but the abyss was yours.

CARING. ACCEPTING.     /     @skiesking.

     there’s something to be said about nick: he has a smile like bottled sunshine and his heart is too big for his chest. every single beat spills out onto everything he touches, everything he says, and everything he does. when he cares, he does so in an all-encompassing way, a way that risks everything – a way that says: well, i love you, so damn the consequences. 

seed siblings surviving ( seed siblings surviving would also give us more realistic scenarios in which there are multiple judges, just sayin! )

au where the deputy makes it through the seven years with joseph and doesn’t succumb to his word and they both leave and part on even ground, having come to terms with their shared trauma and come out on the other end whole 

au where the deputy escapes early-on and finds another bunker because excuse me you’re telling me dutch didn’t have protective gear to keep safe from radiation stashed in his bunker somewhere?

DRABBLE PROMPTS. ACCEPTING.     /     @forgivenessbound.( HALF: OUR MUSES SHARE SOMETHING. [A SNACK, BLANKET, ETC.] ) 

     they sit so closely that one can hardly tell where one of them begins and the other ends. the sky is a vibrant etching of pinks and oranges, the bright edge of the sun beginning to rise over a far-off hill. twin judges, twin flames. silent, masked, ever-watching. the one on the left still clings to womanhood, fills against the curve of femininity beneath her mask. the one on the right is nothing– is neither– and is unimaginably content to be so. they are both nameless, however; and that is what they share. they are nameless, they are unknown, they are hidden beneath veils of carved wood and hoods of old, patchwork leather. 

     they are silent to everyone but the Father – to everyone but each other.

     they have settled a blanket over both of their legs. it’s an old, threadbare thing, patched unevenly, but it does its job to ward off the underlying chill in the air. the one to the left breaks the silence and casts her companion a sidelong glance. ‘ are you hungry? ’ her voice is a soft thing, rarely used, that blends cleanly with the wind in the trees. 

NONVERBAL. ACCEPTING.     /     @iscariotsdeputy​. ( TOUCH: A GENTLE TOUCH LIKE RUBBING THEIR BACK, HUGGING THEM, HOLDING THEIR HAND. )

     the judge had a name once. they had a life. they had a home. they had a career. they had a family. a flock of their own, borne of circumstance, borne of justice, borne under the heavy weight of a badge shared between them all. ( oh, but they found another one. a new one. a better one. an inevitable one. ) staci isn’t supposed to know them. shy of the Father himself, no one is supposed to know them– that was their choice, that was their one wish. please– let me reborn like the world cleansed of sin and– and— the judge is hidden beneath layers of roughly sewn cloth and leather, a shawl of wolf’s fur tucked around their shoulders, and the mask, always; a flat, placid face with holes slit wide for their eyes. they don’t speak, they don’t sing. they do little more than point the way and lead the paths. 

     staci is the purest thing since the before, since the after, since– 

     he sits at the hearth, stoking the sputtering flames within while they hover next to him. the world is silent but for the crackling of damp wood, the echo of far-off birdsong, the chattering cicadas in the leaves outside his small cabin. it’s nearly entrancing, how peaceful it is. they don’t expect staci to interrupt the quiet, even as slow as he is about it. he’s hesitant and his smile is almost shy when he rises to his feet, glancing up to address them. ‘ h-h – hey. ’ 

     they nod when they turn toward him, white mask cast in hues of yellow and orange. it’s a tiny movement, the simplest inclination of their head. 

     ‘ c-c-can — can i – ’ he moves closer, lifting his hands as if to reach for them, and stops in an aborted movement. ‘ c – can you s-sh – show me s-something? ’ their head cants to the side, almost owlish. it’s a movement they make often, but it’s curiosity that spreads and simmers beneath the surface of this particular motion. 

     he takes it as encouragement, but still – staci gestures at the cuffs of his own shirt, then towards theirs. ‘ y-y – your r-right arm. ’ then, so soft, so hopeful, ‘ p-please? ’ 

     for a moment, there is nothing. they are so still, barely breathing – a statue of flesh and blood. they are as silent as they always are, but this is something somehow quieter than quiet. staci isn’t to know them. no one is to know them. they don’t deserve to be known.

     staci has always been an especially perceptive person. 

     the judge finally moves, peels the thick-fingered glove off of their right hand. a palm is lain bare in the dim light of the cabin. then they begin to unroll the sleeve. the skin that comes to view has not been kissed by the sun in many years, crisscrossed with a myriad of pale, silvery scars. against their wrist is faded linework that was clumsy, shitty, even when it was new. a lopsided smiley face shines up at both of them, a testament from a time before. ( before the crash, before the arrest, just before the badge, before, before, before – ) he takes hold of their arm and passes his thumb over the ugly thing, almost reverent in his touch. 

     when he meets their eyes again, they lift their still-gloved hand, pressing a finger against the space where their mouth hides, a softened expression beneath the mask. staci’s smile seems to bloom, warmed by a memory much purer than fire. it makes them wonder, begs a question that they don’t know how to answer. ( was it always so easy to be known? )