#like hey. we could be in communion.

[the-everqueen]

those spotify games (wrapped, put your playlist on shuffle, etc.) don't work on me because i listen to music Wrong

[barefoot-joker]

Destined for Heaven, Stolen by the Devil~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys and welcome to another Lucifer story. I'm sorry I write for him a lot. I just find to him be a very relatable character and I love him so much! Anyway, this fic deals with heavy Christianity themes, so I did my best to research. If something is wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it. I was very inspired by the song 'The Plagues' from "The Prince of Egypt". As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2899

Warnings: Heavy Christianity Themes/Beliefs, Swearing, Christianity Mocking, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Reader's Aunt likes crystals, Reader Dies, Kidnapping?

I sighed as my mother pulled a light blue cardigan over my shoulders. She dusted off my dress and fixed my hair so that I looked presentable. Today was Sunday so that meant we had to go to church. I wasn’t too fond of going and I would have rather been playing in the backyard as a twelve year old does. However, my mom made it her duty to take me and make me a good Christian girl. “Why do we have to go, mom? It’s soooo boring!��

I stuck out my tongue at her. She gently pushed it back in. “You know I want our family to have a good relationship with the Lord. It’s our Christian duty. Besides, going to church is in your blood. After all-”

“Yeah, yeah. God told you that I was destined to be a wife for Adam. How can you believe that? It came to you in a dream.”

“Y/n M/n L/n! You do not question God’s ways! You know better! Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Dragging me by the hand, she ushered me into the family Cadillac and sped off. I sighed heavily. There were so many things I’d rather be doing than go to church. I could be with my friends, heck I could be at my cool Aunt’s house. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When are we going to visit Aunt Hailey? When she called you said we’d be seeing her soon.”

“I only said that to get her off my back. You know how I feel about her.”

I grunted and crossed my arms. Aunt Hailey was seen as the black sheep in the family all because she was wealthy. A lot of our relatives (my mother included) thought she sold her soul to the Devil in order to be immensely rich and refused to interact with her. I, however, thought she was so cool. When she used to come over she’d regale to me hundreds of stories about her travels around the world. She even showed me her cool crystal collection when we went over to her house a few times. “Now don’t be like that. It’s not ladylike.”

I grunted again and slid down in the tan leather seat. A few minutes later the car was parked in the church parking lot and I was being dragged inside. Sometimes I wish I had siblings so I wasn’t the only one to feel mom’s wrath. She seated us near the front and handed me the heavy white Bible from the pew. I robotically turned to the page with the Lord’s prayer and stood when Pastor Bob entered. We began reciting the Lord’s prayer and sang a hymn before we sat. I didn’t pay much attention as our Priest told us his sermon for the day but I didn’t dare to look around the room. I had to look the part after all. Fidgety, I played with my ring finger. Glancing down, I took in the birthmark that oddly looked like an apple. I remember it showing up after I stayed at Aunt Hailey’s house one day. I never told my mother about it though. I was often reminded of the tale of Eve and the apple and I don’t know what she would do if ever saw the fruit insignia. After the sermon and another hymn, it was time for communion. We all stood in line and when it was my turn I took the small Ritz cracker and ate it. I coughed lightly and then took a sip from the golden chalice. My mom and I returned to our seats and when everyone was done, we recited the Lord’s prayer one final time. Thank goodness it was over. 

As we walked out, I was forced to shake hands with our elderly Pastor. “How is my favorite little disciple doing today?”

I cringed at that. Ever since my mother told the church of her insane dream I was treated like some goddess. “Good.”

“That’s great to hear. I look forward to our weekly blessing.”

“Of course, Pastor Bob,” my mom butted in, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled and bid us both ado. We walked back to the car and drove home. As we passed by houses in our neighborhood, I looked longingly at the kids playing. Besides church, Sunday was dedicated to my education of becoming a housewife so when I did die and go to Heaven I was prepared. Parking the car, we went inside. I slipped off my Mary Janes and put them by the door. The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing embroidery work and cooking. Just as I was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I went into the kitchen and picked up the landline. “Hello?”

“Is my dear Y/n there?”

“This is her.”

“It’s your Aunt Hailey.”

“Auntie! Hi! How are you?”

She chuckled. “I am good, my darling. And you? Surviving another day in that stuffy house?”

I giggled at her commentary. “I’ve been okay. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering when you can come over. I was talking with a friend the other day and he would like to meet you properly. I believe he saw you at my house when you were five.”

“I’d love to come over! Let me ask mom real quick.”

I walked into the living room and pressed the phone to my chest. “Hey, mom. Aunt Hailey’s on the phone. She wants to know when I can come over.”

She looked up from her book and glared at the phone. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, mom! It’ll just be for a day!”

“I don’t know.”

“Please! I promise when I get back I’ll focus on my wifely duties! Please!”

I gave her puppy dog eyes and slightly whimpered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright. You can go tomorrow, but I expect you to stay true to your promise. You know how God would feel if you went back on your word.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I lifted the phone up to my ear and quickly ran into the kitchen. “She said I can come tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then, my dear.”

“Bye, Auntie!”

“Goodbye for now, darling.”

I ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. I returned to the living room where mom and I did our nightly prayer. When we finished, she gave my forehead a kiss and sent me to bed. 

The next morning I dressed in a plaid dress shirt, brown capri pants and black oxfords. I bounced in the passenger seat giddily as my mother parked the car in my Aunt’s gravel driveway. “Now remember to behave. I don’t need any calls about your disobedience.”

“I’ll be good, I will.”

“That’s my girl. And you have your cross necklace?”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?”

She kissed my forehead and I got out of the car. “Be safe! Call me if something happens and I’ll be back around dinner to pick you up!”

“Okay mom, bye!”

I waved and she drove off. I turned towards my relative’s mansion and walked up the stone steps. I grabbed the handle from the golden lion’s head and gave three loud knocks on the large oak door. The door opened to reveal Timothy, my Hailey’s middle aged butler. “Ah Miss Y/n, we were expecting you. Please come in.”

He stood to the side and allowed me inside. Closing the door, he led me across the marble floor to one of the drawing rooms near the back. I could hear muffled voices talking as we entered, Timothy clearing his throat. “Your niece is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Timothy. That will be all.”

He bowed and exited the room. My Auntie smiled and gestured for me to come over. I ran to her and gave her a big hug. Her navy silk and lace dress clung to me. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

I pulled away and she motioned to the gold and floral print armchair next to her. I sat and looked at her guest on the chaise lounge. He seemed quite the esteemed gentleman. He had slicked back blonde hair, pale skin and red eyes. I found them quite odd but didn’t judge. Mother said it was bad to judge based upon appearances. He wore a white suit with a red dress shirt, a black tie with black flower detailing, black leather gloves and shiny black dress shoes. He was on the shorter side as well. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my friend Luci. He’s the one to thank for my wealth.”

The man stood and bowed to me. He took my hand and kissed my apple birthmark. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my little apple. Your Aunt has told me so much about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, sir.”

“So polite. Your mother is raising you right.”

“Except for the amount of gospel she puts in my poor baby’s head. I swear all because of her fucking dream, she’s gone total Bible thumper.”

Luci titled his head to the side. “Oh you’ll have to tell me over tea. Speaking of which, I think Timothy has finished setting up the garden for us.”

“Splendid!”

We all stood and the blonde offered me his arm. I gladly took it and we walked outside to Hailey’s marble floored porch. A metal table sat in the middle overlooking her large flower garden, a lacy white tablecloth set on top. Luci pulled out my chair and after I sat, pushed it in. He sat next to me and began pouring tea for all of us. Today Timothy had picked out the clear glass kettle so we could see the yellow liquid inside and the pastel teacups. I thanked Auntie’s friend when he poured into my cup and marveled at the small pink flower floating. “I see we’re having chrysanthemum tea. You know it’s your Auntie’s favorite.”

I giggled and picked up my cup. Blowing a little, I took a sip and smiled at the sweet taste. “So you were talking about Y/n’s mother?”

“Ah yes. She’s always been a Christian woman, believing in the power above. Then one night she had a dream, a vision she calls it, that Y/n is to be the third wife of the first man Adam. Ever since then she’s been obsessively devoted and is dragging my poor niece with her.”

“I see.”

Luci seemed to become stiff at the mention of Heaven and God. Perhaps it was a touchy subject?

“So God came to her and said this, hm?”

“Sure as shit supposedly.”

The three of us sipped our tea in silence. “So has school been going, my dear?”

“Good, Auntie. We learned how to do cursive in English the other day so now I can write my name all fancy!”

“That’s great, darling. Anything else?”

“I’ve been feeling kind of left out lately.”

Both adults turned to me in curiosity. “How so?”

“Well none of the other kids my age are really learning wifely duties, at least not as much as me. When I want to go outside and play mom forces me to do my skills.”

“Wifely duties? Pray do tell,” Luci cocked an eyebrow.

“I learned how to clean the house from top to bottom, cook all three meals, sew, embroider, and do laundry. Basically anything my mom deems necessary to please this angelic husband of mine.”

“I can assure you it will come in handy. Especially with how much of pigish brute he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just got that impression when I’ve read his passages in the Bible, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

“If you had a real man I can be sure you wouldn’t need those skills, darling,” Auntie piped up, sipping her tea.

“A real man? Like who?”

“Like Luci for example!”

I turned to the blonde and he smiled. His eyes glinted with what looked like adoration. He gently grabbed my hand and held it, his hands quite warm through his gloves. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. “It’s true. If you were my wife you wouldn’t want for nothing. Every day would be spent in marital bliss.”

“Sounds gross!”

He chuckled and kissed my hand again. “When you’re older you’ll come to love it.”

‘If you say so.”

“I know so.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Luci’s tales from his travels while drinking our tea. They were quite intriguing and full of adventure. The people he met, the places he went were all so fascinating. It soon became dinner time and true to her word my mom sat in the driveway. Luci walked me to the door and gave a little bow. “It was a pleasure to chat with you, Y/n. I have a feeling we will see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so. You’re so cool, Luci!”

He smirked and patted my head. “Farewell, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Luci!”

I gave him a quick hug before running to the car.

Sure enough as I grew up I ran into the short blonde more often than not. From trips to the grocery store to when I was allowed at Aunt Hailey’s house, we would bump into each other. We’d always exchange a few words and always those red eyes sparkled bright around me. 

That was eleven years ago. Now I lay in a hospital bed, feeling like I was on the brink of death. A few years after meeting Luci I had gotten terribly ill. I was feverish, pale and felt nauseous. My mother was worried and took me to the clinic. I was just diagnosed with the flu. I took my medicine and stayed in bed as best as possible but the final straw was when I fainted in the backyard while gardening. Since then, I had been in and out of hospital with different doctors viewing me like prize cattle. I was poked, prodded and dug at only to be told no one had a clue as to why I was sick. It was like it had just fallen upon me. My mother became even more obsessive in her Christian ways. I was blessed every weekend and prayed upon every day to try and heal my mysterious illness. I was forced to drink holy water at every opportunity and had to wear my cross necklace with two rosaries. 

Currently, I was coughing so hard I felt like I dislocated my lungs. My mother sat next to me holding my hand, a rosary wrapping around us. As I continued to cough she pushed some hair out of my face. “You’re going to be alright, honey. Just stay strong.”

After my coughing fit, I laid back and tried to catch my breath. “I feel like I’m dying.”

Her hand tightened around mine and I could feel her body shake with sobs. “Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know Adam needs you. As much as I’d hate to see my baby go, you’d finally fulfill your purpose.”

“Mom, please. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door made us both look over. There in the entryway stood Luci, his white hat with the dark red band hanging tightly in his hands. “Come in.”

He stepped forward and gave a small smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Y/n! Language!”

“Sorry.”

He chuckled and came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a moment alone, please?”

My mom looked at me and I gave a curt nod. She sighed and stood. “I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll be back later, honey.”

She gave my forehead a kiss and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Luci took her place in the chair next to my bed. “What can I do for you, handsome?”

“I wanted to come see you. Hailey told me how you were faring and I knew I needed to come immediately.”

“I appreciate that. Especially since I feel like this may be the last time you see me.”

“Nonsense. We will always find each other, even in death.”

He brought his hand up and caressed my cheek. I smiled and then began coughing. I turned away and hacked into my arm, only turning back when I was done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand wrapped around mine and squoze tightly. “You know, I could end your suffering right now.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not lying to you, my dear. One small kiss and you’d go peacefully.”

“Luci-”

“And then we can be together forever. Adam, not even Heaven will keep you from me.”

“What are you talking about?” “Just kiss me.”

What could go wrong? I was already suffering so much.

“...Alright.”

He leaned forward and connected our lips. He tasted sweet like caramel apples and I just melted. My soul felt like it was being sucked out of my body and when he pulled away I couldn’t breathe. “You’re mine, little apple. Forever and always.”

He caressed my hand and my eyes closed.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then faded to silence all together.

[lime-bloods]

I sense a degree of singularness inherent to the concept of Life in Homestuck... I've mused before about how Heart and Life are like different approaches to the same philosophical question - while a Heart is a persisting essence which follows a character throughout multiple iterations and creates a persistent 'arc' across multiple timelines, a Life is exactly that, beginning with birth and ends with death, singular - and a similar sort of dichotomy emerges between Life and what we are led to believe is its counterpart, Doom. whereas Doomedness is about offshoots, and Sollux as a character is defined by his plurality, just one cog in a vast machine, one of the very first things we learn about Feferi is that she's "the only of [her] kind known to possess [the most noble blood]". (which it may be worth noting is not even true.)

so when we learn that the Condesce "could extend life, but never restore it", it's not just a unique caveat to Meenah's abilities, but an indication of what it actually means to control "Life"? to have the ability to heal, but never to generate (hey, just like how everything Meenah gives birth to dies). Jane's abilities are similarly "limited to a one time only use per individual" - like a Maid's job is to flutter around fixing things that are broken, never really exerting any real power or influence for themselves.

and insofar as Life is associated with a Hero's literal lifespan, that's the exact same kind of trade-off going on in Alternia's class system; the longer your Life, the less populous your caste is (and as such the less you generate), and the less psychically open you are to communion with your peers. it's being part of a machine or it's being lonely

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

i could be wrong about this (i've been following this blog so long i wouldn't be surprised if im confused lol) but you changed/shifted denominations, right? im catholic, born catholic, but i struggle with what much of the church preaches/supports, and the catholic communities i grew up in are not a great place for queer people. so im looking at other affirming churches where i live, which are mostly united. they all seem great, but i find that im struggling with all the ways they aren't catholic. i find it uncomfortable that there isn't a priest (and find it uncomfortable that i find it uncomfortable), i miss the hymns from my old church, and receiving the eurcharist every sunday, and all the other little rituals i can recite on rote (which i like!). and then i suppose i feel strange for taking space in this church that isn't my own, just because it's more 'convenient', since i dont have much intention to abandon the parts of catholicism i want to keep (like mary and the saints). im not sure whether i should just suck it up and shift denominations entirely, or retain my (kind of shaky, ill admit i reject a fair amount of catholic teachings) catholic beliefs. and even then, im also not sure how to make myself more comfortable with attending a church without the rituals and mass im used to - even though i really really want to attend church again. sorry for blabbing on, but... any advice?

Hey there anon, so sorry for the very long delay; I hope you're doing all right. I was indeed born and raised Catholic, and still deeply love so much about Catholic tradition; I know how hard this decision is — whether to stay or go, whether to keep one foot in and one foot out, etc...

(Oh, one thing I want to mention right away is that you don't need to worry about "taking space" in a church you're not part of yet. Churches are meant to make room for visitors! There is plenty of room for you, and if a church makes you feel otherwise somehow, that's on them. Just bringing that up here because the rest of this long response goes in a different direction lol.)

Ultimately, you're the only one who can decide the right path for you. The good news is that you have as long as you need to figure it out! You might lean in one direction for a while and later realize you need to shift a bit; you don't have to do it all at once.

I can share a bit about my own journey to help you imagine a bit better what it even looks like to walk this path; your path may end up looking similar, or very different from mine. Putting the rest under a readmore because it's so long lol.

I was super devout Catholic all my life, into college. Then going into sophomore year of college I started figuring out I was queer — plus I was encountering more and more kinds of people than I'd ever met before, and questions about where they "fit" into Catholic doctrine and the like.

Sophomore year I started crushing on my then-roommate, now-wife, and exploring my gender a bit more, and I started getting extremely anxious each Sunday at Mass. I couldn't stop wondering what people in the pews with me would think, what they'd do if they knew. That spring semester and then into the fall, I started going to Mass less and less frequently and eventually not at all.

Meanwhile my roomie was going through similar issues with feeling way too alienated from her conservative church to keep attending. So together, we found an LGBT-affirming church near campus and walked there one Sunday. The relief we felt walking in there, seeing other queer people and couples; the warmth and welcome, the chance to hold hands in public for the first time; getting to share communion, which was a big warm loaf of bread, with folks who knew what we were and loved us in, not despite it...was like nothing I'd ever experienced.

We kept going there the rest of the school year. That summer, back in my hometown, I kept going to my childhood church for Catholic Mass. I really loved the affirming church we'd found, but like you I missed so many things that Catholic church has and they just don't: there's a higher sense of reverence at Mass; the singing resonates through my psyche; I weirdly feel Christ more strongly in the little wafer host than in that warm loaf, though the latter made me feel more spiritually connected to the humans around me...

I wanted both. I wanted to keep my relationship with my Saints. I wanted Mary and the rosary. I wanted the high reverence. And I wanted the warmth and connection I found at our new church. I wanted the laughter as children dunked their big chunk of loaf into the chalice, getting crumbs everywhere, even if it made my Catholic sensibilities cringe a little (I write about the "culture shock," getting more accustomed to those eucharistic differences here). I wanted to be surrounded with this much more diverse group of people.

So for years, even as I graduated undergrad and started my studies at a Presbyterian seminary, I've tightrope walked between Catholicism and Protestantism. I took every chance I got in my classes to write my papers (or a whole website) about queer-resonant Saints, or to bring up a book of the Bible that Catholics have but Protestants don't, or to teach classmates what it means that Catholics venerate but don't worship Mary. I went to a Presbyterian church most Sundays, but to Catholic Mass on holy days like Good Friday.

Keeping one foot in the Catholic Church — going to Mass a few times a year, cultivating my relationships with Saints privately, writing lots of poems about everything I was feeling (like this one and this one) — while spending most of my time and building up community within the PC(USA) was what worked for me for many years. Sometimes it would get frustrating; often when visiting a Catholic church I'd feel that anxiety wonder what would happen if someone there called me out for being queer. Often I'd feel alienated, lonely, wishing I could bring my whole self into one place if that makes sense; but I made it work.

Then things took a painful turn late last May — content warning for religious trauma & transphobia from a Catholic priest. I was visiting home, and that meant dropping by my childhood church for Mass. When the priest I've known almost my whole life, who gave me my first communion and Confirmed me, got halfway through his homily, it suddenly turned into transphobic condemnation. I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. I decided to speak up; I interrupted Mass to assert that queer people are beloved by God; I was escorted out of my childhood church. It was really, really painful; it still really hurts.

I haven't visited a Catholic church since then. And it breaks my heart I'll never feel safe about going back to my childhood church again :'(

I bring up this traumatic moment not to scare you away from keeping some part of you in the Catholic Church — so many of us do remain partially or all the way in it despite its failures. Hopefully you'll never encounter something this overtly queerphobic. But I bring it up to say that if you stay in the Catholic Church, you probably will encounter things over the years — hopefully small, maybe big — that bring you pain. Little ways comments chip at your sense of worth and dignity; new documents from the Vatican that speak against queerness.

But honestly, you'll probably encounter a little hurt wherever you go. No church, no community at all, is perfect. People say and do thoughtless things. You'll probably experience less of that in an LGBT affirming church, but wherever you go, you'll need to gradually amass spiritual shields — connection to the divine, to other people, places you go for refuge.

I haven't returned to a Catholic church since that incident — but I have made relationships I wouldn't have made otherwise. Various people who attended my childhood church's grade school reached out to me to thank me for my courage; one of them even wrote an article about what I did and what she and her friends experienced as students there. Someone from my home state's branch of Dignity USA reached out to me.

I've sort of "officially" let myself sever that last thread connecting me to anything Roman Catholic, to the institution; but I hold on to the elements of Catholic tradition that bring me spiritual nourishment. They can pry Mary and the Saints from my cold dead hands (no actually! not even then!)

...So that's my personal journey up to the present day. (I also sum up my sort of situationship identifying as an agnostic Catholic Presbyterian in this post.) But others have different paths.

I know so many queer Catholics, ex-Catholics, not-sure-where-they-fit type folks...there are:

queer Catholics who stick with the Catholic Church completely;

or who occupy a sort of liminal in-between, sticking to the Catholic edges but still interacting with Catholic institutions.

I know others who completely left all things Catholic behind, not just the institutions but all Saints, songs, etc.

If you're interested in listening to / reading about a few other people's experiences, I've interviewed a few queer Catholics on my podcast:

there's Emma Cieslik, who archives all sorts of queer Catholic experiences in her own oral history project;

There's K Kriesel, whose life has taken them all around the Catholic center and many different peripheries;

There's Amy Neville, who studies art history and incorporates Catholicism into their queer art; and others too.

____

Sorry if all that was way more than you were looking for! But I hope exploring some of the journeys of others who've been in a similar place to you might help a bit.

A few other things I'll tack on:

If there are any Episcopal churches near you (that mention being LGBT friendly on their website), their vibe will be much closer to what you love from Catholicism than a UCC church is. Lutherans are also closer in vibe and often LGBT affirming.

It's possible there might be a (non-Roman) Catholic community near you that is LGBT-affirming — check out this post for more about liberal Catholics, Independent Catholics, and more.

The previously linked post also brings up organizations that aim to make the Catholic Church more LGBT-inclusive, like DignityUSA. You might find that one of those orgs has a branch near you where you can find support and commiseration.

Finally, you may also like looking through my #queer and Catholic tag, and also maybe my #lgbta patron saints tag.

Sending you love and wishing you peace, joy, and a sense of belonging. I know how hard this in-between time is, when you just don't know what to do or where to go — but God is with you on this journey. They will be with you wherever you go; in fact, the liminal spaces, the in-between not-quite-this-or-that people, are the places and people through which God most often acts <3

[lucygxybaird]

billy the kid on shuffle

carry on, you will always remember. carry on, none can equal the splendor. now your life's no longer empty, surely heaven waits for you. carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more. - carry on wayward son; kansas

oh, north country winters keep a-gettin' me down, lost my money playin' poker, so i had to leave town. but i ain't turnin' back to living' that old life no more. so, rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel, rock me, mama, any way you feel. hey, mama, rock me. - wagon wheel; darius rucker

and they say there's a heaven for those who will wait, and some say it's better, but i say it ain't. i'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun. you know that only the good die young. - only the good die young; billy joel

oh, i hear a voice, it says i'm running behind. i better pick up my pace, it's a race and there ain't no room for someone in second place. i'm in a hurry to get things done, I rush and rush until life's no fun. all i really gotta do is live and die, but i'm in a hurry and don't know why. - i'm in a hurry (and i don't know why); florida georgia line

death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. and we keep living anyway. we rise and we fall and we break, and we make our mistakes. and if there's a reason i'm still alive when everyone who loves me has died, i'm willing to wait for it, i'm willing to wait for it. i am the one thing in life i can control, i am inimitable, i am an original. i'm not falling behind or running late. i'm not standing still, i am lying in wait. - wait for it; 'hamilton'

when i close my eyes, i see you, no matter where i am. i can smell your perfume through these whisperin' pines. i'm with your ghost again, it's a shame about the weather. but i know soon we'll be together, and i can't wait til then. - colder weather; zac brown band

and then they all fell to their knees, and begged that drifter, begged him please as he raised his fist before he spoke. "i am the righteous hand of god, and i am the devil that you forgot. and i told you one day you will see, that I'll be back, I guarantee, and that hell's coming, hell's coming, hell, hell's coming with me." - hell's comin' with me; poor man's poison

here they talked of revolution, here it was, they lit the flame. here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came. from the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn. and they rose with voices ringing, and i can hear them now! the very words that they had sung became their last communion, on the lonely barricade at dawn. oh, my friends, my friends, forgive me, that i live and you are gone. - empty chairs at empty tables; ramin karimloo

check out my btk playlist here

[cheerfullycatholic]

Hey I’m really struggling with my faith right now. Growing in holiness and becoming closer to God used to fill me with so much comfort and peace, but now it fills me with anxiety and dread because always trying to be holier feels like an impossible standard that I’m called by the Church to do but I’m never going to achieve. I struggle with going to church regularly for a variety of reasons, but now I feel that struggle is especially prominent because anytime I think of listening to a homily or hearing the word of God I get filled with more anxiety because I’m constantly getting called to do better and be better and strive for heaven all the time when I just want to be ok right now. I just want to appreciate the mundane aspects of life in the moment without worrying about achieving a certain standard that’s so high I can’t possibly reach it. I just want God to meet me where I am without feeling like I’m doing something wrong. I could really use some guidance or some help.

I know this is kind of a word vomit, I’m sorry. I don’t know who else to talk to about it.

I think what you feel is very common and normal. It honestly sounds a bit like religious OCD, if what I know about that is correct, but don't quote me on that (though it's worth looking into)

Something very important to remember is that it is impossible to gain perfection in holiness while on this earth, and that's okay :) all we can do is our best, and our best looks different for everyone. A faithful life can look like so many things. It's okay to just do what you can, even if it's not what you used to do. Our faith and how we live according to it naturally isn't going to be constant. It's going to change, like how a river flows more or less, the water level rising or lowering depending on the circumstances that it finds itself in. Just breathe, figure out what you realistically can do, and try to trust that God understands where you're at and has mercy for your situation. He calls everyone to the Church, not to all be exactly the same, but to bring their own unique gifts, experiences, and thoughts into full communion with Him. The wide variety of saints is proof of that. Just look at the huge differences between St. Francis of Assisi and Joan of Arc. Two very different people who lived two very different lives both made it to sainthood! Why can't we?

[coldswarkids]

attended a group event with the volleyball people finally. results:

multiple guys talked to me. when they found i have a boyfriend, literally 7/8 lost interest and wandered away. sir you've known me for a year and a half. you could have shot your shot but you didn't

man 1/8 is the only valid amongst them

tried to talk to the girls but was ignored by most of them and literally shouldered out of the girl-talking-circle multiple times

caught a moment to talk to the priest that was there. he tried to start an indoor section of the group.

i volunteered to help, along with one girl i really dislike because she talks and talks and talks and talks and

she asks her questions of the priest, gets her answers

i ask the priest, since viking was baptized catholic, do i have to write to the archbishop for permission to marry him or is it already sacramental, even though he's not practicing and hasn't received first communion or confession

no. YAY. to quote the biebs, thank you God and also Jesus.

Annoying Girl interjects excitedly about her and her bf and how they're struggling too (?????) and how she relates to my struggle (??????????????????). they have been dating for so long and marriage is just not in sight yet but she is confident that it will be soon. so she understands why i am upset

i am dumfounded. no we are fine girl. i am not in the least upset. we plan to be [redacted] by [redacted]

her: aww!!!!!!!!! (continues to grill me with questions about my relationship. i give her very stone wall non-answers that are bland and placating. she immediately relates every single answer to mean that i am OMG GIRLLLL in the same situation as her and her boyfriend

priest sends me over the pre-cana and pre-marriage retreat information as distributed by his parish. this is very helpful thank you father

he does not send it to her

she begins to talk excitedly about catholicism and her faith and expound upon the glories of her relationship with God, at greatttttttt length

me: mmmm, thats so cool

priest: ..................beautiful

priest excuses himself "I'm going to go see if everyone outside needs anything"

me: you son of a bitch dont you fucking leave me here

im stuck in the room with her for another 15 minutes uninterrupted before i can finally be like hey want to go outside and get a burger

priest is sitting outside with other people. because of course he is

i try to make conversation with others

instead, as ALWAYS in these situations, i am accosted by the multiple small children who find me an excellent person to talk to

i talk to the children for the rest of the night, while their parents are freed to socialize instead

at the end of the night, end up trying to sit by the two girls who i actually want to be friends with

within the next 2 minutes they get up and leave

as i am leaving, accosted by dude who asks since i am musical, if i want to come to a jam session. (???) sure???

not a very successful evening as a whole thblkgknekljkjs

[uncovering-sumac]

So Long, Sumac by Del Blauschild

Hey loyal readers! This is the last time you'll hear from me for at least a little while. Sumac's tourism board is taking a break while we sort a few things out. We're not an official newspaper and we could get in trouble for running our mouths (and pens), so here are a few things we WON'T be making a statement on:

The hip fragment found in Candor Lake. Pulled from the waters by my very own upstairs neighbor during a midnight constitutional-slash-communion-with-the-spirits-of-the-departed, the fragment was confirmed to belong to former tourism writer Pat Davies. The tourism board has no official stance on the rumors that the wife of our town's mayor was seen with him the night he disappeared, or on her own recent disappearance. Rest in peace Pat.

The mayor's sudden collapse and death last night. Listen, it's called "unexplainable" for a reason. Why would I (or the ghost who's been gone from my apartment since my last post) know anything about that?

The shutdown of the lakefront. We know as much as you do: no drinking or bathing until further notice.

And here are a few things I WILL be commenting on!

Acacia. A few nights ago she followed Aiden home and refused to leave. We guess he has a cat now. Even fully dosed on Benadryl it's a little hard to spend quality time with her, but she likes being read to. So that's a start.

My new job. I never thought I would end up using my econ degree, but Bryn told me they could use an office manager up at the ranger station. To keep the park's books, schedule some programming, and write copy for educational materials. It's so far from where I saw myself at 18, it could be another planet. But I'm excited. And I'm happy to keep writing.

My neighbor's muffin recipe. When I came home to find a handwritten note tied up in a lock of blond hair and stuck to the door with a pin I swore I've seen the mayor's wife wear, my heart dropped. But when I unrolled it, I recognized the directions to make the muffins my upstairs neighbor gave me on my first day here.

~Darla's muffin recipe~

2 cups flour, 2 tsp baking powder, 1 cup milk, 3/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup oil, 1 egg, 1 1/2 cup mulberries, 1 tsp tears shed for a lost loved one.

Preheat oven to 350F. Line a muffin tin with muffin papers. Carve the name of your loved one into a candle and light it.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt while chanting the Litany of Grief. Continue to chant while mixing milk, sugar, egg, and oil. Pour wet ingredients into dry and whisk together.

Gently fold in the mulberries.

Scream at the moon.

Transfer the batter to the prepared tin. Sprinkle each muffin with brown sugar and a few extra berries.

Bake at 350F for 25-30 minutes, or until a sacrificial dagger inserted into the center comes out clean. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then serve. Allow the past to remain where it lies. Honor your grief, then put it to rest and walk boldly into the future with its valuable wisdom in your heart. Can be stored in an airtight container for 1-3 days room temp or 1-2 months in the freezer.

[definegodliness]

Alexander's retreat

I was actually there when the band was formed.

Arrived to the garden, late, and some guys were already playing ultra mellow notes. It was strange how the way they handled their instruments immediately reminded me of my first crush, and how I was too timid to even touch that girl.

It was sound in senseless carefulness: guitars and drums and synthesizers, all seemed to beg to be made scream, yet all they'd get was a limply brushing caress of cowardice.

Then, a voice. Like a choir boy, disappointed not to get a solo; obligatorily singing some song with a communion wafer, half-lodged in his throat.

I slouched back in a lawn chair, trying to mentally escape the scene, but all I could think of was potpourri.

I closed my eyes, and, for some reason, the scent of Wunderwasser 4711, wafting from my grandmother's purse came to me. I thought of greyed wet towels, flopped on a bathroom floor. A tall glass of water, tapped without knowing someone used the hot a little while before, and that unsuspected mouthful of lukewarm.

I thirsted.

Oh, what I had given for some excitement.

Visions of porridge…

It was right about that time that I started to notice my dick had shriveled. An uncanny amount of excess room had taken the place where once dangled my proud Danger Noodle. And, as any sane person would, I unzipped there and then, trying to talk some sense into it:

"Hey, there, buddy. What's going on? You've retracted like a snail in his home. Come on, Alexander (the Great, red.), think of the aesthetics! All balls is not at all a pleasing image. What's the matter? We're not afraid, and it's a tepid autumn day. You should be lounging against my thigh. Why… why… why?!"

"Mark…"

I snapped out of my attempted dick dialogue.

"… the fuck are you doing?"

"My dick… my dick! He's not well!"

"Stop fucking around. We finally have found

✨✨ Our Sound ✨✨."

"Yeah, zip up, Mark. Make yourself useful and help us think of a name for our band."

Such unempatheticness.

"He's cold", I whimpered, "but it's not Cold! … maybe if I play with it…"

Frantically I started applying Dick CPR.

Rhythmically muttering out:

"Cold… play… cold… play…", in desperation. Until finally I saw a glimpse of its pink head, shyly popping out of its hiding; still somewhat wary of what could merely be a temporary silence.

I sighed. He had survived.

I was kicked out of the band, shortly after that. Not because of 'the incident', but because of my hopeless addiction to Edgard Cooper's Duck & Chicken Jerky Kibbles. Still, I think it is safe to say I played a vital part in the band's origination.

[varianandhugodonotgetrawed]

Easter One Shot!

Desc: Varian and Hugo are getting ready for Easter Sunday service. Cw: one (1) small curse word.

Have a happy Easter (or just a regular Sunday)!

_______________________________

"That's too tight, Hairstripe." Hugo commented, voice tight.

"Hm? Oh, sorry." Varian loosened his boyfriend's tie, the lime green one with rabbits on it. Hugo had gotten it specifically to wear on Easter Sundays. "How is that? Suitably loose for seducing the old ladies who serve communion?"

"I suppose," Hugo struck a dramatic pose. "How's that?"

"Well, they might fall over laughing and then you could help them up." Varian remarked, looking away so he wouldn't snicker. "A little meet-cute."

"That's what I thought," Hugo straightened his tie in the bathroom mirror. "There's a stain on my pants, dammit."

Varian fake-gasped. "A curse word? In this apartment?" He shook his head. "God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit do not care about... a gravy stain on your pants. Calm down." He straightened his own tie in the mirror, the one with teal and burgundy stripes.

"Should I let my hair down? Or leave it up?" Hugo fretted.

"I don't believe anyone would recognize you if you left it down. I think it'd be like exposing your ankles. Scandalous." When Hugo continued to fail to laugh at Varian's sarcastic remarks, he knew something was up. Varian turned away from the mirror, and with his hands on Hugo's shoulders, turned his boyfriend toward him. "Hey. What's up? You're stressed."

Hugo sighed. "It's nothing-" he stopped when he saw Varian's glare. "I just. Kind of feel like a mess. I've been in a weird place recently, you know that. And my clothes, my hair, aren't quite right. I just don't feel ready to be in church. Like maybe I should figure things out before I do."

Varian pulled Hugo into a tight hug. "That might be the stupidest thing you've ever said, Beanpole." He leaned back, looking his boyfriend in the eyes. "You know, like, the whole point of Easter is that our sins are, like, forgiven and crap? You remember that thing in... eh, what verse is it? Whatever, doesn't matter. 'It isn't the healthy who need a doctor'. That thing?"

Hugo rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"You're fine. By, like, definition. Look, we don't even have to talk to anyone. We'll go, get through service, grab a donut, then go home and watch Jesus Christ Superstar and VeggieTales while eating spiral ham. Sound alright?"

Hugo laughed a bit. "You and your ham. Fine, you win. Let's just go so we're not late, yeah?"

"Yeah." Varian grinned, then grabbed the keys. "I'm driving, the way you drive scares me. Jesus came back from the dead, but we will not if we die in a crash."

"Hey, I only ran two red lights last time," Hugo protested, though smiling as he followed Varian.

[wizardofarles]

hey guys, no lykmc update today as chapter ten is not finished. 😞 i will leave you with a snippet by way of apology (and also because i completely forgot to post one last week).

LYKMC Ch.10 Sneak Peek:

“Twenty-five dollars?” Lazar complained. “That’s exorbitant!”

Laurent shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You quite literally do.”

Laurent leaned back, resting his elbows on the cold metal accessibility bar that ran along the wall and pretended to consider that for a moment. “You’re right. I’d forgotten. That will be thirty dollars.”

“What?” Lazar’s mouth fell open. “You can’t do that! It was twenty-five a second ago!” Pallas put a soothing hand on his boyfriend’s arm. In his other hand he held a red plastic solo cup, identical to the one in Lazar’s hand.

“I think Lazar deserves a discount for his athletic prowess today,” said Pallas, beaming at Lazar. “He won the game for us almost single-handedly.”

Laurent hadn’t been there, but he’d heard all about it from Ancel. The RVAB varsity football team was down by three points for most of the game, but in the last ten seconds Damianos threw a perfect Hail Mary all the way across the field to Lazar who sprinted past the defenders and caught it in the end zone. The game had eaten up Damianos’s entire afternoon and prevented him from taking Laurent to the stable today.

“I think you should stop talking about football before I turn you away. And as you’ve so kindly reminded me,” said Laurent, “I make the rules, and I’ve just implemented a five dollar attitude fee.”

Pallas snorted, and Lazar let out a breath of disbelieving laughter. “You’re nuts. I’m not paying that.”

Laurent examined his nails. “Then you’re welcome to look for alcohol elsewhere at this Catholic school dance. Maybe one of the priests will give you communion if you ask nicely.”

He saw his victory in the way Lazar’s face fell. Without waiting for an answer, Laurent crouched in front of his backpack, which rested on the floor in the back corner of the bathroom stall, and pulled out one of the three liquor bottles he’d stolen from Auguste’s secret stash in his closet that he thought no one knew about. “Cash only,” said Laurent. His recent predicament with the concealer had gotten him thinking he ought to accrue some capital of his own. Cold hard cash that his uncle couldn’t touch.

Lazar grudgingly forked over a wrinkled twenty and two five dollar bills, which Laurent pocketed before pouring the liquor into his cup. Pallas stepped up with his cup next.

Laurent smiled at him. “That will be ten dollars.”

Pallas grinned at Lazar as Laurent poured a generous shot of vodka into his punch.

“You’re a stone cold bitch, de Vere,” said Lazar, but strangely, he was laughing. He and Pallas left together, and Laurent locked the stall door again once they were out. He could still hear their conversation as they walked past the sinks.

“I’ll give you ten dollars,” Pallas said. “It’ll be like we each paid twenty.”

Lazar cooed. “You’re so sweet to me, babe. How will I ever repay you?”

Pallas’s voice turned wicked. “Just bring that sweet-talking mouth over here, babe, and I’ll show you what—” The bathroom door closed behind them, sparing Laurent from any more of their revolting PDA, and leaving him alone in silence.

He had chosen a bathroom on the second floor of the school to set up shop, far enough from the gymnasium where the homecoming dance was taking place that no one was likely to stumble into it by chance. For a small cut of the profit, Ancel had agreed to help Laurent by subtly spreading the word among the students in the gym. He sent up the customers with instructions to knock three times on the last stall and pay in cash. So far, Laurent had already gone through almost a whole bottle of vodka and made a little over two hundred dollars thanks to Lazar and Pallas’s contributions, and the night was still young.

Laurent leaned back against the metal bar again and scrolled aimlessly through his Instagram feed on his phone. He wished he’d thought to sneak a folding chair in here or something. As it was, there was nowhere to sit but the toilet or the floor, and Laurent was not that desperate yet. His mind wandered as he scrolled, and he felt his mood turning bitter. He was still upset that he hadn’t been able to see Pyrrha today. Damianos had driven him to the stable yesterday afternoon as promised, but the whole trip had been darkened by Damianos’s mood. The Akielon had been uncharacteristically quiet and brooding, barely stringing two words together throughout the entire thirty minute drive to Acquitart. No doubt his brother’s betrayal was heavy on his mind. He hadn’t risen to any of Laurent’s petty jabs, and he didn’t even crack a smile when Laurent—who had been eating sour gummy worms in the passenger seat—threw one of the worms at Damianos’s face. “Here, to go with that sour mood,” he’d said, but Damianos had only brushed the sour dust off his face and scowled harder. He made for such poor company that Laurent almost regretted telling him of Kastor’s plans in the first place.

Those plans should have played out this morning, unless Damianos had interfered. I wonder which way he chose; his father, or his brother? To speak up or to stay quiet? Based on his previous observations of Damianos, Laurent suspected he already knew the answer, but the brute sometimes surprised him. Laurent wondered what he would do if it were his own brother plotting against his uncle. The thought brought him close to laughter. Auguste wasn’t much of a plotter, and he wouldn’t get far against their uncle. But if it were the other way around …

The bathroom door creaked open and let in a shuffle of footsteps. Dress shoes rang sharply against the tile floor, growing closer to the stall where Laurent was lurking. The shoes appeared in the wide gap under the door, black and polished to a sheen, just as three terse knocks rattled the door on its hinges.

“Lo? It’s me.”

Swallowing his irritation at the nickname, Laurent unlatched the door and pulled it open to reveal Ancel in a slim-fitted emerald suit with a sheer white lace shirt beneath his jacket. Adorned with fake gold and glass gems, he looked like a cheap whore.

Laurent himself did not have a single piece of jewelry on his person. He had dressed plainly for the dance in a classic black tuxedo with satin lapels, for once in total compliance with the dress code—aside from the makeup on his neck that covered his bruises. The employee at the store had been right, it was a perfect match. It blended in seamlessly with his skin, showing no hint of the discoloration underneath.

Ancel tucked a loose strand of silky red hair behind his ear and grimaced, not meeting Laurent’s eye. “So,” he spoke to the wall behind Laurent, “there’s a slight hiccup in the plan.”

The hiccup stepped out from behind Ancel, all dressed up in a little black tuxedo, and decorated in blue. The bow tie snaked around his delicate neck, the bruise that stained his cheek, and the handful of glittering teardrops that dangled from his ear—blue, blue, blue. And his eyes, the bluest Laurent had ever seen, glared out of his round face like two deep wells of contempt.

“I know what you’re doing,” declared Nicaise, “and I’m going to tell your uncle.”

[thebibi]

Mina: Hey professor I want you to take me with you all to your hunt this time, listen to my plans, receive my personal investigation results as you do your heist, listen to my requests, you'll be discussing the history of Dracula and criminology with me while the others are away, and also I want to go to the castle with you in contrast to when I was left behind for my safety at your suggestion

Van Helsing: I agree

Top university minds: Look how much he's conforming her to a passive female role

I think academics geniunely skip this conversation:

"But go on. Go on! There is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid; John and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right. Speak, without fear!" "I will try to; but you will forgive me if I seem egotistical." "Nay! fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we think."

Because Van Helsing is overwhelming fanboying over Mina even though he's trying to check if she's under Dracula's influence. Also, if he was sooo concerned of the corruption of her soul, why does he never try to isolate and berate her after the attack??

Like, this scene could have been Van Helsing keeping Mina at a distance, with an obvious cross and communion wafer at his side, and questioning her as a criminal. But instead he's like, gushing over how smart she is and most importantly demanding she be more selfish and arrogant! Make it make sense!!

[scarabjewels]

Why The Prince of Egypt Suceeded As A Movie , Not just as an Adaptation of the Biblical Story

I watched this so many times, that it awoken the complicated feelings of empathy, sympathy and conflict in me. I have watched so much reaction videos about this and no disrespect to Christians (I grew up Christian btw) however I think that a lot have missed the point of Ramses as Moses' family and instead took the original Biblical passage to heart so much, that the complicated themes were sort of thrown out the window.

Biblical stories are a little tricky to adapt. People who grew up exposed to the religion know what it was like watching those animated shows and videos of biblical stories and how in your face the religion is. I still remember watching the dubbed version of Super Book (if ya know, ya know). There is a whole subject dedicated to just studying Christianity, carrying bibles and learning and relearning passages, assigned reading at weekly masses, and having quizzes about the homily everyone slept on after the holy communion (it was supposed to be wine, but they probably made is drank grape juice with some water, the "bread" is a little piece of wafer that just disintegrates in your tongue the moment you eat it).

I speak for this very specific audience, I know. To the people who didn't, this is what it was like. But funny enough, not once did they play the Prince of Egypt for us. Actually, I remember some of my peers not liking it, and they were hardcore Christians, by the way, like voluntarily praying in cathedrals. Yet, I have also heard people who aren't even Christian LOVE this film. It's just a beautiful film of so many other aspects.

I found it ironic that the complicated parts of the story was the hardest part to really understand. Yet there I was, 12 years old, one of the ones who weren't so devoted to the religion, binging this movie. I wanted to understand those complicated feelings, especially with Ramses and Moses.

Let me discuss the emotional stakes here and how sad and sympathetic everything was.

First, I am glad that Moses was really portrayed to be part of the royal family. That's what a lot of the adaptations did not take on with creative liberties with, Moses was always portrayed as a snobby prince in the first act. Moses was Ramses' brother and best friend, and you can tell how much they trusted and loved each other. They were really a family. Ramses, despite being older, looked up to Moses, as he was there for him ALWAYS. The love they shared was so great that it made the movie so sad. Their destinies to be enemies were so heartbreaking.

Now Ramses. Hey, I do not condone any of what he had done. However, he was a result of his upbringing. Pressured to be Pharaoh, all his life, his belief that slavery was just hard laborers to a good cause they are building was passed down to him. I can not blame him entirely for growing up to be what he is. The tough love was so tough, there was NO love. That man got daddy issues, he really promised to make an even greater Egypt than what his father built by literally having a larger monument of him than his father's. Its like Homelander and Gus, the need for approval of a father was so rooted in Ramses, it lived on even after his death. Let me also say there was no changing him, even when Moses was still in his life. Moses was also brought up like him. The beliefs passed down were the same, and they were raised in the same environment after all. But like any other two people living in the same system, they were bound to be different, but no one could have prepared their fate to be against each other in the future.

No matter how many scenarios we can make up for both of them to still be brothers and not be enemies, there was really nothing that could change what was going to happen.

It hurt to see how happy Ramses to see his brother, welcoming him with open arms, not as Pharaoh but a brother. Moses, too, I could not imagine having to do that to his adoptive family, his beloved brother, and best friend.

But well, they OUTGREW each other, but damn they really just had to be enemies, huh?

I will say, making them brothers makes sense how Moses got away with the plagues of Egypt. Not just because he WAS royalty of them or just because the Pharaoh was so stubborn, but because even when Ramses is Pharaoh, he loves Moses so much, even with resentment. He could never imagine to eliminate or to imprison him. I appreciate the writers connecting that and it was so much more impactful for the story.

Only when Ramses' son was gone where the hatred overcame him to really attack the Hebrews.

Oh, the taking of the first borns. It was a brutal crime for Ramses's father and predecessor to eliminate the first borns of the Hebrews, but it was just as brutal for God to take the first borns, too. The scene where Ramses lay his son's body to be then mummified and Moses even trying to console him, only to be hissed at (UNDERSTANABLY). He set the slaves free, yes, but this is an important scene that no one really won. Moses broke down, we know he never wanted this, he couldn't get through Ramses but this didn't have to happen. Ramses was stubborn and prideful, yes, but he is still a father. He is overcome with extreme hatred at this point, that Moses is not his brother anymore, but a man who is responsible for his son's death.

Damn, Ramses loved his son the way his father never did. I feel like he raised his son like the way he and Moses had fun. Those small scenes of pure affection and adoration for his son, his son was always involved in the kingdom, always hugged and protected by him and just before the scene where Moses turned the lake into blood, you can see him and his son bonding and just having fun. That essence of fun literally could have only come from his bond with Moses, which DOUBLES the sadness. Man, my overthinking makes this way too harsh on me.

Nonetheless, that "death" scene should never have been glamorized and I am glad that it was portrayed like that. Its not sweet revenge, it was brutal. No one had to die, especially children. No one was really happy in this scene, even with the grant of freedom.

The animation, by they way, I learned that it was a mix of PAINTINGS and 2D animation, damn those animators should be proud of their work. This is such a masterpiece.

There is another animated adaptation after this, by Dreamworks as well. It was Joseph: King of Dreams. The animation is made to TV level but otherwise okay. I do wish they made one of Queen Esther. If you guys don't know or are interested, pick up the bible. I tell you now, as a literature enthusiast, the bible has stories that should be told in the way Dreamworks succeeded in telling the Exodus story. No fanatic air please.

CAN I ALSO JUST SAY HOW HOT EVERYONE IS

I think my type was born here, the men were good looking, Moses got that good beard and Ramses had age with him actually, the jawline and those sculpted cheeks?

But, Ramses' mom though? GODDESS. Zipporah? HER EYES AND SPARK and Miriam, girl, I think my type came from her. Jawline, smile, kindness damn.

[jovialtorchlight]

THE WITCH--A ONE ACT PLAY by JONNY BOLDUC

The Witch

            A play by Jonny BOLDUC

CHARACTERS:

JONNY: Male, 20-50

A young man. Troubled, disheveled. 

WITCH: Female, 20-50 

A mystical and enigmatic guide, similarly troubled.

JACOBY

Male, 10-18

A scared young boy.

 GLEN:

Male, 20-50

The embodiment of evil.

CHARLIE:

Male, 40-70

A barfly who dies.

THERAPIST:

Any gender, 40-70

A kind professional. 

SAWED MAN:

Any Gender. 20-70

A soul claimed by evil.

EMT/BYSTANDER

COP/ GUARD

BOUNCER/NURSE

JONNY:

Lights up on Jonny, centerstage. He is in a flannel shirt and has a pitchfork, dressed like he just he is in a barn. He addresses the audience directly. He is telling a story.

Three months. Doesn’t seem real. The days blur by like a roar. What did I do today, even? Well, I went out to the barn. Our barn.   I found two dead, newborn goats in a corner. Black and brown, tiny, the size of puppies, twins. The mother looked at me like she always did; huge marble eyes dilated, sideways, like they were about to bulge out of her skull. 

My farmhouse, a farmhouse that used to be ours, was down a small hill from the paddock, a half acre fenced off with a barn built at the crest of the hill. I could see it from the small wooden slat in the stall door. The baby goats were born in a bad way. It wasn’t their fault. It was November, and even with a heated blanket and  the insulation of the hay, the cold air wrapped around them,  their spirits slowly fading.  Even in April, the normal birthing season, on the cusp of spring, it was normal to lose a few babies. 

November seemed to take farm life with greed. Earlier in the month, a fisher cat had chewed through the wire of the coop and slaughtered 13 turkeys, leaving decapitated bodies piled up against the doors of the coop. 

Half of life is keeping wolves from the door, I thought as I bent over to cradle the dead goats in my arms. 

And the wolves are drawn to the scent of blood.

And there was no shortage of wolves, or blood. The whole farmed reeked of pain. At first, everything was coated in a thick film of memory. Even the pots and the pans, the coffee maker. The pang of “that was once ours.” The knowledge that she touched this mug, cupped it in her palms, let the steam rise into the chilly morning air, leaving the floating scent of coffee lifting through the house.

I snapped back to the dead goats in my arms, limp, limbs flapping around awkwardly, the mother staring at me.

It’s hard to figure out what a goat knows. Did she want a snack of grain? Most definitely. Did she miss her babies? Maybe. Sometimes, they seem like bleating animatronics, only interested in food, screaming, and breaking shit. Other times  they stare at you, long tongues lopsided, eyes sideways, looking at something beyond you, understanding what exists beyond what’s here. 

The Witch taught me how to feel that connection. That communion. Not the evil, biblical pentagram shit. But a link to something beyond. Once you know it’s present, you can feel it. 

Animals are a vessel. And it’s not a dark energy they draw from, a dark message from an abyssal place. It’s just another place, another place we go when we’re done being here. Most of the time, it works out fine. 

The witch also taught me that  everything can be perverted, can take on a new form, a terrible form.  Scene jumps to a parking lot, where the Witch, rubbing her hands together for warmth, is stranded outside of her car. 

JONNY:

Hey there. Battery dead?

WITCH:

Startled. 

Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you. Yeah, it is. 

JONNY:

I have cables in the back. 

WITCH:

Oh, you don’t need to--

JONNY: 

No problem at all. 

JONNY attaches the wires to the invisible car.

SFX: Car starting

WITCH:

Freezing.

Thank..you.

JONNY:

You got some snowflakes in your scalp.

WITCH:

What?

JONNY:

Akwardly.

I assume it’s not dandruff.

WITCH:

Uh…

JONNY:

I mean, uh, it would be ok if it was dandruff--

WITCH:

Laughing.

It’s not.  Thank you. I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.

JONNY:

Not a problem. Get in your car before you freeze. See you around.  WITCH exits. Lights dim on JONNY.  I’d like to say that it was love at first sight, that I knew she was a witch, that I felt her presence and knew that she was going to gradually teach me that I was fundamentally wrong about the universe, about the way things worked, about life and love and joy and terror.

 But as I drove out of the Walmart parking lot, the sky was just the sky, the cold was just cold, and the emptiness of a half lived life swam around me.  Days, as they often do, turned into weeks. We kept circling each other. Sometimes I noticed her, sometimes she noticed me; at least three or four times a week. In gas stations, waiting rooms, checkout lines. It became a bit of a joke shared by two near strangers; we were always together, by complete accident.

It was a hot July day, and I was at the town beach, lying on a towel. I  had been reading a book, but I closed it, and laid it on top of my eyes so the beating of the sun wouldn’t blind me. 

Monlouge breaks. We are at a beach, several weeks later. JONNY sheds his shirt and pants to a layer of swimgear underneath. WITCH is sitting on a beach chair wearing dark sunglasses and a sunhat. JONNY lays down on a towel.

I could feel my skin tightening into a sunburn, so I sat up. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her. 

JONNY:

You again?  Jonny smiles.

WITCH:

Yep. looks like it. Grins back. 

JONNY:

I’m starting to think you’re following me.

WITCH:

Grin fades. Her tone is suddenly very, very dire. 

I’m not. Are you following me?

JONNY:

“Uh...no. And look, I’m sorry if I spooked you. It was a half-baked joke. Starts to get up. 

WITCH:

It’s okay. I didn’t think so. I just had to be sure. What’s your name?

JONNY:

Jonny. What’s yours?

WITCH:

Ignoring the question. She concentrates out into the audience, her voice falling into a  sharp  whisper. She points. That boy out by the floating dock is going to drown. Things are about to fall into place.

JONNY:

Back into narration.

Six or seven children were standing in the corner of the floating dock, trying to sink it. They did; and the other half of the dock rose into the air. 

A boy who looked to be about ten was standing on a particularly pitched part of the float. As it rose sharply, he slipped, smashed his face off of the wood, and, before his friends could catch him, slipped off into the water. 

Before I registered what I was doing, I was in the water, running, as fast as Icould; diving into the water, stroke after stroke, kids screaming, parents from the beach yelling.

Lights up on a boy, some distance from Jonny.

Rapid fire delivery. Frantic. 

JACOBY:

He was swimming quickly, and he was at the dock, I gasped and I swallowed more water and he dived under and he opened his eyes 

JONNY:

 I couldn’t see anything, just a chain attached to the slimey underneath of the dock to the bottom of the lake; breath running out, I followed the chain to the rocky bottom;

JACOBY:

But I wasn’t there either. He looked back up, and saw me, face down, under the dock. He 

JONNY:

Pushed from the bottom upwards, running out of breath.  I grabbed the boy’s limp body, and dragged him out from under the dock  with a final push before I inhaled a lung full of lakewater.  I felt the fire hit my lungs, I pushed his body up above the surface of the water and some hands grabbed him and while I wheezed and coughed—

O.S VOICE:

OH GOD HE’S NOT BREATHING!

JONNY: 

No, I thought, I just saved him, just grabbed him, I should have saved him, and I thrashed as I lost strength and before I lost consciousness I felt hands grab me and pull me— 

People rush around JONNY, who stands still, slow motion  in the middle of the chaos. Two EMTS lift Jacoby onto  stretcher and hurry him offstage. 

Everything should have been fine. EMTs were having lunch at the hotdog stand up the road; they heard the screaming and came on the scene while I was underwater. The boy was under the dock for just under a minute. The guy who jumped in right behind me was a lifeguard. The guy swimming behind him was a former Navy S.E.A.L. 

On that hot July day, everything lined up. We should have been able to save that boy—I’d learn later, from his mother, that his name was Jacoby—and he should have been the one, blue lipped, shivering, on the back of the ambulance, having his vitals monitored, coughing up water. 

While I was unconscious, I had a dream. 

BLACKOUT. Lights come up. Three distinct spotlights, the rest of the stage as black as possible. JONNY, the WITCH with her beach-chair, and JACOBY each occupy a space onstage.

                      JACOBY:

Sobbing, stifling sniffling. Where’s my mom? 

WITCH:

The spotlight follows her as she moves to JACOBY. She embraces him, and puts a hand on his head. 

She’s not here now, but you can visit her later. Why don’t we go take a walk? There are some people up by the hot-dog stand who would love to see you, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

          Oh...okay.  JACOBY begins to move, but he suddenly whips around and stares at JONNY.

        Terrified. Who is that? Out on the dock? Is he the bad? Is he going to--

JONNY:

No, no, buddy, I’m a friend, I tried to help you--

JACOBY:

He shouldn’t be here. JACOBY looks as if he is going to bolt. 

WITCH:

Stern, like a mother. Jacoby,  you need to turn toward me. Please. You don’t have to be afraid.  He is a friend.

JACOBY:

JACOBY begins to writhe. Lights make it look like energy is bursting from his skin. 

WITCH:

JACOBY! 

JACOBY:

                    It’s so hot…all this light…I can’t…

Red. Everything is washed in red. JONNY begins to narrate.

JONNY:

Breathless. 

I felt myself burn into him, felt my consciousness blend into his—for a moment--Add strobe effect—I had to stand—had to stop this— I felt my chest tighten as his eyes fixed on me and I felt the way his smashed face felt when it hit the dock and scraped against the wood and how his head pounded and he slipped and the way he tried to swim up before he lost consciousness and the way the water filled his lungs—I saw the writhing and the fear, the red open sore of the sky, the dark hue of the beach suddenly vast and endless, a void, drawing me and the boy in like a magnet, like we were being pulled; I had to stand up, do something—

BLACKOUT. In the blackout, which lasts a second or two, JONNY moves next to JACOBY and the WITCH. 

                            WITCH:

Thank you, Jacoby. Thank you for trusting us. Now, I need you to get out of the water, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

I don’t know if I can. Subtle hints that he is escalating; perhaps a strobe flashing once. 

WITCH:

You can. You can, Jacoby.

              JACOBY:

         Turns to JONNY. 

     I’ll do it if he jumps in.

WITCH: 

                                                 Addressing JONNY. Friend. You don’t have to jump.

JACOBY:

                                      Petulant. Yes he does!  I won’t do it if he doesn’t!

JONNY:

Narrating.  I looked down at the water. It was black, oily, bubbling.  I glanced back at Jacoby. I didn’t know what was going to happen to him if I didn’t jump. But the fear in my chest told me he would be lost, swallowed up by whatever this oily water was. 

Breaking back.

Alright. On the count of three. 

BOTH:

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

          JONNY jumps. BLACKOUT.

SCENE 2

JONNY:

Laying down on a stretcher stage center, with an EMT leaning over him... Lights dim on JONNY and an EMT. 

JONNY coughs. 

                  Where is he? Where’s Jacoby?

EMT:

                                                    Woah, take it easy. Who’s Jacoby?

JONNY:

Speaking hurts. The kid. Underwater. Jacoby.

Silence. After a pause. 

            EMT:

    His parents said they didn’t know you. How do you know his name?

JONNY:

A bad liar. Somebody yelled it. How long was I unconscious? 

EMT:

Three minutes. No matter what happened to Jacoby, it wasn’t your fault. You tried to save him.

JONNY STANDS. EMT’s exit, wheeling the stretcher off. The BEACH scene is over, and JONNY is narrating. 

JONNY:

For a while, I convinced myself that the  the dream was my mind responding to the influx of trauma and the lack of oxygen and the exhaustion.  A few days passed. Jacoby’s family called me a few times, told me it wasn’t my fault, that I was a hero for trying to save him. They asked me to come to his funeral. I couldn’t.  I could barely leave my apartment. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jacoby. Or the black, oily water.

And in my dreams, I was standing on the edge of the dock, staring at the bubbling void and Jacoby's blue bloated bloody face rose up from the depths and he was sobbing, asking me why I didn’t swim faster, why I couldn’t save him.

When I drank, I fell asleep and I didn’t have dreams. So I took to drinking.

 Hard.  We are now in the interior of a car. There is an open bottle of whiskey barely concealed underneath a coat in the drivers seat. JONNY is driving. He mimes falling asleep. SOUND FX: CRASH. JONNY stumbles out of his car; from the opposite side of the stage, the Witch stumbles out of hers. A small crowd forms around. 

JONNY:

             Drunkenly. Anyone have any---uh, Listerine? Or Tik Tacks? 

JONNY and the WITCH notice eachother. 

                      WITCH: 

It’s…you. 

JONNY:

Sure is. Your eyes are bloodshot as fuck. Also, you smell like…a…whiskey…factory. I do too. Damn it. Tell me, when I jumped, did Jacob…

WITCH:

He made it.

A bystander approaches. 

BYSTANDER:

Are you both…drunk?

JONNY:

Then why am I…

WITCH:

Having the dreams? You jumped in. 

Blue lights flash.

                          JONNY:

I had to. I had to jump.

WITCH:

Smiling. Once we sober up and post bail, we have to talk. 

COPS ENTER.

JONNY: 

The Witch was right. We both got arrested. My coat fell off the bottle during the force of the crash. I glanced at it. It was almost empty. I did a quick calculation; I had been drinking heavy for six months. I didn’t even notice when the bottle was gone. The bottle was the first thing the cop saw. I saw him put on some gloves and grab it. Another cop car rolled in. 

COP:

Not really a question. You been drinking, sir?

JONNY:

Addressing audience. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should have waited for my lawyer. But I just wanted to get it over with. 

Addressing COP.

            Yes. 

COP: To the Witch. 

And you, miss?

WITCH: 

Yes. 

COP:

Do you two know eachother?

BOTH:

No. 

JONNY:

That was the first lie we told. Addressing the audience as he he is cuffed and led away by the COP. 

We both blew the same blood alcohol level. Way over. Both JONNY and the WITCH are sitting in the back of a cop car.  We decided, subconsciously, that the back of a copcar wasn’t a good place to talk. 

It is silent, cut by bursts of SXF: Radio chatter. JONNY leads his head back, and closes his eyes. The WITCH is asleep as well. 

For the first time in six months, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see Jacoby. I saw her face. I understood her.  I knew she was as tired as I was. She had the same dreams of Jacoby dying.  When we got to the jail, we were separated. I spent a night in County, sobered up, and posted bail. First time. No convictions. Not even a speeding ticket. $500, only bail condition not to drink. 

I knew I’d probably be back behind bars. I already knew I needed a drink. I should have called a lawyer first thing. Called my parents to tell them I’d got into trouble and probably lost my job and needed help and I was so sorry—  But I didn’t . The first thing I did—and I mean the first thing—was to try and find the Witch. 

COP is now a GUARD who is handing JONNY his belongings.

                        JONNY:

 The woman I was brought in with--do you know if she’s been released?

GUARD:

Fuck off. Get out of here. Here’s your stuff. One uncharged phone, a lighter, and a wallet with 14 dollars in cash.

JONNY:

JONNY leaves, and sits at a table, drinking a coffee.  There was a Cafe down the street. I got a coffee, and sat. The morning’s paper was on the stand.  We were sure to be in there. Sure enough, I flipped to the local section of the paper, greeted by my mugshot, and hers.  Headline read, “two arrested after drunk drivers slam into each other.”

But I had something important. Her name.  I never told her that I learned her name from her mugshot. I left my coffee on the table, and left the cafe without paying for the paper. 

As JONNY leaps up from the table, he walks, and delivers these lines to the the audience. As he does, a basic apartment with a chair is set behind him. 

It was a two hour walk back to my apartment, but I made it. I charged my phone. About 100 voicemails and missed calls, from my mom, my dad, my sister. My work. I was fired. 

SOUND SXF: Phone ringing. Witch appears with a phone on the other side of the stage.

WITCH:

Hey, I found your number in the phone book...I found your address, too. I’m coming over.

JONNY:

What?

 WITCH:

Bursts through the door. Looks around. Her tone is playful.

Wow, this place is a shithole. All carpeted, right? Even the bathroom?

JONNY:

Yeah, how did you--

WITCH:

Been here before. Your closet is full of booze bottles and pizza bozes towering like a pyramid. You’re not going to get your damage deposit back, and you’re fine with that. The “living” room is a futon pad on the floor with a TV and a Playstation hooked up, and your bedroom is a mattress on the floor. You use an oversized flannel as a blanket. 

JONNY:

Uh. Yeah. How--

WITCH:

You still hungover?

JONNY:

Yeah. 

WITCH:

Well, clear the pizza box off that chair and we can talk. 

JONNY:

Hastily moves a pizza box. 

I’m sorry my apartment is such a mess.

WITCH:

I was just giving you shit. Mine is just as bad. 

JONNY:

Sits across from the Witch. They are silent, but not uncomfortably. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m so goddamn tired.

WITCH:

Me too. But it feels like we’re both back from the brink of whatever the hell had happened to us. Like we’re  finally sitting down, gasping for breath, not drowning, happy to be safe. 

JONNY:

Or at least pretending to be safe. 

WITCH:

Right.

JONNY:

So…what happened on the beach?

The Witch puts her head in her hands, slumps down. She looks up. 

WITCH:

It’s hard to explain. It’s no so much a ‘what was that,’ as a  ‘where were we?” type question. 

JONNY:

Jacoby…was dead, right?

WITCH nods.

Were we dead too? Did I die-

WITCH:

Snapping.  No. No, we weren’t dead. Jacoby died, we survived. 

JONNY:

I’m sorry. I just thought:

WITCH:

I’m sorry.  Jonny. I’ve been...going to that place...for a long, long time. As long as I can remember. And I’ve never had anyone else come with me. Usually, it’s easy. I offer a hand, tell them everything is going to be fine, and we walk. Sometimes, things get fucked up. The...bad thing comes.

JONNY sits in stunned silence. The WITCH gets up, goes to a fridge, and grabs a beer. She treats the kitchen as if it’s her own, as if she knows where everything is.  

Usually, when things get as bad as they did with Jacoby, I can’t save them. I...I try the best I can. But you...you saved him. You jumped in the water. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. 

JONNY:

                                     Sorry, what? What did I do? How did I save him?

WITCH:

He wasn’t going to go. He was going to get claimed by that...black shit, the oil. You helped him go beyond.  I want to see if you can do it again. But I need you to promise me something.

JONNY:

Gazes at her.

 Anything. 

WITCH:

                                                        You have to trust me. Please trust me. JONNY nods. The WITCH smiles, downs the entire beer in three gulps, and bounds out the door.  

                                                                              JONNY:

As he follows, he breaks, and addresses the audience.  I would have followed her anywhere.

SCENE 3

Lights up outside a dive bar called the “Blue Goose.”  JONNY and WITCH are standing. 

WITCH:

This is my favorite place. Shoulder to shoulder, shoes stick to the floor if you stand in one place for too long. 

JONNY:

Are we going inside?

WITCH:

No.  Someone is going to come out of that bar. They’re going to trip on the sidewalk, and when they fall, they’re going to get hit by a car.

JONNY:

What? We have to stop it--

WITCH:

I’ve tried. So many times. But we can’t. When it happens, let me do the talking, please.

CHARLIE stumbles from out of the bar. CHARLIE is in his late ‘60s. A BOUNCER trails behind him. 

BOUNCER:

                                                                        Go sleep it off, Charlie. 

      CHARLIE wobbles, tries to catch himself, and falls over, onto the road. SXF of screeching tires. Bouncer screams. 

JONNY:

A car raced over Charlie’s body with a thud, limbs caught in the wheels, bones snapping off like twigs. Parts of the man spilled out onto the road, crushed open like a smashed jack-o-lantern. Then, everything shifted. 

                                                            A striking shift in lighting. Stage is black again. A spotlight lights JONNY and the WITCH, and a separate beam illuminates CHARLIE. 

CHARLIE:  

Looking down at his hands. What happened? How am I sober?

WITCH:

I’m sorry, Charlie. 

CHARLIE:

Who are you? Points at JONNY. Who is he?

WITCH:

Friends. We’re here to help you, Charlie. There’s a few people waiting for you around the corner.

CHARLIE:

Who?

WITCH:

Nancy.

CHARLIE crumbles to the ground, sobbing. A light pulsates for a second, the same pulsation that happened with JACOBY. 

WITCH:

I know. You miss her. She’d love to see you, Charlie.  But we have to go. We can’t stay here.

CHARLIE:

Why?

WITCH:

“Because it’s not safe.”

CHARLIE:

Okay. 

He rises. As he rises, a sickly green lights up the stage. SXF of a screech tires. CHARLIE convulses, tendrils of sick light and smoke burst out of him. The scene is sickly green chaos. 

JONNY leaps in front of Charlie, and pull him in close, as if to protect him. SXF of a car whizzing by. 

To JONNY. 

You saved me.

JONNY:

We need to go. Before it comes back. 

They walk offstage, the WITCH holding JONNY’s hand. JONNY comes back onstage, addressing the audience. 

She slept over on the couch that night. With her there, even in the other room, I could sleep soundly. In the morning, I took her to get some coffee.

    WITCH comes onstage and they both sit at a table.

To the WITCH. So, where do you live?

WITCH:

Presses her mug tightly into her palm.  Nowhere. I got kicked out of my apartment after I was arrested.

JONNY:

TO audience.  I knew it was crazy, inviting someone I had just rear ended in a drunken bender to live with me. But I felt like I knew her. Like we had already met, that some deep part of me had studied her before, like she had spoken to me and I had listened. 

To WITCH. Do you want to move in?

            WITCH:

                                             Smiling. Sure. The WITCH addresses the audience. 

WITCH:

Jonny  moved in with me. We cleaned the place up. We went to court, lost our licenses for six months, and I managed to get a job at a Subway around the corner. His  parents helped us out with rent until Jonny got a job at a newspaper. We managed to be happy.  JONNY learned how to help people die. He learned how to exit death if things were getting bad, how to sense if the bad thing was coming. 

The first time we kissed, it was a few days before Christmas. We had been semi-platonic up until that point. We were watching the Grinch. Not the Jim Carrey one, the old school cartoon. I found it romantic, I guess. I leaned into him.

Our first kiss was on the pullout couch I slept on, and after that, I slept in the bedroom with him. The next morning, I got up before him and made eggs. She came into the kitchen, got a running start, and jumped on my back. I spun around, shifting her, and kissed him again. I grabbed his hand. And for a year and a half, we never let go. We were happy. Together. 

And we kept going to the other place. We kept saving people, walking with them. Someone would die. We would be there. We would help them along. 

One night, I went to work. And Jonny fell asleep on the couch.  WITCH exits.

JONNY:

A dream. Jacoby wasn’t there. I knew something was wrong. The dead can come in dreams, and they often do, and when the Witch and I would talk to each other about visits, it was almost like we were talking about old friends. Alvin was doing fine. Jen had managed to move on. Curtis was getting there. Mike was a piece of shit, but he was slowly learning how to not be an asshole.  The dreams followed a format. But Jacoby never showed up. He wasn’t ok. 

Lights up, mirroring the beach scene, JACOBY standing on the dock. 

                        JACOBY:

Robotic. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to loose my balance. I’m going to fall in. I’m going to drown, bloated, blue--

              JONNY:

NO!

JACOBY:

You have to jump in. You have to save me. You couldn’t. I was under the dock, drowning, and you couldn’t save me. Step in. Save me. 

JONNY:

                             JONNY steps out of his spotlight. He yelps in pain. It is like stepping into hot coals.

WITCH:

                  O.S

                                   Jonny. Don’t. Please. You can’t save him. 

JONNY:

                                         You said he was okay. He’s not okay. 

WITCH:

                             VOICE quivering. Please, turn around. You can’t do this. 

              JONNY:

Dives into the oil.

WITCH:

Screaming. JONNY!

JONNY, in the black, makes terrible noises as if he is choking. WITCH exits. Lights flood black on. JONNY is gasping, hands to his neck, emerging from the dream.

JONNY:

I need a fucking drink.  JONNY goes to the pantry and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He grabs a shot glass, but sets it down, and insteads opts for a pint glass, filling it, and chugging it. He does the same, again. He is now addressing the audience.

I felt heavy, like the gunk had latched onto my soul. I was back in the days after Jacoby died, back to thinking that if I drank I could get rid of the stain of not being able to save him. But this was different. This time, I couldn’t save Jacoby’s soul. Reality snarled at me, bit me in the face. I was a drunk. I had a criminal record. I was broke, in way over my head. And who was she, this woman I was obsessing over, the woman who I called the witch? I had the distinct feeling that I was being drawn into something that I couldn’t quite understand. I was fucking with people’s souls. Something deeper than myself, something far, far more important than me.

I didn’t want to be drawn into anything. All I wanted to do was drink myself to death. The stakes were incredible, and I knew that I was utterly unable to deal with whatever the hell happened again if it happened again. 

            JONNY goes to the fridge and takes a bottle of chilled rum. He puts it in  a paper bag.

I left my apartment with the intention of finally fucking dying. 

                  EXIT. END SCENE.

SCENE 4

                          Dark streets of Lewiston, Maine, between three and four in the morning. JONNY is stumbling, wandering. A lost soul. The WITCH speaks from offstage. 

                              WITCH:

Lewiston, Maine is an old factory town, mills empty; a town rooted in the whirling mechanics of the past, where the fog stopped rolling and the factories shut down.  A bridge connects Lewiston and Auburn.  Jonny had  been blacked out,  and subsequently,  came too  on the bridge.

The jump might not have killed him, but the river, in the winter, was fierce, overflowing; rapid. If he jumped, it could be over. And I guess that’s what he wanted. He wanted whatever happened to him, whateverhe  almost did to Jacoby, to never happen again. 

JONNY reaches a guardrail. He lifts a leg over it. The Witch appears on the other side of the stage.

Turn around.

Blue lights flash.

              JONNY:

It has to be now. 

      WITCH:

                    Jonny, turn around. 

                          Jonny stumbles, passes out beside the guardrail. He’s safe. 

                JONNY:

They pumped my stomach and they stabilized me. While I slept, I was back at the beach, this time, on the shore. I looked down at myself, and I was coated with tarry oil; I couldn’t breathe, my lips were sealed shut by the glob, sticking to my skin, and I failed, trying to gasp, mouth sealed shut; and I couldn’t see through the oil that had solidified on my eyes, I was buried alive, standing up, and I was flailing, and I was going to die—

I felt myself scrubbed away. I felt the tar removed, but by bit, first from the mouth, so I could breathe, the eyes, so I could see, and finally, I stood whole and clean. 

Someone was scrubbing my back. I turned around. It was the Witch. 

WITCH:

Furious.   Why didn’t you turn around?  You promised you would trust me.

JONNY:

I..I couldn’t. Whatever happened to Jacoby was my fault. I shouldn’t have been there…

WITCH:

Look at me. It’s not your fault. But you have to listen to me. Please. I only have so much to give, and tonight, you took most of it.  When you see me, I’m going to be weak. I’m not going to be myself. But still, for the love of everything, you have to trust me.

JONNY:

I...I always trust…

WITCH:

No.  Angry again. If you trusted me, you would have turned around. Whatever that thing was on the dock, it wasn’t Jacoby. It wanted you to dive in, and you fell right into it.

JONNY: 

I’m sorry…

WITCH:

Anger dies. Sadness rises.  I don’t forgive you, not yet. I… I...can’t carry this weight on my own.  Anyone can be ruined, Jonny.  I love you. You can’t be the one who ruins me.

JONNY:

To the audience.  I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by family, with an incredible guilt. And not because I had just tried to kill myself. But because I had hurt the one who had tried to save me. The one who wanted me to be ok. I could almost feel the Witch, almost feel how that oil had set into her, how I put that heavy stone on her chest.  I spent a day in bed at the hospital.  They put me on some sedatives. The next day, they sent me to a psychward. 

NURSE enters. She is giving JONNY a tour of the ward. JONNY is shuffling behind. 

                NURSE:

This is the nurses’ stations. Line up for evening meds after dinner. Here are the showers…

The WITCH, looking incredibly awful--hair in a ragged mess, wearing dirty sweatpants--sits in a chair. The NURSE and JONNY pass by. JONNY almost walks by, but sees the WITCH. He stares at her. She doesn’t recognize him. The NURSE keeps walking, unaware that JONNY has paused.

We have group at noon, three, and six…

                            JONNY:

. To audience.  It looked like she hadn’t washed for days. Her long hair was filthy, ends frayed, and she stared off into the distance. She looked at me, but her eyes danced off somewhere else.  And, for a moment, they went black, like someone had dipped her irises in oil. 

NURSE:

                                                         Hey! You can’t be in there! Jonathan! 

                                      JONNY moves stage center. WITCH and the NURSE leave.

JONNY:

The nurses wouldn’t let me in her room. I couldn’t talk to her. I spent a lot of my time sleeping, trying to reach out to the witch, trying to meet her again.  But I didn’t know how. There had to be a ritual, some way to get to that place, the beach, the inbetween, as she called it.  But every time we went to that place, she touched me. Her touch was the gateway. And I couldn’t get near her. She spent most of her time locked in her room. Days turned into weeks. I kept sleeping. The ward was a secure floor, the rooms consisting of two beds, a desk, and a locker. My roommate was named Joe. For the first few weeks, he was detoxing, so he was in bed almost as much as I was. 

When it was meal time, we gathered in the hallway, where we all lined up while the food cart rolled in and we were served, one by one. Most everyone in the ward were detoxing, or alcoholics, or had OD’d, and it wasn’t like insane people in straightjackets. Everyone was quiet. 

Scene shifts to the ward cafeteria. 

We got our food and went into the kitchen, where they had us sign out forks and knives so no one could try to kill themselves in the bathroom.  There wasn’t much talking. We were all hungover, scared, or in withdrawal. Until the stranger came in. 

JONNY is sitting, eating. A LINE of 2-3 people has formed, and an ORDERLY is handing out food. A wild, greasy, unkempt man with hair long to his back, a pencil-thin mustache and long fingernails shuffles on with his mouth half open, in a complete daze. He walks right into the back of a woman waiting in line. She turns around, starts to say the word “sorry,” and he swings on her, screaming--

                GLEN:

                                          Don’t FUCKING TOUCH ME YOU FUCKING CUNT!

The caferia erupts. NURSES grab GLEN, and one takes the woman, who is bleeding from the face offstage. They drag GLEN offstage, leaving the stage bare, except for JONNY.

JONNY:

He was carted off to the isolation room and sedated. Dinner was normal. I went to bed.  I woke up in the morning to screaming coming from the TV room.. MAN screams.  JONNY dashes to the TV room. The asshole from yesterday’s breakfast barracaded himself inside by sticking a chair underneath the handle so it couldn’t open from the outside. The nurses were banging at the door and the patients were lining the hallway; the door to the ward flung open and five security guards poured in and pushed us back away from the door to the room.

LIGHTS transform. Stage is black, spare a spotlight on GLEN, who is holding a butterknife to a man’s throat and sawing at it. The man is thrashing, trying to get GLENN OFF, but GLEN has him in a hold.  A spotlight pops up on JONNY, who is just to the left of them. 

JONNY: It’s over. He’s dead.  Put the knife down.

GLEN:

  Yellowed teeth in a wide grin. 

                      It’s not over!  It’s not over, we’re just getting warmed up, you fucking idiot! I already got his fucking soul! I cracked his  bones and I splattered his blood on the white wall and he’s mine! Just like Jacoby!

JONNY:

 Launches himself at Glen, but as he does, it is like an explosion catapults him backwards. The man with the sawed throat begins to cough, hacking. If possible, he hacks up black liquid. 

GLEN:

This ain’t what you’re used to, bucko. Usually, that bitch you call a witch makes everything ok, right? Polly Anne takes them around the corner into forever peace. Well, I’m a greedy bastard. I want you, boy. I want everyone. And God damn am I going to take you. 

Sawed throat man convulses. LIGHTS pulsate. GLEN hovers over him. The sawed man is screaming in pain. On the other side of the stage, in the black, the WITCH has come out with a chair, and is sitting, comatose. JONNY breaks as if he is going to tackle GLEN, but runs straight past, to the WITCH. 

        GLEN: 

YOU FUCKING COWARD!

BLACKOUT on GLEN. Spotlight up on the Witch. Using black paper mache, she looks like a burned corpse. She is breathing laborously. JONNY is panting. 

Where'd ya go? Where’d ya go? To save your fucking whore of a girlfriend? I fucked her already. I’m gunna fuck ya both! Gunna rip you apart! Gunna make you watch her.

JONNY pulls the same move GLENN did and uses a chair to prop the door closed. He hastily begins to peel layer after layer of the void off of the WITCH.

Inch by inch, the WITCH is revealed. Her mouth is uncovered. She gasps. Her eyes are uncovered. She blinks.

JONNY:

              I will never let anything like this happen again, I swear to you. GLEN breaks through, into the room. JONNY squares off with him. With whatever special effects your theater can muster, GLEN unhinges  his jaw, a monster with innumerable teeth, skin dancing up like an oil flame. This is his dreadful form. JONNY holds the WITCH in his arms as GLEN hovers over them. The WITCH feebly raises her arms. GLEN freezes. JONNY and the WITCH scurry OFFSTAGE. 

                          END SCENE.

SCENE 5.

A therapist’s office. JONNY is still clad in hospital robes, and is speaking with a therapist. 

THERAPIST:

                                I’m proud of you. You’ve been doing the work. 

JONNY:

Thanks. 

THERAPIST:

Are the meds working?

JONNY:

Yeah. 

THERAPIST:

Do you think you’re ready to leave?

JONNY:

I think so. 

THERAPIST:

What’s your support system at home? What’s your discharge plan?

JONNY:

I’m going home to live with my parents. I’ll get a job at the corner store near my house. My parent’s insurance covers therapy. 

THERAPIST:

                    Great. 

THERAPIST gets up and leaves. JONNY addresses the audience.

    JONNY:

I recovered, I guess. Or I played along enough to get discharged. After Glen was arrested and sent to a max-security ward upstate, I decided to just complete the therapeutic coloring pages and say what I thought they wanted to hear.  The witch kept a distance. When she did look at me, she glanced at me, like she was ashamed, like she was the one who had fucked up royally. I knew she needed to be apart, I knew she needed to recover. So I left the ward withough saying goodbye.

A day later, I was in a minivan, my silent dad driving, my mom in the passenger's seat, smiling faintly. It was raining.  

              MOM:

      O.S

It’s good to have you home.

JONNY:

And, for a while at least, it was good to be home. The Witch gnawed at me, though. I missed her.

Sometimes, when I rose at night, alone, I’d think she was there, trick myself into thinking I saw her shadow move in the hallways. I’d say something out loud to her and expect her to respond. I’d look in the passenger’s seat and realize that she wasn’t sitting next to me and I’d slam my fists on the dash. I’d scream and pull over. Then, the dreams started. 

SAWED MAN enters with a TV remote. His throat is raw. 

SAWED MAN:

I was watching Love It or List It. I never even saw him coming. To JONNY. You know he stole my soul, right?

JONNY:

I’m sorry. 

SAWED MAN:

“No. Don’t. You don’t get to say you’re sorry. You could have tried.  SXF: Bone cracking and breaking. 

Slowly, like an owl, his head twists towards JONNY, but his neck unmoving. Black oil pours from his eyes. 

  JONNY:

This went on for a few months. The terrible nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, continuing on with my cookie-cutter day like everything was fine. I got promoted, saved up enough money to move out again. I started looking for the dying. I needed to help.  The Witch taught me some rituals. To find a death, the mind had to be clear, and the guide, the map, was a copper pendulum, kept in a pocket, as close to the core of the body heat as possible, smudged with oils, used to ask what poor soul would soon need help leaving the earth. JONNY lights incense, and places his forearm on a table, using the pendulum.   In my mind came the location, a farm, and the time, 3 p.m., and the name. When the name came, the world crashed. Her name. The witch was going to die. 

I tried her old cell phone. It was disconnected. I ran outside, to the car, and fled as fast as I could, to the farm, out in the country, about 40 minutes away. 

The ritual was never wrong. The ritual was never wrong, but how could the Witch die? I had left her to protect her, to keep her from the slog of me, that followed me wherever I went. It was noon. She had three hours left on earth. 

Fast, pushing 80. Made the 45 minute trip in 30; everything seemed like it was blurred down into moments, each second seemed like something vital was being chipped away.  One of her first lessons she taught me after Jacoby was that you couldn't change death. It came. If the bell was rung, if the process began, it could not be stopped without a life slipping from earth.

I pulled into her driveway, skidded to a halt, kicking up dust from the gravel. I flung the car door open, kicked open her slanted gate and ran up the path, towards the white farmhouse. 

She was waiting for me on the screened-in porch. 

WITCH:

Hi. 

JONNY:

                                Frantic. Oh my God are you--do you know--

WITCH:

Yes. I am going to die. 

JONNY starts to shake, and the WITCH embraces him. They melt into eachother. She leads him to a blanket, where they lay together. 

WITCH:

I felt his pain melt away. We lay together in the dimly lit living room, candles flickering. I traced my fingers across his face, memorizing it. I pushed back his hair, studying him. He did the same.  Death isn't so bad. The hardest part is the forgetting, the forgetting of the voice, of the features of the face, the way the eyes dance and the way the skin reflects in the sun; the way the numbing of the days passed leaves the leftover, the one on earth with just an abstract thought of the tangible, living person.  I knew that. I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of bright lights go dark. 

I got up.

BOTH stand, and walk together.

 I could tell that he was afraid to follow. But he did. I led him outside, through my yard cluttered with scraps of wood and a rusted out grill. He followed me onto the farm,  and followed me to the back paddock, where my goats stood on the slight incline leading up to the barn, bleating loudly at us. 

To JONNY.

Close your eyes.

He does.

SXF: a gunshot. The WITCH collapses.  Shallow breathing, gurgling, breath forced like her lungs are full of pebbles;  lying in a pool of blood. 

                                         The lights change to a spotlight on the WITCH, and a spotlight on JONNY.

WITCH:

Come. JONNY hesitates. I'm ready. But I don't think you're ready to walk with me.

              JONNY:

How can I ever be ready? Falls to his knees. How can I say goodbye? There’s no way to do it. No way to say goodbye. I’ll always wanting one more; one more touch, one more glimpse into your face, one more conversation. There is no light enough to fill the void. 

WITCH:

The terror isn't here. We don't have to worry about it. I prepared this for you. It's beautiful, isn't it?

Lighting resembles a orange twilight sunset, jutting out from behind purple clouds in brillant, paint brush strokes. 

             A cool breeze, refreshing, like a thunderstorm rolling in from the corner of the sky. Peace.

            JONNY:

Thank you. It's wonderful.

WITCH:

"I've lived for about a thousand years, Jonny. I've had many lives with many different people. I've loved many. I love you. But we all have to take the long walk. You know that. And there are still many people left in the world that you can help, but you need to promise me something.

JONNY:

                                                               Of course.

WITCH:

Promise me that you will help. For as long as you live.

JONNY nods. He takes her hand, and they walk. 

I nodded. I took her hand. We walked. 

END

[nalyra-dreaming]

Do you think we’ll ever get a Lestat/Louis/Armand threesome scene 🌚

Hey! :)

I mean... I'd personally love it *g*

I am not sure how literal the show will translate the relationships especially for Armand and Marius in relation to the others though.

One of the craziest things about it all is that Armand wanted Lestat (badly) and LESTAT took one good look at him and noped out. (Lestat. Like, you cannot make that up^^). That said, I have theorized before that they could also take the route of crash-and-burn for Lesmand, which would still work I think. These vampires have sex... and they share blood. And the latter definitely happens in the books between them (voluntary and involuntary(!)), so the show might make the assault Armand makes onto Lestat more... "rapey" (for the lack of a better word) than it already is in the books.

And Marius also lets Lestat drink from him... it might include shared beds, who knows (I wouldn't mind *innocent whistling*). It's definitely not out of scope.

So, as with a lot of other things, it depends on where we are in Dubai, and what Armand's relationship to Louis is.

Like, if he is actually keeping Louis prisoner there (as I have seen theorized) there is no way Lestat will take lightly to this (which would negate any threesome between them I think). However, I don't truly see that. I think Louis has holed himself up there, and Armand is trying to help (in his own way). So when Lestat finally shows up in Dubai (in whatever cataclysmic event that is needed for that shift) then all bets are off I think :)

I know people focused a lot on the "infidelity" of season 1 (and, as said, I don't think the directed focus was coincidental), but these relationships... are ever shifting, and not that hung up on "our" morals anymore. Sex is likely a comfort, something nice, while the blood is probably still the most intimate form of sharing.

Of course, with the actual setting of Dubai it also depends on what Armand's and Lestat's actual relationship is. If they are in the Prince Lestat era then there will be some very interesting words that could be spoken. Especially if we get to Blood Communion....

But in that era a threesome is a possibility I think - at the show's version of "the chateau" or "Night Island" (depending).

And Marius would be there then as well.

I could see a threesome between him, Daniel and Armand to be honest. There is some very interesting friction there for those three in the later books as well, and I BET they picked that up for the show.

I don't really see Louis (and so by extension Lestat) entering a threesome with him though. Other than fascination there is never that much interaction between them in the books, and I bet Marius wasn't too happy when Lestat made Louis and Gabrielle those he goes to for council (instead of him).

((There is this interesting passage in PLatRoA, where Lestat muses somewhat testily why Marius puts up with him at all, since he regained so much vitality creating the rulings and constitution, etc. And proposes rulings to Lestat which Lestat then refuses to follow.))

So if we are somewhere in PLatRoA... I don't think Lestat and Louis will enter a threesome with Marius. There is... a rift there, a rift mentioned by Lestat and others, namely that he did not enter to be the pupil to Marius as Marius wanted him to.

This refusal to be what Marius wanted him to be shapes their relationship, as much as Marius' refusal to rescue Armand over the centuries (totally apart from their shared history) shapes theirs. Though the latter relationship definitely found a turning point through Benji and Sybille, eventually. (I'm not a 100% sure we will see them on the show, BUT ... like, Benji = Benjamin = the baby???!!, so one never knows^^).

Soooooo tl:dr; Maybe :)))

It's certainly possible.

[irlbop]

Spoilers for Rite Here, Rite Now involved but

I dunno guys…

As chewy as the theory that DeFroque is Copia’s twin is…I dunno if I buy into it. Or maybe it’s that I don’t buy into him being Papa V. Probably the latter tbh. Hear me out:

In terms of telling a classic type of story, it actually lines up pretty well with DeFroque being the technically evil twin compared to Copia. That, and going off of that, having one twin be the leader of a satanic church while the other is a catholic priest (albeit extremely corrupted) has some dynamic value.

But I don’t know if the story it works well in is that of Ghost’s. Ghost has a bleary timeline and inconsistencies, yeah, but I don’t know if I’d call it unstable enough to wedge in DeFroque as much more than a caricature meant to symbolize the hypocrisy and corruption of leaders in the Church. That, and to be more to the point, in no particular order, these:

Fucked up and disloyal to what he preaches as he is, DeFroque is still very much an arrogant asshole with a holier-than-thou mindset. While I can somewhat see him leaving from Catholicism after being tempted by the power being a Papa might have at first blush, he’d probably be more likely to dramatically reject the offer and play up how he rejected the temptation of Satan to appear more powerful to his congregation. That way he can continue with his current reputation and then some because now everyone thinks he’s truly instilled with the power of God and Christ. Instead of just, you know, a manipulative opportunist who weighed his options.

I don’t know about y’all but like. I just. I can’t learn to love this guy. I’m sorry. Props to the actor and the cinematographer and director and so on for “Jesus He Knows Me” but they did too good a job and now he has a face only a mother wouldn’t punch. (Disclaimer: If you see this man on the street, please do not punch or harass him, I am sure he’s a pleasant enough person in real life.) Yeah, he embraces sin but the difference between how he does it and how the Papas encourage you to do it is that he’s such a hypocrite about it and uses his position to take advantage of and exploit both his congregation and those who are taught to trust him due to Christianity positing so much inherent trust on its leaders. I can only imagine that if he were to become Papa V, he’d be smug about it, but in a completely uncharming manner.

I dunno if I believe homeboy’s got the pipes. Dude was snortin’ and hacking during that glitch video. He very likely did a line off the communion plate right before filming. Can they omit this for performances or claim Ministry Magic? Absolutely yes. But also. Ya can’t just do all that coke characterizing and then stop and we have to forget it happened. Pepperidge Farm remembers.

Perhaps the biggest issue I’m grappling with is… How will the mask thing work?? Jim DeFroque is a wholeass person with an established wholeass person’s face. If Tobias were to commission even the best dang mask-designer to recreate the face, it’d still come out uncanny, and not in the goofball way Copia’s faces have been. It’d be almost skinsuit-like, I reckon. So unless Tobias is planning on passing the torch to a new singer…Nope, no, we’re not going there —

Please don’t rob me of seeing Copia’s Cardinal Face one last time please —

Now all this isn’t to say that DeFroque couldn’t still be Copia’s twin. I just can’t see him being Papa V. But then hey, what do I know? Tobias is a troll so he could very well pull this out of that Swedish otter ass of his and I’d have to accept it through teeth so gritted, they crunch. I’d also probably have to fight him for it but I think he’s prepared to deal with that.

This also isn’t to say that if you love the theory that DeFroque is Copia’s twin, you are wrong and must be attacked. No: Love your theories, keep making guesses. Engage! This is just a theory I personally have trouble buying into/do not want to buy into because. God. Fuck that guy.

Actually, scratch that, I do know something: I may be very new to the Ghost fandom but if DeFroque becomes Papa V, he will become the first Papa I’d ever want to slug.