counttwo-4

[counttwo-4]

      “ ... Well, we’re here now. What do y’ want to know? ”

#open. #[ 𝚃𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. | new colossus au / Rising From The Dust. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ]

[counttwo-4]

resistandbite​:

“Oi! Get the fuck off the line if yer gonna clog it up with this shite! This isn’t some fun and games, this, ye fuckin’ idiots!”

--

      “ Crrrrckckkk-- shhrhrrkk-- sorry, Agent Four-- crrrckckck...!! What did you say, mate? ”

      “ Kkkrrck-- keep makin’ fun of those jackboot shites? Kill all of them? Gotcha! Crrrckck! Signal is bloody horrible in these parts! Sshrhhck...! See you soon, Agent Four!~ Sshhrckk...! ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #resistandbite

[counttwo-4]

resistandbite​:

“I will hang up this phone right now, so help me God.”

--

      “ If you hang up that phone, Agent Three-- ”

      “ I’ll be dragon and smakon these bloody bollocks across your razor-sharp jaw and you’ll have to sukon THESE FUCKING NUTS!! ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #suggestive tw #racy tw #nsfw tw #nsfw joke tw #resistandbite

[counttwo-4]

resistandbite​:

“That’s the secret they don’t know. I got two contacts, Wesley.”

--

      “ But you see, Blazkowicz... do you have three contacts like me? Sukon, Dragon and... ”

      “ Smakon? ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #resistandbite

[counttwo-4]

resistandbite​:

“My contact in the village? Guy named Ligma.”

--

      “ Thought it was Sugma. ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #resistandbite

[counttwo-4]

      “ I lived, bitch. ”

#[ 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔. | dash comm. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #ask to tag tw #injury tw #body horror tw

[counttwo-4]

      he hit the quan

#[ 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔. | dash comm. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #//and now i disappear back to starofvirtue bc i have no muse for him

[counttwo-4]

//sorry for takin a while with asks!! i might clear out what i have in all my inboxes to kinda get a Fresh Start in things

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ooc / out of character. ]

[counttwo-4]

      ...

      He was just sitting there. That Catholic piece of Catholic.

#[ 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔. | dash comm. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜; 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼?! 𝚢𝚎𝚜. | crack. ] #//i appear. for just a moment. then fade away #//im on starofvirtue if yall wanna interact iwth methere SDFHSDLFSDF

[counttwo-4]

      “ I know. ” Richard was able to easily respond, his arms wrapping around Ezekiel in turn, pulling him close. Protected. Safe. Ezekiel was safe in his arms-- and he couldn’t help but be quite livid at the thought of someone trying to startle Ezekiel... by using HIS name and saying he didn’t love him! What bastards...

      ... He pressed his lips onto Ezekiel’s forehead with a gentle peck, cracking a smile,

      “ And you know that I love you, right? Nothing will ever change that. Don’t let any anonymous buggers tell you otherwise... or, I might need to also call Blazkowicz, and you know how stubborn he can be. ”

      “ That wasn’t me… Don’t trust that spy, Ezekiel. Oh… hell… I’m sorry that– what in the bloody… fuck??? ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #[ 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. | crossover. ] #reverxnce #ask to tag tw #//jumps onto tumblr just for this #//leaves again #//CLASSES AND MY CURRENT BRAINROT HAVE BEEN KILLING ME BUT I GIVE WASSLEY

[counttwo-4]

      “ That wasn’t me... Don’t trust that spy, Ezekiel. Oh... hell... I’m sorry that-- what in the bloody... fuck??? ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #reverxnce

[counttwo-4]

pxnksuited​:

;@counttwo-4 asked:  ❛  read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse .

It was moments like these that the raucous partying grew to be too much even for the man of the evening. Summer was at hand with the silvered May moon hugging the universe. Cigar smoke filled Jay’s lungs as he watched from his window above, tucked away in his library. It was rarely used, the old place, a mere apparition for others to perceive him as well read but lo’ did he encapsulate himself in its depths, hiding from the crowds. Much to his relief, only the man who’s owl eyes stared solemnly over New York City, found himself in his literature archives and that man had resolved not to show his face that night.

The pianist, Klipspringer, played a soft tune and the buzz Gatsby felt from the few glasses of champagne he had engulfed earlier that evening brought him a calm nirvana. He seated himself on one of his many patterned nylon chairs in the room with a book, W. B. Yeats’ many collections of poetry, and his eyes began indulging in the Irishman’s lyricism when the door creaked open, disturbing his solemn peace.

A man, about his own age entered the room and Gatsby placed his novel on the table beside him, beaconing the man inside with a lackadaisical flick of his wrist. He recognized the man of course, he made a habit of introducing himself to all who stepped on his emerald lawns, and offered a gentleman’s grin. Richard’s past and even present were unknown but he had spoken of being in some European conflict or another and Gatsby considered him a fellow man-at-arms. Although he found him droll company at times, there was a refreshment to having someone at his mansion not a blazing drunk or overtly celebratory.

”Come in old sport, there is plenty of room. Pick whatever book of mine that you’d like,” he said, resting his chin on his clasped together hands as his elbows relaxed on his knees. A humorous edge stabbed itself into his baritone voice. “Are you the Oscar Wilde sort or are you of the Langston Hughes type?”

      Attending these parties became a common sort for Richard. ‘We want more information on Mr. Gatsby’, said O.S.A. Command. Usually, Wesley would follow these orders, but... There was something different about Mr. Gatsby compared to his many other targets. Especially because they already had a bit of information about him. Major Gatsby, had gotten awards from Montenegro. Great War. Of course-- O.S.A. Command deemed it so that they required more information, so they sent one of their best: Agent One.

      Seeing that familiar suit-- why, couldn’t help but smile. After all, there was always an air of friendliness to him. Though, he was sure there was more to this man than meets the eye. As he straightened his blazer, hazel eyes settled on the host, his eyes seeming to lighten up. Richard walked with a sense of purpose, usually, like that of a man that had seen war and just couldn’t get used to civilian life. Spine straight, shoulders back, always standing at parade rest. Indeed, he was different compared to some of the other guests that Mr. Gatsby would meet. Richard preferred to keep away from the parties-- overwhelming. Of course... Luckily, it led him right to Jay.

      “ Admittedly? Both, Mr. Gatsby, sir. Why settle for just one when I can have both of them, eh? ” Wesley replied, “ I do hope I didn’t interrupt your peace at all-- how are you? ” Start up conversation, Richard. Don’t be stiff, as Fergus would tell you.

      He made his way to the bookshelves with a sense of intrigue and a bit of hidden excitement. So many books on these shelves! All wonderful authors, too. Even... oh, he couldn’t help but grin. Couldn’t stay so serious when he saw such a wonderful display before him. Turning his head back to the mysterious host, he spoke up, unable to hide the bit of excitement creeping into his voice, “ And you have amazing taste, Mr. Gatsby!-- Not that I ever doubted you, of course. It looks like you could recreate the Library of Alexandria. ”

      “ ... I presume you’re truly not one for the parties, eh? ” Richard found himself saying this time once he looked back to the bookshelves. A keen eye, Agent One had-- after all, it was all a part of the job. “ With how crazy they can get sometimes, I don’t blame you. Sometimes it can be a tad overwhelming for myself, too. Sends me into a bloody tizzy. ”

      Richard could hear his own leg faintly creak. Damn thing. Archibald, you rat-bastard, he thought... yes, he called his own prosthetic ‘Archibald’.

      “ Do you have a favored author of your own, Mr. Gatsby, sir? ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. | crossover. ] #pxnksuited #verse tbt. #ask to tag tw #war tw

[counttwo-4]

"As soon as BJ comes through that door, you need to tell him to hide, quickly. If you don't, we die. You're shocked to death by Rudy and he lets Greta devour you. You understand?" ( @torelegacy for that variant au? )

@torelegacy

     When Richard took this mission, he knew it wouldn't be easy. Dealing with Helga von Schabbs and Rudi Jaeger again-- in Castle Wolfenstein, of all places...

      It’s just-- he never fucking expected this mindfuckery.

      Slumped in that chair. Injured, tortured-- beaten and battered and electrocuted, waterboarded and bitten... well, he's handled this before. Tanganyika. Doctor Zee in '43, as well. Just remember the trick. Count to four. Inhale. Count to four. Exhale.

      He thought he was seeing things, at first. He thought he was just dreaming that he saw himself crawl his way in like a goddamn mouse, alive and well. Agent One blinked his eyes, furrowing his brows...

     " R-Right. " He rasped out, managing to straighten his posture. But his eyes flicked to the door. " I--... I'll keep the questions for later. Any way... " A falter-- pain going through his throat. Throat was raw from screaming.

      " ... A-Any way you and Blazkowicz can surprise him? Take out the dog and him? If you both hide... There has to be a way you can... can... aughk... s-sorry... Shite, I’d-- I’d try talking more, mate, but... t-this is... fucking killing me... What a bloody cock-up... would prefer if we could chat over a cup of tea. "

#[ 𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍. | Ask Answered. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. | main verse / Nothing Good Left. ] #twin au tbt. #ask to tag tw #torture tw #death tw #injury tw #war tw #nazi tw #ptsd tw #trauma tw #eye horror tw #gore tw

[counttwo-4]

spxcemuses​:

@counttwo-4 from here

Sunrise was ecstatic to have someone assist him in the daycare, a new friend! He could easily do the job himself, but the people that ran the Pizzaplex decided unanimously to have a security guard help out anyway. Sunny was simply too busy with all the things he had to do. He didn’t talk to Wesley much during the daytime, giving the children puppet shows and entertaining them. But since it was nighttime now, he had more free time on his hands! Nodding with enthusiasm, the animatronic explains how his day went while acknowledging that they were okay.

“ Oh, I’m absolutely chipper! I had such a fun day today! The children loved the little puppet show I put on for them, and they even got to make some of their own out of paper! Isn’t that swell?? ” “ Some children are here for a few more minutes until their parents pick them up, and as for anything to look out for…. Nope, not unless you count the toys strewn across the floor over there! ”

He stood on his tiptoes, pointing over to an area behind Wesley before looking back to them. His smile faltered as he saw their face. Exhausted eyes, disheveled hair… Were they tired? Sunrise reaches out to rest a hand on their shoulder, but stops as if in thought, pulling back instead.

“ But I-I can pick that up, easy peasy! Wesley…? You look super tired, friend. Do you need a nap? There’s a spot to nap in if you need to! ”

      ... He didn’t expect for Sundrop to get concerned for him. It was common for Wesley to look like this nowadays-- if you met him back when he was in art school, he surely would’ve looked the same. Tired. Disheveled. Not taking care of himself as well as he should. Given, with how he was-- well, it was expected. Richard served as a chaplain in the military-- and he’s seen things. Things that no child should see. Sometimes, with how his uniform shifted-- you could see his garments beneath. They weren’t fancy robes, but it was the notable collar that you’d always see on priests.

      But, Sundrop had gotten a smile-- a rather chipper one in comparison to the other smiles he’d get from the security guard on his first day. “ No, no, how about-- we pick them up together, eh? ” He offered, pushing himself up n’ out of his seat, soon pushing it in not long afterwards. He motioned for Sundrop to follow, making his way for the toys. “ I can nap a tad later-- it’s, ah, hard for me to sleep, actually. I do sleep, but I don’t like taking naps. I prefer to get things done. Just means we can spend more time with each other, eh? ”

      He stretched a little, as he said that-- he sat in there for most of the day, usually making sure kids didn’t approach the controls, making sure they didn’t-- you know. Mess things up too much. Already had to send a child off for causing too much of a ruckus.

      “ Oh! I remember the puppet show, too-- I loved watching it from over here. Honestly, seeing you entertain the children and-- just, you being you always makes my day. Honestly? Same goes with Moondrop. Both of you make my day even better. You’re too sweet to me, Mr. Sundrop, hah!... Honestly, this job is much smoother than I thought... especially in comparison to my previous work. Used to be a soldier, you see. ”

      Was it strange to say that talking to Sundrop or Moondrop (despite Moondrop’s obvious differences in behavior) was... rather therapeutic for him?

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #[ 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. | crossover. ] #spxcemuses #ask to tag tw #fnaf tw #ptsd tw #trauma tw

[counttwo-4]

" Helloo~! New friend, gosh- it's so nice to see you finally here!! How was the first day? I bet it was swell! And even if it wasn't, you're with me now, so we get to hang out all night and have so much fun! " (Sunrise to Wesley,, cause frienmds 🥺)

@spxcemuses

Richard wasn't used to working in a daycare. He was used to war. Dealing with terrorists or fascists or anything threatening. Used to getting shot at from his roost. He wasn't used to... well, looking after children (given, soldiers were somewhat like children in uniforms. With guns). Or the animatronics that were practically sentient, but... well, at least he was able to somewhat get to know Sundrop (sentient animatronics? Sounds like it could be a disaster...) during his first day as a security guard. Lookin' over the kids, making sure they didn't get hurt, or do things they weren't supposed to, making sure the lights were on 'til the designated time...

... 'Course, for Richard, he wasn't one for turning the lights off. Got him thinking he was back at-- okay, therapist said he shouldn't think about it too much.

" It was quite alright, thank you very much, Mr. Sundrop! " Wesley replied with a chipper tone, though the dark circles around his eyes and the bags beneath them contrasted it. Lack of sleep, usually-- not from the job, but from... well, you know.

" Hopefully you're doing well, mate? How are the children? Anything I should look out for? "

#[ 𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍. | ask answered. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #verse tbt. #[ 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. | crossover. ] #spxcemuses #ask to tag tw #fnaf tw #horror tw #ptsd tw #trauma tw

[counttwo-4]

reverxnce​:

There was a shudder, an audible outward breath as the chains broke around him, relieving the burden of that neck-snapping weight. Muscles unwound with a sickly-sweet ache, bones crackling as he straightened himself out. Before he could do so fully, he stumbled and fell back against the larger presence that cradled him. This mysterious man, this Saint, may well have arrived filled with all the wraths of Heaven, but in his arms Ezekiel felt nothing more than safety, a benign presence; a kind haven that came down to him in toe form of a figure.

Upon receiving no verbal response to his question, instead being lifted from the ground, Ezekiel simply heaved a relenting sigh, relieved also now of the crushing weight of his own body against the soles of his slashed up feet. He was tired, and unhappy to the point of crippling lethargy. He just wanted to sleep. Whoever this being was, he just wanted to cuddled up against it, nestle into their warmth and slip away. And so he did, for the few seconds that he was simply held, before that hand was laid upon his forehead. And just like that, a blissful heat ran through him, the cold beneath his skin eroding away and dissolving, the ache in his body unravelling, the sting in his feet mellowing out and falling away.

Suddenly free of the exhaustion, as if he had slept for sixteen hours, he opened his now wide, sharp eyes to find himself looking upon the horrified faces of his Parishioners - the remaining population of the town he had work so hard relocate. In that moment, Ezekiel could suddenly feel the rage radiating from the one who carried him, watching on in dumbfounded bewilderment as several people scattered from the fireside, the others not far behind, pots and pans falling to the floor with yells frantically thrown out as each bid the other to run.

Next thing, a black fold of fabric was flung their way, what food and water there was left behind by those just departed. Within moments, the fireside was empty, though eyes were still upon them, all those that had been there mere seconds ago now watching anxiously from within their wagons.

Ezekiel was left utterly speechless. Now sat on the ground by the fireside, shuffled over towards the bundle of black fabric, opening it with such caution, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Sure enough: his shirt, trousers, and heavy woollen cassock, eyes then wandering up to also see his boots left on the ground a little way ahead.

He turned slowly, swallowing hard as he looked upon the man who had saved him; intimidating, terrifying and yet ethereal…beautiful. He bit down hard on his bottom lip.

“W-Who are you, sir? Why are you helping me?”

      Silence. The death mask seemed to stare at Ezekiel for some time-- for a bit, he didn’t answer, merely making his way to where his boots were, picking them up and making his way back to Ezekiel, placing said boots down nearby. Once again, though, after that, he spoke. His voice, despite how it sounded as though he’d rasp and struggle to breathe, how each second of speaking sounded as though it brought him pain, had a sense of beauty to it, like the rest of him.

      “ I am Saint Richard of Wales. ” He began, his head lowering to focus on him. “ And I was sent to assist you. You are one of God’s shepherds, no? ” He cocked his head to the side almost curiously now, but he slowly sat down near the fire, now looking up to him. “ He has heard your prayers. So, He sent me. ” Richard’s head turned to the other wagons-- his head tilted upwards, faintly showing parts of his burned skin. It almost looked like his mask seemed to sneer at them all. He shook his head and scowled, soon letting his gaze(? if he could somehow see through the mask) drop to the flames.

      “ ... And I will be here until these people will learn to understand... proper gratitude. And for the cause of such punishment you were subjected to? ” He shook his head yet again, taking in a deep breath, then exhaled. “ You did not even sin. It was finding comfort with another that understands you, yes? ” He paused for a moment-- like that made him realize something. That woman.

      Where was she. An almost animalistic rage bubbled forth from within, like Lucifer attempting to crawl from the pits of Hell-- but he said nothing of it. He’d wait for when she would show herself, and when she did-- by the Lord, he would bring forth His wrath. For now? It was time to stay with his shepherd, like a loyal lamb. His hands were placed onto his knees, and his gaze returned to Ezekiel not long afterward. “ I am sure you have... questions. ”

      “ ... You are free to ask questions of any kind. I will answer, my shepherd. I am your guardian. It is only natural if you are curious. ”

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #verse tbt. #reverxnce #[ 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. | crossover. ] #ask to tag tw #burn tw #injury tw #blood tw #abuse tw #torture tw #emotional abuse tw

[counttwo-4]

--

      He was met with silence. The holy figure merely looked at him with those soulless eyes-- and yet, despite such soullessness of them, his savior did indeed have one-- perhaps more compared to the Parishioners. His hands lifted, grasping at his shackles, and with ease-- he snapped them apart. Destroyed-- completely broken into pieces, with the anger of God. Those that dared to use His name in vain, to believe themselves to be higher than others and to use His name to mislead His people, to bring them suffering. The Saint would not allow that. And the Saint would not allow the torture of one of His people by a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

      Ezekiel was held-- soon hoisted up, freed from his shackles. Perhaps, in the eyes of Saint Richard, the affair that Ezekiel had... to him? T’was no sin of adultery when the lovers of both him and Prudence were, in his eyes, terrible. Richard would return him to the flame and bring him comfort.

      The Reverend, still cradled in his arms, was now carried along, holy mask gleaming in the moonlight. Each step was calculated, slow, methodical, being mindful of Zeke’s state-- but he lifted a hand, placing it to his forehead... and in that moment, he felt warm. Reinvigorated-- like he could carry ten of those damn boulders with just one hand. Wounds seemed to heal, mending themselves, blood dissipating...

      ... And the Saint marched on after picking him up again. Despite the thorns, Ezekiel’s face never seemed to touch them. Saint Richard said nothing, but soon his mask began to gleam with the orange light of the fireside. Parishioners looked on in terror, and the Saint stood, steadfast. Anger was all he could feel, a pure rage deep within his heart. After all, how could they torture the man that helped them all so? It felt so familiar.

      Saint Richard, the Martyr of Wales, knew of this pain. To be tortured and killed by those that deemed him wrong, for his beliefs, for what he thought was right. And within Ezekiel’s mind, Richard believed, surely there had been a reason. Abused people finding comfort within one another. Richard could understand this.

      He, however, slowly sat Ezekiel down, his large form hunched protectively near him. This would be the shepherd he would serve, Richard thought. And he would protect Ezekiel. The Saint knew he stood out compared to these people, but he said nothing... that is, until he spoke. His voice was hoarse and ragged, and it sounded like he had been tortured for years, without rest. Without pity.

      “ Bring him his garments. If there is any food and water, bring it to him. Do not cast him out when he has assisted you all and delivered His word. ”

He has bent His bow like an enemy; He has set His right hand like an adversary And slain all that were pleasant to the eye; In the tent of the daughter of Zion He has poured out His wrath like fire.

– Lamentations 2:4

Many would believe him to be the bringer of Death-- the true Wrath of God. He was sighted, by his pure, holy white armor that was as pale as bone, with under armor as red as blood and markings of gold. Golden thorns from the heart had wrapped around his shoulders, around his head-- and upon his golden death mask that hid his face was the face of a man, a Welshman, from an old war-- a chaplain that was once Richard Wesley, now a saint in the eyes of many for his services-- Saint Richard of Wales.

Underneath the armor, the figure's body seemed singed. Burnt-- skin ready to peel at a moment's notice, but it was still strangely comforting to know that even this figure had dealt with many things, himself.

Instead of pulling that boulder along by the neck, no-- Ezekiel found himself in comforting arms, cradled like he himself were the son of God, as if he were Christ. He was protected. Saved. God had not abandoned him-- He knew, and He sent forth His own angel.

And that angel was Saint Richard, who placed his hand upon the Reverend's head. Rest now, he seemed to say. You are safe now.

// @counttwo-4 saint au.. :)c

@counttwo-4

The light of the fireside flickered, the remaining congregation huddled around it, as usual - save one. One who wasn't allowed near the fireside tonight, one who the rest of the Parishioners had been forbade from speaking to. Not that disobeying this so-called 'rule' would likely lead to any serious recompense, but they seemed perfectly happy to play along nonetheless. Who knows why? Maybe out of laziness or apathy. Or perhaps because they were beaten and bruised both in body and ego, and pushing someone out felt good - an animal instinct that made a person feel powerful. Or maybe some really did think he deserved it? Who knows...

Hungry, tired, isolated, in pain, black-eyed with bloodied feet, Ezekiel was breaking. He had tried so hard to look after these people, all of whom would be long dead by now if he hadn't...and those efforts, all that love, dedication and care, had led him here. After everything - one transgression and he was suddenly untouchable. And to think, after what he had heard about some of them during confession...

He still couldn't see the firelight. He had fallen behind; no surprise given the extra he was made to carry, walking hunched-backed and bent over from the burden of it.

He shivered in the cold as night fell, with nothing but the ragged, wire-laced cilice to shield him from it.

One foot in front of the other...c'mon...

Yet with that one more step on sore, cut-up feet, his knees finally buckled under him, the rock that hung about his neck by chains plunging into the ground as he stumbled.

The crisp, white Roman collar replaced with a shackled ring of steel, there was a gasp for air as he pulled at it. Could he get up again? Probably not...

Pru was gone. Everything he thought he knew was suddenly coming into question. He was coming undone. Just give up, Zeke...

And then, as if out of nowhere, as if his doubt had been sensed...warmth! Some blissful sensation of warmth radiating from a source he couldn't see, the turning of his head blocked by the weight now wedged within the ground. And then more...a pair of arms wrapping around him, tight and secure, followed by the slow lightening of the physical weight.

He swallowed hard, eyes welling as they inclined slowly towards the stars, a single question lifting from his lips in a hoarse, relenting whisper.

"...Am I dead?"

#[ 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜... | reblog. ] #[ 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗. | ic / in character. ] #verse tbt. #reverxnce #ask to tag tw #abuse tw #torture tw #emotional abuse tw #death tw #nazi tw #religion tw