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@biblepushing
#biblepushing — independent, private, iconless writing blog for father gabriel stokes of the walking dead. preaching through cat ( they/them, twenty-six, eastern standard ). sideblog to @yellowbrckrd. read the rules on the main before interacting.
You’re trying to do the right thing now. He sees that. I do, too. THE WALKING DEAD — 11x21 “Outpost 22”
ironrot ; katherine.
is the judgment on her face evident enough? or must she further jut out her lower lip, scowl harder? it cannot be overstated — the distaste she feels watching his faith unfold. news flash, she thinks, the world is kind of fucked and i don’t think god’s been answering our calls. not that she believes there is one; what kind of god would have allowed this to happen? sighing, her free hand lifts to tuck away a strand of dark hair behind her ear. the other hand clutches a knife. she, unlike some people, always comes prepared. roll of the eyes, scoff of the throat, katherine is quick to step forward and plunge the blade into the beast’s skull. its writhing and seemingly agitated groaning quickly cease, and as she removes the knife, it drops limply to the ground. why did she do it? certainly not self preservation — it was trapped, hurting no one. most of her decisions boil down to spite. “i know what it is,” bitterly leaves the mouth of the sinner as she glares at the saint. standing straight, she idly swings the knife. “it is entirely useless, in case you haven’t noticed. it isn’t going to keep one of those things from going to town on you some day. how ‘bout instead of preaching to the choir, you learn how to actually do something? crazy thought, i know.”
the sheer horror that occurs to him as she crosses to attend to the writhing walker is enough to make him recede into himself, almost makes him audibly whimper. he backs up, arms coiling inward to console himself as he watches . . . must watch, can’t look away . . . shouldn’t watch, but he must. must expose himself to reality of this new life . . . and it is gut-wrenching. soul reconciles with heaven above in a simple swipe of her knife, only punctuated by the anticlimactic thud! of the body. it lays limply . . . and, except for the white noise of the animate forest, it is quiet . . . the silence is deafening. he truly had been smitten by god . . . this was his punishment.
❛ . . . ‘if . . . it is god’s will, thy will be done’ . . . ! ❜ is his only argument, shying and squinting away from the straying blade of the knife she brandishes. he raises the palm of his hand to shield himself. ❛ please don’t point that thing at me. you should put it away. ❜ the only weapon they needed was the word of god. ❛ . . . and you had no good reason to do that! it wasn’t going to hurt anyone . . . it was trapped . . . ❜ no good reason to inflict violence upon a defenseless creature, even with its capacity to ‘go to town’ on him in any other circumstance . . . it was god’s to avenge. he repays.
he brings his hands together in a gentle clasp as he casts his gaze hell bound, feasts his eyes on the ungodly sight before him . . . a trapped rotter under a fallen tree. these images were beginning to mingle in familiar patterns in father gabriel’s brain, burrowing homes in the catacombs of his subconscious, even flirting shamelessly with the collapse of his faith . . . but fear and faith weren’t supposed to belong in the same sentence. and skittish as he may be ordinarily, he does not bat an eye, not anymore . . . merely observes as it snarls, gnashes its terrible teeth, swats its free arm with impressive triumph toward the onlookers. luckily, he comes prepared . . . ❛ ‘and so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen . . . since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen----- . . . is eternal’ . . . ❜ unfortunately for them, the only weapon he wields is biblical prose perhaps more platitudinous than the sight itself. as one might imagine, it does very little to temper the gnarly beast. in fact, it seems to snarl louder. ❛ that’s corinthians, 4:18 . . . ❜ he crooks his head in @ironrot‘s direction, though his eyes remain sutured to the ghastly sight below . . . merely temporary.
Blind Melon - The Pusher (Nico 1996)
