#Ngl I made him look like Tainted Jacob...

[wyldeking]

Here's that redesign I promised yesterday. Just a WIP doe. Thought I'd post it before I butcher it with the lineart lmao

[englass]

Shadows Before Dawn

Pairing(s): Joseph Seed & The Deputy

Warning(s): Grief

Word Count: 1,149

A/N(s): AAAHHHHH, IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! THE FANZINE IS FINALLY HERE!!! 🎉😆🎉 Massive shoutout to @unclefungusthegoat for not only organising all of this, but for allowing me to be a part of it! ❤️ Ngl I was super anxious about signing up to this, to the point that I almost didn’t. If it wasn’t for the encouraging words of my darling @seedlingsinner and the sweet reassurance from @unclefungusthegoat I may have let my insecurities get the better of me; but I’m so glad I didn’t ❤️ It was an absolute honour to be able to work on this and an even bigger privilege to be able to work alongside my amazingly talented partner @deputy-rice-pudding, I couldn’t have done it without you hun!!! ❤️ Now, enough sentimentality. Here’s my entry (and a link) into the Far Cry Fanzine 2020, Tales From The Bunker!!!

– – –

The bunker is an awfully quiet place. A concrete prison where remnants of the past can roam with a newfound vigour; memories brought to life in waking dreams and in the shadows of flickering lights. Free to wander without preamble or disruption as they are glimpsed only by those that remembered them. Their silent reenactments a curse to the guilt-ridden, their unspoken words a jeering echo; the cold halls that they perform in becoming a haven for the dangerous and consuming thoughts that come to heel at their sides like loyal hounds. A breeding ground for the demons that plague one’s own mind with accusing verdicts and anarchist vices.

Everyday a new struggle as ‘what ifs’ and paths untraveled are considered and agonised over, battled with by a wavering resolve and a shaking faith; old wounds perpetually bleeding from the only two living occupants within this stoney tomb, still standing on seperate fronts despite the shared banner that now looms hauntingly over them. If only the shadows of abandoned comrades and lost family did not torment them so.

Joseph knew that this would be tough. Knew that the coming years following the Collapse would be a challenging test. Not only for himself, but for his brothers as well; and for the many that had believed and followed them as loyally as they did. Giving their lives for the protection of their new family, for the sanctity of the Project, and for the future that it had promised them. That he had promised them. Regretfully though, Joseph no longer knew if there was anyone left to believe in that promise anymore; the world above and its occupants all laid to waste in the wake of the great Collapse.

At any rate, his prideful companion certainly did not believe.

The Deputy had been a trying obstacle during the last few months of the Project’s preparations. A constant force of opposition to all they sought to achieve; a catalyst to spark the flame of rebellion, and ignite this Holy War between them all. Joseph had hoped to be able to tame that fire of theirs. To suppress that wrath that burnt like a blazing hellfire within their eyes. To lead them onto a different path, astray from the destruction they would bring and the lives they would take with it. He had glimpsed so many possibilities: he had seen them beside him, seen them as a figurehead within his family. He had seen the good they could do, the hope they could inspire in his people and salvation they could bring to his brothers. He knew the Deputy could save them.

Yet, those visions never came to pass.

Not one day goes by without Joseph thinking of his family. Wondering, under the judgement of God and the scrutiny of silence, how things could have been different. Wondering, under the hungry eyes of his own guilt, if he could have done more to save them. Everyday he replays the news of their fates, remembers the eulogies he did for them, and the nights spent weeping and praying that they did not suffer. Mourning their loss and the final goodbyes that he never got to say to them, their bodies never recovered; and he regrets that everyday. He hates the Deputy for that everyday.

It took him over a decade to find his brothers again, years of fruitless searching and constant heartbreak, and within the course of a few weeks he had lost them all over again. They had been taken from him all over again. All he has left of his brothers now, of John and Jacob, are photographs. Mere snapshots that told you nothing of who they were, of the horrors and hardships that they had endured throughout their lonely lives. Impersonal and tainted by the intentions of the Resistance, marked red by the target that those misguided sinners had drawn upon them. Yet, those photographs are all he has left.

Joseph is alone all over again; the Deputy a mere ghost that walks the halls with tired, bitter glares. Slinking away like a shadow confronted by the dawn the moment Joseph enters the room. A reluctant and wholly unwilling companion that no doubt curses his every breath, just as surely as they curse the day they met him. A sentiment that is occasionally reciprocated.

Which is why it was so surprising to the older man when, in a moment of weakness (his brothers’ photos clutched tight in his hands as silently suffering tears slide down his cheeks and blur his vision), the Deputy wordlessly sits beside him. He startles at their appearance, ever quiet and discreet, as he looks at them. Straightening himself as a weak, but no less caring, smile comes to his face. A slight tremor in his voice as he poses them a small question of delicate concern -- “Is everything okay, my child?” -- forever playing the loving role of ‘Father’; despite the pain that the title now carries.

The Deputy glances at him, shifting uneasily under his curious stare. Fingers picking and rubbing at the thin blanket beneath them, before they look away. An unusual hesitance in their eyes that Joseph is not used to seeing colouring their typically defiant eyes. Now more than ever though they just look exhausted, unsure and strangely distant; bottom lip taken lightly between their teeth, as they appear to debate something that the preacher is not privy to. He lets the silence hang for a moment, old memories and the regrets that follow them silent as Joseph waits for his reluctant child to finally open up to him. Trying not to hope that this is the time that he has been waiting for, the time when they finally start to accept–

He blinks, clear blue eyes widening as he looks to the hand that has cautiously fallen upon his shoulder. Arm around his back, coaxing with the smallest amount of pressure, as they gently lean towards him. Their other arm coming to wrap around him as a fractured breath slips from them, the sound shattering the stilted silence. Before he truly realises it Joseph too is leaning into them. Willingingly accepting this small, and potentially fleeting act of compassion.

He thinks he hears them murmur something, a condolence or apology he knows not, but still Joseph holds the sentiment close. Grips it just as tightly as the photographs of his deceased brothers; the Deputy’s actions alone a much desired recompense.

Truly, it is a step in the right direction, he thinks. A sign of a silent promise made, and the will of God at play. A reassurance that Joseph will get through this; that they both will get through this. He is the Father after all, and they are his child. They are a family now, in this till the end, and together they will surely live to see that promised dawn.