#devilsbaptist

              He’d shown up the night before, seemingly unannounced at his doorstep. Then again, the closer they got, the less it seemed necessary to ever warn him of when he’d come over. No call ahead of time, expecting to be at least a few days out before he’d have time to stop by- but things just so happened to work in his favor. 

              A surprise for him, a kind gesture to wake up to. He knew how Joseph would run him ragged, knew how he’d forget to care for himself with the workload he often endured. Why would he take it upon himself to treat him, even with a gesture as small as this. The sizzle and pop of bacon and eggs lay low in comparison to the radio that filled the kitchen space. Far too big for any one man- but that’s what happens when a man resides in a lodge on his own. The song that played was not of the cult stations, but a local one, something he could hum along to as his mind was miles away. Still sore from the night before, the bliss that often clouded his mind finally began to uplift with help from a cup of coffee and a cigarette he kept off to the side. A part of him craved mornings like this- feeling normal- as if he could close his eyes and imagine himself living something of a quiet life. But he knew it was a far fetched dream for people like him- like John- this was as close to heaven as they’d get.

              “I’ve been.. busy, that’s all.”  

              It was all an excuse, hidden behind a casual lie. Something that seemed to come far too easy for him, as if the other were incapable of seeing right through him. Yet it was clear he was avoiding it, if not evident enough in the way his eyes avoided his. The way he was so quick to go for his lighter, a nervous tick he was unaware he even had at all. Fresh cigarette lay loose between his lips, a curtain of loose locks giving him relief from those piercing eyes that burned right through him. To think he’d gotten in too deep, all in an act of cowardice. To think all he could have said was no, taken a bullet like his friends who refused to give in. Instead he stood, willingly helping those that were seen once as the enemy. He himself was never a good man- not in that life, or this new one he was thrust into. At the end of the day he was there to study, observe, the thought always lingering in the back of his mind that one day- when the time would come- he would run away and not look back. Until then he would play their little game, playing with the plants and people was just a bonus along the way. 

              Somehow he got lucky, being spared and thrown in under Faith, showed kindness and in turn helped with the development of Bliss. Now here he was, in a place of his own, testing new strands to feed to the Angels and see how they’d respond. Each trial and error bringing progress, stronger batches meant stronger reactions, in turn making the others bend at the will of the brothers like they wanted all along. It was why he was still working, checking to ensure his batch would be complete in time for his next ceremony. He couldn’t imagine any other reason he’d come around, knowing he had deadlines to meet and shipments to deliver to him. It’s what kept him up at night, working late, making sure everything would go according to plan for his next big performance. He’d heard plenty talk about his work, firsthand experiences and those who went to admire. It was only a matter of time before he’d be called- each passing day bringing that inevitable moment upon him. He was never a religious man, couldn’t bring himself to believe in any god or higher power. It was all smoke and mirrors, nothing tangible or real. Why would this be any different? 

              Fingers danced around the lighter in his grip, the sound of metal clinking open with a graceful flip of its lid. Three beats of silence filled the space as he tried and failed to light it- clink, clink, clink- before a soft glow illuminated his profile, burning away at the end of the cigarette as he took a moment to toss his head back, releasing the smoke from his lungs with a sigh.

              He was working late, that’s what he’d told him over the phone. Even then the sound of irritation lay in his tone, as warm as he was allowed to be with him while facing the stress his brothers provided him. Why he took it upon himself to surprise him, being able to take time away from work to be at his house was a treat in itself. But he wasn’t arriving empty handed, and certainly wasn’t about to let him go to bed unhappy while he was there by his side. 

              Why he took it upon himself to set the scene, fireplace lit, the radio on low, having rummaged through his collection of wine that somehow survived his takeover of the lodge- or was brought in as offering, he couldn’t say. Curtains drawn, blankets set, all he needed was the final gift to set it right. “Oregano,” or so he was told to call it here, the cult not past its strange rules on drinking or drugs. Whatever happened behind closed doors though- was free game. Feeney was kind enough to offer his personal stash, grind it up and even slap a label on the front as if it hid suspicion of what really lay inside the bag. His treat, on the house as he’d say, and soon it was his gift to his lover, hoping to make his day a little better.

              He’d heard the sound of his plane coming in to land, the scuffle of feet from scrambling guards who were caught lazing about. Then a door- shoes on hardwood- and a pause, giving him his queue to turn and look toward the entry with a grin. He’d just finished licking the paper, twisting it to perfection, attempting to hide that playful look in his eye as he studied him- gauging his mood before offering the herb his direction. 

              It was meant to be a simple drop, instructions given by Faith, a request put in by John himself. Specific orders that he help deliver this bliss for his next baptism, needing something strong, potent- and who else but him to deliver the best the county could provide. That- and in all reality- he missed him. As much as he tried to deny the feelings he felt inside for him, he longed to see him at the end of the day. It came with the undeniable chemistry between them, those brief encounters that would linger within him for days, keep him up at night. But with the way work often went, it could be days, a week, bliss making time fly by, never being certain when he might see him again.

              Yet he could recall in vivid detail the last time he’d seen him face to face. He was working in his garden, taking samples, caught up in conversation with a colleague who helped maintain the fields. It was the bliss that would make them so social, so willing to open up and talk. In his nature to flirt, that natural lilt to his tone, only made worse when the stars would cloud his vision. His laughter filled the air, unbeknownst to him that they were being watched by another. John who had stopped by to meet with Faith, John who stood by, listening in on their conversation from a distance. The way their eyes always somehow managed to find each other through a crowd, even as his workers loaded barrels of bliss and Faith talked away at him- that silent connection was made. Jealousy, rage, the mere sight of another taking his attention seemed to leave a tension in the air, even as he said nothing at all. Yet the seed was planted, the scene set in motion, and how oblivious he was to the consequences that would come from his actions.

              The air felt still around him, his blood run cold. Eyes were set, fixated on the sight that lay before him. Like a fallen angel, the hollow shell of a mangled corpse would hang suspended in air, bouquets of bliss replacing the inner workings of a man so familiar. A man he hadn’t seen in days, a man Faith would not say a word about- it lining up in place until he understood what it all meant in that very moment. Like the last piece of the puzzle, the world seeming to stop as the breath caught in his throat. A friend, a colleague, gutted like a prize trophy and hung in the archways leading to John’s private home. Frozen in time, like he was once again a child, eyes wide in horror as vivid memories came flickering back through his mind. That same suspended moment in time, watching his childhood home burn to the ground. That same, heart stopping sensation that left him still, unmoving, mind soaking in the sight as if it was an old time photo developing right before him. Drinking it in, his mind would never let him forget. Killed- no- the man was slaughtered- and there stood John, watching the process as they’d string the man up like he was mere décor. An example that had to be set- but for what- what did the man do wrong to deserve it-?

            It wasn’t often Faith would send just anyone across the Henbane. Past Falls End, the edges of the valley where John’s Lodge resided. There were few and far between that Faith trusted with a task, Feeney far too busy to ever make runs outside the Conservatory. It was why he was sent, or at least what he assumed, knowing it would take a couple days to ensure everything arrived safely. Highly concentrated Bliss, for what reasons the youngest brother needed it was anyone's guess. The Baptist often worked his magic in the runoff of the river, cleansing those who wished to be free from their past- take their step toward passing through the gates of Eden when the time would come. Something he’d considered, something that lingered in the back of his mind, knowing it was inevitable, but played his part to avoid such a spotlight. 

              The thought was pushed aside, when they found their way into his long private drive. Big white letters lining the dirt road, paving the way to a lush and vibrant estate. Impressive being an understatement, jumping out of the passenger side to meet with one of the guards at the front. 'He’ll want to know they’ve arrived,' he was informed, gun strapped across the cultists chest directing him toward the side of the house closest to the landing strip. He was the messenger after all, not the guy out front, nor the men that began to exchange where they’d want it all dropped off. 

              OTP Prompts @devilsbaptist

              There was unease in the air, like a tangible tension that he could not shake. To think, all it took was a single person to tip the scale, sending everything into motion. It was just as Joseph had said- the prophecy they’d heard so many times before. A white horse, and hell followed with. He could still recall the night so clearly, standing just outside a pair of carved white doors. The uncertainty of what would come next. Then in a flash it all changed, like an explosion of emotion the moment the father appeared in chains. Like a whirlwind all around him, the shouts, the screams, people collapsing and begging, the tension rising to a precipice- and all it took was a single shot for the chaos to unleash. Yet through it all, it was not Joseph he worried for, but him- the last glimpse of the man as they’d closed the church doors. Brown hair, blue eyes, meeting until the passage was sealed shut. It was not Joseph he chased after, but John he sought that night- and when the reaping had begun, it was John he promised to stay beside.

              Now each day was no longer peaceful, no blissful living with a lingering ‘what if.’ Now it was fighting to survive, day in and day out, taking refuge at John’s Lodge for he’d have it no other way. Yet the man was always busy, coming and going, brother demanding, taking, and him constantly giving. When would it become too much? When he’d be worn to the bone, caught out in his plane, shot down or taken out for the sake of his brethren- his followers. It was the thought that left fear in his heart, the reason he’d cling to him, the moment they were alone.

              How he’d taken nights like these for granted, where the fireplace roared and the record player rang out with an oldies tune. The doors had finally shut, the place falling quiet, guards posted outside and left the two of them alone together. Footsteps would fill the space as he closed the gap between them, watching the way the Baptist's head dipped, palms flat against the table where maps were strewn and guns lay loaded. The stress was mounting, he could hear it even from upstairs as he worked. The way he’d bark and command the others, his brothers constantly breathing down his neck. His hand came to rest against his back, running carefully up his spine, watching the way his body would react, rolling himself upright where his arms could slip around him from behind. Hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling his heart, while face buried against his back with a gentle sigh.

              “ I won't let any danger even touch you. ”

                                          @devilsbaptist

              There was warmth that came with his closeness, that tender touch, skin on skin as the Baptist lay beside him. So rare to ever see him so vulnerable, how many nights it took to get him to this point. A man who was raised on violence, whose hands could do nothing but destroy, learning to love, how to be so gentle. Now here they were, a night of soft sighs and tangled bodies, lost beneath the sheets without need for bloodshed or leaving his mark.  Outside the cool night breeze drifted in through the open balcony doors, the sounds of Hope County dancing on the wind while the music of the bliss lingered like a faint tune in the back of his mind. Home- this felt like home. There was no place else he’d rather be than with him at his side.

              Fingers combed through his dark locks, gaze on the ceiling fan that spun slowly overhead. His breathing was soft, even, almost expecting him to fall asleep right there on top of him, head on his chest. But there was something in him, something that got under his skin that set all this in motion. Knowing earlier that day he had met with his brother, and came home different- something he wouldn’t speak on, but he knew well how said encounters would often go. He’d heard the voicemails, knew well his struggle within. A constant battle with himself, wanting to be good enough for the eldest, while also fighting to earn his way into Eden’s Gate. A tightrope he was forced to walk, being pushed to the edge with a knife at his back and told not to fall to temptation. Cracks in his façade, like leaks in a dam, pressure building until even he was prone to break. 

              Something he’d never expected, the question taking him off guard. A genuine thought, from a voice so small, so soft, it almost didn’t seem like John at all. More like an inner child coming forth, that voice in his head- the picture of a younger version of him, bruised and battered, asking what he was doing wrong. The very sound was enough to leave his chest aching, like a knife in his heart, twisting around as he felt himself choke on the air.     Do you think there’s something wrong with me?

              He knew the way others saw him. Where many often idolized him, there were more that often feared him. It was no secret the things he did within his bunker, the messes he made of corpses that littered the archways and streets. Bodies, filled with flowers, and those who lived disfigured from carving flesh from bone in attempt of freeing them of sin. He himself was not immune from this, having met firsthand the end of his blade, the tip of his needle, John being sure to leave his mark on the one he found most precious. He was a force to be scared of- his own brother letting those words pass through his lips. That people followed him because they feared what he’d do otherwise. But he knew the truth, down inside, that he was loved, and  that Joseph was wrong.

              “I don't think the worlds been kind to you, but I don’t think there’s something wrong with you, my love.” The words fell careful, calculated as he thought it over, fingers playing through his hair, running in long strokes down his spine as his brow furrowed at the sky. “Your brother doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does. Your brother doesn’t know all of what you’ve been through either- you know this.” Sure, word of mouth was one thing, but never would Joseph grasp the pain that the younger brother endured, how could he? The man had left him behind, and only returned to 'save' him when it seemed convenient to his plan. “He has no right to judge you, tell you what is right and wrong. I see nothing wrong with you-”

                                          @devilsbaptist

              It was a question he’d never thought he’d hear, if he was being completely honest. A thought, seemingly brought forth out of the blue, by the man he least expected it from. Freedom, the thought of leaving, was something that hadn’t crossed his mind in ages- simply because he’d given up hope on the thought of ever getting out of Hope County alive. He’d grown content, knowing that one day his body would one day decay, giving back to the bliss he now devoted his life to. How he would go out was anyone's guess, maybe accidental overdose from the flowers, or a stray bullet between the outsiders and them- or maybe his brother would be right, maybe the world would end. It was never easy to say, but no matter what the outcome, he knew where his loyalty lied. His home was not any building nor place, but with John, wherever he chose to reside. So it was no doubt in his mind, that should the day ever come where he wanted to leave it all behind- he would do it- in a heartbeat- no questions asked.

              What brought it on, he wasn’t entirely sure. Delicate flower petals were pulled apart, piece by piece, his hands surprisingly gentle with such practice over time. Lost in his thoughts, his work, his voice brought with it a deafening silence that left him stopping in his tracks. Like he’d been awoken from a trance, his mind suddenly clear from the white noise of his day to day, the music from the bliss or stars that blurred his vision. Like he was able to think of his life before all this, or what he’d dreamed for himself after. As if it wasn’t a forbidden, sinful concept- something that even John seemed to think of, but never let on until now. 

              These sort of thoughts and topics were usually things that never left the bedroom. Foolish thoughts, like young boys with wild dreams, traveling the world or going anywhere their hearts desired. He’d often had such vivid dreams while he’d sleep, where he and John would take a plane and fly beyond Hope County, far far away, where they might start their lives anew. But then the fear would set in, the worry of not being good enough. What if he’d bore him? What if he’d tire of his presence? What if he found someone better, when he could have the whole world at his fingertips? Some nights the plane would crash just before he’d wake up, spiraling to the earth like a modern day Icarus, opening his eyes just before he’d hit the ground. 

              But here he was, wide awake, not caught the afterglow of what-if’s- but standing before him, genuine question falling from his lips. It left his eyes wandering, meeting a pair of piercing blue, always unwavering, sincere, no sign of hesitation in asking his thoughts. Was it a test of loyalty? Or something more sincere? Brow furrowed, turning cheek the other way as he’d give a half smile, palms brushing together to dust pollen from his fingers as he spoke. “I never thought I would hear this from you of all people..” Not that he was complaining- in fact- it was the opposite. He could feel his heart race at the thought, them getting away from it all. His brother, this place, this cult, start a life of their own- why he tried to keep a calm façade, his gaze eventually lifting from his bliss stained fingers to meet his eyes, closing the space between them with slow and careful steps. “I mean… we always could, if you wanted to. I could use a chance of scenery…”