Welcome to the Family

Farcry 5's Joseph Seed RP Blog. 21+. Prophecized by Fox. 

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

Flame should curl from the map, the paper drifting to black ash while smoke further saturates the air. It’s one Hell of a scowl burning into it, the only barrier sparing the glare’s full force from the Father. It irks her, this familiarity: unfounded, unwarranted, unwanted. He doesn’t know her. At most he’s heard reports, just another check-mark in the endless laundry list preceding the collapse. How much went un-marked? The paper warbles, another sheet peeling back in her search for a frame of reference before the whole pile drops. 

Just change her name.

Start anew.

Forget everything that was and might have been as if their extinction eliminated their existence. Like none of it matters… like it wasn’t her name. 

                                                                                      ~~~

Miles eat away beneath their feet. Each step reaches out, grasping the blackened Earth on what she can only hope is the right path; wonders if it’s that for which Joseph prays when she cannot make out the words. Such hubris, they had: relying on technology and taking comfort in that newer, better, and faster would come along. Now the satellites float useless among the bright specks of stars, a failed system of guidance among the means by which they should have stuck. The strange pair–shepherd and black sheep– hardly speak, words traded for the gentle steering of hands, a slide of the gaze. They’re tired both in body and spirit. Toni sweats in spite of the chill of the smoke-shrouded skies, the wound in her shoulder gone red and angry. He’d done the best he could–anyone could– with that which they had. She doesn’t blame him, simply curls closer to the warmth of the man beside her in whatever warren in which nightfall finds them settled. Perhaps that’s why it takes her so long to notice.

Voices bounce to them from the bare rock, distorted by distance and shape. Two, distinct for all that she can’t make out words. Mere days, but it already feels like so long with the world around them turned alien. Too silent. No background roar of engines slowly burning away the world, no hoards of people and the chiming of phones bringing them closer together and further apart. Not even the chirping of birds and insects all struck from the sky to be kicked amid the dust at their feet. But those were, undeniably voices. And close. Toni’s hand shoots out, fingers curling around Joseph’s wrist. 

“Wait.”

The word’s cracked, emerging from her dry throat with little more volume than a breath. For all the she gave the order, grey eyes search blue bowing to his authority without conscious thought. 

@thefcther

They had been traveling together for some time now. Long enough for them to start worrying about food and water. Long enough for him to worry about the wound in her shoulder. They don’t travel much once the infection begins. She needs her strength. They’ve been on a long stretch of highway for some time. The first sign of civilization, he intended to find somewhere to take her, so she could rest. Perhaps he might find some antibiotics to help her fight off the infection. 

But a new obstacle has arisen first. His head lifts when she touches him, and he hears them, too. It’s the first they’ve heard other people. God had spared a few others then . . . or perhaps the Devil had. He glances down at her and motions for her to stay. She’s already injured. Toni doesn’t need to be weakened further.

The Marshall’s gun is tucked in the waistline of his pants behind his back. He moves his shirt just enough to make it easy to reach should he have need of it. “Hello!” he called out to the voices. 

There’s a moment, and then two figures emerge from behind the remnants of a burned out car. “Hello there,” one of them says. It’s another man and woman. About the same age as themselves. “Where you headed?”

“Montana. We have family there,” Joseph replies easily. His posture is relaxed, voice soft. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” the man looks at the woman. “First time we’ve seen other survivors. Was beginning to think we were the only ones.”

“Humanity always finds a way,” Joseph smiled . . . and with a quick movement, he had seized his gun and shot both through their foreheads. Jacob would have been proud of his marksmanship. Seemingly coldly, he put the safety back on the gun and tucked it back into his pants.

“They lied,” he stated to Toni. “We are not the first survivors they’ve encountered.” Joseph led her over to the bodies. On the other side of the car was a pile of bloodied backpacks that had been collected by other passengers on the highway. There were a few guns, too, locked and loaded. The man had an assault rifle by his hand. 

“Sit, rest,” he told her gently. “I’ll search the packs to see if there’s anything for your shoulder.”

@hubriscarved​

[thefcther-blog1]

mysericordia‌:

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧     𝐰𝐚𝐬     𝐭𝐡𝐞     𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭     time     she     slept     under     the     stars?     why,     never.     temperance     was     always     a     city     girl,     blackpool     england     being     much     more     city     than     rural     despite     being     north,     everyone     knows     of     london,     hope     county     is     really     the     most     green     she’s     seen     with     people     living     there.     having     called     for     her,     temperance     goes     and     takes     his     hand     for     a     brief     moment     before     following     his     lead,     removing     her     shoes     and     making     sure     her     skirt     was     at     an     appropriate     length     (     she     had     a     habit     of     having     it     hike     up,     a     habit     that     now     within     the     project     she     must     break     ). 

eyes     close     for     moment     as     the     cross     is     drawn     and     in     opening     them     once     more,     eyes     are     drawn     to     the     path     before     them.     she     would     be     lying     if     she     said     this     was     something     she     was     looking     forward     to.     but     hopefully,     by     the     end     of     this,     she     will     see     the     purpose     for     it     and     truly     appreciate     everything     that     joseph     has     given     her.     ‘ who     takes     care     of     the     path?     to     make     sure     that     there     isn’t     anything     dangerous     we     might     step     on. ‘     the     mind     of     an     academia,     questions     never     stop     arising     for     her,     and     who     better     to     ask     than     the     father     himself. 

The question of a lamb. Joseph smiles lightly down at the grass as they move forward. Feet press into dirt and over small stones. “No one,” he replies. “It is not meant to be an easy walk. Our feet will bleed. I can understand why you, a woman of science, might find this troublesome. Care is given to those who survive the Path. But we often cannot receive revelation without first suffering and humbling ourselves.”

Before them stretches the path. Weaving across hills and mountains, it crosses over valleys and provides quite a hike. Joseph’s own feet have become hardened due to the number of times he has walked this very path. That and he had a penchant for walking barefoot whenever he could get away with it. The better to feel God’s earth and connect to it.

“Tell me how you found us, doctor,” he said as they walked. “Judging by your accent, you are a long way from home.” English, certainly, though he didn’t have the advanced knowledge of being able to place her dialect to a specific region. While he’s thrilled at the idea that word of the Project may have reached across the ocean, he somehow doubts it. Only recently has the media been paying them some attention. Not nearly long enough to touch hearts in other corners of the world.

@mysericordia​ 

[thefcther-blog1]

handsigned‌:

had it been mercy, letting joseph live, or had it been selfishness ? rook mulled over this as she looked him over. he seemed content to believe that she had changed, that she was capable of forgiveness – but was she really ? at the time, she’d merely been so caught up in the collapse that she’d dragged joseph into the bunker without thinking about it. she’d rationalized that action by not wanting to be alone for the next seven years, that it had been done out of selfishness, but joseph’s words now put a seed of doubt in her mind. 

was she changing ? could she be forgiven for the things she’d done in her past ? the last six weeks have been grueling, days and nights spent guilt-filled and in agony as she questioned her motives and wondered if she had done the right thing. it almost seemed like he was offering her an opportunity to repent…though she’s not so sure she should be allowed to have it. 

the change in topic was a welcome one. she didn’t speak much about her life before hope county, and certainly not of the childhood spent before the middle east, but there was a small comfort in sharing the memories, even if it was with a man she despised. she would be foolish to assume that he couldn’t use these things against her, but she didn’t think that he would. not after everything they’ve gone through. 

“ violin, “ she said almost wistfully, the hint of a smile on her face. if she imagined hard enough, she could hear strains of melodies that she’d used to play. these days, however, it was getting more difficult to remember; it had been over five years since she’d last heard them. “ i haven’t picked it up in a long time. don’t think i ever will again, though. “ 

his comment surprised her. she met it with a raise of the brow – she hadn’t known that joseph seed could joke. “ probably for the best that i didn’t, “ she responded dryly. “ i could hardly hold a tune even before…” she huffed out a breath, motioned at her ears, “ you know. “ 

Violin. So, those callouses on her fingers were from more than just a gun. Joseph appreciated artists. They viewed the world through a special perspective. They were the closest to the kind of children that God had intended them to be--or so he believed. “The military is a long way away from playing the violin,” he remarked. 

“You could play again. You just need someone to tell you when the strings are tuned,” he pointed out. “Everything else is just memory and instinct. Of course, the biggest challenge is going to be finding a violin after all of this,” he smiled sadly. “I suppose, if you wanted, you could leave Hope County. Perhaps try to find your way across the ocean to Italy. I’m sure there’s a bunch of violin stores buried beneath the earth now. Chock full of violins that would have cost you an arm and a leg before.” And now? Destroyed or collecting dust. 

When she informed him that she could hardly carry a tune before, he gave a small chuckle. “I have my moments as well, but that doesn’t stop the soul from wanting to sing.” He was silent after this exchange. Contemplative. While he certainly held no ill-will towards her, he had to admit that this was perhaps one of the first casual conversations they’d shared without strain. 

“What our lives might be like,” he murmured softly, “if you had been allowed to pursue your music.” For one, she’d likely be dead. She wouldn’t be here in the safety of a bunker with him. But perhaps she’d have been happier. 

Breathing in, he slowly pushed himself up. Now that she had undid his handcuffs, he wanted to walk the bunker. She had led him on walks before, but this was under his own power. His toes tapped against the cement below him, and he stretched. “If you’ll excuse me now, Deputy, I’ve been staring at that wall for too long. I need something new to look at.”

As passively as he could so as not to alarm her, Joseph walked out of the room and explored the other rooms with great interest. The one that she had been using as her own bedroom, he ignored, respecting her privacy. But the room that was clearly used for surveillance interested him greatly.

Dutch had been following the Seed family for some time if the notes were anything to go by. He noticed a few radios, too. Returning to the Deputy, he signed to her, “have you tried any of the radios?”

@handsigned​

[packhuntcr]

He’d paid for it. That was the worst part. Over the years, a multitude of gifts had been pilfered away like the dove up the magician’s sleeve. Small things: candy, trinkets, any little thing to bring some light to the brothers’ bleak lives. But this one, he’d paid for. Well, not in cash. He never scrounged enough of that to spend on something so frivolous. But the old librarian had been willing to trade a few hours of hauling dusty, dog-eared tomes for a few faded pages of comic. But it had made Joseph smile. Even with the trepidation in his eyes: worth it. So very worth it… until Jacob had become too distracted with the baby to warn Joseph of their sire’s return. Joseph had been right to be hesitant.

A gift. Something to make his little brother smile in spite of the Hell through which they walked. And it turns into a beating. God, it made Jacob’s teeth hurt. Twenty-five lashes, though Joseph hardly cried, his brother could only take it for so long. It wasn’t his fault. Besides, Jacob was responsible for the crime and for his brother as the eldest. 

Hours later, a single light burns in the dim house, the heretical berating and beating long since quieted. Both the older boys smart with lashes so the eldest prefers to stand though it only makes the words on the page dance all the harder. His brow knits in a frown, his frustration rising back near that tipping point. Muscles lock down by degree without conscious thought. Only John’s sleepy protests and slapping of sticky baby hands derails him, all–most– of that bottled tight. “C’mon,” he mutters to the babe, shifting him to the other shoulder as he heads toward the dark bedroom shared with Joseph. It’s time and past to lay the youngest back down and Jacob’s more than prepared to accept the homework as just another red mark in the books.

There’s a faint creak as the door gives to a bump of the boy’s hip, a quick-trained reach of the foot keeping wood from clattering against the wall.No sense waking Joseph or the rest of the house up. Teeth bare in a hiss as lowering the baby into his crib pulls at the raw flesh of his back, but he quickly catches it, forcing a smile. It’s worth it when John smiles sleepily back, rubbing at his eyes with chubby fists. Maybe he’ll actually stay asleep this time. Maybe.  

Trained-silent feet pad over to Joseph’s mattress on the floor, crouching to peer at his middle brother. He’s been… strange. No stranger to beatings, but this one seems to have left Joseph rattled and oddly… at peace. An already calloused palm reaches out– wants to brush the dark hair from his face, but he’s not John. The relationship has always been different, Joseph significantly more independent and only rarely needing his big brother. But the love’s still there. Instead, Jacob gently rocks the younger’s shoulder– unsure if he’s even asleep and careful to avoid where the angry marks lay. 

“What’s eating you?”

@thefcther

[thefcther-blog1]

The brief cries of their baby brother does not wake Joseph. He’s already been awake. Though he does stir, at first, to assist the baby. But Jacob is up in a flash and already pulling John from his crib. He can hear his big brother hushing the baby. If John cries too long, it’s sure to wake their father. They’ll all have sorer backs then. Even the baby wouldn’t be spared. 

So, he’s relieved when the two disappear into the kitchen and John’s fussing is quieted. Relaxing into his mattress once more, Joseph stares at the wall once more. It’s usually his favorite place to stare. The wallpaper is flaking away at the corner. The bare plaster beneath creates an odd shape. His imagination likes to turn the shape into objects and sometimes people. 

Tonight, he sees Spider-Man. He imagines the webbed hero crawling up the wall and swinging his way to freedom out of the window. Briefly, he considers letting a spider bite him the next time he saw one. 

When Jacob returns, he hears him place John back into his crib and then move to him. The touch is gentle against his shoulder. Jacob knows the pain in his back--shares it himself. It stings now. Burns. But the pain is dull enough that he can ignore it. 

At Jacob’s question, he slowly turns his head and regards his older brother. Many might find him fierce and scary in the dark. The moonlight casts his face into sharp angles. He almost looks like a feral wolf. But the only thing Joseph feels from his older brother is safety. Protection. So, he tells him. “I don’t know if Spider-Man saves MJ from Doc Ock.”

It’s part of what’s consumed his mind. The rest is harder to tell. How does a nine year old begin to tell such a tale? Carefully, he sits up, wincing only a little. Despite the hotness of the day, he feels chilly. Or perhaps that’s just the wounds sending his body into slight shock. Either way, he grabs his mouse-eaten blanket and wraps it around him. 

“I heard something,” he begins, “when father was hitting me with the belt. It didn’t speak in . . . words. Not exactly. There was a sound and a feeling . . . and so many images. It showed me stuff.” A small smile pressed to his lips. “I think we’re going to be okay, Jacob. Not for a long while . . . but eventually . . . we’ll be okay.”

@packhuntcr

[thefcther-blog1]

dcputyrook‌:

Ever astute. Ever KNOWING.

The look in Joseph’s eyes tell Alder all he needs to know and there’s a small amount of SHAME that runs through him. Still GUILT-RIDDEN. he was. Alder knew it and he knew that it would be that way for a long time. So, instead of arguing that he could HELP bury the bodies, Alder listened to what the Father had instructed of him.

He slinks towards the weapons, still as quiet as a mouse, taking care to haul the the ratty, shrapnel-built, sorry excuse of weapons into his arms to carry them towards the bikes that the Highwaymen had left behind. As he gathers them, Alder could hear Joseph in the distance, moving the bodies, breathing heavy as he does. And as he settles the weapons into one of the bike’s sidecars, he hears the prayers.

Speaks it to himself just underneath his BREATH. 

Lets it CALM HIM DOWN.

So Alder is all ready when Joseph walks back over. The mask that he had clipped to his side was refitted back over his face before Joseph could stand beside him. As Joseph grabbed the bike handles, The Judge does the same, knowing the pathway to Prosperity by HEART, as it was a road he had quietly taken each open opportunity. There is only slight resistance as they push the bikes through, brakes a small threat of coming down. It would be so much easier to just ride them to Prosperity-

“A task?” The Judge speaks, voice quiet and curious. “Whatever do you mean?”

@thefcther

As they heave the bikes forward onto the road, Joseph pads barefoot beside it. His feet have long since grown worn and hard against the rocks and sticks. He is more nature than man now. Briefly, he imagines John. Would his baby brother have been able to survive in a world like this? He likes to think so, given time. It’d be an opportunity to re-invent himself. To discover who John Seed could have been. 

Though there likely would have been a lot of whining in the first few years.

At Alder’s question, Joseph glances at him. “My people suffered greatly because I underestimated my enemy.” That enemy being Alder and the Sheriff. “I allowed my pride to blind me to the threat that they imposed.” Spoken in the past and as if Alder was no longer associated with ‘them.’ For he wasn’t. Alder was one of the flock now. Part of the family.

“I will not allow myself to be blind this time. We need to understand these Highwaymen and the threat they pose. If they are weaker than they appear, then we can live on without worry. However, if they are organized and own more of these vehicles and more weapons, then our people are threatened.” He paused. “We must infiltrate them.” 

Joseph did not think he’d pass well as a Highwaymen. He was older and those they had killed all seemed young. A bunch of young punks. “You will present me to the Highwaymen as a prisoner. In so doing, you can gain favor with them and enter their ranks. Learn about them. Learn who commands them, how organized they are, and what their plans are for this area. Once you know enough, you’ll rescue me, preferably before they decide to execute me or torture me or whatever their idea of fun is. We’ll make our escape and have our knowledge.” From there, they’d be able to plan accordingly. 

It was his hope that they wouldn’t be worth their time. But he needed to be sure. Especially after the threat they had imposed at his very gates. “It’s a tall task, I know,” Joseph murmured, “but I entrust my life into no one’s hands but your own.”

@dcputyrook​

[thefcther-blog1]

peacefulapostle‌:

every inch of his being is desperately trying to hide just how bad off he is. folding his arms over his chest, fidgeting and clenching his fists. panic is setting in and even if this is his brother, paul doesn’t really know him.  he’ll accept every ounce of help that joseph is willing to give but he’ll be embarrassed for needing it. he HAS suffered but really only at the hands of himself. all this was his doing and he knows it, but once he took that step it was nearly impossible to turn back. he’s tried. OH HOW he’s tried. 

the words speaking that he’s no longer on his own makes him shut his eyes tightly while trying to hold the tears back. paul has waited so long. waited for absolution and when it never came he realized he couldn’t live like this any longer. what does it mean that joseph literally showed up just in time to save him from himself? an act of God? it’s hard to say even if he’s ready to already believe in it. 

for now, paul just lets himself be held. the contact, the embrace, the kiss all of it leaving him craving more because when was the last time he had someone simply hug him? he doesn’t remember. a sigh lifts when the contact ceases simply so he can eat, but he does what he’s asked of. the younger brother has always been good about doing what he’s told. from here on out though he’s going to be better. to be someone that can his family can be proud of. 

he eats. maybe a little too vigorously but he still has his wits and he is no starving animal. but he eats and listens as joseph recounts the stories of the voice. it’s puzzling and hard to believe but after what he just experienced? the intervention? at the right time? how can he discount what joseph says?  all the information is almost too much to take in but he listens and he relishes at the touch on his back. that comforting, soothing touch that he desperately doesn’t want to end. 

joseph kneels in front of him and paul stares into those eyes full of hope, devotion and wonder. his brother truly believes what he’s saying is true. the voice speaks to him and the end of the world is coming. there’s doubt. of course there is but he would never outright laugh in the face of someone who just saved him. especially not his brother. for all he knows is that its true. the enthusiasm that his brother speaks with stikes a cord in paul’s heart. 

what does he say to all this. once he’s had his fill of the food, which isn’t much. appetite isn’t much these days, he sighs and folds his hands in his laps. his gaze falls for a brief moment before returning it to that of the man on the floor in front of him. the one that shares his eyes.  “God speaks to you? the end of the world is coming but we will somehow be spared?” there’s no mocking in his tone? all of it purely quizzical in nature but an underlying tone that may suggest that he feels he does not deserve sanctuary for he has not been kind to himself. “how do we find the others?” 

One of Joseph’s faults is his passion. When one speaks of voices and God, it is best to do so with restraint. Too much passion made one a zealot. People did not respond well to zealots. It’s something he’ll have to temper because even his baby brother seems unsure about what he is saying. Though he doesn’t outright call him crazy or incorrect. It’s a step in the right direction. 

“Yes, Paul,” he murmured. “The Collapse is coming. I don’t know when, exactly. I’ve only seen images. But I know the signs. There are seals that will be broken. When they are, it will harken the coming of the Collapse. But until then, we must seek our brothers and others like us. Those who are hurting. Those who feel abandoned by society. Who are abandoned by society. Our chosen are among them.” Much like how Christ had gathered together the outsiders, God now called on him to save those who had suffered--to save all who could understand the Word and see the world for what it was.

Rising up on his knees, his hands cupped Paul’s sweet cheeks. “It’s okay if you doubt, brother. Thomas, too, doubted Jesus Christ’s resurrection. He was loved all the same. Your eyes will open, too. I have faith in you.” Lifting up, he kissed his brow and then stood, moving to the tray and picking up a napkin. Returning to Paul, he cleaned his mouth for him, getting the tomato sauce that had stained his beard. 

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” he admitted. “Our first task must be to get you back to full health. There’s a lot of traveling on our path, Paul. Your body must be whole to walk it.” Satisfied with his cleanliness, he tossed the napkin into the trash and sat opposite of him onto his own bed once more. “But you said that John was given the name Duncan, yes? That might help us. I’ve only searched for a John Seed. Do you remember what area the Duncans lived in? Perhaps he did not move too far from there.”

Then, of course, there was always Rome . . . He had traveled there first but found no one at his old home. Perhaps he needed to return with fresh eyes and fresh knowledge. But that was far into the future. Right now, the brother he had found required his help. “Come on, Benji,” he stood and offered his hand to him, “let’s get you into the bath. Water can be a purifying essence. What better way to start your new life of sobriety?”

@peacefulapostle​

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

Metal scrapes against teeth, the sound grinding to a halt mid-bite. Saying Grace. And, like a heathen, Toni’s dug right in before evening making it to her perch atop the counter. Pink flushes her cheeks, only just disguised by the easy gold of her summer tan. Still, the fork pulls free, holding the bite in silence until the Father’s tucked into his own plate and hoping he failed to notice. 

Not for the first time, she can’t help but think his is a face made for melancholy. As if his God had known the burden to be placed upon those shoulders, he’d been formed in the image: his deep set eyes shaped for that quietly suffered pain even when he smiled. Her fork scrapes across the stoneware, nudging around the contents for which she’s lost an appetite. Finally it’s simply abandoned. The thing is: she knows the motions. How many times over the years has she preyed upon just such a weak point, found leverage in providing a comfort she did not honestly give? Her fingers twitch, transfer the impulse into a brief drum against the countertop. “I’m sorry,” murmurs free, pushing a half-dry curl from her face before climbing from her perch. In spite of the warning against domesticity, she takes his empty plate meaning to deposit it into the sink only to pause. For the briefest moment, her palm settles atop his shoulder, squeezing before retreating to the stainless basin as if the touch never happened.

There, her head bows at the question. The reflex to snarl has long since been beaten into submission. It was too easy a give away, exposing a weak point to the world. She can’t help but wonder if a moment when she hadn’t had such restraint had led to her in John’s pocket, like a dip in the cards before the final call. She chews the inside of her lip, letting the plate rattle into the sink with less care than she should. “No.” An honest answer. There were other Buchanan’s. Cousins who nipped at her heels these last years, eager to rip away with a technicality that to which she’d so desperately clung. Her mother was alive somewhere in Florida, surviving month-to-month on a pittance of alimony Toni had clawed to near nothing at ten times the cost of just writing the checks. If you wanted to get really technical, Sergio Vasquez still worked the pumpjacks on the old Buchanan Ranch, the black hair they shared struck through with grey and a stoop in his once-proud shoulders.  But not family. Not a one of them. Rex never even crossed her mind. “My father’s been dead since 2009.” And she dead to him since long before.

Her hands run through her dark hair, pulling the mass back into a ponytail with nothing to hold it. Still, the very action is calming, enables her to haul the packs into the living area. Supplies spread across the marked coffee table, pulling all from the depths to truly inventory what’s there. “Finish off mine if you want,” she mumbles, disappearing behind the folds of hunting territory maps.  Somewhere in there must be a frame a reference, a way to tell where they are in relation to the plotted territory. “Shame to waste it.”

At her touch to his shoulder, his gaze rises and meets with hers. Before she can remove her hand, he places his own against her wrist gratefully. “Thank you.” He releases her wrist and lets her go. When she turns away to set the dish in the sink, he considers her for a moment. “I appreciate your sympathy,” he tells her. “I know it must be difficult for someone who prefers to be alone and isolated from a group. Connecting requires vulnerability, and I sense in you, Toni, that vulnerability is something you struggle with.”

It was something many struggled with. Hurt so much by people, by society, that the only way they could survive was to build thick walls around themselves. Who had hurt Toni that made her forge her walls? It must have been someone dear for hers are wide enough that she feels she must drift on her own a long distance away in order to breathe. 

He wonders if she feels claustrophobic now . . . or if she will later when she realizes that she’ll be spending a great deal of time with the same person. 

After she informs him that her father had been dead for some time, he nods. “Then you lost no one in the Collapse. No one close, I mean. That’s good. It will make rebuilding easier for you. No ties to the path. A chance to start anew. You could even change your name if you wished it. Who would know any better?” His thoughts travel to those who had been taken by Collapse that he knew. “My mother was alive still,” he said, his voice thoughtful.

“I’m not sure where she was, exactly, but she is no more now. I hope she didn’t feel any pain.” There were those members of the flock who had traveled far to Reap. He hoped they had managed to find safety, too. There was then, of course, all those who had denied his Word and thus denied themselves salvation. Burned away. 

His thoughts are interrupted when she invites him to eat her portion. “I agree, it should not be wasted.” He turned in his seat to face her, “but I also urge you to eat it. Even if you feel full. There may come a time soon when we will be without food for several days. This small morsel of food could be what determines what allows you to go just another mile . . . or to collapse on the road with all of the other skeletons.”

Reaching for her plate, he holds it out to her. “Eat, please. Drink some water if it will help loosen your stomach.” Joseph hands her a bottle of water as well, stocked in one of the cupboards. “We should see what else this place has to offer us before we sleep. As soon as the storm passes, we need to be on our way. If, of course, you think it’s safe.”

@hubriscarved​

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

“More important, huh?”

It’s huffed– snorted– as she strides from the tiny bedroom. “It’s not me for whom they’ll open the bunker doors, Joseph.” Hell, they more than likely wouldn’t recognize her period. Fine, really. That had been the point. Loose lips sink ships and all…

Fingers itch to ruffle through her hair, shake the ash and the worst of its unruliness from the lengths. But that would only further spread the contamination and–

–and he’s standing there bare as the day he was born without even a fig leaf. HA! She knew there was no way he wore underwear with those jeans.

Nope.

No.

Focus.

Toni yanks her gaze away from the Father’s back. Not the time. Not the place. Definitely not the man. She’s still standing in her underthings, but isn’t going to argue with him. Mostly because that means prolonging this distinctly Un-God-on-a-Distant Mountain moment. Never mind she’s known all along he was just a man, prophet or no. Mired feet slog through the distracted mud, only once glancing back for conformation that– yep, she’s not in the midst of a fever dream. Or maybe she is because she’d swear a flush of red floods his face up to the tips of his ears. Toni walks faster.

The first gout of water knocks a gasp from Buchanan’s lungs– cold and biting in contrast to the burning glow pouring through the tiny window as the room’s only illumination. Still, she doesn’t shrink from it. Water pools around her bare feet, darkened with ash and debris turned mud and sliding down the drain. The tiny bottle of bodywash is rank: cheap drugstore stuff that burns her nose– and the wound in her shoulder– as she scrubs the end of the world from her skin. It’s probably a vile green shade too and she’ll reek of locker-room hi-jinks for days. The petty thought just twists her lip into a grim snarl before dumping a palm-full into her hair. Waste not…

“I laugh. Through the suds and frosted glass, Toni can only just see Joseph’s form. Normally, she’d just ignore him, maintain the long established pattern of polite, vacant exchanges they’ve established these last years. Not ‘they’ve’. She’s. A flock of hundreds and he knew their names. Knew their families and struggles and triumphs as if they truly were his children. It’s been Toni who stepped back, who slid through the doors and back out to the freedom of endless sky without pausing for his blessing. Water sloshes as she kicks at it, petulant. “You haven’t heard me laugh because I was hardly ever there,” calls to the other over the gurgle of the drain. One last scrub of her face, turning it up to the now warm rainfall before slapping the handle closed as if the water rinsed away the half-lie. “Spent three weeks of the month away. Worked the week I was there.”

A scratchy, bleach-stained towel wraps around her before bare feet leave a breadcrumb trail across warped floorboards. “’s all yours,” Buchanan insists, tugging a Henley over her head. The dead man’s jeans need multiple rolls at the cuff and threaten to slide from her hips, but they’ll do. More than enough to pad into the kitchen over the sound of artificial rainfall. Cracking the refrigerator door, Toni smiles. Eggs, a roll of sausage, shredded cheese, a jar of salsa. It’s hardly a feast but already she grows weary of MRE’s and metallic tasting vegetables. Best to savor this. Besides, the insulation of the refrigerator won’t last much longer. Clicking answers the turning of the stove-knob followed by a woosh of flame. It’s enough to light the corners of the dank space until she finds what she needs. Heavy cast iron dampens the light, a pinch of cheese dipping into Buchanan’s mouth while the pan heats. “Have I even talked to you since after confession,” she queries, brow furrowed. She’d listened in abundance but can’t recall more than the briefest nod. Joseph’s God had a sense of humor…

Sausage splutters and pops into now searing pan, prodded with a fork while Toni prods the ache in her shoulder. No different than a kid with a loose tooth. There her gaze stays fixed, giving him ample time to retreat to the relative privacy of the bed room now that the water’s cut off. “Don’t get used to this,” she mutters, risking a glance when his weight shifts the aged floor behind her. Toni Buchanan plays housewife for no man. Not even one whose purpose has merely shifted, not played out. On her forearm, ‘PRIDE’ flares. Stupid really. All she was, all that she so coveted is dead. She huffs, extending the bag of cheese back to Joseph, scraping the browned meat onto a plate once both hands are free. He can’t have eaten any more recently than she and the smell warming the small kitchen makes her stomach gurgle. “My cooking probably won’t poison you though. Probably.”

Pan set aside, she turns to look at him: all she has in this mad world until they return to the valley. If they make it. It’s even more uncomfortable to realize that goes both ways. “You okay?”

“They will,” Joseph replies, his gaze still on the opposite wall, even after he hears the water turn on. “They will need every woman they can find now. Our numbers are so . . . depleted.” If they were to carry forth the new civilization, they would need to breed. Toni was strong. She’d do well in carrying children. She could protect them, too. 

When she states that she hadn’t been in Hope much, he thinks back and finds her words to be true. Of all the time they had spent in Hope County, quite a few years, she had been there only a handful of months. Likely due to her business, but also because she had not come there for her faith. Yet, God had faith in her. She must be quite special, indeed, to be placed on his path.

“Considering that we will be traveling a long time together, perhaps I shall be rewarded with its sound more often then,” he states. Once she is finished with the shower, he removes his sunglasses and moves into the bathroom. He turns it on and winces briefly beneath the spray. He is quick in his movements. Ash and dirt and sweat are scrubbed away from his skin. At the very least, they will be a little less likely to develop cancer now. 

Once he is spotless, he turns off the water and lets himself air dry. Towels are a luxury. Walking to his collection of clothes, he examines them closer. The camouflage is unfortunate but perhaps it will have its uses. Slowly pulling them on once he was dry enough, he had to make another hole in the belt in order to keep his pants on his hips. 

The shirt is large, too. He tucks it into his pants to help a little and buttons back the sleeves. Joseph leaves his hair down for the time being. It gathers at his shoulders in thick waves. For her comfort, he picks up the sunglasses once more and places them on the bridge of his nose. The scent of food strikes him then, and his stomach gives a hungry sound. 

Exiting towards the kitchen area, he sits on a stool and gives a light smile at her warning. “I would never make the mistake of assuming you were one to cling to traditional housewife duties,” he remarked. Blessing the food before him, he prays, and then eats it. It’s not burnt and the flavor is pleasant. He can eat it. “There was a time in my life,” he said after chewing, “where I went several days without a meal. I’ve learned not to take any food for granted.”

Jacob would have said the same. His brother likely would have rationed very item of food here by now. He’d know exactly how much they needed in order to survive and not allow them to eat a calorie more. Oh, how he missed him. How he missed them both. 

Toni must have seen his melancholy, for she inquired about him. Blue eyes tinted green look up at her. “No,” he admits. “I’ve lost my family. For real this time. At least before, when they had been taken, I knew they were out there. I knew that we would see each other again. But now I’m cast adrift from them. And I’m worried that I did not do enough to help heal them. If I had, perhaps the Deputy would not have felt as though they were worth putting a stop to.” 

He’s contemplative for a moment and quiet with his thoughts as he finishes his meal before him. “Thank you for cooking, Toni,” he tells her quietly. “Did you have a family?” he asked her. Past tense. If she did, they were likely alive no longer.

@hubriscarved​

[thefcther-blog1]

janai-mcgarrett‌:

Janai didn’t expect herself to be here. To walk into a church and attend a service, she didn’t know why she came but felt Iike she should. As she walked in and took her seat she observed the people there. Janai had noticed a lot of guards in the room, was the church that popular it needed security?

She saw Joseph walked in and listened to him talk, hearing him talk about the oath made her curious. She didn’t understand and just followed along, she walked beside Joseph and smiled back at him gently “nice to meet you, I’m Janai.” She responded “hope you don’t mind newcomers.. just moved here and thought I should.. see what it was like here”

@thefcther

“Welcome, Janai,” he smiled, touching her shoulder. “We are happy to have you here with us. We’re about to walk the Path, you see, and it is an arduous journey. Dangerous, even. But if you are in need of faith, then you should walk with us,” he gestured to those around them. “Perhaps some of the answers that you seek may be found along the way. After all, at the very least, the Path does offer some breathtaking views of the county.”

She was a fawn. Stumbling into the Project with her new legs. Joseph would not turn her away simply because she knew nothing about them. This was the perfect opportunity to determine whether she was one of the chosen or not. “If you wish to walk with us, you must remove your shoes. You can place them in that cabin there. They’ll be waiting for you when you return, have no fear.” Joseph looked over her person. “Do you have a knife or gun? I would suggest carrying at least one. The wilds of this county harbor dangerous animals that can attack without notice.”

@janai-mcgarrett​

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

In another world– maybe one just a few hours earlier– this could be a sweet image: a couple, hand-in-hand running from the weather. Perhaps the bag swinging from his grip is laden with a few days clothes and trinkets from a short trip. Perhaps they’re sprinting between raindrops, laughing and leaping over puddles instead of scraping burning air and ash into their lungs, teeth bared in a panicked grimace. But it’s not sweet. It’s not rain and love. Wind claws at their clothes, lashes their skin with remnants of what was and will never be again. All the pair can do is collapse into the cabin, slamming a flimsy sheet of pressed fiber denial in the face of the reality humanity has brought to bear.

Juvenile though it is, she still clutches his hand: a small comfort in a land in which such things will be in short supply. Heart slamming rabbit-quick behind its cage of bone, Toni turns to look at her companion at the end of the world. And bursts out laughing. Joseph Seed in mirrored aviators, a uniform button down, and standard-issue duffle dropped at his side. Like a goddamn rent-a-cop. If one can ignore the fallout greying his hair and shoulders, the irony’s top notch. It leaves her with her face pressed into her knees as she laughs with whatever air can be coaxed into her lungs. Maybe it’s a touch of madness, maybe the high of relative safety. Maybe it’s just the result of ‘bless his heart, he actually kept the cracked shades’. Toni gives a brief squeeze to his hand before relinquishing it, head raising to look round the promised shelter. “Yep. ‘You do not have because you do not ask,” queries with an arched brow, a tentative grin answering his.

Wind howls around the two-room cabin, dust barraging the cabin in its urge to seek entry through any gap or loose join. It would seem Joseph has stopped the worst of it though it’s left the bed bare. The gun-runner clambers to her feet, a frown pulling at her features as the movement creates a rain of ash from her clothes and skin. “C’mon,” her hand pats his shoulder, urging him up and on. “We gotta get outta these. Get this shit off our skin.” God, she can’t help the flinch. Any wayward word around him makes her feel 8 years old and cursing in church. The occasional wicked glimpse in those blue eyes warn he might even threaten to wash her mouth out with soap. God help her, she’s sat through enough of his 2AM sermons to let him. The movement gets covered by pulling open the half-size door, tight shoulders sinking in relief at the old tank style water heater. No electricity needed. The dim echo of her knuckle against it tells her it’s full; the stored water untouched by the radioactive fall out, likely even hot. Beside the stripped bed sit two heavy-laden packs. Bless hunting season in the mountains. That’s hope of shelf-stable food, supplies, clothes. Depending on where their misplaced host was in the preparations, there may even be food in the fridge. Grand… assuming they don’t burst through the door when the pair are vulnerable. The thought spurs her on, ragged and stained clothes thrown into a pile beside the door. Modesty was always in short supply for Buchanan… and she only just resists cracking a joke about Joseph having a talent for getting her shirtless. Only just. Then again, he’s cracked a smile more than once. Strange from a man she’s viewed like a god on a distant mountain… or shitty island in the middle of nowhere. Even those might have a sense of humor.

“We should stay here a few days,” Toni drawls, back to him while digging through the packs. “Let that settle and go through the majority of it’s nuclear decay.” Each relinquishes a set of camouflage hunting gear, some knit shirts and jeans against the early fall chill. One pack is clearly made for a man of some stature, the other painfully smaller; perhaps a teen. It’s a rare moment Toni finds herself grateful for the diminutive form against which she so often rebelled. But this time it serves her, so she tosses the stolen clothes atop the bed and tries not to think about the fate of those from which she’s taken them. The larger of the sets should fit Joseph well enough though it’s more inclined to his elder brother’s tastes. This thought will not be dismissed and makes her heart clench. Jacob was far from soft, certainly not the type to be called ‘friend’, but there’d been an understanding of sorts. Rules mutually understood and easy to operate within that never left her with the constant anxiety provided by his baby brother. Hell, there were times she looked forward to the return to the armory, would swear she’d seen a smirk as she barked at a Chosen with the weary authority of an old weapon’s instructor. How many more such losses will there be? How many have there been already and she simply too long out of county to know? They’ll just have to make it back and find out.

Swallowing, Toni’s stubborn chin jerks toward what must be the bathroom. “Let’s go, Pops. Don’t waste the hot water. What’s in that tank is all we’ve got for the next couple days.” At least until she can figure out the source. Ground fed should be safe, but if they’re fed from a local lake… A sigh. Optimism. Joseph might call it ‘faith’, but Toni will meet him in the middle with optimism. “Leave your old things out here… ‘cept the shoes; wash those.” No sense risking a hobbling with the distance they’ll have to traverse. 

“Ah,” Joseph looks down at himself and spots the ash, “you’re right.” If they let it linger, it would kill them. At least they had missed the brunt of the fallout. Still, he was not interested in exposing himself further to radiation. Had he been left in Hope County, there wouldn’t be a fear of it. He’d be with his flock in the safety of Eden’s Gate. Alas. God wanted him to struggle first. So, struggle he would. 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you laugh, Toni,” he states as he pushes himself up to his feet. “A pity. You should let yourself do it more. It’s good for you.” Joseph followed her into the next room where she seemed to find two abandoned packs. Either their owners had left them here to go into the city or were somewhere out in the forest. Either way, the likelihood of their survival was not pleasant. 

That’s when she starts to strip in front of him. Joseph flushes and turns away, offering her privacy. He even takes a step back into the other room to ensure she is afforded all of the privacy that she is due. “Call me Joseph, Toni,” he says to her over his shoulder. “My role as the Father is over. I’ve delivered my message. I’m nothing more than a follower of Christ now. Just trying to survive the Flood.”

He didn’t want to touch anything until he had washed himself, and so he nodded when she laid out his clothes. They would do fine. Likely a bit big on him. He was tall but slender. The price of many meals missed for too many years of his life. When she gestures to the bathroom, he hesitates. “You may go first, Toni. You’re more important than myself.”

Joseph walks back into the front room and does remove his clothing at least. He doesn’t need that seeping further radiation into his skin. Since he doesn’t make it a habit of wearing underwear, he cups himself to provide some form of modest covering of his body. It is a very odd thing to stand naked in a cabin he is unfamiliar with a woman he knows little about in the middle of nuclear fallout. 

@hubriscarved​

[thefcther-blog1]

handsigned‌:

a healer’s touch ? no, that couldn’t be true. everything rook touched these days broke beneath her fingers. her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. just months ago, these very hands were killing, were hurting, were destroying lives. the guilt of it threatened to eat her alive and here joseph was telling her that her hands were healing ? he must be more delusional than she thought; it was a shame that this realization happened just when she’d started to believe him. 

but what she couldn’t deny was the ACHE she felt when he recalled what his father had done to him. despite the hatred negative feelings she had towards joseph, that didn’t mean that she thought he’d deserved what had happened to him in his past. now, however, she kept her hands firmly to herself, even when her fingers itched to reach out to him and provide some sort of comfort. she wasn’t going to make the same mistake of touching him again, even if she wanted to. 

( why ? she didn’t know. she didn’t even like to touch people, especially not those she didn’t trust. )  

and the thing was – yeah, she understood where he was coming from. she HAD felt that feeling he’s describing. rook didn’t know what to do with that information. surely the voice hadn’t been speaking to her – a nonbeliever – all along; though now that she mulled it over in her head, had joseph believed before he’d realized what he’d been hearing all along ? probably not. 

“ i suppose i have felt that, “ she responded carefully, making sure to keep her face even. she didn’t want to talk anymore about the voice and joseph’s beliefs until she was sure about her own thoughts on the matter. “ but it doesn’t really matter. you might have changed after, but not me. “ 

if the voice was real, wouldn’t it have stopped her from hurting people ? shouldn’t it have stopped him ? 

“ i don’t know. my mama always used to… ” she trailed off, the memory of her mother bringing both warmth and sadness. she was dead now. so was her papa. the collapse killed them – it would do her good to remember. shoving those emotions to the side, she continued, “ she used to say i’d make a good politician. i used to be good with people before i shipped off. but what i really wanted to be was a musician. a professional one. it seems silly now, looking back. “ 

@thefcther

“Then you’ve felt what the Voice can provide,” Joseph told her. “What awaits us when we die. That peace,” and his smile is serene, “everlasting.” The sweet, almost painful, feeling of being home after a long road away from it. Its intensity was almost too much to bear at times. So fragile are human souls when housed in cages of flesh and blood. 

“No?” he asked her. “You could have killed me several times by now. You could have left me in the truck, even, and allowed nature to take its course. You chose differently. Instead of bloodshed, you chose mercy. That, Deputy, is change.” Another sign? Letting him loose from the handcuffs. Or perhaps she was just tired of ensuring his skin didn’t chaff too badly beneath the metal. 

He’s still as she explains that her mom had wanted her to be a politician. That earns her a grunt from his lips, though she can’t hear it. Politics? “Unpleasant career,” he signs to her. “Though perhaps if we had a few more good-hearted politicians, our world would be a different place.” It wasn’t entirely the fault of the politicians either. Unfortunately, the church had played a role in the demise of the purity of souls, too. It began when men saw the church as a means to make money rather than to reach souls. 

When she says that she had wanted to be a musician, he softens. An artist. No wonder she had such hard edges. Artists should never go to war. Their souls were the most vulnerable to trauma and grief. They felt things too keenly. “Were you a singer?” he asked her. “Or did you play something?” 

Joseph loved music. One of the first things he had organized once his flock started to grow was a choir. Singing worship and praise was one of the purest forms to display love for God, in his opinion. It was an experience that could be shared and enjoyed soul to soul. “Should have joined our choir,” he signed to her with an almost playful smirk on his lips.

@handsigned​

[thefcther-blog1]

heroesprosper‌:

Chief knows Joseph sees the way he backs up. Seems to KNOW that it wasn’t just ANTI-SOCIAL behavior or otherwise. But rather than looking away like he was ASHAMED of himself  for backing away, he stares Joseph in the eyes as the older man’s gaze looks over him, eyes lingering on his ARM more than anything. Piecing it ALL together. 

“Well, I mean…SOME people can get away with it…” but those people. Those people were his FAMILY. Family that had helped him overcome the pain after being found. People who have been by his side since DAY ONE of joining the Rush Crew. Only now, all but TWO OF THEM were dead. Cap was off doing GOD KNOWS WHAT with his time and Chief had been left to New Eden in an attempt to get them on their side. “But not for TOO LONG.” 

He wants to move past this conversation.

So when Joseph does it for him, Chief sits down on the bed that had been provided. There were a few of them spread throughout the room, but nearly ALL OF THEM were used for storage. Items were thrown across their surfaces and Chief could only wonder WHY he was being so charitable. It wasn’t something he was really USED TO out here. “Rush?” 

He’s silent for a few moments, contemplating his answer. “Yeah…he’s…he’s GREAT.” Chief had so much he still needed to pay him back for. Who he was today was shaped ONLY BECAUSE of Thomas Rush. Rush had gotten him out of that shitty situation. Rush had pulled him BACK from the brink of death and made him work hard and fight to survive through the infections that came with having his arm SAWED OFF. “Probably one of the best things to HAPPEN to me when this hell raised over the Earth.” 

@thefcther

Great. There’s affection in Chief’s tone. Perhaps Rush was worthy of the Gift, too. Joseph wouldn’t know until he met him. “There was another, too,” he prompted. Clearly, though Joseph Seed was isolated in the North, he seemed to know all that went on in the county formerly known as Hope. “Three men survived the train wreck . . . besides Carmina Rye.” He had been grateful for that, at least. Carmina had a rare soul--giving, selfless. It was why he had tried to give her an apple all those years when she had been a young child. Her parents had refused the gift on her behalf, unfortunately. But there was time. Perhaps Carmina, herself, would find her way North as well. 

“The one that Prosperity has turned to for hope. He doesn’t seem to be able to do much . . . though I will admit that he’s done more in a short amount of time than others. And still alive, too. That’s the truly surprising part.” Most of those who crossed the Highwaymen were killed quickly after. Or they paid a price that made them quick to kiss their boot. New Eden was protected by the Gift. It allowed them to scare the Highwaymen just enough to stay away. 

“He must come here, too. This other man. I must see him . . . determine his worth. While I believe that you could do well in helping New Eden find its path forward, this . . . other person. They’ll have need of you to take down the sisters.” Two sisters against two brothers. The latter were not of blood, however, but their ties were just as strong. 

Again, the older man paused, eating some more of his stew before it could cool. Hot meals were to be cherished, after all. Once the bowl was empty, he licked his lips and settled on one of the uncovered beds, making himself comfortable by resting his back against the wall of the shack. “How old were you when the Collapse . . . when the bombs fell?” he asked. “What life did you have before?”

@heroesprosper​

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

Well that’s… foreboding. For a lifetime Toni has known she served little more than purpose. An infant that was her mother’s bid to a handsome alimony. A childhood friendship less a bond than a means of garnering favor. She was money. Connection. Skill. Brag. A notch in the bedpost, a rung on the social ladder, a means to an end. 

Fair enough. It’s no different than she’d viewed any other rat in the race. And yet, she’s never bought into the idea of Fate, of some ineffable being pushing pawns across the cosmic board. Never considered she might be one such pawn. Yet… she’d behaved wildly out of character back there. She’d stalked into a losing fight to be at this man’s side. No less, a man of whom she was suspicious every bit as often as she’d tilted her head and listened to the way his words tried to fill empty souls. Perhaps his God had wanted her here, had spoken that truth as They’d told the Father of the Fire and Blood that swept the Earth. She shivers beneath the middle Seed’s hand and sits.

The wound had been stable. The Mayberry Sheriff’s Department and US Marshals alike declared her fit enough to make the trek to Seattle before any real treatment. Without the multitudinous forces assaulting her as they plummeted toward the Earth, the bleeding likely would have stayed stopped. As it is, her teeth bare while obediently peeling tackied cotton away from where it’s adhered to her skin. Eyes stay downcast, focused on the Father’s simple, black boots despite the reprieve offered by borrowed shades. 

Plain worn leather, stacked heel, rubber sole: the boots of a man who worked. The kind of man who cared for practicality and function far more than the subtle pea-cocking of southern gentleman and Wall Street tycoons alike. Her father wore boots like that and she can all but hear the click of them down the barn aisle over the sound of horsey snorts and chewed hay. A billionaire and the old man had woken before dawn every day of her childhood, tacked up his old paint to check the herd. He’d liked dirt on his hands, sweat beneath his collar, the feeling that he’d earned what filled his belly. The memory is enough to stoke the burn in her cheeks, producing an urge to babble excuses for the un-struck-through ‘GLUTTONY’ across her shoulders, the ‘WRATH’ on her ribs. The back of her hand slides her thigh, rubbing the last remnants of concealer from ‘GREED’ and the subsequent shift in muscle cracking away a little more off that ragged, deep ‘PRIDE’ in her forearm. Exhale trembles from her nose, but Toni does not flinch away from his hand, nor the bite of the needle. Sore though it is, she bites her tongue, holding back the flow of apologies for her un-atoned-for sins both to her father and this one. At least one would be disappointed. So she hopes, for all that the old man hadn’t looked her in the eye again until the day he died. Maybe this one can forgive… should they find the time. Some terribly vain part of her whispers hope that he hadn’t stitched his own wounds or at least had more practice in the time since they’d marred his flanks.

“Keep it,” she answers, gingerly pulling her dirtied tee back on and stepping around the offered tablet. It’s just soft-tissue–maybe a pinch of unorthodox self-flagellation. Who knows what may lay ahead, besides. “’m always sharp.” Three strides up the aisle Toni remembers a ‘thank you’. She hadn’t always been a heathen. “Keep the rest of that if you can. I can’t get him down alone, but you’ll want the pilot’s shirt if you can’t find the marshal’s,” she tells the preacher in distracted tones. “Worst sunburn of your life if you walk out there uncovered.” 

In the cubby between cabin and cockpit, she digs through the rubble of jet, equipment, and forest. There had to be something, in a purely practical sense if not for comfort. Eventually, blind fingers turn up a liter of water, the plastic crinkling in her grasp. Better than nothing. She takes a swig before offering the bottle to her strange companion, wiping the lip on her shirt as if germs really mattered at the End. When he takes it, whether to drink or simply free her hands, she’ll turn attention to the craft’s door. Off-kilter, crumpled, but blessedly intact. It was built strong, ready to be removed that the craft might not become a fiberglass tomb. The mechanism resists, fighting the debris, but Toni simply braces differently, lets her weight and the angle do the work until it gives and she can let the heavy door drop open. Instantly, the smell is unbearable, smoke and scorched earth stinging eyes and nose alike. 

Yeah, they need to move. A home, especially a basement would offer sufficient protection, potentially a stash of supplies. It also comes with the risk of competition and limits their ability to keep moving. Sewers offer similar short term protection from what assaults the world above. Until the water becomes too polluted to touch or a back up leaves them trapped and drowning. But they could keep moving, could potentially find access to greater sources of supplies. “Whatever we find first. Right now I want time to think and more supplies than we have.” Beggars cannot be choosers. The spitting crackle and pop of downed lines tell them they’re not terribly far from humanity. Near enough for the jet to have taken down electrical and phone in its haphazard descent. Like a beacon, she follows their trail toward Come What May, climbing from the deep score in the earth before offering a hand back. If it’s Fate, if it’s his God, or just… more terrible decision making, Toni’s at his side and determined to keep him at hers.

His gaze roams over her briefly when she states she doesn’t need the painkiller. Tough. No wonder Jacob had once spoken well of her. No doubt she would have become one of his Chosen if she had remained in the County overlong. Placing the pill back into the case, he tucked the kit closed and looked for a bag or something to carry their minimal supplies within. 

When she mentioned taking a shirt, he looked down at himself in some amusement. “I suppose you’re right. I best not rely on the Lord’s protection too much. Some common sense is needed.” Since the Marshall’s shirt is likely soaked with blood and guts, he chooses the pilot’s. Getting it off is easier said than done. 

It requires a great deal of pulling and holding dead arms up as if the pilot was a sleeping toddler. Once the shirt is off, he pulls it over his head--a uniform shirt. There’s some irony in that, he’s sure. With his Aviators, he looks like a stereotypical pilot or police officer. Searching the cockpit further, he finds a small carry on bag. It will do. Emptying it--nothing but a few meaningless trinkets within it now--he places the first aid kit inside of it, and then shoulders the bag. 

Straightening, he takes the bottle of water from her next. Sipping it, he finds his thirst much alleviated. He keeps the bottle as well for later. Toni manages to bust the door open and the odor of the Collapse is noticed immediately. As is the heat. Fire has set alight the forest. Smoke chokes the air. Joseph pauses before he leaves. Ripping off some of the pilot’s pants, he covers both with water, and then hands one of the newly fashioned rags to Toni. 

His own, he holds over his mouth and nose. Breathing is made a little simpler though it doesn’t do much to protect his eyes--even with the sunglasses. With the carry on slung over his shoulders, Joseph finally drops down into the dirt. Toni walks ahead of him, following the electrical lines. His gaze moves upwards. It’s impossible to see the sun through the thick clouds above. Later, perhaps, they can determine their course East.

They walk for a few minutes, heads bowed, until Joseph hears something odd. A scuttling sound. Like leaves across the cement. Lifting his head, he looks around . . . until he notices it behind them. A giant dust cloud--dirt, soot, sand, and anything else the wind has decided to pick up. “We need to move. Now,” he told Toni. Grabbing her hand, he lunged forward with a swiftness that may seem surprising. 

Behind them, the dust storm gathers in velocity and height. The scuttling turns into a roar. Ahead of them is a few houses--cabins. He isn’t sure if they’re homes or vacation rentals. Either way, they’re the only protection nearby. Joseph takes them to the one in the middle and kicks the door open, letting her go in first, then quickly running in after and closing the door. He’s blind to anything else in the cabin. His eyes find a blanket, and he grabs it, shoves it beneath the crack of the door, and then collapses on the floor, panting heavily. 

His back rests against the door, and he can feel the dust storm pass by, scratching the wood as it passes. “Shelter,” he offers a small smile, spoken between pants.

@hubriscarved​

[myrcella]

joseph seed + his family ♡

[thefcther-blog1]

sanctemony‌:

out of the haze of darkness came a faint light . save them , because god allowed us to suffer . how adamant against god the youngest was , suffocated on religion by the duncan and seed family . bled for jesus , bore scars for mary . was tainted for god . but those words made sense , didn’t they ? the rose colored glasses had been removed so long ago , the four brothers able to bare witness to the demons lurking  beneath . and wasn’t that old mad seed ? a hellion ? now !! if demons did exist , if the devil had been real it was most certainly in the form of father duncan and old mad seed . 

a purpose . head canted to the side . a purpose is what the youngest needed , to remain focused . untethered by lust and greed and gluttony .   ❛  so our purpose is to save those that wish for it .   ❛  repeated slowly , the lawyer was intelligent however this religious conversation was leagues above his paygrade . of course the bible and other pious teachings had been beaten into the youngest seed sibling . god the father , the son and the holy spirit had been demonized not sanctified . the day had been a blur so far , everything shifted , the world slanted and it left the youngest dizzy .  there were questions that rest on the tip of tongue  (  where have you been ? what have you been doing ? do you have a family ? when can we find jacob ?? paul ? what do we do now ?  )  the elder brother provided sorely needed leadership .

words from the good book spoken and heart began to race . born anew !! a fresh start , sins to be forgiven . eyes focused solely on joseph , on nothing else . nerves lit up every sense as the middle child then the chill of the water surrounded him . there was no fear , eyes remain open gaze fixated on joseph still , through the ripples . the bubbles from held breath .  (  second chance , born anew  )  it repeated over and over . a hand rest upon the wrist of the other . anxious but adjusting . adapting . 

brought back above water the youngest inhaled and exhaled a breath , blinking water from blue eyes . he kept staring at joseph at that smile !! that joy that pride in his eyes and john was overwhelmed and how could joseph still care for him after what he had confessed to ?? love him ? john smiled , a real true honest baby john seed smile .   ❛   thank you joseph .   ❛   the hair ruffle had him grin , pleased . it was familiar . struck near speechless for the moment as the other undid his hair . ready . john continued to stare for a moment longer before nodding . yes , yes baptize him .

as with joseph the same movements were mimicked . the rosary felt like an anchor around his wrist though his soul felt lighter . recalling the scripture drilled into him from the duncan family .   ❛   jesus is the son of god, that he died on the cross and on the third day he rose from the dead for the forgiveness of your sins , in the name of the father the son and the holy ghost .  ❛   spoken quietly as a hand cradled the back of josephs neck before gently  (  reverently  )  submerging him .  (  his baptist newly crowned and that job would be taken seriously , to heart  )  

lifting the middle sibling up , the baptist smiled at him .  ❛   welcome back brother .  ❛   there they stood in the river , wet .  (  born anew !!  )  ❛   you’re going to make a mess of my leather interior you know .   ❛   calmer now , the youngest raised a brow , tone playful .   

His heart was lightened when he saw the smile on his brother’s lips. Untethered from sorrow and the torment in his soul. If John could still smile in such a way, then Joseph believed that there was hope for him. He could be restored. He just needed to be given a chance and a path. 

Once John took hold of him, Joseph breathed in and was dunked beneath the water, feeling the chill kiss his skin. John’s facial features were obscured from the rippling water and bubbles, but the sun behind him? It gave him a halo and Joseph’s very soul was moved. God’s sign . . . He approved of John’s selection as His Baptist. 

Pulled back up, Joseph drew in some air and pushed his hair from his face. Born anew. Their past lives--the sins they had committed--were forgiven. Cleansed. They would still need to atone, of course, but that could come later. The first steps had been taken together. Joseph chuckled at his words. “Am I? Not nearly as much as you are, brother,” and he promptly pushed John back beneath the river, a quick shove. Chuckling, he held his hand out for him to pull him back up. 

Once John had resurfaced, Joseph gestured for them to return to the bank. “We have made our first steps,” he informed him. “Now we need to find Paul and Jacob. Once the Seed brothers have been reunited, we can start to gather our flock. There are thousands more steps to take before we walk through Eden’s gates.” 

Together, they walked back through the forest towards the car. “I don’t suppose you heard anything about Jacob after he was released from detention?” he asked him. If anyone might, it’d be John with his ties to the legal department. “Paul is going to be . . . harder to track down. I’m not sure whether he was adopted or not after your adoptive parents returned him.” Like a broken toy. Though Paul had been spared the brunt of the brutality from the Duncans, it seemed. Thank God for that. John’s broken soul would be difficult enough to restore. 

@sanctemony​

[thefcther-blog1]

bledsins‌:

Joseph wasn’t wrong. There was always going to be lingering doubts on how Jacob would deal with the seven years with nothing but his Chosen, but John couldn’t see his eldest brother wanting it any other way. If anything, there was more worries about the Chosen as a group rather than Jacob  – at least on John’s part. But things would be smoothed out eventually, John had faith in that, they had time to work out the kinks before the eventual happened. “We could always try to even out the bunkers, if the Chosen are a concern. Distribute a number of civilians into Jacob’s care, especially those who are located too far from my own Gate.” Teach him that ‘the weak’ were there to be saved, not just culled. 

“I know that nothing will be an easy sell, Joseph, we both know how mulish our brother can be.” If John could be called persistent, then Jacob could be called stubborn. No one could ever force the eldest Seed to do anything, not even Joseph, and if he didn’t want to do something then there was no reasoning with that. To get him to agree to something that was predicted to get a flat refusal, he had to be slowly eased into it, coaxed like a feral animal. You were likely to lose a hand otherwise.

John’s attention is ripped from his own thoughts by Joseph shovelling more vegetables onto his plate, even though there was plenty on there to begin with (at least in John’s opinion). “Yes Mother,” he replies, just loud enough to cause the faithful around them to stifle giggles which they silent immediately when he shoots them a mildly amused warning look. Resentfully, John eyes a rather limp crown of broccoli that he’d skewered onto his fork, contemplating it as Joseph issues instructions about the livestock farm. “Kellett’s cattle, the stockyards, and the orchards, are all priority. though I highly doubt it will be a swift and clean buyout. I will have to monitor them through this year.” Initial reports say that at least two out of the three dipped into the red quite often – if John could give them a little nudge where they couldn’t refuse if he made them an offer, it would save him the hassle of fighting with their lawyers. Not that he had any worries about that.

He eats as Joseph mentions Nancy, quietly making mental notes and devising a way of approaching without seeming too obvious. He’s not yet made contact with the Sheriff’s department beyond locating it and giving their sloppily put together and ill-maintained website the once-over. He would have to plan further. At least he would have something to do on the drive. “I believe I spotted the county coroner at your last sermon, it would be favourable for you to speak to him as well.” Having both dispatch and the coroner on side would be a boon, especially as most police viewed the Project with unease.

The pride that pulls a smirk onto his features and causes his chest to puff out at the applause and praise that ripped through the room at the news of the Throne of Mercy acquisition is short lived. As if he takes a pin and pops John’s ego like a balloon, Joseph’s desire to head out to the church kills any other emotion that he might be feeling and instead fills him with dread. He leans away from his brother slightly, studying his face to try and work out if the Father is serious or not – hoping that he’s merely teasing.

Very quickly, John decides he’s not.

“You…you want to go out to a derelict church, out in the middle of the Henbane region, in the dark, in freezing conditions, while it’s snowing?” He says it slowly, trying to wrap his head around the concept himself. That was nothing like the sleepovers they used to have, the sleepovers were warm, for one. They’re no longer kids, for another. “I’m all for going out there if you want to, Joseph, even if the road’s not cleared the truck can handle it, but I’d rather keep my extremities free from frostbite, if it’s all the same to you.”  

@thefcther​

It was certainly something to think about. Joseph liked the thought of a few civilians shifting in through Jacob’s Chosen to ease their sharp edges. His only concern was that the Chosen might choose to cull them, too, before the seven years was up. While the bunkers were being built with spacious room and halls to roam, being underground for years was difficult for the human psyche to handle. As soon as the first bunker was finished, he wanted to run a few drills. Get everyone used to the dark and enclosed area of the bunker. 

“I’ll visit him while you’re away,” he said at last. “Our brother has been up North too long by himself in this winter.” He doubted that Jacob even realized how close it was to Christmas. “It wouldn’t harm anyone to have a few Chosen in everyone’s bunker. For added security, of course. When we emerge, we’ll need to be kept safe until we find one another again.”

Cars would likely be buried or broken. They’d have to reach each other on foot. That was a lot of miles to cross before they reached one another. Plenty of opportunity for lurking danger to rise its head. While Joseph would prefer that they’d enter into a Paradise, he knew it wouldn’t become so without work. Humans were flawed. Even the faithful. It would take time, discipline, and education to bring in Paradise. 

Amusement flickered in his gaze when John referred to him as Mother. The irony was too great to ignore, and he laughed quietly, playfully poking John in the ribs. “I’ll play Mother and Father to you, John, if it means you’re well fed and nourished in body and soul.” He poked him a few more times, smiling wide. The atmosphere was light. Comfortable. If it wasn’t for the bitter cold outside and being in a strange town, it would be easy to imagine that they were two brothers with a normal family teasing and joking with one another at dinner. Alas.

When John rejected his offer, Joseph chuckled warmly and touched his cheek affectionately. “I forget that you haven’t felt winter’s kiss as intimately as I have. Very well, little brother, we’ll wait until the morning. At the very least, it will be brighter if not warmer.” Though that certainly didn’t limit his eagerness to see the new church. It was falling apart last he had seen it. Abandoned to the animals and town squatters. Such a shame. It was a beautiful church. 

“But now that you’ve mentioned the coroner,” he remarked back to their earlier conversation, “I think I do recall seeing a new face among us. Pale man. Thinning hair. He’s the coroner?” They could use as many bodies in the Sheriff’s department as they could get. “Yes, he’d serve a very good purpose for us. Both before and after the Collapse. He’ll have some form of medical knowledge that will prove useful. And everyone needs an undertaker.” As morbid as that thought was. 

“I also wished to discuss with you the new woman you brought in. Toni, I believe her name is? The gunsmith?” Joseph wiped his mouth and rested his chin against the palm of his hand, staring at his brother. “I’ve only seen her in passing. You believe she’s called to the Project?”

@bledsins​

[thefcther-blog1]

hubriscarved‌:

She’s always held her tongue in Joseph’s presence. Sacrilegious by nature and inclined to poke bears, there was something in those deep-set eyes that made Toni think twice before opening her mouth. The old soldier she’d understood, known all along just how much with which she could get away. Loathe every breath to drag through his lung though Toni did, she knew that tipping point with the Baptist. Not that she hadn’t found herself on the wrong side of the fulcrum a time or two. But of all the Seeds, it was the most docile that drew her measured words and bowed head. Something about his intensity, the depths of his calm that told her the other side would sink even deeper.

Those bear-paw hands haven’t even fully settled her on her feet before, “oh fuck no,” comes charging forth from the pit of her gut.  Only for her teeth to click shut before it escapes. Not restraint, simply shock. A furrow creases her brow, arching away from the Father as if this were the craziest thing he’s just said. Barney fucking Fife taking down Jacob?! John, Faith, there were too hair-triggered, too easy to tip out of cool calculation and into the minefield of wrath. But Jacob? Grey eyes bore into Joseph’s searching for some tell. But the pain in his face, that bottomless sorrow of a man who found anchor and now finds himself adrift. Not even one so practiced as she believes the Father to be could lie so well. 

It tugs something in Toni’s core, a long forgotten compulsion so neglected her muscles don’t know how to translate the impulse. And when they finally do, he’s already drifted away, her hand falling on empty space rather than atop his. But she still hurts. Her head shakes before beginning the uphill climb to the cockpit. The carnage–machine and flesh alike– is no less up here. More than once even her throat closes, empty stomach lurching. Still, deft fingers search. “Look,” she begins, cheek braced against the pilot’s shoulder as she stretches across the body. Useless. Signal obliterated, electronics wiped out. Fine. She’ll take other resources. 

“I get it. I do. But it’s–” God, her hands are shaking. They’ve never so much as trembled in her life and here she may as well have a palsy. Her lip twists into a snarl and with a grunt Toni manages to wrangle the pilot’s handgun free. Sig Sauer P239. It’s heftier than her 9mil, but a familiar enough shape that she could weep with relief. God knows everything else in the cockpit is nigh on fucked. “Father,” her teeth grit at the title, having always hated it, even at the End of Days. “I counted–what?– three explosions? That we could see? Came from the North West so I’m betting Russia. There are 7 other countries with declared nuclear weapons. A fuckload more than that with undeclared.” 

The extra clip pulls from the dead man’s pocket and she pats him on the shoulder in thanks, grimacing before leaving a bloody trail down what little of his shirt is still blue gingham. Toni sits heavily in the junction between vessel and cockpit, attempting to catch both Joseph’s eye and her breath. There is no doubt in her soul the entire nuclear arsenal has all been fired or soon will be. A ‘die spitting in the face of God’ act. She scrubs her face with a palm. That cunning little mind races, calculating off the kilopascals of pressure and rads to raze the earth in mere seconds. She’d worked in the cradle of the atom bomb for years, helped bring forth its future generations, knew all too well just what was happening amid the tons of dust and smoke that blot out the sky. Still trembling, a single finger extends to the pitiful windows of the jet. 

“That dust? That’s fall out. Buildings, cities, entire mountains  reduced to powder in an instant. It will cling to the atmosphere for days, maybe weeks. Where it goes is wholly dependent on the weather and… I don’t know what kind of effect that many explosions in that many places will have. But every last speck of that is radioactive. We’re talking… the sun brought hundreds of thousands of miles closer to the earth radioactive. And it will poison everything it touches. It will change the chemical composition of your cells, stripping electrons away until they’re not even the same element. Interrupt their integrity and ability to regenerate.” A bark of a laugh falls from her dry lips and Toni again rises, takes one last thing from the pilot embedded terminally among his controls. Bracing on restraints, she makes her way to the back of the plane, stopping when the incline puts their eyes on a level. One mirrored lens is cracked when she extends the aviators between them. “Put those on. Actually seeing your face is freaking me out and I’m this far from losing it.” A thin line of blood drips between minuscule gap separating thumb and forefinger  to demonstrate the severity of that perilous ledge.

“Joseph,” she says it carefully, as if expecting a rebuke for daring use his God given name. Truth be told, she knows next to nothing about the man who’s practically asking her to be his Virgil through the circles of Hell. “We need shelter. We need time to come up with a plan, to find supplies and a way to defend ourselves against the millions of competitors in the same desperate spot as us. Your flock is… is a lot better off than us. You don’t even have a shirt. And you will do them not one bit of good to crawl back there only to die of radiation sickness a few days later.”

Not that she thinks their chances are any better once the fall out has settled, but there’s time to counteract that too.

Joseph is as still in the plane as he would be standing before his church, welcoming his congregation within. Fear doesn’t move him in this moment. This is a moment he’s expected, prepared for. Which is not to say that he doesn’t feel anything. Grief still wrenches at his gut. His heart is sore. Not just for the passing of his Family, but for the good souls he had been unable to save. For his mother, even, who was no doubt ash among the rest. 

So, while he triumphed in God’s promise being fulfilled and the bulk of the guilty being washed away in fire . . . he mourned, too. The Messenger had failed in extending his message further. How many more could he have saved if he had been left to his work? 

“Does it matter?” he asked her softly when she said the missiles came from Russia. “There isn’t a Russia anymore. Nor a North Korea. Nor a China. Nor even a United States. Only dust and the few ants crawling on its surface.” Though when she extended the pair of Aviators to him, her words made him smile--the smallest touch. 

Briefly, he glances back up at her, eyes boring into her own . . . and then he accepts the Aviators. Placing them on the bridge of his nose, he finds the cracked lens slightly discombobulating, but the glasses will serve their purpose. Miraculously, his hair has remained in its tight bun. Other than the dirt, spattering of blood, and bruised flesh, he looked much the same. 

As she explains the situation that they’re in, he tilted his head to the side for a moment, realizing something. His hand outstretches and grips her shoulder. “I now understand why God sent you to me.” It was for this exact moment. Joseph knew that the world would end in fire--and that fire would likely be a result of a nuclear strike. He knew that his people would have seven years in the dark before they could emerge into the light. 

Yet anything beyond that, he knew only through his basic high school education and various media portrayals of nuclear warfare. Which is to say, he did not know much. Toni, however, had a clear understanding of their timetable and risks that they needed to avoid. “Let me tend to you first,” he stated, “before we seek shelter.”

Though it would be difficult to find such a thing in the vast forest of Washington State. Still, he could help her now. One task at a time. “I’ll need you to remove your shirt, please.” Joseph does not react to her using his first name rather than his title. It’s familiar, but he doesn’t mind. As far as he is concerned, his role in God’s Plan was over. 

Taking out antibacterial wipes, he cleaned his hands first, and then turned to her once her shirt was removed. Checking her back, he nodded. “The bullet passed through.” An easy wound then. He cleaned it first, having some basic knowledge of first aid. One had to in order to survive the streets. 

With the wound cleaned, he did his best at stitching. It wasn’t pretty, but it would hold. Finally, he placed a bandage around the area. “Take one,” he said, handing her a painkiller. “I need you sharp.”

Closing the first aid kit, he rose and glanced outside. “What would you suggest, Toni?” he asked her. “Above ground shelter or below ground shelter? I’m not sure how active the prepper lifestyle is in Washington. Would a basement suffice? Or do we need to seek refuge in the sewer?”

@hubriscarved​