WORSHIP;

rules,   a stated law that must be abided by   :

the author of this blog goes by scout. i am 22 and will only interact with blogs that are 18+. this blog will contain a lot of triggering material and therefore i will softblock any minors that find their way here. no racism, sexism, homophobia (etc) will be tolerated here.

i am here, primarily, to have fun. i do not participate in call - out culture, nor do i engage in petty drama that makes its way onto my dash. if you ever ask me to pick sides, you will automatically be on the losing side of that debate.

i do not engage with blogs that sexualise or otherwise glorify shitty things. i don’t really need a list of these things, but i’m sure you get the picture.

i’m selective and only care about following blogs that i think i can interact with.

typical roleplay rules apply. no godmodding. please do not overly format your posts. do not keep following me a thousand times in the hopes i’ll follow back.

i’m pretty laidback and chill. just don’t be an asshole.

MAIN LORE OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK, THE CULT, AND THE EVERYTHING ELSE.

MAIN CHARACTERS.

BENJAMIN DAVIS. 44. CULT LEADER. THE LANDLORD AND OWNER OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK. BIOGRAPHY. 

CARTER MCCLEAN. 15. RESIDENT OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK AND THE PURE CHILD DESTINED TO BE SACRFICIED. BIOGRAPHY.

LIANNA MCCLEAN. 49. RESIDENT OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK, MOTHER OF CARTER, HEAD OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK’S COUNCIL. BIOGRAPHY.

DIANE LOVE. 29. RECENT RESIDENT OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK AND SUPPOSED PROPHET (UNWILLING). BIOGRAPHY.

MARCUS DOUVER. 31. RESIDENT OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK AND MOUTH - PIECE OF AEROS. BIOGRAPHY.

LADY BLUE. 19. RESIDENT OF THE APARTMENT BLOCK AND SEER. BIOGRAPHY.

SIDE CHARACTERS.

TPD.

NPCS.

APATHIA. THE MAIDEN. BIOGRAPHY.

their shared shiver renders them useless,    two skins wrapped over flesh and bone and  all too small  facing the danger that looms.   she remembered matron agatha’s hand,  rising like a scythe,   the shadow cutting through her before the admonishment ever did—    and it was powerless just when she decided it to be,   that who she was did not equal the skin she wore.    the darkness  is less threatening when it is just  the absence of light,   and not a never-ending abyss.    

if she could,   she would convey it to carter,   if only to  breathe power into the words,    to borrow their strength long enough to weather this storm.

when the suggestion came,   she stopped abruptly in her steps   &   tugged back on their joint anchorage of hands,   though not letting go.    it made no sense to sequester into a closed space with only  one way out.    olivia shook her head furiously,   though the footsteps that grew louder with each passing moment     (  tap.   tap.   tap.   )     shook her resolve just long enough to  consider  the plan at least.     she nudged the girl forward,   to lead the way,   tightening her grip on the bony hand to reconfirm and reassure:    i will be right behind you,   her foot rested on the edge of the vent,    an eye on the door left ajar behind them.     lies,  too,   were powerful things.

carter scans olivia’s face for a trace of strength,   though all she finds is hesitance   (it makes her heart beat an even colder rhythm in her chest:    she worries that it will crawl into her throat and spill out between them,   a last offering before the two girls are burned as wounded effigies--      she might die of fright before anyone even gets their hands on her).      her fingers grasp on the edge of the vent,   peering inside the dark lagoon.    she cannot see very far down,  though she must trust that it will guide her out of this place,  eventually.   another glance at olivia tells her that their time is running short:    make a decision,  carter!    and if she leads them towards their death,   at least it will only be a few short seconds before their end descends on them.       

he’d oft been told his own curiosity will get him killed some day.      that strange reminder of childhood and made its way back into his head the day he had walked into  the dione.     it was easy for him to  catch the bait  when one resident extended her hand with the promise of a potrait,   offered casually as one would  a complementary breakfast.    nikolai leaned across his seat,    his forearm rested against the edge.     ❛   brave?   that’s a first.  most people have been saying foolish.   ❜     the tape recorder in his trouser-pocket beat silently,    though his heart did not.      ❛   I have read them,   but it takes more than stories to deter me.    got a bit of a death-wish,  it seems.   ❜     an airy laugh shared between passing acquaintances.    nikolai had to remind himself the reality—   the contrary.     ❛  how long have you lived here?   ❜

“Technophobe? I wouldn’t go that far. I quite like the dishwasher. And my laptop. I’m partial to a little TV from time to time.” But when her parents are away, of course. Otherwise, it’s just the endless gloom of the news or once in a blue moon, a documentary. It hurts her sometimes, as it’s like they don’t think she can control herself. She’s responsible and capable enough to run the house alone during the many times they are gone, but not to turn a television off after an episode or two or to return home from a trip out with her friends at a responsible time. It’s a relief that the can in her hand is still too full to be crushed, Satomi instead opting to take another sip. “If there was nowhere else? Maybe, but even then, I don’t know. My parents would probably just tell me to create some space. They’re like that. They’re not people to argue with.”

rain drums its fingers against the tin roof,    its rhythm matches the terrified beat of her heart.    the matrons at merilance always warned the girls to  steer clear of the unknown,   but she has found it to be a fool’s advice.    it is the known that scares her:   the hungry eyes of the moth-eaten bodies,    the empty void trapped in them,    their heads tilting with curiosity and something even more sinister.     olivia grips the other girl’s hand over her own,   now entwined  like anchors  as she guides them through the darkness.

their steps were careful through the littered objects,    wooden figurines scattered across the floor,    dust gathering underneath their feet.    no one has been here in ages,   olivia realises and wonders if that has been the case  for good reason.    a shiver passes through carter’s body and olivia feels it too,   causing her to stop in the middle of their trek.    ❛   they prey on fear. ❜     she means to say,  but the words are lost in her throat so she tightens her grasp on the trembling fingers.    pat,  pat,  pat,   sound the footsteps behind them but  olivia stills.     the alarm in her widely blown eyes urges carter into silence too,    because there was no reason for another trespasser to be here.    the hall they had left behind was empty. 

she knows that olivia cannot really protect her   (she knows that they are both lamb - skinned and putrid:     they are little girls deciding to play dress - up inside of a mystery,   lifting different masks to their face until one of them grows claws and takes up permanent residence     ...    and,  even as she knows this,   she grips at olivia’s hand to anchor herself).    olivia’s knuckles are spindly against her thumb.    it is nice to touch someone else--     carter thinks that touch makes them a little more human.    it makes the darkness feel less like it is scurrying into her throat,   dampening her skin with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Technophobe? I wouldn’t go that far. I quite like the dishwasher. And my laptop. I’m partial to a little TV from time to time.” But when her parents are away, of course. Otherwise, it’s just the endless gloom of the news or once in a blue moon, a documentary. It hurts her sometimes, as it’s like they don’t think she can control herself. She’s responsible and capable enough to run the house alone during the many times they are gone, but not to turn a television off after an episode or two or to return home from a trip out with her friends at a responsible time. It’s a relief that the can in her hand is still too full to be crushed, Satomi instead opting to take another sip. “If there was nowhere else? Maybe, but even then, I don’t know. My parents would probably just tell me to create some space. They’re like that. They’re not people to argue with.”

satomi  nods  and  follows  her  down  the  hallway.  at  this  point,  she’s  slightly  tipsy,  stumbling  a  little  as  she  walks,  something  that  can’t  help  but  make  her  embarrassed.  perhaps  she  can  try  again  tomorrow  to  fix  everything.  words  tumble  out  of  her  mouth,  awkward  and  out  of  nowhere,  just  to  drown  out  the  thoughts  in  her  head.  ❝  have  you  lived  here  long?  ❞

the flashlight is more of a nuisance because it is a reminder of all that  does not cast a shadow.    the bodies that surround them are half-eaten   &   grotesque,    threaded with light and speckles of dust,    and where there should be flesh are  grey veils  that separate what is real from what is not.     (  ghouls,   she has found,   do not bother…    unless bothered.  )     

olivia smacks the flashlight out of the girl’s hand    &    grips her wrist tightly,   fingers that clasp like cuffs,   tugging her against the resistance of carter’s unwillingness.      come now,    says the urgency in her grey eyes,    we don’t have much time.

❝  i  suppose  social  media  has  a  use  after  all.  thank  you,  by  the  way.  ❞  she  takes  the  lemonade  from  carter,  wiping  off  the  top  of  the  can  with  the  sleeve  of  her  blazer,  then  opens  it  and  takes  a  sip.  it’s  been  ages.  her  parents  don’t  allow  soft  drinks  in  the  house,  and  she’s  too  nervous  to  buy  any  when  they’re  away.  ❝  satomi,  ❞  she  introduces  herself,  offering  her  a  nod.  ❝  nice  to  meet  you.  and  that’s  nice.  your  mother  sticking  up  for  you,  i  mean.  i  don’t  think  mine  would  do  that.  she’d  just  tell  me  to  find  somewhere  else  to  study.  ❞