#wasriight

[baptst]

@wasriight / BECAUSE...

IT WAS A FAMILIAR PICTURE / JOHN SEED LAYING ON THE COLD TILES OF A BATHROOM FLOOR. Blood is caked thick and red around his nose, the telltale sign of white powder there too, if you were close enough to see. He wasn’t a fool, of course he would keep some just in case. Did they really think he wouldn’t? What better a way to test his virtue after all, then to dangle temptation before his face and prove every day he was strong. But he wasn’t, was he? Not always. And certainly not on the day they found Holly Pepper’s mangled corpse in the woods. Well, what was left of her anyway. This wretched, miserable wilderness had already laid claim to her with infinite teeth. All that was left to identify her was her lovely red hair. What she could have done to deserve SUCH CRUELTY was beyond him, the master himself. He conducted himself with grace and compassion when they’d called him in to assess the situation and guide their next actions. For once the mask he wore ‘round the flock was not fabricated as his distress was made known.

The incline should not have been so steep, nor the drop so far back into oblivion. The woman was nothing to him, not really. HE DIDN’T LOVE HER, he didn’t intend to keep her or take her as a wife. She was not his equal. Jacob had told him as much, had warned him to be careful. . . Yet her loss leaves him crumpled, diminished & small, like he is once more a child hiding from his parents rituals. John slams a fist through his introspection, for the alternatives are much worse, threatening to lead him down blasphemous paths. How could his brother do this to him? How could he not trust him? Had John not proved himself again and again? It was HIS job to vet all that entered, his job to see into their hearts. He knew them best, he knew her best. Was it truly so terrible that he should want companionship? Was he so undeserving of it? Is that why Jacob hide himself away in the mountains? TO AVOID HIS MONSTER OF A BROTHER? The barrage of questions stream past him like falling rain, deep into the abyss opened by his beloved vice and out of sight. He ought to crawl to his room and repent for such bile against his eldest brother. . . He remains motionless on the floor.

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil as he stares up at the shaded figure before him. Death, perhaps. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him. He was undeserving after all he did, to be anyway but the dark. But no, it’s Joseph, The Father standing before him. Somehow thats worse. Guilt claws at his guts as they twist and write inside him like snakes, threatening to make him wretch all over the floor. Instead he croaks out a broken ‘Joe. . .? Joey? ’ In a voice he hadn’t heard in years. Tears of humiliation and shame well in bloodshot, blown eyes. Yes, this was much worse than a swift death. The baptist runs cold as his flesh burns hot, imagining a great tide is washing over him and dragging him down to the depths where he belonged. ‘ I-I’m sorry. . . Wha'do I keep doing wrong. . . ? Why did he –– wh –– M’sorry, Joey. ’

[sherezgone]

HTTP:// STARTER - @wasriight​

HER  LIPS  ARE  WHITE  AS  SHE  STANDS  OUTSIDE  THE  DOOR,  swaying slightly in place like a flower caught in a wind storm. In her arms the infant lets out a grunt of displeasure, squirming in her mothers grasp as if she too knew they were not supposed to be there. Barely twenty minutes in this world and a summons had her mother hobbling some godawful distance across the bunker to see The Father. The heavy scent of copper hangs around her like a miasma, blood running in a steady rivulet down her legs and onto the floor below. A fist raises to knock again, harder this time as a stab of pain flickers through her like lightening. The birth had not been easy, though at least her child had deigned to live. The price just happened to be her body splitting in two. How desperately she wanted to sit, wanted to lay once more in that miserable little cot she shared with Jakob until her the world stopped spinning. No such luck for her, as the Patriarch greets her with a benevolent smile. She imagines, not for the first time, him eating her stillborn son with that same expression. Perhaps he intended to dine on her daughter too and wished her to see him savor each bite. 

‘ You wanted to see her. ’  She rasps, wobbling into the room as he closes the door behind her. It shuts with a resounding click that makes her blood freeze. Ksenia lets out another grunt, eerie blue eyes opening to glare up at her as V rocks her gently in her arms [ Or swaying, perhaps, as blood loss dizzies her further ] ‘ She needs to eat soon, so if you don’t mind. . .’ Let’s get this over with.

[arentwejusterrified]

it’s 5am in Thailand and I can’t sleep bc I have the fear hahahahaha

[ezerkenegdc]

@wasriight       +     sc

     “     can  i  keep  it  ?     ”

[ezerkenegdc]

“   we  have  something  everyone  spends  their  whole  life  searching  for .   ”     /   @wasriight

—    the  arms  of  the  ocean  are  carrying  me  /  and  all  this  devotion  is  rushing  out  of  me. his  uncovered  chest  was  warm  against  her  back  as  he  wrapped  himself  further  around  her  unfixed  frame  to  rest  his  head  against  the  crook  of  her  neck. his  closeness  was  wanted  and  welcomed  by  her  so  she  adjusted  her  stance  to  be  a  little  wider  to  support  their  joint  weight  as  her  flour  coated  hands  gently  pinched  at  the  kneaded  bread  dough  laying  in  a  semi-round  lump  upon  their  butcher’s  block. he  did  not  speak  ;  she  did  not  speak. there  was  nothing  to  be  said  so  early  in  the  morning  that  had  not  already  been  said  a  thousand  times  over  between  them. instead  she  continued  her  task  of  making  their  daily  bread  as  the  sun  peeked  and  then  creeped  along  their  ankles  and  calves  until  it  reached  the  back  of  their  knees. a  long  finger  uncurled  from  the  apron  strings  it  had  purposefully  tangled  itself  within  to  draw  a  single  heart  in  the  leftover  flour  that  decorated  the  corner  of  the  board. pausing  her    task  ,    the  little  heart  sent  her  own  fluttering  which  then  caused  a  small  smile  to  tug  at  the  corner  of  her  scarred  mouth  which  he  then  kissed  as  if  he  had  been  waiting  for  that  moment. he  tasted  like  the  montana  honey  he  slathered  across  his  toast  earlier  that  morning  ,    and  she  found  the  taste  of  it  just  a  little  bit  addictive.

     when  they  parted,  he  sighed  with  contentment  and  broke  the  silence  that  had  comfortably  settled  upon  them  by  saying    “    we  have  something  people  spend  their  whole  lives  searching  for.    ”    he  earned  another  smile  with  a  comment  like  that  ,    but  there  was  no  kiss  to  steal  it  away  this  time  as  he  was  already  stealing  the  warmth  from  her  body  and  the  room  as  he  moved  to  get  ready  for  his  day.

     in  his  absence  ,  hannah’s  thoughts  filled  the  space  that  had  been  left  behind.  like  the  honey  from  his  lips,  her  thoughts  were  colored  in  the  same  sticky  sweetness  as  she  recalled  the  last  twenty  -  seven  years  of  their  lives  together  ;    their  something  he  had  called  it.   the  way  he  looked  almost  shy  when  he  told  her  his  name  ,  the  white  and  wilting  flowers  that  were  held  in  her  sweaty  palms  as  she  declared  her  love  before  god  and  witness  ,  the  way  he  looked  to  her  before  laughing  ,  their  quaint  apartment  with  the  peeling  wallpaper  in  the  bathroom  ,    the  way  he  spoke  to  the  growing  curve  of  her  stomach  ,    the  hand  carved  walnut  bassinet  that  he  had  been  building  ,     the  way  he  held  her  that  night  and  every  night  after  they  returned  to  a  place  that  no  longer  felt  like  a  home.  that  was  something . she  knew  that  was  something  ,  and  it  was  worth  searching  for  ,    but  what  could  be  said  for  the  moments  in  between  the  somethingness  or  when  that  somethingness  was  tested  ?    would  they  still  lace  up  their  shoes  and  double  check  their  bags  before  heading  out  if  they  knew  about  those  moments  ?    would  they  hesitate  if  they  really  knew  what  it  meant  to  love  a  prophet  ?  

     the  bread  was  placed  in  the  oven  and  her  hands  were  washed. as  she  dried  them  with  a  ratty  tea  towel  he  came  sweeping  back  into  the  room  with  his  glasses  slipping  down  the  bridge  of  his  nose  and  his  book  haphazardly  tucked  under  his  arm.  upon  seeing  joseph  seed  ,   hannah  seed  knew  ,  without  hesitation  ,  that  yes  ,  their  something  was  worth  it.  it  was  worth  it  all.

[xedenbound]

“ how did this happen? “

From injury prompts!

The sound of his voice makes Aideen blink; like she wasn't embarrassed enough as it was, the fact that she's been found by Joseph Seed of all people does not help.

"Oh! Hello, Father."

There's blood in the sink, one of her hands pressing reddened gauze into the palm of the other. Aideen had been staring off into space, absently trying to mentally keep track of when 5 minutes was up to check if the bleeding had stopped so she could dress her wound, clean up after herself and go back to what she'd been doing.

She's not exactly the most social of Joseph's flock. A gentle disposition that tended to hang just on the fringes socially. When it comes to devotion, she's just as loyal as the rest of them; but she was not the chattiest, happy to sit and listen to someone else talk her ear off for however long the course of the conversation ran.

She'd been helping in the kitchen today, finding herself surprisingly talkative and engaged with the others. More involved, not just being an observer chiming in when asked a question.

She'd sequestered herself to tend to her injury, not wanting to bother anyone with her foolishness.

“I was helping cut food up for tonight, and my hand slipped when I sneezed.” felt it coming, gone to cover her face and- well, here she was.

[baptst]

LYIRIC STARTERS  / breath of life - florence + the machine / @wasriight​

     ‘ My  heart  is  a  hollow  plane,  for  the  devil  to  dance  again. ’ he anticipates disapproval in spades as Joseph watches him pour himself another glass of whiskey. aged at least forty years, imported from god knows where and atrociously expensive. it burns as surely as his disobedience. the beginnings of shame coloring his cheeks as he raises his glass towards the Father in a toast. the duncan’s had blessed him with the burden of guilt. no holy baptism seemed able to sweep it from his shoulders, at least not under the watchful eye of his elder brother.  john had already crossed the invisible line, so he gestures towards the amber bottle sitting atop his desk ‘ Single  malt,  smooth  as  silk.  you  should  have  a  glass. ’

[sherezgone]

“Her passing was a thing of grace, I promise you.”  @wasriight​

VASYA  WAS  NOT  ONE  TO  CRY;  withholding her tears even as a child. They served only to to bring her adversaries joy and subject her to a monstrous headache. She doesn’t find the catharsis everyone else seems to. They make her feel fragile as cracked glass, like one touch would send her crumbling into unmendable sharp pieces. It was long overdue though and she was breaking anyway. The mercenary can’t place why the subject shatters her so. She’d heard far worse in her time in this miserable place, why should this be any different? Perhaps it was the herald of its message. Perhaps it was his gut-churning conviction. The blue of his eyes were so cold, so sincere that V find’s herself doubled over gasping. Her cheeks are slick and glittering with infinite tears and mascara, like some horrible, stigmata’d madonna. They course down her face in waves that burn her chapped skin, mixing with the blood on her lips. She doesn’t want to hear this story again, closing her eyes and inching away from him.

‘ Grace...? Grace?! ’  her raspy voice cracks on the words,  manic gaze finally meeting his ‘How dare you speak of grace. She was your daughter and you were just fucking scared to step up and take care of her. She needed you. ’ Vasya did not think herself maternal in any sense of the word, stripped away, along with her ability to bear children as some sort divine punishment. Not that she ever particularly wanted children, never seeing the appeal of forcing another life into this wretched existence. Yet some primordial instinct rises within her like a snake, venom pooling in her mouth ready to spit at the man before her. She’s shaking from head to toe like she’s just stumbled out of the bliss-poisoned Henbane, her breath ragged as her body seems to make itself aware of the trauma Hope County has inflicted on her. Violet eyes snap shut once more and hands move to clamp over her ears. If she wasn’t careful she’d spiral into another seizure, the telltale itch at her nose suggesting the onset of a nosebleed and the convulsions that would soon follow. Joseph Seed didn’t need to see her more vulnerable than she already was. ‘ Nothing you say will ever justify it you fucking coward. Even Isaac was spared from death. ’