he tries to spend with Mildred, but there are only so many plausible reasons to visit. So, birding field guides fill the void.

"I've seen the pink-sided but they're pretty common across America. They all are, actually⠀—⠀except the yellow-eyed. They're a little more elusive. At least for me." One day he'd like to spot one for himself, not just pictures from his books.

He reached a hand into his pocket, pulling a small Ziploc of birdseed. "Here," he chirped, unzipping it. "Hold out your hand. If you stay still, they might eat right out of it."

John let a breathy scoff escape him after hearing Mrs. MacIntyre's speculations. There was always someone looking to ruin all the fun.

"Seagulls won't be a problem, I promise," he said with sincerity. "My bird seed isn't enticing enough for their greedy beaks."

His father used to call them rats with wings⠀—⠀always circling around the navy vessel in hopes of scoring scraps.

"Good question," he cooed, beaming with the chance to share some knowledge. "There is a yellow-eyed junco, but only around southern Arizona, New Mexico, and, well, Old Mexico."

He wanted to offer his arm for her to hold, but ultimately decided against it for secrecy sake. You never know who's watching⠀—⠀especially in such a central area. It was bad enough to be seen visiting one congregant so often.

"The dark-eyed junco has several subspecies, though. There's slate-coloured, pink-sided, grey-headed . . . Very creative names, I know."

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The young man had begun appearing a month and a half ago. He would be there every Sunday, hovering just outside the churchyard with his hands deep in the pockets of a tatty old windbreaker, watching like a bleak ghost as the Lord's flock came and went, mostly oblivious to his presence. Beverly Keene had noticed, though, because when it came to protecting the image of St. Patrick (or perhaps, mostly, herself) she always noticed. She was a perfectionist like that. And this stranger was a potential blemish on the church's lenin that needed washing out. After all, as she told Monsignor Pruitt one evening, You just never know the intentions of people nowadays.

But each time anyone rose to catch him, he would be gone. One glance away, one moment of distraction, and the man would vanish as if he had never been there at all. This of course did nothing for Ms. Keene's nerves. The longer it went on, the surer she was that this newcomer was up to no good. She'd even pestered the sheriff about it once or twice, and learned that his name was, apparently, BJ. Fitting, she'd thought with a sour taste coming up into her mouth, considering that Hassan had admitted to catching the young man attempting to solicit local fishermen at the docks. Hassan had also insisted that he believed BJ was harmless, but Hassan, sheriff or no, did not hold the same principles that many of the good folk of the island held. Different cultures, different ideas of harmless. Well— according to Beverly, anyway.

It wasn't until John was working one especially late night in the rectory that BJ finally came out of hiding. He stood outside in his black leather jacket with the white shoulders, white shoulders that glowed in the orange porchlight like tiny, clipped wings. He felt sick. Looked sick. Cheeks pale, eyes sunken and dark, full of ghosts and fears that undoubtedly had dragged him finally to St. Patrick's hallowed ground.

Haltingly, he knocked against the old pine door.

"Father...?" When no answer immediately came, he tapped his knuckles softly but insistently again, as if simultaneously urgent to be answered and privately hoping he might be ignored. Then, more timid still: "...Is it true you can perform miracles?"

// This was meant to be exposition leading up to a meme but then I realized BJ wouldn't just enter a church for this so. It's just the exposition that might eventually lead to the meme LOL.

Dark eyes were fixed on his modest wooden desk, old postage stamps were littered across its surface in an organized chaos. A pile of Canadian wildlife here, a pile of U.S.A airmail there. He had recently been given a collection belonging to the grandfather of one of his parishioners. Once his hobby was made public, islanders just couldn't wait to hand over what they had in way of philately.

Barry's footsteps came into earshot before he reached the porch⠀—⠀all thanks to John's heightened hearing⠀—⠀so when the first knock came, he took the time to tidy away some of the mess before answering the door.

In one quick turn, the large, arched door softly creaked open and the boy was greeted with a smile despite the question stirring mixed feelings within the priest.

Yes is the simplest answer, but in reality, he wasn't the one performing these miracles. It was the angel's blood. He just so happened to be the one administering it to his congregants with communion. He had good intentions, sure, but ultimately, what he was doing was evil.

"Good evening," he chirped, surprised, upon checking his wristwatch. Time had gotten away from him.

His grin quickly faded into a look of concern. The boy looked very, very sick. So, John extended an arm, inviting him inside while seamlessly guiding him to the couch.

"Please, sit down. Can I get you a glass of water?"

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His dark brows piqued, slightly taken aback at the subject matter. It didn't offend him in the slightest⠀—⠀he wasn't all too familiar with Edward Cullen, so the reference went over his head. Nosferatu, however, was definitely in his repertoire. He had caught a glimpse of the 1922 film on his father's TV as a child and the image stuck with him ever since.

Perhaps that's why his encounter with The Angel had frightened him so. It's astounding that he never made a connection between the two, though. Only in looks, not vampirism. Surely an angel of the Lord, who blessed him with the gift of eternal life, couldn't be the same unholy creature . . .

"Well, I'd be more than happy to read over any draft that might find itself in the rectory," he mused, always happy to help. "I might be able to offer a. . . different perspective on the subject."

The priest smiled at his pep. It was rather refreshing. Most of the locals were beaten down and weathered, having no excess energy to put into pep.

"A book? May I ask the subject?" He inquired with interest.

It's not everyday an author takes up residence on their island, though it's not completely unheard of. Small towns attract the brooding creative types.

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thinking about halloween on crockett.... thinking about john holding a pumpkin carving contest for the youth in his congregation.... thinking about millie roasting all the pumpkin seeds and handing them out as little treat bags after mass....

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John Pruitt + holding his rosary

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The priest smiled at his pep. It was rather refreshing. Most of the locals were beaten down and weathered, having no excess energy to put into pep.

"A book? May I ask the subject?" He inquired with interest.

It's not everyday an author takes up residence on their island, though it's not completely unheard of. Small towns attract the brooding creative types.

From here

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“Oh, I’m not working on an article right now! Just my book!” Edward said cheerfully with a wave of his hand dismissing the question. “Besides, it’s nice to have a conversation with another newcomer! Makes me feel like I’m not totes alone!”

He kept up his peppy attitude despite the fact that he was catching a rather revolting scent around town. It was faint but he knew that something was off. Now, why did it smell familiar to him?

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John let a breathy scoff escape him after hearing Mrs. MacIntyre's speculations. There was always someone looking to ruin all the fun.

"Seagulls won't be a problem, I promise," he said with sincerity. "My bird seed isn't enticing enough for their greedy beaks."

His father used to call them rats with wings⠀—⠀always circling around the navy vessel in hopes of scoring scraps.

"Good question," he cooed, beaming with the chance to share some knowledge. "There is a yellow-eyed junco, but only around southern Arizona, New Mexico, and, well, Old Mexico."

He wanted to offer his arm for her to hold, but ultimately decided against it for secrecy sake. You never know who's watching⠀—⠀especially in such a central area. It was bad enough to be seen visiting one congregant so often.

"The dark-eyed junco has several subspecies, though. There's slate-coloured, pink-sided, grey-headed . . . Very creative names, I know."

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" oh , so only the birds get hellos now ? "

she tsks softly , as if unconvinced and still wounded by the unintended slight , but she smiles as she closes her magazine and sets it aside . gaze follows his gesture , glancing across the square towards the flurry of wings that interests him so greatly .

" is that what they are ? " for a while , some time ago , she had considered asking to borrow one of his birding books , if only to better engage with his hobby . but it's been far more enjoyable letting him teach her , listening as he lectures her softly on the plumage markings and migration patterns that she knows she'll never commit to memory anyway . " don't let old mrs macintyre find out you're behind the feeder . she's convinced all it's going to do is attract more seagulls . "

mildred stands , buttoning her cardigan as she slips down her porch steps to join him -- even with the sun out as the morning hour grows late , the air is crisp , the wind cool and breezy .

" alright . now , are all juncos dark - eyed , or only these ones ? "

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Midnight mass, book IV: lamentations

s01e04

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“See, I’m a pretty rational person, and you know that all our myths, our religions, come from natural occurrences that we can’t explain.” (From Edward)

"Father Paul" had gotten the scoop on Edward from his unfortunate right-hand-woman, Beverly. She was quite the talker when it was just the two of them⠀—⠀this was something he was never incredibly fond of⠀—⠀he preferred the quiet.

A mainlander journalist that has been renting a home on the island. An outsider. Still, this was no reason not to hear him out. That was his job, after all.

Nodding slowly, the priest had taken refuge behind his desk in the rectory, gesturing to the empty chair across from him for his visitor.

"You're right," he admitted, though it wasn't a big revelation. "That also explains why there are so many denominations and religions."

He never believed in anything else. Christianity, specifically Catholicism, offered him all the comforts he needed . . . for the most part.

"I'm sorry⠀—⠀is this for an article? Or are we just having a casual discussion?"

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MIDNIGHT MASS Episode 2 - "Book II: Psalms"

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↪ 𝑽𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 . ( a collection of sentence starters from the 2004 film . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

oh , [ name ] . it's just you .

where are you going to run , [ name ] ?

what are you saying ?

why do you think i brought you here ?

you said you believed in my work .

i would kill myself before helping in such a task .

you've been so kind to me , [ name ] .

you can't kill me , [ name ] .

so , you're the great [ name ] .

we all have our little problems .

let's make it your decision , shall we ?

i wish you a week in hell .

why don't you do something about it ?

this is all a test of faith .

i can curse all i want , dammit .

you . turn around .

strangers don't last long here .

the laws of men mean little to me .

i don't need your help .

you stay here . they're trying to kill me .

nice to see you too , [ name ] .

did i do something to you in a past life ?

i hope you do have a heart , [ name ] . because someday i'd like to drive a stake through it .

your reputation precedes you .

i am hollow ! and i will live ... forever .

please , say you will not try again .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

i was unprepared . it won't happen again .

do you understand forgiveness ?

i would rather die than help you .

don't be boring , everyone who says that always dies .

may he rest in peace .

how long has it been , 300 , 400 years ?

you don't remember , do you ?

what exactly is it i am to be remembering ?

it's no surprise you would know all about me .

we have such history , you and i .

have you ever wondered why you have such horrific nightmares ?

[ name ] , it's alright , i'm taking you home .

what , did you think we haven't tried everything before ?

no one knows how to kill [ name ] .

i could have used that information earlier .

would you like me to refresh your memory a little ?

allow me to ... reintroduce myself .

i think we've overstayed our welcome .

don't give me that look .

you were right . i'm sorry .

monster ? who's the monster here ? i have done nothing wrong !

look , there's still time .

you were right . i'm sorry .

do you have any family , [ name ] ?

if you value your lives , and the lives of your kin , you will kill me .

evil may have created it , may have left its mark on it , but evil does not rule it .

now you know why they call me a murderer .

oh my god ... you've been bitten .

so much trouble ... so much trouble .

now you will become that which you hunted so passionately . may others be as passionate in their hunting of you .

don't worry , god will forgive us .

how many commandments can we break in one day ?

oh my god , you should be terrified .

how does it feel to be a puppet on my string ?

neither of us has ever settled for half .

you make my skin crawl .

i'm not gonna like this , am i ?

one brief moment of pain , and we can be together forever .

you have no heartbeat .

you are nothing but damned bones , and damned souls .

well , that doesn't sound like a good thing .

we don't have a choice . just don't get killed .

you don't understand , it doesn't matter what happens to me .

god is not the only one that can create life .

you can't go until i say you can go , and i say you can go when you're dead !

you're supposed to die .

we are both part of the same great game , [ name ] , we just find ourselves on opposite sides of the board .

you are being used , [ name ] , as was i . but i escaped , so can you .

if you're going to kill someone , kill them . don't stand there talking about it .

all i want is life . the continuation of my kind .

some things are better left forgotten .

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Beads now tightly woven amongst strong digits, John allowed a series of nods to answer the question. He had been the pastor of St. Patrick's for much longer than humanly possible. He has an angel of his to thank for that.

"That's right," he chimed, throat drying as the other spoke again.

That wide smile filled him with unease, despite the previous calm, and he felt a slight prickle at the back of his neck.

You, he wanted to answer, but that wouldn't be a complete truth. In fact, there was so much he feared. Death, for one, but that was a universal fear. Seneca would be the only exclusion. His plan to rejuvenate this island was certainly wearing his nerves thin. So much could go wrong, but God wouldn't allow that, right?

"You must be mistaken," he managed to chuckle. "I have nothing to be afraid of."

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Angel is watching him with rapt attention. Bright blue eyes track each and every move he makes with an almost obsessive scrutiny. There is something wrong with this man, though Angel isn't sure what yet, he knows it's something.

He's practically vibrating, trying to keep himself calm and collected and focused but his thoughts feel almost out of control.

"i understand you are the priest of this- the nearby church, is that so?" Angel tries to keep his voice under control, but it's hard. Something is wrong. Something is off. It could burst out of his chest if he let it. "what's there to fear from a priest, oh, how right you are, yes, and yet, and yet, and yet."

The smile on his face is too broad, bordering manic.

"you fear. i feel it. what are you so afraid of?"