#street smarts from John seed

[childhood90snostalgia]

90s/00s TV (Personal Memories)

Kids Cartoons

6teen 101 Dalmatians Aaaah!!! Real Monsters Ace Ventura Pet Detective Aladdin TAS All Grown Up Angela Anaconda Angry Beavers Animal Crackers (Telethon) Animaniacs Arthur Babar The Batman (The WB) Batman Beyond (The WB) Batman TAS Beast Wars/Beast Machines Beetlejuice Big Teeth, Bad Breath (YTV) Birdz Bobby’s World (Fox) Bonkers Braceface The Bugs Bunny & Tweety Show Butt-Ugly Martians Bump in the Night CatDog (Nickelodeon) Chip & Dale Rescue Rangers Cow and Chicken Danny Phantom Darkwing Duck Dexter’s Laboratory Dog City Donkey Kong Country Doug DuckTales Earthworm Jim Fairly Odd Parents Fly Tales (Teletoon) For Better or For Worse (Telethon) Freakazoid (The WB) Freaky Stories Free Willy (ABC) Garfield and Friends Gargoyles Goof Troop Hey Arnold I Am Weasel Johnny Bravo Katie and Orbie (CTV) Kim Possible The Legend of White Fang Life with Louie Little Lulu (HBO) The Little Mermaid TAS The Mask TAS Mega Babies Mona the Vampire (YTV) Monster By Mistake (YTV) Neds Newt The New Addams Family The New Batman Adventures (The WB) The New Woody Woodpecker Show PB&J Otter (Disney Channel) Pepper Ann The Pink Panther Pinky and the Brain Pippi Longstocking Powerpuff Girls The Proud Family The Raccoons (CBC) Recess Reboot The Ripping Friends Rocko’s Modern Life Rugrats Rupert (CBS) Sabrina TAS (ABC) Samurai Jack Short Circutz (YTV) Silverling (Teletoon) Sonic (Adventures of) Sonic SATAM Sonic Underground Stickin’ Around Tales From the Cryptkeeper TaleSpin Taz-Mania Teen Titans Timon & Pumba Tiny Toon Adventures (Fox) Tom and Jerry Kids Total Drama Island Totally Spies Voltron the Third Dimension The Weekenders What’s With Andy The Wild Thornberrys (Nickelodeon) The World of Peter Rabbit and Friends X-Men Evolution (The WB) X-Men TAS Yvon of the Yukon (YTV)

Retro

Batman Fireball XL5 The Flintstones The Incredible Hulk Looney Toons Spiderman Tom and Jerry Yogi Bear

Adult Cartoons

Aeon Flux Beavis and Butthead Captain Star Celebrity Death Match Clone High The Critic Cybersix Daria Delta State Futurama The Head (MTV) John Callahan’s Quads (Teletoon) King of the Hill Mission Hill The Oblongs The Simpsons Space Ghost Coast to Coast (Cartoon Network) Spawn Spider-Man the New Animated Series South Park The Tick Undergrads

Anime

Beyblade Digimon Adventures 01 & 02 Cardcaptors Gundam SEED InuYasha Mon Colle Knights Monster Rancher Pokemon Sailor Moon Samurai Pizza Cats Shaman King Sonic X YuGiOh Zoids New Century

Television Series

7th Heaven (The WB) Alf (NBC) Animorphs (Nickelodeon) Are you Afraid of the Dark? Baywatch (NBC) Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction (Fox) Big Wolf on Campus Boy Meets World Breaker High (YTV) Buffy the Vampire Slayer Canded Camera (CBS) Charmed (The WB) Clueless (ABC) Dawson’s Creek (The WB) Degrassi Junior High (CBC) Degrassi High (CBC) Degrassi the Next Generation (CTV) Dinosaurs The Drew Carey Show (ABC) ER (NBC) Even Stevens Family Matters (ABC) Fresh Prince of Bel Air Full House Gilmore Girls (The WB) The Golden Girls (CBC) Goosebumps Home Improvement Lassie (1997) Little House on the Prairie (NBC) Mighty Morphin Power Rangers The Nanny (CBC) The OC (Fox) Radio Active Sabrina the Teenage Witch Saved by the Bell (NBC) Sex and the City (HBO) Sister, Sister (ABC) Smallville (The WB) Smart Guy Student Bodies System Crash (YTV) Teen Angel (ABC) That’s so Raven The Twilight Zone (CBS) White Fang (1993) (CTV) You Wish (ABC)

Educational Programming / Children’s shows

Adventures in Wonderland Art Attack Babar (CBC) Banana’s in Pajama’s Barney and Friends Between the Lions The Big Comfy Couch The Big Friendly Giant Bill Nye the Science Guy Blue’s Clues Caillou (PBS) Camp Caribou Captain Planet Care Bears (ABC) Franklin (CBS) The Friendly Giant (CBC) Hammy the Hamster Iris the Happy Professor Kratt’s Creatures (PBS) Lamb Chop’s Play Along The Magic School Bus Mister Roger’s Neighbourhood (PBS) Mr Dressup (CBC) PJ Katie’s Farm (YTV) Reading Rainbow (PBS) Sesame Street School House Rock Sharon, Lois & Bram’s Elephant Show (CBC) Telefrancais Teletubbies Theodore Tugboat Thomas the Tank Engine Under the Umbrella Tree (CBC) Welcome to Pooh Corner Wishbone (PBS) Zaboomafoo (PBS)

Game Shows/Sketch Comedies

All That America’s Funniest Home Videos (With Bob Saget) American Idol The Amanda Show Battlebots (Comedy Central) Canadian Idol (CTV) Crank Yankers (Comedy Central) The Crocodile Hunter Fear Factor (NBC) The Hit List Jackass (MTV) Just For Laughs Gags (Comedy Central) Kids in the Hall Making the Band (MTV) Much Countdown (Much Music) Much in your Space (Much Music) MuchOnDemand (Much Music) Much Mega Hits (Much Music) Much Spotlight (Much Music) Much Top Tens (Much Music) Newlyweds Nick and Jessica (MTV) Playlist (Much Music) Pop-Up Video (Much Music) Price is Right Punk’d (MTV) The Simple Life (Fox) Supermarket Sweep Uh Oh Unsolved Mysteries (NBC) Video and Arcade top 10 (YTV) Video On Trial (Much Music) Where in the world/time is Carmen Sandiego Whose Line is it Anyway? Win Ben Stein’s Money (Comedy Central)

Television Networks/Programming

Fox Kids Much Music One Saturday Morning PSA’s Teletoon TGIF YTV - The Zone / Snit Station / Short Circuitz

[boricuacherry-blog]

"Much of what we think we know about Holiday, however, is questionable, and over time accounts of her life have been bent to serve some other purpose than telling her story," John Szwed wrote in his 2015 book Billie Holiday: The Musician and the Myth.

At least a half a dozen biographies have set about separating the fact from fiction (even her FBI file was thin, Szwed notes), leading authors to wonder why more pages weren't devoted to her songs. Pretty much all studies of Holiday have agreed that her musicianship, as revered as she remains as a singer and entertainer, was woefully underrated in her day and for decades afterward.

But however unreliable a narrator Holiday may have been [for example, her parents were never married but she claimed they were in her autobiography], all the later work bloomed from the seed she planted with Lady Sings the Blues, for which she received a $3,500 advance and 65 percent of the proceeds, to her co-author and friend William Dufty's 35 percent. The book later inspired the 1972 film of the same name, starring Diana Ross. Andra Day starred in the film The United States vs. Billie Holiday, another film about Billie.

In 1939 she was introduced to Buddy Tate, the tall elegant saxophonist from Count Basie's band, and the two became an item. But when he realized the role alcohol and marijuana played in her life he told her, "Lady, you can't get high all the time, not every day."

In 1941, with her affair behind her, Billie married a small-time drug dealer named Jimmy Monroe and subsequently gravitated to opium for her highs. That all changed when heroin began to fill a void caused by the wartime shortage of opium. For awhile she used intermittently, but then succumbed to addiction, spending vast sums of money indulging herself and her former drugs runner Joe Guy - now her new boyfriend - in monumental highs.

She would go on to have a sordid relationship of violence with John Levy, a small-time nightclub owner, followed by marriage to Louis McKay. He had convinced her to marry him so he wouldn't be forced to testify in court. He'd already been buying property with her money, and putting it in his own name. This was all interspersed with brushes with the law. Yolande Bavan, a friend of Billie's, said that McKay had once spit at her. "She seemed to always be attracted to assholes." Holiday was also open about bisexuality, and dalliances with fellow women prisoners. Two women she was rumored to have had relations with were wealthy heiress Louise Crane and Tallulah Bankhead.

At 10 she was raped by a neighbor, who ended up only serving three months in jail for the crime. But Billie was oddly enough, punished too. She was sent to the House of the Good Shepherd for Colored Girls, a reform school. Her street-smart ways, from being on the streets of Baltimore at a young age, was not appreciated by the nuns. One nun, Billie claimed forced her to spend the night with the body of a dead girl to teach her a lesson.

In 1928 Billie and her mother moved to Harlem, where the jazz age was flourishing at that time. Billie and her mother Sadie earned income working in a brothel. The two of them were arrested for prostitution. Billie, who was only 14, claimed to be 21. She was sent to Welfare Island just off Manhattan, and here she spent 100 days in a workhouse for vagrant adults.

In Harlem there were a group of dancers, singers and comedians who would go performing from club to club for free, performing all night long. Billie would go from table to table singing the same song, but singing the chorus differently each time, teaching herself to improvise. One night while singing at a club, a young record producer, John Hammond, walked in. He'd never heard an improvising singer like Billie. Hammond teamed her up with Benny Goodman, and an 18-year-old cut her first record. People who encountered her described her as having a "don't care" attitude and speech casually laced with profanity.

"She had enough courage to play with the music," said Maya Angelou. "The beat is insistent - it says, 'follow me' - but she managed just to hang right behind it."

It was said she was a master at using pitch intonation as an interpretive element.

"She completely flattens out the melody - maybe the wrong word - more like, distills the melody to its essential line. Really underscoring the swinging rhythm and also, the language contour, so the punchline becomes highlighted, and it becomes like a little trumpet rhythmic riff she sings it on," said one listener. "Life is lived in that space between the notes, and that's what you hear."

The late Gunther Schuller, prolific on the subject of Billie Holiday, liked to say that her voice had "the reedy timber of an English horn." She modeled her phrasing after horn players. Others say they hear her sing like a sax.

Billie's mother borrowed large amounts of money from her daughter to fund a restaurant. But her mother wouldn't return a cent. This caused a rift.

Maya Angelou was performing one day, and she started by introducing the crowd to Billie, who was in the audience. They all popped up and applauded, but Billie didn't seem to notice their applause. This was also during a time when she was deep in her addiction. "Then I began to sing," said Angelou. "I sang an old blues song - 'Baby please don't go, baby please don't go, baby please don't go...back to New Orleans, they'll feed you rice and beans, worst you ever seen, baby pleeease don't go" - I sang one verse and she screamed, 'Shut that b**ch up! Shut up! You remind me of my mother! Shut up!' And she got up and ran into the toilet. So I left the stage and went in. She said, 'You know why all those people stood up when you mentioned my name? They wanted to see a black woman who'd been in trouble for drugs. That's the only reason they look at me.'"

A month later, completely emaciated, she collapsed. One hospital wouldn't take her, but they eventually found a hospital that would and found she was having liver failure. She eventually got better, but then was arrested again for possession, but she was hospitalized until she was stabilized enough to appear in court.

In the meantime, her husband Louis McKay, visited. "I saw Louis in her room," a friend said. "He had a Bible open in his hands, and she seemed to be moribund. He was doing the Protestant ritual - 'the lord is my Shephard, I shall not want and he maketh me lie down in green pastures' - so it scared me to death, because I thought, 'oh my god, it's too late,' and eventually he slammed the Bible shut, tiptoed down the hall and left. So I waited for a minute, tiptoed into the room, and at that point Billie opened one eye... and said, 'is he gone?' And I said, 'I think so.' And she sat up in bed and said, 'You know, I always been a religious b**ch, but if that dirty motherf**cker believes in God, I'm thinking it over.'"

Another friend recounted how she refused to eat mustard, that she couldn't stand the smell. When pressed, she revealed that she had used mustard to abort her pregnancy when she was younger, saying, "And that baby was all I ever wanted." Raised as a Catholic, Billie, according to at least one biography, may have seen her inability to conceive when she was married as divine retribution for having aborted a teenage pregnancy by sitting in a bathtub full of hot water and mustard.

#billie holiday

[trustymikh]

How to convert people 101

#street smarts from John seed #mik draws #as a broke student i have my priorities set #fc5 #Far Cry 5 #Fanart #far cry fanart #john seed #joseph seed

[2dmenenthusiast]

"I'm game if you are."

(John Seed x Deputy Gn!Reader)

Reuploaded with a new title cuz it wasn't showing up in the tags :)))))))

Feedback is always appreciated!

Summary: You've taken John's ranch, and after deciding to take a little rest, he pays you a late night visit.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings/other info: Suggestive content (MINORS DNI), swearing, John being bad at hiding how much he wants to fuck Deputy

Taking John Seed’s ranch had been a success.

The people of Holland Valley applauded you on your efforts and immediately set up shelter for the Resistance, and you took your time searching John’s extensive property. You curiously gazed at the gaudy decor, animal heads decorating the walls and symbols of Eden’s Gate scattered all around. It gave you the heebie-jeebies if you were being honest. You heard a soft whimper and looked over to see Boomer staring at the taxidermied wolf before padding over to you, and you let out a soft chuckle as you bent down to pet him.

“It’s alright, buddy. I won’t let the mean man get you,” you said, scratching behind Boomer’s ear and smiling when he gave your other hand an affectionate lick. Your radio crackled to life.

“Now that’s not very nice, Deputy.”

You let out a sigh and pressed your lips together, letting Boomer wander off as you grabbed your radio from your belt and stood. You knew it was only a matter of time before John would call to taunt you.

“What, you can hear me now?”

“Ah, hear and see, Deputy. I spare no expense when it comes to protecting my home.”

“Well, you kinda fucked up, didn’t you? Since you know, all your shit is about to be thrown in the fire” you said, running your hand over the back of the couch as you walked towards the stairs. “Guess your impenetrable security wasn’t all it was chalked up to be.”

“Don’t let your pride get the better of you, Deputy. I’ll let you enjoy this small victory, but know that I will take my home back. And when I do, maybe I’ll hang your skin as a trophy above the mantle.”

“Oh no, with all of your other shitty decor? I think I would rather hear your brother give a sermon.” You leaned against the railing once you got to the top of the stairs, looking down as members of the Resistance came in and out with boxes filled with supplies.

“If you’re smart, you’ll watch what you say. Or I can find some new spots on your body to carve into if you wanna mouth off so much.”

You recalled the multiple times John had you trapped in his bunker, sitting in that uncomfortable chair while he tried to scare you. He’d loom over you, tattoo gun in his hand and your shirt ripped open as he marked your skin. You had a total of three tattoos now, and more scars than you could count littered your body.

“Ooh, you really got me shakin’ in my boots now, John. Hey, question, can you see this?”

You raised your middle finger high in the air hoping the cameras would catch it, and you heard the man let out a dry chuckle. Opening the door at the end of the walkway, your eyes slightly widened and you smiled when you realized you were in John’s bedroom. Oh, the endless fun possibilities.

“Oh, John~” you sang, plopping yourself down on the queen bed and dragging your fingers over the smooth fabric of the comforter. “Can you see me here, too?”

There was nothing for a moment, the silence lingering until your radio crackled, and John gave you a frustrated yes. You let out a hum and fell back on the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly before you sunk into it. Tempurpedic, of course. Only the best for John Seed.

“How naughty of you, John. What, do you take cult members that strike your fancy up here for some sick little initiation and watch the playback?”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Right, hardly time for fooling around when you’re constantly up my ass.”

“This is a two-way street, Deputy.”

You pursed your lips, rolling over onto your stomach and eyeing the mints on the bedside table before grabbing one and unwrapping it. You popped the candy into your mouth, rolling it over your tongue as you stood from the bed and sauntered over to the large wardrobe, pulling open the wooden doors. There was less clothing inside than you suspected, most of it consisting of darker colored button-ups and sweaters. If there was a lot of anything, it was John’s wide selection of black leather shoes.

“Mind if I use your room for the night, Johnny boy?”

“Plan on making yourself at home?”

“Well, I plan on using your shower,” you said after stepping into the bathroom, softly whistling when you saw the large shower and tub. “But are there also cameras in here? Because that would be a bit creepy, not gonna lie.”

You didn’t receive a response, and you assumed John went to attend to his cult duties as you shrugged and set down your walkie on the sink counter. Grabbing a comfy shirt from John’s wardrobe, you closed the door behind you when you entered the bathroom and turned on the water. Once you were satisfied with the temperature, you stripped and stepped in the shower, letting out a soft sigh as the water ran over your body, the tension in your aching muscles starting to fade. Everything John had to offer to wash yourself with was your typical male scented products, and you were grateful he wasn’t one of those people that used 3 in 1. Even that would be a new low for the youngest Seed brother.

You stepped out of the shower once you felt you were clean enough, goosebumps rising on your skin as you left the stream of warm water, and you were quick to grab a towel and wrap it around yourself to try and retain some warmth. Bringing a hand up, you wiped the condensation away from the mirror so you could see yourself, and you lightly frowned at your reflection. This was the first time you had properly looked at yourself in weeks, and you felt… odd. Like a pit had formed in your stomach that left a residual numb feeling to take over. You reached up, fingers gently tracing over the tattoo on your chest, and you dropped your towel to the floor so you could look at the one that curved over your ribs. Turning your back to the mirror, you craned your neck to look at the third tattoo that rested between your shoulder blades, the most recent one John had given you.

Wrath.

Greed.

Pride.

The letters were jagged and angry, like John wanted to express his distaste for what you had done every time you looked at them. Not that he was very kind or gentle when he gave them to you in the first place. A lump formed in your throat as you gazed at your body, but you soon reached for John’s shirt, quickly growing tired of looking at yourself. You couldn’t stop yourself as you brought the sleeves up to your nose and sniffed, the smell of John’s cologne faint, but it was there. You then forced your hands away, shaking your head as you could feel your temples pulse with the beginnings of a headache, and you folded up your dirty clothes and set them on the sink counter before exiting the bathroom.

“Well, would you look at this.”

Your body froze, fingers tightening on the doorknob as John gazed at you from his spot at the end of the bed. You swallowed, throat feeling dry all of the sudden, and the realization that you weren’t wearing pants jammed itself into the forefront of your thoughts as you felt heat travel up your neck. No, this was a bad time. This was the absolute worst time for an impromptu visit from John.

You tried to mask your embarrassment, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe. “John. Didn’t expect you to come and see me this late.” You gestured towards the night sky that was visible through the double doors to the balcony.

He shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Well, you did take my home with your little Resistance. Figured it was only right of me to come and check on how you were treating the place.”

You nodded, tongue prodding the inside of your cheek as you briefly made eye contact with him before looking away. You didn’t like this. He had caught you off guard, and now you were completely fucking vulnerable in front of him. You hate this.

“What’s wrong, Deputy? Feeling embarrassed?” There was that conniving, sarcastic edge in his voice, and it only made your headache worsen.

You slightly squared your shoulders as you pushed off from the doorframe, making yourself stand a bit taller, and you took a step closer. “As if I’d ever let you have the pleasure of seeing that. No, I’m actually wondering about that question you never answered.”

“And what question was that?”

“The cameras. Were there ones in the bathroom, too?”

He scoffed, smiling, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. He didn’t answer at first, taking his time as his eyes trailed over your body. They paused at your bare thighs, his lips slightly pressing together before he met your gaze again. “What if there was? What would you do then?”

“I’d say you’re more of a perverted creep than I originally thought. But I’m not stupid enough to believe in everything you say.”

Letting out a soft hum, John stood from the bed, one hand in his jean pocket as he used the other to loosely gesture over your body. “I think the creep in the room is the person wearing someone else’s clothes without their permission, don’t you think?”

You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you found yourself stepping closer. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your heart thrumming, but you refused to break eye contact. But his eyes, his gaze- you felt childish.

Maybe it’s a lawyer thing.

“Oh, little Rook,” John said, slowly circling you until you could almost feel his chest against your back, and you tensed when he placed his hands on your shoulders. “So eager to prove yourself. So much bark, yet no bite.”

“My bite is just fine. I think the number of peggies piling up at your doorstep is proof enough, hm?”

His grip on your shoulders tightened, and you had to hold back the gasp that wanted to leave you when you felt his breath hit your ear, sending chills down your spine. His right hand moved, dragging his fingers down your back and letting them trail down your side until they were touching your bare leg. His fingers tapped your thigh.

“I think your next sin should go right here. What do you think?”

Your hand shot down to his wrist, gripping in tightly as you tried to get your breathing under control. You looked down at his hand, tattoos decorating his knuckles, and you tried to focus on anything that wasn’t him. Tried not to think about his breath on your skin and his beard tickling your neck.

“John,” you breathed, and he let out a soft hum as his other hand moved to possessively grip your side, pulling you back into his chest. Your stomach was doing flips, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were about to hurl or if John was actually making you flustered.

Both? Possibly both.

Eyes fluttering shut, you took a deep breath to try and ground yourself, and you pressed yourself further back against him, which you could tell he wasn’t expecting if the sharp inhale he took was anything to go by.

“You really wanna know what I think, John?” He remained silent, giving your side a small squeeze to signal you to continue. You smirked. “I think you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

A beat of silence, then a chuckle following afterward as John let you go and backed away. Your suspicions raised, cautiously watching him as he brushed past you with his hands nonchalantly resting in his pockets. You took a step back when he suddenly turned to face you, but you could barely react when he shot his hands out to grab your face, and you stumbled into him as he pulled you close, reaching up to grab his wrists with a soft grunt.

“Is that an invitation, Deputy?”

“You considering? Thought there was some backwards rule about no ‘fornication’ or whatever. Is little John gonna break big brother Joseph’s rules?”

He just smiled down at you, thumbs dragging over your cheeks, but no matter how collected he tried to look, you saw him cracking. Noticed his resolve fading each time you pushed his buttons. You shrugged.

“I’m game if you are.”

You let go of his wrists to push hard against his chest, watching as he stumbled back to sit on the bed, and you moved forward to place your knee on the bed between his spread legs, grabbing the collar of his shirt and forcing him to look up at you. You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you.

“Well, doesn’t this seem familiar? But I guess you’re not used to being the one looked down on, are you?” You watched the muscles in John’s jaw clench before he moved his hands to grip your waist, but you quickly caught his wrists and used your weight to push him onto his back, straddling his waist. “Who said I was gonna let you touch me?”

His eyes were wide for a moment before he smirked, face flushed and eyes twinkling, and you tried to steel yourself so you wouldn’t melt under his gaze. No, this time John Seed would be the one begging for mercy. He moved his hands and flexed his fingers, testing your hold on him.

“Well, Deputy. Show me your worst.”

You scoffed, smiling and shaking your head, and you leaned down. He eagerly met you halfway, capturing your lips with his own in a desperate kiss, and with your hold on his wrists slowly loosening, you were beginning to question who would really be the one begging in the end.

***

You weren’t surprised to wake up in the morning and see that John was no longer with you. Rather, you were slightly relieved. You didn’t think you could take his gloating and stupid grinning face first thing in the morning. No matter how pretty he was.

Getting out of bed with a pained groan, you walked into the bathroom to grab your other clothes, but you paused when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and let out a curse. Of course, when you were with John, he’d always find some way to mark you up. You gently ran your fingers over the splotchy bruises that littered your neck and let out a sigh.

Bastard.

After getting dressed and tidying yourself up as much as possible, you traveled down the stairs and tried to ignore the looks you got from a few of the Resistance members when they noticed your neck. Yes, you may have slept with their sworn enemy, and yes it was possibly the best night you’ve had since this whole shit storm started, but was it any of their business? No. Did you feel a tad bit bashful? Possibly.

You walked over to the table near the doors, going through the supplies to see if there was anything you needed to stock up on, but an incessant beeping eventually caught your attention, and you looked over at the telephone. You pursed your lips, debating for a moment before shrugging. An additional snooping wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it? You pressed the play button on the answering machine and leaned against the table, and your eyes slightly widened when you heard Joseph’s voice.

As you listened, your lips slowly formed into a frown and your brows furrowed. Hearing Joseph talk about John this way was… sad. You could tell he held a lot of love for his younger brother, and John’s devotion to Joseph was clear. It was clear in all of the siblings- they would do anything for each other. But as you listened to the message, you couldn’t help the pang you felt in your chest, and you swallowed thickly.

You think you were beginning to understand John just a little more.

#john seed x reader #john seed x gn!reader #john seed x deputy #john seed imagine #far cry 5 imagine #fc5 imagine #john seed x you #seed brothers x reader #far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed

[englass]

Hello ❤ hope you have a nice day 💖 can i request #14 from the dark prompts please?

Heya hun!!! Honestly, the day has been hot, but we push on. I hope your day has been good!! 💖 Hope you don't mind, but I went for a Fantasy AU for this one; I was super struggling with the prompt and the only thing I could think of was, "oooh, John as a mage..." so we kinda get that. The whole thing is more set up then anything else, but I didn't want to delete anything...

14. “You’re too sweet, darling. What type of monster would I be without you?”

- - -

There had been tales, whispers amongst the women and men of people going missing; of them being snatched off darkened paths and empty roads. Some reckoned it was a beast, spoke of a monster that was stealing people away to fuel their wicked appetite. Others thought it to be bandits, or other unscrupulous groups looking to profit off of the lives of inconspicuous civilians. But there were a handful, the few like yourself, that felt the shift in the air; that could feel the remnants of something foul and forbidden coiled around the scenes.

It had worried you greatly, the thought of such dark magic set loose in the town you had made a home of. Often you found yourself lost in your own mounting anxieties as the reports grew more and more frequent, and rumours gradianted into a much dreaded possibility. Even though you were no stranger to the darker arts, proficient as you are in the art of Summoning, you had never delved too far into its catalogue. In fact, Summoning was about all you ever touched and even then, amongst some other magically inclined individuals, it was considered somewhat of a lesser art; not as destructive and therefore not as notable as others.

However, just because you never strayed into more questionable arts doesn’t mean you know not of them. You’re aware that there are some dark arts that are a bit more accepted amongst the magically inclined than others, used for educational purposes and approved of as a means to protect oneself. Really dark arts are just offensive abilities, so no matter what there is always an element of wariness when it comes to the potential of such arts. As long as you utilise them in an acceptable manner there will be no questioning, no inquiries into your character.

For those not accepted though it is typically because they cross some form of moral or ethical line, taking an individual down a path that alters them irremediably. Stains the core of their aura with the makings of something dreadful, corrupts them until they lose all that makes them as they are.

Admittedly, if not studied correctly or the thirst for knowledge becomes too consuming, then any art can destroy a person; can set them down that very smart path. And sometimes a person can destroy the values of the art and stretch it into something it is not designed to be. There are many stories of Healers’ playing Maker, of a Conjurers’ calling going terribly wrong, of Astrologians’ going insane from their divinations. Once you were almost entranced by your own Summon; a rookie mistake, terribly embarrassing to recall.

Magic in general is a dangerous art and care will always need to be taken. But there are some arts where that danger is part of the art, and those are forbidden. They will always cross the line, and they will never fail to destroy a person; and that person will never fail to destroy others.

That’s what scared you so much about the recent happenings of the town. To think that such a person was lurching about the place, taking people off the street for who knows what nefarious reasons, terrified you. The idea that you could be next, that the stability of your own aura could be at risk because of this rogue caster sickened you. It tore you apart.

And John saw that.

It was a relatively small town, filled with all types of people coming in and out from across the region and the different towns within it. For a long time though the only people you knew that did magic was a spirited Pyromancer called Sharky and some eccentric Apothecary who lived on the outskirts called Larry (you were convinced the man tested his own potions on himself). The first you met when you had summoned a Kelpie to help you put out a fire he had accidentally caused a bit too close to your home, while the latter you had met by chance while looking for ingredients.

That had changed once the Seed brothers had moved in close to the town. They were surprisingly open about their magical inclinations and while the town wasn’t outrightly hostile they were openly suspicious of the three. You had even been a little suspicious of the three, not understanding their reasons for being so forward to a none magically inclined town; it could be dangerous to do so. Ultimately though they suffered little consequence of their reveal, other than strange looks and quiet gossip made of them. You had been envious of that freedom, to be forthright about what you were, but thought better of it. To reveal such a truth after so long would spell disaster for you.

Not even a full lunar cycle had passed before Joseph, the middle brother of the three, had made a point to come seek you out, introducing himself and his brothers to you. It had been a wholly uncomfortable encounter, especially the instance where he had suddenly questioned what arts you had studied. Desperately you had tried to deny it but thankfully the oldest brother, Jacob, had merely sighed and apologised on Joseph’s behalf. As an ex-Paladin turned Enchanter he had fully understood your need for secrecy and had been your saving grace during the whole thing. From then on the brothers become quick acquaintances to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

Joseph was… okay. He made for interesting conversation no doubt and oftentimes his words gave you pause to think on things, but he could be a touch preachy at times, especially about his beliefs and divinations. Jacob on the other hand had become a confidante of sorts. You didn’t often talk, but when you did the conversation held well enough and his advice was always sound. He was also honest about his thoughts and opinions on a matter, and while you didn’t like being called out when you messed up you did respect his outlook. Your relationship with the youngest brother, John, however was a special one.

It had taken him a few days after the initial introduction to strike up a conversation with you, and for the most part he had purely asked you about yourself. But somewhere between admitting how long you’ve lived here and him nervously revealing himself to be a Conjurer, you had developed a fast trust of the man. It was unexplainable, completely foolish of you, but there was just something about him that you thought was pleasant; a believability to him. He was the first you deliberately told about your darker studies and thankfully, being of similar arts, he had taken it exceedingly well. You had even bonded over the differences and similarities between your chosen studies. He had become a dear friend, and only became dearer as the years went by.

So John noticing when your worries began to eat at you didn’t surprise you. He knew you extraordinarily well, sometimes it was even a little spooky how well he knew you, but it was also an odd comfort. He knew just what to say to put you at ease, to assure you that you would be safe and even going so far as promising that he himself would protect you from such a fate as those missing. You still had doubts, but his care was touching.

If only you had learned the truth sooner.

“My friend, please,” you cry, wrists shackled uncomfortably above you, the metal cutting into your skin, “I beg of thee, stop this! Such practises are a blight to the soul, you will doom yourself if you continue. I know not what it is you wish to accomplish, but please spare them this torture! Spare yourself! Surely there has to be another way, John; surely!”

John merely chuckles quietly, slowly shaking his head as he does so. “Oh, you’re too sweet, darling. Even now, as you are, you still think of me and my well being before yourself. Not to imply you have anything to fear, of course; you know I would never hurt you. I merely mean it as an observation. It is a charming trait, that sweetness of yours. It’s part of why I fell for you so.” He turns to you then, up to his elbows covered in blood. The person before him is still alive, but barely, their breaths shallow and their skin a deathly pallor. To think he was a Hemomancer this whole time…

“But why waste words on their behalf when they would never deign to do the same for you? You had to hide yourself, deny what you truly are just to be accepted by these lowly worms for years. Tell me, where is the fairness in that? In what world should we sequest ourselves away from those weaker than us, those deemed less worthy by the Maker themselves?”

Crossing the space in a few long strides he stops before you, bloody hands cupping your cheeks gently even as you try to turn away from him, bringing you back to stare helplessly into his sparkling eyes, “Don’t you see, sweet one? You are beautiful, in every part, as you are. We were blessed by the Maker, but they will never see that, blinded as they are. They will never appreciate our arts, our gifts, or even us as people, no matter what we may do or sacrifice for them. If I need to subject myself to risk to show them their place, to create a world that you need not hide in any longer, then I’ll do so gladly and without hesitation.”

Shaking your head softly, face still captured within his hands, a tear slips unbidden down your cheek. “But it will consume you. You’ll become a monster.”

“Maybe,” he admits, tone oddly calm as he carefully brushes beneath your eye with his thumb, smearing blood through the track of your tear, “but I wonder, what type of monster would I be without you, do you think?”

Perhaps it is vain of you, but something tells you that he would be another beast entirely without you chained to him as you now are…

#hrnggg #it's so long #and the ending feels weird but i didn't want to keep going #i like keeping my prompts to shorter pieces #yes i know they're not that short but their short for me #i just really wanted to write something in a fantasy setting and got carried away #my bad... #john seed #my gorgeous murder husband #john seed x reader #my writing #my writing prompts #my prompts #soft dark #soft dark writing prompts #soft dark prompts #soft dark fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fc5 fanfic #fc5 #far cry 5 #request #fadedjacket #thank you for sending this in hun! <3 #i know it's a bit different to usual but hopefully it's okay #fantasy au #john's probably a touch ooc in this #but a change in vocab does that to you i guess

[lulu2992]

What I learned listening to Far Cry 5′s audio files

The game’s lore, as told by its characters.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

John Seed

From Eden’s Gate’s point of view

John is the one who gives them conviction. His sermons are described as “powerful” and a cultist says he will miss his pep talks. A man comments people say you should never meet your heroes but he met John and he loves him. A woman tells other members of the Project they need to keep everything tidy and adds, “you know how he gets with his Baptisms”, implying he is exacting. Since the Reaping began, it seems he is too busy to even spend time in his own ranch.

A woman says he is a smart man while another says that, since he has been through a lot, he knows the human heart and that’s why she trusts him. John is not a man known for typically losing his cool but a cultist says it happened once, when he got into an argument with a “sinner” who disrespected Joseph. John ended up “raining fire” on the man’s property with his plane.

When he Marks someone, it means he believes this person can be saved. He loves planes and a man says he hopes John will take him for a plane ride someday. One cultist says he also loves boats and another adds he would love to be his deckhand. Someone comments it smells “funny” in his house. After the Collapse, a woman bets he will be “a king”.

They are worried because, lately, they noticed he apparently has no idea what he is doing anymore and that he is getting stressed out. The Deputy seems to be the cause for all this and he is paying “special attention” to them. Some cultists wonder why he wants the Deputy alive.

After his death, they try to reassure themselves by saying that maybe John wasn’t part of God’s plan.

From the Resistance’s point of view

Adelaide is very attracted to John and says he is on her “any hole list”. She makes a lot of comments about him, saying he is “as bangable as he’s crazy”, that she bets he gives “the best spankings”, that killing him would be “a waste of a perfectly good set of buns”, that she wouldn’t mind letting him “harvest her valley”, etc. After his death, she says part of her is going to miss him because “creeps turn [her] on”. She also seems to really like his coat and would have loved to see Xander in it (with nothing else underneath). She is jealous of his ranch. She comments he is playing a “strange game” with the Deputy and thinks he might be in “some kind of love” with them.

Charles says John is the Seed he understands the less because he could have become a Wall Street megalomaniac instead of becoming the Baptist. He also thinks he has an inferiority complex.

Dutch warns the Deputy that he doesn’t make empty threats. He has already saved people from John’s Cleansing. At one point, he calls him “little old Johnny”.

Grace thought she would be the one killing him and says she hopes she will never forget the sight of his plane falling. Maybe she will get it tattooed on her one day. She thinks the people trapped in his bunker are like “POWs” (Prisoners Of War) and that they won’t be “free” (psychologically) the moment they are rescued. According to her, “the more you ruffle his feathers, the angrier he gets” because “he can’t deal with embarrassment” or “being made to look bad”. She calls his ranch “hypocrite center”. She thinks he is “too much of a fucking pussy” to come get the Deputy and their companions personally. After his death, she believes he is in Hell.

Hudson is disappointed she didn’t get to see him die. She recalls that, when the Deputy fled the bunker after the Confession and even though he didn’t say anything, it was obvious John thought he had failed. She adds things then got “worse”, as if he was trying to prove something to Joseph. She is for “instant death penalty” for people like him.

Hurk Jr. suggests that, since John believes in the “Power of Yes”, screaming “yes” at him several times should force him to leave them alone. He hopes he would at least act like it did something to him. He says “Johnny boy” wants to invite him in his bunker but that he invites John to “kiss [his] entire asshole” instead. He also comments he is “lusting for a dogfight” with the Deputy before humorously suggesting dogfights probably turn John on. He says he is glad he died because he never learned proper lettering or font techniques so his tattoos looked terrible.

Jerome thinks he is cruel and selfish. He was once kidnapped by him and forced to Confess. He still seems shocked he said what he said… He was then beaten and left for dead in the woods. He thinks John enjoys making people suffer, that he is “a con man”, that he just “seeks glory and riches”, and that he “immersed himself in a sea of self-aggrandizement”. Long ago, he asked John what was driving him and says that, while he gave him many answers, all of them were lies.

Jess calls him “a piece of shit”, maybe the worst she has ever met. She says he had his ranch built just for him and that he likes to scare people with his plane.

Kim says he once sent his men to try to pressure her into selling their property when Nick was away. One cultist got too close and she broke his nose. They tried to have her arrested after the incident but Merle helped get a restraining order.

Larry calls him an “unsavory fellow”.

Mary May says he is “one son of a bitch”. She remembers the first time he set foot in the Spread Eagle and how he looked at her, like she was “a meal”. The day he gave her a tattoo, she says he made her wait half a day in a room before eventually letting her go without harming her.

Merle says he isn’t superstitious but he still asks if someone put a stake through his heart when he died, just in case. At one point, he calls him “John Fuckface Seed”.

Nick says John stole all the baby equipment people had given them and that he said his sin was Greed. Nick disagrees because he just wants to support his family and it’s not a sin. He apparently likes to call people and leaves answering machine messages. According to him, it’s hard to have a family business and John and Joseph are an example of that.

Sharky says he knows pressure points that can make people feel immense pain. Like Adelaide, he thinks John is sexually attracted to the Deputy and that they should “just fuck and get it over with”. He loves to make fun of him, saying he is the type of guy to masturbate in front of a mirror and to marvel at his facial expressions, that he is “like that little brother who gets held down and farted on”, joking he got “the clap” so many times he was diagnosed with “a standing ovation”, calling him “old Johnson”, etc. For this reason, he hopes ghosts aren’t real and that John’s won’t haunt him.

Wendell thinks he would fit in well in Washington because he is a charismatic liar.

Willis calls him “one sick puppy”.

Zip believes his “atheist masters” use his bunker for “sexual rituals”.

NPCs say the key around his neck is the only key to the deeper parts of his bunker, where the people they kidnaped are locked. Apparently, John calls it “the key to Paradise”. They warn the Deputy he always gets what he wants, one way or another, that they can’t run from him, and that every time you meet him, you come away with scars. They seem surprised he insists on catching the Deputy alive. He bought most of the businesses in the area but gave jobs to cultists only. They imply he made it illegal to hunt in Holland Valley. One civilian wonders if he has a big book with everyone’s name in it and if he will come for them personally. When he Marks someone, he then sends them a video. They think one of the reasons why he almost drowns people during the Baptisms is because it’s “a power play”. According to them, his bunker is the cult’s pantry and the only way to get inside is to be “invited”. John wants people to say “yes” but someone thinks he likes it when they say “no” because it gives him “an excuse to get mean”. He has reportedly always been obsessed with the people in Fall’s End and especially with Mary May. He and Eden’s Gate wanted Nick’s plane and they didn’t like it when he told them to “fuck off”. People say Hudson is tough and it will be difficult for John to break her but they also say he “loves a challenge”... One man who had to Confess says he manages to make people say things they didn’t want to say. After seeing his ranch, a lot of civilians think he has awful taste in interior decorating and that he has “the worst case of younger sibling syndrome” they have ever seen. A woman explains he likes to “throw his weight around” while another says he has “scars that run deep” and that, deep down, maybe he wants to die.

They say he is relentless, a “rapacious thug”, a “psychopath”, a “pestilence”, a “pissant” (compared to Jacob), a “sadistic cat”, “the runt/baby of the Seed family”, a “goddamn pussy”, a “human toilet”, a “bully”, a “snot-nosed fearful little shit”, a “bona fide nut job”, a “control freak”, “such a neat freak it’s inhuman”, a “little punk”, “super emotional”, someone with a “singular mind” (the one of a serial killer), that he has an aggressive/creepy grin and a scary look on his face. They hate him but seem less afraid of him than they are of Faith and Jacob. Some even talk about desecrating his corpse or his sepulture (they don’t say such things about the other Heralds).

A few people believe he is just Joseph’s puppet and no better than his dog. One woman thinks he never had Joseph’s full confidence, unlike Faith. They say John sees his brother as a father and they hope that because of the Deputy’s actions, Joseph will be ashamed of him and even “disown” him. It seems Jacob always tried to look out for him.

Comments about other characters

John calls the Deputy to tell them Jerome is “selfish and misguided” and that his followers wouldn’t have left him if he were “a true man of God”.

He says the Deputy is “a murderer and a coward” and comments that they don’t seem to give “a second thought to killing”. According to him, their sin in Wrath. He claims he “personally” knows the feelings that drive them and can help them wash away their sins. He desperately tries to make them understand they are not on the right path and, while he admires their will and their tenacity, he seems sad they refused to listen to him and didn’t care about what he tried to say.

#far cry 5 #john seed #far cry 5 spoilers

[justxsayxyes]

He fucking hated their father. Their mother, too. One a mean drunk, the other useless as hell. He always hated them – but it was evenings like these, when Jacob truly let his mind run wild with various fantasies. Because on evenings like these, he sat his little brother down on one of the dry grassy hills at the edge of their neighbourhood, overlooking this rundown place.

John’s cheeks still were wet and he sniffled every now and then. But he had tried to get himself together after Jacob had taken him from their home.

Old Mad Seed had surely left some new bruises on the little boy’s back. Jacob hadn’t looked yet. He had just gotten inbetween the beating, grabbed his brother and carried him here. Cursing their father on his way out, then silently down the road, then he was joking. Trying to get his brother to forget and smile again.

Joseph was smart enough to flee the scene when it got to this point. But John was still too small, too obedient, too soft. He would be lost on the streets of Rome, even if he dared leaving their house. So he was the easiest target for one of the old bastard's 'sermons'.

Sitting down beside John, Jacob rummaged through his bag for a bit, before pulling out the pilfered cans he had ‘borrowed’ from one of the little shops. He’d bring the cans back surely – just without the soda inside.

“Here. Not as cold as in the ads, I’ll give you that. But you’ll like it.”, he said, giving John a wink as he opened the first can to give to his little brother. God. He could barely take the look of his big blue red-rimmed eyes.

“...hey, Johnny, what do you want to be when you grow up, huh? I mean, I need to know, so I can look for a house for Joe, you and me in the right place, right?”

jacob's arms always felt safe - safe, and warm and his jacket was always nice to hide his face in. and that was what john had done when his big brother had pushed their papa back and scooped him up into his arms. eyes screwed shut and little fists balled in his brother's jacket, the little boy only knew they were outside because of the sound of a door slamming and humid breeze that offered no respite from rome's heat.

the best thing about jacob's jacket though? it was a dark colour, and it was harder to see the tears that seeped into it from the little boy's cheeks.

what had he done this time? okay think back ... he'd been playing with a small matchbox car jacob had pulled out of his pocket for him - it was bright red and had black stripes down the side, like one of those real race-cars pa sometimes watched on the television.

back and forth, just rolling it across the floor ... maybe he'd made a few sound effects too, but that had been it. but it had been enough to make pa angry again, and ma must've not heard because she just kept washing the dishes, and joseph had just left ... did that mean he had done something wrong though?

wiping his cheeks dry with the back of his hands when jacob set him down at last, john sat down and craned his head around, taking in their new surroundings — the hill that overlooked the town. and even from up here, john could still see their house ... it was the one with the overgrown garden that looked more yellow than green with the heat lately, and the fence with the chain-link broken and hanging off.

another sniffle and john tugged his head back around when he heard his brother call him - blinking his big blue eyes dumbly, it took the little boy a few seconds to realise that the soda can was for him. awww, so cool! they never had soda in the house!

waiting for jacob to pop the can open, john shuffled in closer to his big brother, a grin from ear to ear as he held the too-big-soda-can between his two hands, lolling his head to the side so that the breeze ruffled his black hair as he thought about his brother's question.

' uhm ... a lawyer. ' leaning forward, he took a big gulp of the soda, crinkling his nose when the fizz tickled enough to nearly make him sneeze,

' that way i can make a lotta money and i can buy the house for me, you and joseph — an' i can help put bad people in jail and help people who need help. '

@only-we

#onlywe

[thejealouscactus]

System of a Down Are Why I’m Communist

Originally written for a Street Fight zine about a year or two ago. 

Like a lot of people in my generation, I became politically aware during the dark days of the George W. Bush presidency, particularly around the time of the 2004 election. The same year Green Day released the liberal anti-Bush magnum opus American Idiot. By that point I realized that Bush was a fascist buffoon and a repulsive Christian chauvinist. The Weapons of Mass Destruction that were hyped to sell the Iraq War turned out to be totally nonexistent. It was the first time I became aware that the government would blatantly lie to the people. All the people killed and maimed and an inconceivable amount of money spent was founded on a lie. I rooted for John Kerry, since I thought he would stop Bush’s reign of terror, greed and ignorance and there were no other options. But we all know how that turned out. It was demoralizing for me, the “good guy” lost and the country and the world would have to endure another four year term of Bush.

The next year was the year System of a Down released Hypnotize and Mesmerize and it was when they entered my radar. The music videos for the albums were played fairly frequently on MTV and VH1. As a young metal-head and peacenik, B.Y.O.B. was right up my alley. At the time I was a big fan of Black Sabbath and Megadeth because of their lyrics with similar themes. After I heard that I had to dig into their discography. Not necessarily the easiest thing living in the middle of Ohio and with a dad who was iffy on letting me hear albums with a parental advisory sticker. Through borrowing from friends and Sam Goody trips in a nearby city I was able to get most of their CDs. 2005 was also the year of Hurricane Katrina, when Bush’s incompetence cost thousands of lives and ruined the lives of many more. A sign of how the rest of Bush’s second term would be. The music of System of a Down were the perfect soundtrack for it.

The lyric books that came with the CDs taught me more than I would learn in school. Listening to them made me feel smart. Prison Song taught me about the prison industrial complex; how it punishes and controls rather than reforming people, and the governments’ dirty hands in the drug trade that fills the prisons up. “Minor drug offenders fill your prisons, you don't even flinch/ All our taxes paying for your wars against the new non-rich.” They also have lyrics that treat drug users with an empathy that is not often seen in media or in school. Boom! Is another antiwar song of theirs that hit me hard. “Manufacturing consent is the name of the game/The bottom line is money, nobody gives a fuck/ 4000 hungry children leave us per hour from starvation/While billions are spent on bombs, creating death showers!” I had the naive thought in my head that if everyone heard that song there would be no more war. They have other songs dealing with propaganda, environmentalism, big business’ influence on government, and so on.  I didn’t learn about the Armenian Genocide in school, I learned about it from System of a Down.

As the years went on my taste in music changed. I stopped considering myself a metal-head and no longer listened to System of a Down. My political beliefs evolved as well. I was a Daily Show watching progressive liberal in my high school years. In 2008 I had high hopes for Obama. His advertising campaign made me think he would be the anti-Bush. He promised to close down Guantanamo Bay and end the Iraq War. I thought he would be the new Franklin Roosevelt as we went into the Great Recession. After several years into his first term I realized he was a phoney. We were still blowing up the Middle East, and didn’t crack down on Wall Street or rebuild the welfare state. He basically solidified Bush’s legacy and didn’t bring the hope and change he promised. The disappointment led me to anarchism and socialism, and I started reading books on the subjects from the college library. I began as many leftists do with Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky, and when reading them I noticed how many phrases and concepts in their writings were in System of a Down songs. Deer Dance referenced Zinn’s memoir You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train. The seeds of my becoming a socialist were planted with System of a Down.

It’s been 15 years since I first heard Hypnotize, and it feels like a whole lifetime ago with the overwhelming amount of history that has happened in my life and in the world since then. A lot has changed, but so much has unfortunately stayed the same. There’s a different fascist buffoon in the White House. The forever wars in the Middle East have not stopped, they’ve just become easier for most people to ignore. Bush’s image has been largely rehabilitated. He got to floss dance with Ellen DeGeneres and Democrats approval rating has increased over the years since at least he’s not a dang Cheeto like Drumpf. The ghouls in Bush’s circle deserved to be tried at the Hague or at least pelted with shoes whenever they go outside, but they are still free and continue to hold power and influence. Some of them are working for Joe Biden.

Over the last year or so I rediscovered System of a Down, and am surprised at how well it held up musically and lyrically. Deer Dance could have been written in 2020, since the subject of police brutality against protesters is perhaps more relevant and in focus now than ever before. “Pushing little children/ With their fully automatics/ They like to push the weak around”. It was probably inspired by the Battle of Seattle but since then we have seen the police brutalize protesters at Occupy, Ferguson, Standing Rock, and reaching a boiling point in this year. I can’t say if more people listened to them they would also be socialist. Even their drummer John Dolmayan turned out to be a MAGA chud this year. It had a lasting and significant influence on me at least. It at least gave me a head start in my political education.

#system of a down #soad #communism #left wing

[that-scouse-wizard]

Sightseeing Part Two

`A/N: Welcome to part two of Sightseeing, hope you guys enjoy my interpretation of Liverpool’s wizarding community. All I’ll say for the moment... Scouse Elves.

Also, just a couple of Face Claims for some OCs who are going to appear in this:

Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III A.K.A Old Tom: Mark Addy (also voice claim).

Marcus Jacques: Daniel John-Jules. Voice Claim: Levi Roots.

MC friends: Judith Harris @judediangelo75

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Judith let out a startled yelp that turned to shrieks as she and David dropped onto an almost-vertical slope, sliding down it and beginning to quickly pick up speed. It was made of a smooth, black marble laced with white lines, bright lights intermittently illuminating the passage. 

Judith however couldn’t have given less of a damn about how it looked in that moment. There was nothing to hold onto except David’s hand, tightening her grip with what felt like near bone-crushing strength. Her friend was the only familiar thing on the slide and she wasn’t about to let him go. 

Although in contrast to her, David was having the time of his life, laughing like a madman. All Judith could do was pause her screaming briefly as she gave him an incredulous look, at least he wasn’t worried. The slope was rapidly becoming less steep, eventually curving until it plateaued. The remaining momentum the two friends had still moved them forward to the end of a short tunnel heading towards a warm, orange glow.

Slowing, then eventually stopping, the two found themselves in a fairly busy pub. Red brick pillars held the building up. The flagstones of the floor were a deeper red, cut into hexagonal shapes and lined black. The tables were fairly small, pushed up against the walls of the pub to make a clear pathway through the building, each one accommodating two to four stools. Lanterns lit with candles, some on the table others levitated around in a fixed pattern illuminated the establishment, giving it a homely feel despite the simplicity.

A long, mahogany bar was being tended to by an unshaven, portly man. His receding black hair was flecked with grey, his stubble already having turned the same colour. 

Behind the bar was lined with various drinks on shelves, most notably though was a pair of broomsticks crossed over one another. Two flags were hung either side of the X-shape. One, like the flagstones, was red with the side profile of a lion in mid-roar painted in black. The other was a smart, marine blue with a white eagle painted on it, also from a side profile with the eagle looking to be in mid-strike as if getting ready to attack its prey. The two symbols were positioned to be facing each other as if their respective mascots were about to do battle.

Quidditch teams clearly, though Judith didn’t recognise them at all. 

David got up, Judith followed, her hand still firmly clasped in his as he guided off the black marble platform they found themselves on. Any interest other patrons had of the new arrivals quickly dwindled. Judith looked around taking in the sight, it was certainly very... red. Finally letting go of David’s hand, she balled it into a fist and promptly punched him in the arm.

“Ow! Judith what was that for?” David yelped, though both the grin and the laugh that accompanied his question made it clear he knew exactly why he’d received it.

“For taking me on that.” Judith hissed, gesturing to the exit of the slide.

David shrugged, “I said ‘brace yourself’.” He responded cheekily.

Judith looked thoroughly unimpressed, “What part of ‘brace yourself’ means ‘I’m going to put you on a bloody death trap?’”

A raucous laugh was what she got in response, though it didn’t come from David. The bartender seemed to be enjoying the show, “Friend of yours, David?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent making it known he was from Yorkshire.

 “She is,” David confirmed, sounding quite proud of the fact, “This is Judith, a friend of mine from Hogwarts. Judith, this is Tom, he runs the pub.”

The old man beamed at the introduction, “Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III, most people just call me Old Tom. Welcome to The Purple Griffin. Is it your first time visiting Under Mersey, Judith?” He asked kindly.

“Yes.” Judith answered quietly, giving a nod. The bartender seemed nice, if a little loud.

“Thought so,” He smirked, “Now, important question, Red or Blue?” He asked, slightly louder, a few patrons and even David looked to Judith expectantly.

“Um...” Judith mumbled, a bit confused as to what the question meant. They were both colours she wore and liked though she supposed did prefer red..., “Red.” She answered, the reaction from everyone who was bothered to listen was immediate.

“We’ve got another Lion’s fan lads!” Tom declared, causing those who had taken an interest to either cheer, others let out groans of disapproval. 

David was one of those who was pleased with her answer, giving her a slap on the back, “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

“Can you at least tell me what choice I made?” Judith asked, really needing some context.

“Liverpool Lions, Everton Eagles,” David said pointing at the red and blue flag respectively, “Both are Liverpool teams and frequently top contenders in the Amateur Division of the British and Irish Quidditch League. They’re fierce rivals with most other teams, but it’s at their worst with each other.” That explained it, Judith only knew of the twelve teams that were considered professional.

“And you support the Lions?” Judith asked, 

“That’s right, had to go with the Reds all the way.” David grinned. 

“Ah.” Judith nodded knowingly, her friend supported Liverpool Football Club, so she supposed it made sense he would be a fan of their Quidditch equivalent.

“In fact...” David began as he started rummaging through the pouch of coins his mother had given him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Taking out six sickles before putting the silver coins on the bar and sliding them over to Tom, “Give us the Lion’s Summertime Specials.” Tom took the silvers with a conspiring grin.

“Take away?” The bartender asked, receiving a nod from David. At that prompt, Tom produced two cold bottles of butterbeer, causing Judith to give both of them a questioning look.

“I thought butterbeer was worth two sickles each?” She asked.

“Not the way Tom does them, watch.” David stated, now Judith was curious. Tom took out two large cups, emptying the contents of the bottles into them before calling out.

“Crocky! I need two pomegranates, and a mortar and pestle.”

“On it Tom!” A high-pitched scouse accent called back. It wasn’t long before the odd assortment of items was floated into the bar from the back area of the pub, guided by a house elf dressed in a starch-white chef’s outfit. His big, grey eyes only glancing at David and Judith briefly.

Judith’s eyes widened at that, the only house elves she had met were treated poorly at best, like slaves at worst. They would never refer to their master so casually, it was unheard of. The fact that this house elf had a healthy, lean build compared to the thin, frail frames of most other elves was another indicator something odd was going on. That wasn’t even mentioning how well-dressed the elf was. Perhaps David would know.

“Thank you.” Tom said to Crocky as he began deseeding the pomegranates, emptying the seeds into the mortar and starting to grind them up. The house elf disappeared back into the kitchens.

Judith watched the sight, curious as to see just what Tom was doing. It took a moment but Tom’s strong arms eventually ground down the seeds into a fine pulp. Mixing the juice into the butterbeer with a wooden stirrer briefly dyed the drink an orange colour. It didn’t last long as the mixture fizzed from the stirring, a scarlet hue quickly overtaking the contents of the cup, causing the foam on top to turn a light pink. 

“Go on then, drink up.” Tom said, looking ready to receive their verdict.

Judith took her cup, intrigued at the idea of a fruity-tasting butterbeer, Briefly knocking her cup against David’s one before taking a sip. It still had a sweet taste to it but lessened from the sour edge of the pomegranate juice. Yet the extra flavour wasn’t overwhelming, in fact it was quite refreshing, more so an ordinary butterbeer.

“It’s nice,” Judith responded positively.

“Good as always Tom.” David said, nodding in agreement.

“Glad I haven’t lost my touch.” The bartender grinned. The deep, rhythmic tolling of a bell from outside suddenly cut in, ringing twelve times before it was silenced, “Sounds like lunch time, you could always have some pub grub but I reckon that you’ll want to show your friend around Under Mersey won’t you, David?”

“That’s right.” David said.

“Well, off with you both then,” He said, making a shooing motion with his hand, “Just remember our motto.”

“Do us harm and we bring the weight of the Mersey down on your head.” David echoed with a grin.

“Exactly. Enjoy your time out there you two.” With that statement from the bartender, the two friends stepped out into the streets of Under Mersey.

-----------------

Judith was impressed, Under Mersey was definitely not like Diagon Alley. It wasn’t just a single alley. This place was an entire town, quite literally under the noses of muggles. 

Yet despite it being underground in a cavern that must have taken years to carve out, yet strangely, it felt no different to how it had been on the surface. It was warm with just the faintest hint of a sea breeze. A huge enchanted lantern acted like a miniature sun, moving slowly in tandem with the time displayed on a prominent clock tower on the southern end of the town. An illusory sky was even being maintained to mirror the weather on the surface.

The streets were a mix of cobblestone and pavements. Most buildings had chimneys that stretched far upwards, acting as support to the ceiling above. Four pillars at the four corners of the town also seemed to assist in holding up the ceiling, yet unlike the chimneys, they didn’t appear to be directly attached to any other building. It was certainly a feat of architecture that wizards had even managed to do this.

It wasn’t simply dull and lifeless though, Judith saw more than a few colourful plants growing either in planters on the streets or accommodated on outside window sills of buildings.

Luckily, David was willing to explain everything to her.

“Basically, we’re right under the River Mersey that runs by Liverpool. Vents on the ceiling and the chimneys are enchanted at either end to filter the air through. It’s why we’re able to breathe, and why the entire place isn’t flooded. The Pillars are where the town gets its water supply from. Pipes run underneath the streets to get it to the buildings. Not bad that it’s still around, seeing as construction began in 1801 and finished in 1823.”

Judith gave an impressed whistle. Whoever had come up with this, and even spent more than two decades seeing it through to completion must have had both ambition and patience.

“So what’s the deal with Old Tom and... Crocky was it?” Judith asked after having a sip from her butterbeer. They had left the building behind as they walked, though it could be easily found again, no other building had the same lavender hue as the brickwork the pub was made out of. Still, she was curious of the relationship between Tom and his house elf.

“That’s right,” David confirmed, “Far as I know, Old Tom is a squib, born to a pure-blood family. Don’t know when he and Crocky met but apparently, Tom gave him that chef’s uniform, Crocky just stuck around as an employee.”

“Really?” Judith asked in surprise. If any owner actually gave their house elf a piece of clothing, chances are they would take it and run. It spoke volumes of Crocky’s loyalty if he truly cared for the person who was apparently his ex-master.

“Yeah, I’ve been around them outside of working hours, the two of them act like best mates. Some even say Under Mersey is actually run by house elves.” Judith looked confused at the last part of David’s statement, causing him to elaborate, “The lantern, the ‘sky’, even the charms on the vents and chimneys? All of it is managed and maintained by house elves. The wizards and witches bring in business and live here. Some are even in charge of overseeing maintenance but ultimately it’s the elves who stop the place from bein’ destroyed.”

“Wow.” Judith said, marvelling at the sights again. She had a respect for the house-elves, putting up with so much. Quite literally holding this place together was just another feat that only cemented that sentiment.

Judith would have loved to explore the town a bit more but for the moment she was starting to feel a bit peckish...

“How about we go get some food?” David said.

Judith grinned at her friend practically reading her mind, “Sounds good, let’s go!” With that prompt, David guided Judith closer to the centre of the town.

This part of Under Mersey was by far the most active and Judith could see why, it seemed to be where most of the town’s shops were located. A wandmaker, a book shop, and practically every other kind of shop a wizard or witch could need. 

A stone fountain was the centrepiece for the town square. Two cormorants that towered over people, being at least eight feet tall. They faced away from each other, one looking west, the other looking east, the tips of their outstretched wings almost touching. A sprig of seaweed was clasped in their beaks.

However, both friends wanted to follow their stomachs at the moment and they certainly had options...

Looking one way, Judith could see that an odd assortment of restaurants had been packed into a single long street, thronging with people eager for lunch.. Chinese, Indian, Turkish. Spanish, Greek, French. Those were just some of the ones Judith noted. 

Yet despite the range of mouth-watering scents. the tempting food on display and even the occasional encouragement from a place’s owner, there was just one that really caught Judith’s eye.

A lot smaller when compared to the other restaurants, hanging above its doors was a string of flags. One of which was had three stripes blue on both sides, gold in the middle, with the head of a black trident in its centre.

That was the flag of Barbados, accompanied by flags of the other Caribbean islands. Above them was the name of the restaurant, only confirming Judith’s suspicions, Jacques’ Caribbean Cuisine. Judith knew exactly where she wanted to go, making a b-line for the restaurant as David followed close behind.

“Welcome,” A friendly tone was the first thing the pair of friends heard. Greeting them was a somewhat tall, lean and dark-skinned man. He was balding with a greying goatee, the hair he had left turning the same colour. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood despite his restaurant being empty in such a rush, “What can I interest you kids in today?”

Judith perked up at the man’s accent, it was similar to her Barbadian one, he definitely wasn’t British, “Where are you from?” Judith asked the man excitedly.

A bit confused at his question not being answered, the man responded, “Jamaica, and yourself?”

“I’m from Barbados.” She answered proudly, the man’s eyes went wide at that.

“Really? Girl if I was born a few decades later, you and me would have practically been neighbours!” He said enthusiastically, Judith grinned at, “And you boy?”

“Local.” David answered proudly, gesturing above..

“Ah, good, I like Liverpool. Think it’s a good city.” He said in approval, “Marcus Jacques, I came over here on request of the Ministry about thirty years ago. I was about twenty then, I’m fifty now.”

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of you,” David said in realisation. Judith looked at her friend curiously, “You started all of well... that outside.”

Marcus took on a smug expression at that, “Right you are, I got shipped up here by the Ministry, I was asked to come over after that war the muggles had in the fourties and decided the food this side of  the wizarding world could do with a bit more variety. Now don’t get me wrong, British food can be nice. Crocky at the Purple Griffin makes a great shepherd’s pie but I needed something to remind me of home. A couple more people got interested in the idea and we thought it would be nice to set up in the local community.” The man let out a chuckle, clearly reminiscing. David and Judith listening intently for him to continue, there was always a ‘but’ in these situations.

“See, a few in the local Ministry at the time were quite insular about new things coming in, they kicked up a fuss. We kicked up a bigger one and what you see outside is the result of the wizarding community here using the cultures right on their doorstep not too much differently to how the muggle side does. Anyway, enough of an old man’s ramblings, how about I give the two of you a taste of the Caribbean?”

“Yes please!” Judith said, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, “Do you serve brown stew chicken?” 

“’Do I serve brown stew chicken?’“ Marcus echoed back in a playfully sarcastic manner, “Of course I do, I’ll get right on it.” Yet he didn’t ask David what he wanted, “For you boy, I’ve got something special. Call it a Caribbean twist on something considered British.” 

Judith looked eager as she took a seat while David shrugged in acceptance. The owner leaving the two friends alone as he set to work in the kitchen.

“So, what do you think of your first time in Liverpool?” David asked eagerly as he sat across from his friend. 

“It’s... nice, I’ve had fun so far,” Judith answered honestly, “Though, can I ask something?”

“Yeah go on Judith.” 

“Can we plan these holidays in advance next time?” David looked perplexed at the question, “Please, David.” She quietly begged.

Though he was still a bit confused, David knew Judith wouldn’t just ask him a question like that out of the blue. He was sure she had a good reason, “Of course  we can Judith, whatever you want.”

Judith looked immensely grateful for his positive response, “Thank you David. You know, one of these days, I’ll have to take you to Barbados. It’s a beautiful country, white sandy beaches, lush greenery, the sea shining like sapphire.” She stated, clearly proud of her homeland.

David gave her a smile, “I’d like that, and now that you’ve described it for me, I’ll have to go.”

“To our future holidays?” Judith asked, raising up the half-full cup of butterbeer. 

David raised own, though his was almost empty, “To Liverpool, Lancaster and Barbados... one of those destinations is not like the other two.” He finished with a chuckle. Judith had to laugh as they knocked the cups together. From there on, the two settled into a content silence, it wasn’t long before Marcus came by with their food.

“Hope you kids enjoy.” He said, placing their meals and cutlery in front of them. 

Judith’s was several pieces of chicken covered in a rich, brown gravy that contained pieces of carrot and onion. Served with fluffy, white rice that soaked up any of the gravy was in contact with. 

David’s was comparatively simpler. It looked like fish and chips, strangely, the fish was in pieces. The batter looked crispy and light but was flecked with spots of red. The accompaniments... looked like very thick-cut chips but they just... weren’t.

“Saltfish fritters, and boiled and fried breadfruit.” Marcus confirmed.

Judith had already begun tucking in to her food, clearly enjoying it, “Mmm.” She managed to hum to satisfaction through a mouthful of food, giving a thumbs up.

David cut a small piece off the fish with a particularly prominent red fleck. It was nice, the batter was crispy, the fish soft with a distinct taste of salt. Then... hot... it was spicy. David began panting like a dog as he felt his nose starting to run.

“Oh no... I think he bit into a piece of scotch bonnet.” Marcus realised, “Hang on, I’ll get you some yoghurt.” It would be the only thing that could relieve the spiciness.

While Marcus sped into the kitchen again, Judith couldn’t help but laugh a bit at her friends misfortune, “David you’re a beater, and you can’t handle a bit of spice?” She chuckled, David couldn’t even muster a retort, just glare, causing Judith to let out another laugh, “Hey this is what you get for surprising me with how you got us here.” 

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #jacob's sibling #david willows #judith harris #other people's mcs #hphm mc #hufflepuff!mc #hufflepuff!mcs #tigress and hound

[shellibisshe]

Step Into The Garden- Chapter 1

word count: 2,650 

warnings: none

previous chapter here!

on ao3 as well here!

Deputy Elenore Parker’s life begins to spiral after a failed arrest attempt that wasn’t even her job in the first place.

———————————————————————————————————–

It all felt like a blur to Elenore.

At midnight she left her home quietly, her husband sleeping peacefully in their room. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

If they hadn’t gone on that call, if she hadn’t gone on that call, Gabe wouldn’t be injured. He’d be the one taking down Joseph Seed. He’d be the hero. Sure, she’d been with the department longer, been in the county longer. But this was his assignment, his job. And it was nobody’s fault but her own that she had to drive to the jail in the pitch-black night. 

Before she left, her radio crackled to life. John again, she knew it. She only half-listened to him, sleep still hanging over her like a fog, too hard to focus. He was warning her about something, more rhetoric from the cult, no doubt. Elle shut her radio off halfway through his speech. 

And then, she was at the jail. Whitehorse gave her and the other deputies, Joey and Pratt, a rundown of what was to happen. They’d heard it many times by now; a U.S. Marshal had come with a warrant for Joseph’s arrest. They were to simply arrest him and slowly dismantle the cult from there. Elle had suggested, begged even, to bring her rifle along, but Whitehorse didn’t have it. When the time came, the group piled into a helicopter and was sent on their way. 

It wasn’t long before the chaos started. 

Elenore could only remember small fragments, bits and pieces of the night that felt like it went on for years. 

She remembered seeing Joseph in the church, surrounded by the cultists and Heralds. People were yelling, guns were being drawn, but it died down as Elle was told to handcuff the man standing in front of her, muttering a simple “okay.” She noticed one of the Heralds fidget, he stood out among the rest of the statue-like figures before her, but she rushed out of the church before anything could be said. 

She remembered seeing the flames rise from the helicopter after it crashed, Joseph walking out of the wreckage like it was a casual Sunday stroll. Next to her, Joey hung from her seat, her seat belt being the only thing holding her in place. She tried to unbuckle the both of them, but Elle wasn’t quick enough. She screamed and cried, clawed at Joey as they dragged her out. Elle almost lost her arm when part of the wreckage collapsed between them. 

And then she was out. Running from the cultists, hanging out the side of that truck, Burke managed to find.

“Knew I should have brought my fuckin’ gun!” She sneered out as Burke tried his best to dodge the roadblocks. It felt like the entire cult was shooting at them; they were in way over their heads. On all sides, they were being hit, even from the air. 

All this culminated with the truck landing into a stretch of the river. Elle went in and out of consciousness, saw Burke being taken by more cultists, and finally a hand reaching out for her. 

And then she woke up. 

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. It was dark, a message from Joseph played in the background. Then she saw him, a man standing at the table near the radio. 

She’d recognize that bald head anywhere. 

“Dutch?” She managed to croak out. She tried to stand, but she was stopped. She looked to her right, realizing now why her arms were so sore. “You zip-tied me to the fuckin’ bed?! Dutch, you know me!”

“Don’t know who’s in the fuckin’ cult these days. Gotta be careful.” He said, walking over and sitting in the chair in front of her. 

“Okay, well,” she said, moving to place her foot on the leg of the bed and break the zip tie, “you know I’m not so,” after a second of trying, she stopped, “let me go.”

“I should turn you in; that’d be the smart thing to do.” He laughed. Nonetheless, he brought out a hunting knife, careful not to nick her arms while he cut the zip ties. “We’re gonna have to burn that uniform.”

“No we will not.” She was standing now, trying to rub away the red marks on her wrists. How long was she out? Miraculously, nothing was broken. Her arms and sides were bruised, she could already tell, and her legs were stiff, but other than that, she was okay. She’d have time to process what happened later. “I need to get to Grace’s.” 

“You need to change! They’re gonna recognize ya, you won’t get anywhere close to Grace’s with that badge.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she huffed. She unbuttoned the dark green shirt, tying it around her waist to conceal the badge hanging off her belt. “Good enough.”

Dutch let out a small laugh, “Radio’s on the bed. Been goin’ off whole time you were out.” Elle nodded, shifting her weight to leave the room when Dutch grabbed her arm.

“Where’re your parents? Your sister? They okay?” He wasn’t looking at her, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. 

“Em left the county a while back. She’s safe.” She saw Dutch nod. “My parents went on a huntin’ trip. Shouldn’t have been bothered by this mess.”

“Hopefully.” He said. “Mary May called, needs some help in Fall’s End.” And then he let go. 

Elle raided the one gun case he told her to, and she went on her way. Leaving the bunker, she took a second to orient herself, running through her mental checklist as she walked through the forest. 

First: go to Grace’s house. Elle kept all her gear there, her vest, her boots, her treasured rifle Air Support. It should all be there unless some cultists got a little too nosy. 

Second: check on her house. Hopefully, Gabe was able to go somewhere safe during all this. If not….

We’ll think about that later.

Third: check on her parents. Hopefully, they were able to stay hidden during all this. 

She heard her radio crack again. 

Fourth: answer John’s radio calls. Though she had some choice words for him. 

Getting to Grace’s house was easy enough. Elle stuck to the woods, the few backroads she knew in the valley. She got a little turned around, and when she finally found Grace’s house, she was at the back of it. 

Or what was left of it. 

The house was mostly gone, charred black but still smoldering. She could see three cultists standing at the front, one armed with a flamethrower, torching what was left of the house. Between them, a gas canister, fuel for the flamethrower she realized. If they’d just move a bit closer…

She got low, laid on the ground even, and evened up the rifle’s sites with the canister. Waiting until all three of them got close enough, she held her breath and took the shot. 

The canister exploded, more flames landing on the burnt down house, and Elle said a mental apology to Grace. She stayed there for a second, making sure they were all down, before reloading the rifle and slinging it over her shoulder. The house was completely trashed. Any dressers that were still standing were burnt completely, the clothes inside ashes. But that was fine for Elle; she knew exactly where to go. 

After navigating the debris, almost catching fire when the water heater exploded next to her and climbing onto the roof, she found it; the bunker. The door was still shut, meaning the cultists never got to it. As fast as she could, she pulled the steel door open and slipped inside. 

It was dark, the only light coming from the now open door. Grace’s bunker was Elle’s second home. She was here constantly, had her own spot and everything. In the dark, she still found her way to the trunk she kept her gear in. She tucked her green shirt, tank top, and jeans into the chest, exchanging them for a black turtleneck, she didn’t know if it was hers or Grace’s, her only pair of skinny jeans, her bulletproof vest and holsters, and lastly, the pair of tan combat boots that sat next to the trunk. 

Navigating the dark again, she found her gun case. A long, slim case shoved under one of the beds, covered in old stickers from Elle’s teenage years. She brought the case out, eagerly unlocking each latch, before carefully pulling the rifle out. It was a long gun, about as long as Elle was tall, and it was painted in dull reds and grays with pops of yellow lines. In the case was also a matching silencer, which Elle spared no time attaching to the rifle. She had a separate case, one just for scopes and silencers, and spent the better part of an hour upgrading her pistol and a spare AR-C that Grace left for her.

Grace. She was the whole reason Elle came here. She needed to find her. Throwing her new weapons over her shoulder by the strap, she climbed out of the bunker. She found her way to the road again, doing her best to avoid the roadblocks. She stuck to the streets, admittedly getting a bit distracted in the calmness before she heard gunshots again.

The Church.

The Church with the cemetery that Grace’s father was just buried in. 

Elle dashed in the direction of the church as the gunshots got louder and louder. Dozens of white trucks, some with mounted guns even, had pooled in the ditch at the base. Bodies were strewn all around the property, all with one clean entry and exit wound. Then Elle saw her.

Sitting at the very top of the bell tower, Grace. She was exhausted, her rifle haphazardly thrown to the side. Elle surveyed the scene as she climbed to the bell tower. Ammo and extra magazines were scattered on the floor as Grace leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her eyes shifted to Elle, a weak “Hey.” falling from her mouth.

“You look like hell.” Elle half laughed out, bending down to sit in the bell tower next to her. “How long you been at this?”

“Fuck if I know, whole day, at least.” Grace groaned back, moving to lay flat on the floor. “They better not come back.”

Elle surveyed the grounds again. 

There were bodies everywhere—some lay right in front of the various graves and memorials that littered the small graveyard. Most were near the entrance, right next to the road. A few were in the woods behind the little church. Elle brought her binoculars up, taking a closer look at the chiseled stones. Some bits of the rock had been hit, but most looked exactly like they did when Elle was here a few weeks ago. 

Getting up, she let out a laugh, “I think they got the message, Grace. Come’on, we gotta go.”

“Go where?” Grace replied, taking Elle’s hand and pulling herself up. They could see Fall’s End in the distance, and from here, it almost looked normal. Calm. 

Except for the smoke coming from a raging fire on the street.

“Fall’s End. Come on, we gotta go.” Elle tapped Grace’s shoulder, offering a hand to help her up. The two of them carefully made their way down the bell tower, careful to avoid the dead bodies lying about the property. Elle found a truck that still had the keys in it, and in an instant, the two of them entered the vehicle and drove towards Fall’s End.

They abandoned the truck a few meters away from the town. The two got out of the truck, pulling their gear from the bed when Elle spoke.

“‘Kay, here’s the plan,” she started, loading her gun and checking the scope. “I’ll go to the water tower, take out the alarms.

“And me?”

“You..” Elle started, “you should...stay behind.”

“Elenore.”

“Grace, you need to take a break.” Elle started to walk away from the truck, leaving Grace at the truck. “Don’t follow me.”

Leaving the wooded area, Elle was careful to stay away from the road again. She found the water tower, carefully to not make a sound as she climbed up the creaky metal ladder. She reached the top, a small platform circled the water tank. Taking her binoculars out, she surveyed the area, making a mental note of each enemy, each alarm...each hostage. Luckily there were only two, and she recognized one as Pastor Jerome. Moving her rifle from her back to the area in front of her, she brought the sites up. Wordlessly, she sent a bullet to each alarm, lingering only long enough to see sparks fly from the now broken system. Aiming slightly over, she hovered over her first target, her first real human target. 

Elle was a talented sharpshooter, don’t get me wrong. She was raised in the Whitetails. She spent most of her time hunting game—deer, rabbits, the occasional squirrel even. But never a person. She’d never had a reason unless they were shooting at her. And yea, she had shot some cultists before, but that was different. She was being shot at then, she had to, she had no choice. These guys though..these guys didn’t even know she was there, they weren’t shooting at her. Well, not right now, at least. 

Not that she was going to give them a chance. 

Elle waited for this particular target to go off by themself, to buy some more time, and as the moment came, she sucked in a quick breath. Holding her breath, holding the rifle steady, it brought her back to all those hunting trips with her parents. She could feel that same thrill rising, and she hated it. But she was wasting time. She had to take the shot.

And she did.

The nameless body dropped between two of the houses, and Elle made quick work of the rest. Taking out her binoculars one more time, surveying the area one more time, she checked every body. She knew she’d check one more time, turn them all over and search for a pulse and extra ammo, but she had to do this first. Once she was sure they were all dead, she ran back to the truck. Grace was still there, stretched out as much as she could over the seats in the small cab. Elle shook Grace’s shoulder gently, waking her. The two made their way back to town, freeing the hostages and working to clean up the place as much as they could. Elle kept her eyes trained on her home, a small blue house right across from the water tower. She watched and waited for Gabe to come out, waiting for him to run to her as best as he could. But he never did.

It was midnight when she finally stopped waiting. Mary May offered for her to stay with her that night, said it’d be safer, said she’d watch over Elle and Grace, but it didn’t make that sinking feeling in Elle's stomach go away. Maybe he was just mad at her again, silent treatment and all that. Or perhaps something worse happened; what was she supposed to do if something worse happened? There was a light on in one of the windows; someone was home. But Elle knew that she couldn’t leave, what with Grace clinging to her and Mary May standing guard at the door. She couldn’t very well get to her gear either. Mary May had the forethought to take it.

But Elle was tired. Exhausted even, but who wouldn’t be? And she couldn’t fight it anymore. Pulling the blanket up to her shoulders, Elle let her exhaustion consume her, drifting off into a not so restful sleep. 

#deputy parker #far cry 5 #fc5 #my writing #again I apologize in advance #it's so long

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Requiem (part one)

[Spiritfarer AU]

Note: The spirits are anthropomorphic. So their forms are on two legs and are humanoid, they’re not actually four-legged animals.

Word count: 1938

---------------------------

-Lost and Found-

The night was finally calm, the Spiritfarer weary from a long day worth of intense afterlife business. Nobody ever said becoming the next sailor for the dead was going to be easy, after all. 

The water lapped quietly at the sides of the ship. The huge expanse of the ocean that stretched out in every direction was glittering black, reflecting the twinkle of silver stars overhead. The moon was out and glowed brightly, illuminating the path to a large island in the near distance.

Her legs ached to be on earth again. It’s felt like forever since she walked on solid ground, which was strange. How long had it been exactly? She couldn’t remember much aside from waking up that morning in that small boat with the cat, in front of that giant portal... 

The Spiritfarer leaned back until her spine rested against the back wall of her cabin, the rough wood chafing her skin underneath her salt-eaten white gown. She watched the stars, the countless lamps lighting the world beyond. She spotted a mythical ship in the sky, sailing along the river of the ethereal gods.

  “Ah, there you are,” 

The voice was smooth like molten honey and tickled her ears in just the right way to send shivers down her spine. The Spiritfarer sat up, stretching sore spots along her back, and looked down at her first passenger.

Catherine of Aragon, the former queen of England, was a sight for sore eyes. In her spiritual body, she took the form of an elegant maned lioness. Sleek chocolate brown fur with a caramel underbelly and snout blaze, and a golden mane that swayed in the sea breeze. The spiky crown she wore was a sign of her former status as a ruler.

  “I was wondering where you went,” Aragon said, climbing up onto the ledge. 

  “I thought you were asleep already,” Joan said, moving over so the spirit could sit next to her. The fluffy black cat in her lap, John, blinked up at her, then flopped back over.

  “Not yet,” Aragon said. She sat crisscross, curling her tail in close to her. Her eyes were seemingly the only thing that she retained from her former self- they were dark brown, almost black, and they glittered in the moonlight. “Are you nervous?”

  “Nervous?” Joan echoed.

  “You got a big day ahead of you,” Aragon clarified. “A lot of big days, actually. Being a Spiritfarer is tough work, I’ve heard. You’ll be dealing with a lot.”

  “...Like?”

  “Several spirits, for one,” Aragon said. “But you’ll also have to help us cope with our deaths and fulfill our final wishes and demands and settle any quarrels before we can pass on…” She turned her head to look at Joan and smiled. “It’s a lot.”

Joan paled. “Oh…”

Aragon chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, though,” She said. “You seem like a smart kid. I think you can do it.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, you were chosen for a reason, weren’t you?” Aragon stood up and stretched. “We’ll have to find some more spirits tomorrow. Oh, and just a heads up: You may want to look the part a little bit more.”

------

  “Okay, when I said ‘look the part’, this isn’t what I meant.” 

Joan blinked down at the sunflower yellow shirt and light blue overalls she was wearing. “What do you mean?”

  “You look like a farmer,” Aragon said. “Not a Spiritfarer.”

Joan gave the lioness a wounded expression. “I think I look perfectly professional!”

Aragon snorted lightly. “If you say so.”

The two of them cross over a stone bridge that was swathed by big red flowers and entered fully into the island village. The smell of baking bread and cooking meat wove through the streets, and Joan could hear the tink-tink of small hammers, the clattering of mugs, and the light echo of voices calling from inside houses. Some kind of stringed instrument greeted the sunrise with musical scales and half-played melodies.

  “So, what exactly are we looking for?” Joan asked. She had to look up at Aragon, as the spirit was much taller than she was.

  “Other spirits, of course,” Aragon answered. She quirked an eyebrow down at Joan. “Have you already forgotten your task?”

  “N-no!” Joan squeaked. “I’m just...making sure YOU know what we’re doing!”

  “Ah,” Aragon nodded wisely. “I see.”

They continued their trek into the village, stopping every once and awhile to check out different shops. It was then, at a stall selling vegetable seeds, Joan felt eyes burning into her back. She whipped around to see a shadow bounding towards her.

  “It’s so good to see you! I’ve been counting the days until you finally came. Though, I didn’t expect to see YOU of all people. Did you miss me at all?”

The familiar voice poured into Joan’s mind like a cup of cool water.

The spirit was clad in emerald green robes, shadowing its featureless face, aside from its big white eyes, which glowed even in the sunlight. Green smoke wreathed from its body, dissipating into the air around it. Nothing about it screamed ‘former queen Anne Boleyn’ but Joan knew this was her, and not just because of the voice.

  “Oh, Catalina! It’s so good to see you, too! It’s been a long time!” Anne babbled on, turning to the lioness, who had her snout wrinkled in distaste for the green spirit.

  “Hello, Anne.” Aragon said bitterly. “I’ve been really good after you usurped me.”

  “Oh, I bet!” Anne laughed, dismissing the comment and making Aragon growl lowly in her throat. “I got beheaded, so I think we’re even.”

Joan peered at the spirit. Despite her jolly tone, she has tight, tense shoulders, head slightly pulling back, like she’s anticipating a threat of some kind. Something doesn’t add up.

Seeing each other again should be a happy occasion--yet something has Anne stressed out. Joan suspected she would find out the longer she got to know Anne on her journey as a Spiritfarer.

  “Overall, I would say…I am content enough here.” Anne began. “It was weird waking up here and looking like THIS,” She held up her shadowy hands, “but I got used to it. It’s a nice village. They got some really good food here! The worst thing about it is probably Jane’s tantrums, and even then she’s usually avoiding me. Oh, but another lady is here, too! Anna, I think her name is? Or maybe it was just Anne and I heard it as Anna because I want to be the only Anne…”

Joan perked up a little. “Did you say Jane?” She asked. “As in, Jane Seymour?”

  “As in, that wench is super whiny and spoiled. So, yes.” Anne tittered.

  “What does she throw these ‘tantrums’ about?” Joan asked.

  “I’m gonna guess it has to do with being on the same island as her.” Aragon glared at Anne, who blithely ignored it.

Anne shakes her head. “She yells about ‘not being able to do her life’s work,’ and it’s been getting worse. She’s been like this for the last six months or so.”

Speak of the devil, a distant sound cut through the air--violent and thunderous. It grew louder, like bomb blasts in rapid succession, until a piercing silver light beamed through the area.

The light came from a spirit, which was as shadowy as Anne, but was slightly bigger and wore glowing silver robes. The smoke puffing off of her body could have possibly been coming from her nostrils and mouth and ears, which weren’t even present on her features, because she was practically shaking with rage.

  “Where is the Spiritfarer?” She screamed at no one in particular. Even with just blank white eyes on her black face, her fury was clear.

Anne turned to Joan and coughed daintily.

Joan craned her neck to look up at the spirit. She seethed with anger.

  “I have been waiting for the Spiritfarer for almost a full year and I cannot wait any longer!!” The spirit bellowed on. “This place is a hellhole--a prison! I’d rather be completely dead than have to spend any longer on this island!!”

A few other spirits, normal ones that didn’t need Joan’s aid, turned to stare, but looked away quickly when they realized exactly who was making a scene. It seemed this was a normal affair for the village.

  “Nobody listens to me! I can’t wait another year--you have to get me out of here!”

  “Okay, okay!” Joan said. “Calm down! That’s why I’m here!”

Jane’s tantrum halted. She gazed down at Joan, blinking.

  “You...are the Spiritfarer?” She asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Joan answered. “My name is Joan.”

  “I know who you are.” Jane said. “You just--weren’t what I was expecting.” She tilted her head. “You are very young.”

Joan ruffled. “I’m sixteen. That’s the age I was when I started working in the palace. It’s not that young.”

Jane has calmed completely, now. “I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well. I am ready to leave this horrid place. Please, take me to the ship.”

Joan looked up at Aragon, who nodded. “Let’s go then!” Upon arriving at the docks, where they would take the dinghy to get to the main ship, a red-robed spirit was waiting patiently for them. She introduced herself as Anna of Cleves while Joan was rowing back to the ship.

  “Not quite what I was expecting,” Jane said, looking around. “But I’ll take it.”

  “Good, because you don’t have a choice,” Aragon said. She climbed up onto the roof of the kitchen to watch. 

  “I like it.” Cleves said. “If that means anything.”

  “It does,” Joan smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I’m ready to get out of this body!” Anne declared. She ran to the front of the ship and spread her arms wide. White light began to envelope her body, whisking away the robes and setting free the form that lay beneath the shadows.

Sunlight glinted off emerald green scales. Spines bristled upwards towards the clear blue sky. A powerful tail swished behind feet that were hooked with razor sharp talons. Too-human brown eyes for an iguana blinked at them all.

  “Haha!” Anne cheered, throwing her arms up. “Finally! /This/ is much better. Even better than my human body! Look at this, I got a tail!”

  “So do I,” Aragon called. “You aren’t special.”

  “Hphm.” Jane huffed. “You’re just a lizard.”

  “And what are you, your majesty?” Anne teased.

Jane glared at Anne, then allowed her body to change shape. It was swarmed with light, as did Anne’s, but she was left with a blanket of pure white fur, a bushy tail, steel grey eyes, and large, branching antlers.

  “Voila,” The white stag bowed. “There you go.”

  “Oooo,” Anne cooed in interest. “Pretty good! What about you, Anna?”

The red spirit shrugged and reverted into her full form, which turned out to be a huge grizzly bear. She stretched out her thickly muscled arms, then shook out her shaggy brown fur.

  “Woah,” Anne said. “You are very big.”

  “Thanks?” Cleves laughed.

Joan watched them all begin to chat, luckily without an argument breaking out instantly. After she was assured that the conversation was tame, she walked into her cabin, where the map projector sat. She used it and the Everlight, the golden orb on her belt, to control the entire ship, though she was still working out all the mechanics. She opened up the map as John hopped up onto her shoulder.

Four down, five more to go.

  “TOUCH MY ANTLERS AGAIN, BOLEYN, AND I WILL BUCK YOU OFF THIS SHIP RIGHT NOW!!!”

Joan sucked in a breath. “This is going to be a long journey.”

#hhhh sorry if this is a little clunky #im woozy from the meds and i just really wanted to get something out #six the musical #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #joan on the keys #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #spiritfarer au

[aion-rsa]

Salma Hayek in Savages is One of the Most Underrated Movie Gangsters

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“You thought I wouldn’t notice,” cartel boss Elena Sánchez (Salma Hayek) demands of her loyal caporegime Ludo (a physically and emotionally imposing Benicio del Toro). The brutal and effective killer does not defend himself when the head of his family, and boss of bosses, slaps him with the force of a bull whip. He doesn’t even flinch. That would mean death. Oliver Stone’s Savages may not be his most renowned mob movie offering, but Hayek’s drug lord is one of cinema’s most groundbreaking gangsters.

Stone is no stranger to iconic gangsters. He wrote the screenplay for Brian De Palma’s Scarface, which brought Al Pacino’s coke-fueled Cuban political asylum seeker, Tony Montana, into celluloid’s perennial rogue’s gallery. For his 2012 cartel twist of a gangster film, Savages, Stone let Hayek reset the template. Her Elena Sánchez is street smart, tech savvy and a wiz at business. Her venture is so cut-throat, her underlings sever heads in their enthusiasm. Sánchez commands that much loyalty. Her gang decapitates wayward members, rivals and other stray wolves to bring lambs into the fold. They capture the proceedings on video which they send as messages in introductory offers of hostile takeovers.

Our ostensible heroes in this environment are Ben (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and Chon (Taylor Kitsch), who’ve been friends since high school. Ben went to Berkeley and took botany classes; Chon went into the military and took seeds. The latter’s tour of duty in Iraq left him seething with trauma but well-trained tactically. His tour in Afghanistan left him tactless, but introduced him to the finest marijuana in the known world. The pair now run a multimillion-dollar cani-business in the era when the plant was on the verge of becoming legalized on the West Coast. They, and their mutual live-in girlfriend O (Blake Lively), are idealists, using their new wealth to invest in philanthropy. Sánchez’s cartel wants them to join the “family.” It is a renowned and venerable matriarchy.

Sánchez’s enterprise is larger than Vito Corleone’s in The Godfather, but then she is a wise and tough-nurturing godmother. Nicknamed La Reina, the boss of the Mexican Baja Cartel doesn’t merely conquer her competitors, she destroys idealism. To get the thing she wants, Elena kidnaps the thing Ben and Chon love most, O. This is a talent, discovering the things which people most treasure. When Tom Hagen reported back to his don in The Godfather, the family father discerned the Hollywood bigshot Jack Woltz loved his prized racehorse more than any other thing on earth. He sent a message.

Elena’s most potent message is a niche-meme of sorts. While streaming live footage of O in tortuous circumstances, she cuts to an animation of O’s head popping off, leaving an ever-increasing stain of blood which ultimately covers the screen. That’s her horse’s head. This is a message movie and that’s “the word.”  Hayek is a versatile performer. She brought black comedy subtlety to her roles in The Faculty and Dogma; sensual earth tones to Frida; and romantic fantasy into Once Upon a Time In Mexico. She ratted out her gangster boss in Everly, but made her bones as an assassin in The Hitman’s Bodyguard. Hayek has also proven herself a master thief, stealing From Dusk Till Dawn with one scene which she shared with George Clooney, Quentin Tarantino, and a snake. In Savages, Hayek is allowed to be something female characters are routinely denied: ruthless, amoral, and savage.

Hayek presents a straightforward boss with strong family values. Elena Sánchez took over the cartel after the deaths of her husband and twin sons, but there is no room for irony for the Black Widow character. Hayek expertly balances public bravado and private sorrow. Elena is wise, like someone who paid attention to the lessons of different generations. Warnings about getting high on your own supply, and underestimating the other guy’s greed, would sound perfectly natural coming out her mouth. She’s the antithesis of her prisoner, whom she calls Ophelia after sensing the young woman exudes the need for a mother’s accumulated knowledge. Elena’s own actual daughter similarly rejects the past in the movie, but this is a gangster film tradition, sadly. Every mob boss wants their children to move into a thriving legitimate world. Elena says her daughter is “ashamed of me and I’m proud of her for it.”

The gangland dictator’s only vulnerability is her teenage daughter. It is also Elena’s strength. A mob godfather chalks blood up as an expense. Elena, the mother, is not only capable of doing anything for her children, but also justifying any action because it is done for her children. She only took over the cartel because her son was weak and would have been killed. This makes her character fearless.  

Regardless of the hard-bodied eye candy, Taylor-Johnson, Kitsch, and Lively are bland next to Hayek and del Toro, who see entitlement and philanthropy as disgusting conceits of wealth and soft privilege. Lively’s Ophelia is not a deep, William Shakespeare tragic figure. She’s Paris Hilton in a hemp halter top, a seeming trophy for the nouveau stoner rich. O neither shocks nor impresses the crime queen, whose got hideaways and mansions scattered internationally for whim or lam.

“There’s something wrong with your love story, baby,” wise mob boss Elena notes like she’s doling out favors at her daughter’s wedding. “They may love you but they will never love you as much as they love each other. Otherwise they wouldn’t share you, would they?” Their ménage a trois relationship is also seen as absolutely savage to del Toro’s Lado.

The Mexican gang think the gringos lack dignity, tradition, family, and honor. The Californians are appalled by the brutality of the narco-traffickers from south of the border where torture is a routine cost of doing the business. Local D.E.A. agent Dennis (John Travolta) puts his trust in graft. He skims profit from Elena, accepts bribes from her rival El Azul, as well as Lado, and Ben and Chon. Yet he is surprised when he gets bit on the hand at feeding time. “You stabbed a federal agent,” he moans as his faith is shaken in a scene reminiscent of the death of Mel Bernstein in Scarface. Sadly, it only expands Dennis’ jurisdiction.

It is noted in the film that Elena is counting on the reelection of a specific mayor to retain her power base in Mexico. Stone directed the 2009 documentary South of the Border, which presented the untold histories of leftist Latin American presidents. Savages, a commercial film, presents the cultural relationship between Anglo-Americans and Latinos in a way mainstream Hollywood films rarely attempt. Most of this is done through normalizing sequences which act as allegorical bridges, such as when Elena flips back and forth between English and Spanish when chastising Lado and the high-ranking cartel accountant Alex Reyes (Demián Bichir). She is as much a mob representative as when Lado greets Ben with a warm “Welcome to the barrio” as he lets him into his Tijuana hotel suite.

Elena brings an entirely new and unique reworking of the South American narco boss cliché. This is best illustrated with the most subtle of the film’s social commentary, delivered by del Toro, who’d previously won an Oscar for his role in the drug war film Traffic. When Lado drops by Dennis’ house, he’s backed by a landscaping crew packing chainsaws.

Savages is an adaptation of Don Winslow’s pulp fiction novel but only hints at the violence journalist Ioan Grillo wrote about in the book El Narco. The film is set in Southern California’s Laguna Beach, which is close to the province of the Sinaloa Cartel. The film says Elena heads the Baja Cartel, which has operated in the U.S. for years. Sandra Avila Beltran was known as La Reina del Pacifico, but Elena’s circumstances more loosely resemble Veronica Mireya Moreno “La Flaca” Carreon, the first known female leader of the Los Zetas gang of San Nicolas de los Garza near northern Mexico.

The authentic blend of known crime figures brings an immediacy to the character. Hayek’s realism registers subconsciously, adding shades to the gangster persona which blur into a real person. It also instills a real sense of peril. We worry about the antihero.

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But never forget, Elena is a badass. Savages reflects the violence of the then-ongoing drug wars in Mexico. It looks real and feels painful. The first shot the audience gets of the cartel is a blood-slicked concrete floor, headless bodies and decapitated heads, and Lado in a Lucha Libre freestyle wrestler mask. Elena’s crew is one of the most efficiently lethal in the business. Anything less is unacceptable. Lado calls in a debt on lost years from a former attorney by shooting him in both knee caps. He retires Esteban, the henchman who watched over Ophelia while she was in captivity, because he is too soft.

One thing which separates Savages from the many drug war genre films is how Stone mixes media. He artfully moves through visual formats, color schemes, black and white grit, webcam and cell-phone video pixelation, though all of this is restrained when compared with Natural Born Killers. In that film, the villains were strong but powerless, hurled by forces beyond their control. In Savages, Elena exudes authority. “We didn’t make you an offer to hear a counteroffer,” she explains confidently, turning the screw on mere offers you can’t refuse. “We made you a deal to which we expected compliance.”

Stone is as fascinated by power as he is repelled by it. Like many gangster and Stone films, the mobsters at the center of Savages are allegories. Stone took on financial criminals in Wall Street, and here Elena’s cartel is likewise a modern corporation of sorts, putting the squeeze on the little guy. It’s the same thing real-life Bronx bootlegger Dutch Schultz did when he took over the Harlem numbers racket. The Sánchez expansion is the same as when the Corleone family moved in on Las Vegas. Elena muscles in during negotiations, dropping golden parachutes with balloon interests, percentages, sliding scales over three years, and other buzz-killing business school collateral damage. Even as talks deteriorate, Sánchez keeps a cooler head than Tony Montana and is able to strategize in the long term.

Her operations are brazen. When negotiations aren’t being carried out via computer, business is conducted in public, under the protective shield of a small squadron of snipers. Her hackers are as expert as Ben and Chon’s. All of this was within state of the art, real-time operations, which further solidifies Sánchez’s bona fides. Stone spent 15 months of combat duty in Vietnam, and assigned Kitsch to train with a Navy SEAL advisor during filming. Blakely told Collider she “met a little girl who had been kidnapped by the Mexican drug cartel.  We met people in, of all areas, the marijuana field.” Hayek spoke with members of drug gangs.

“I actually talked to some people involved in the cartel that described, on two different occasions, women that have gotten quite high in the cartel,” Hayek told Collider.  “As a matter of fact, they are incredibly efficient, much more so than men… The women are actually colder. The guy gets angry and thinks he has to do something, and the women are not like that. They are all about the business. They’re not about the vendetta, or who is more macho. They’re about getting things done.”

Elena Sánchez gets things done, and she does it with style. This is a real gangster policy which goes all the way back to Arnold Rothstein, who cleaned up street thugs like Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky, put them in suits, and taught them which forks to use at dinner. Dutch Shultz laid out a small fortune to outfit his outfit in the latest fashion. In Dead End, Baby Face Martin (Humphrey Bogart) shows off his silk suit, tailor-made.  The gangsters in Sergio Leone’s mob masterpiece Once Upon A Time in America wore wingtip collars. In American Gangster, Denzel Washington’s Frank Lucas blows his cover to drape himself in a chinchilla coat.

Hayek set Elena’s style in stone, wearing the same diamond necklace and silken black wig in every scene. “These women know they are going to be an icon and they create a character,” she told THR.  “These women design themselves. They don’t want to be versatile. They want you to always remember them.”

Elena Sánchez may only remember Ben and Chon by their nicknames, “Nothing Personal” and “Eat Shit Caviar,” but Salma Hayek presents an unforgettable cinematic crime boss. Savages lives up to its title because Hayek cultivates the untamed natural state with unnatural ease. Sánchez knows enough not to keep too high a profile on “most wanted” lists, but as a gangster, she should never be underestimated.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[brooklynislandgirl]

“Dirtiest thing you’ve done in bed? If you say lay down in your street clothes, we’re fighting.” - Nilza

The question brings a drawing of the little witch’s brows. She’d always assumed clothes were clothes, especially in places where garments of any sort were hard to come by. Either woven by hand or passed from one generation to the next, she can’t exactly imagine having specific ones just for being worn in the street as opposed to anywhere else. And that in turn makes her feel the slightest bit shabby in comparison to the other woman. The plain muslin dress was one of the newest things she owned, handed down from her grandmother. Bare feet whose soles were clung too by the good black earth from her herb garden. Black sweater showing holes in some places, worn thin in others to keep the evening chill at bay where the tea she was drinking couldn’t. She has a sturdy pair of brogues lined up by the door, but nothing like the hunter’s leathers and heels and all manner of apparel. Nor the paint on her face that is a long way from battle woad.

But that was all water in the wash, wasn’t it? Not the question asked of her and in all fairness she owed the woman an answer. Beth had pried into Nilza’s personal affairs more than enough the evening before over that bottle of Bennett wine.

But the problem is... Beth doesn’t have any juicy secrets, not the sort being sought after. She rubs at the side of her nose with a knuckle.

“I....uh... well... truth be told...I ain’t never....ah... danced at the Springin’ fires, neither the Harvest ones, never been taken t’ wife.”

There’d been talk, of course. Everyone flaps their gums with little stories when they get t’ jawin’ with other folks, especially at the gathering of the clans. The most prevalent was that she and Frost Rends the Bane ~John, to the Sept’s outsiders~ had a kind of understanding, though that was far from the truth. While he was perhaps the most reasonable Wendigo to ever exist, she doesn’t come from a First People heritage and even if she did, she could do nothing to add to the fruitfulness of his Tribe. No, they were close friends. Close allies, but that’s where it ended.

Beth’s moons had come later than they ought, and then dried up far too quickly. She’d gone from maiden to crone without ever having a chance to be a mother. An ironic turn of events, considering she’d helped birth most of the pups and children underfoot in these parts, could bring forth bountiful crops or cause the land to turn barren against the outsiders. But no prayer, potion, or other trick in her ancient wisdom could put seed inside herself. And that led to another rumour, that she and her brother, bless his memory, had been entirely too close as far as siblings went. The sort of nastiness one could expect from townsfolk who didn’t understand that the pair might as well have been twins even if he’d been older than her by five long years. That when he was alive he’d been her protector and her confidant, much like Frost was now. Sure, there was only the antique brass bed in her cottage. Sure, they’d shared it night after night, bundling up and cuddling close during the long snows. But that wasn’t really unusual in these parts.

And of course...there was the other hunter. Oh, he’d been pretty. Grown from a long line in which his own father had also been a hunter and his mother’d been a witch in her own right. And Baz had a talent for both running through his veins, though if she closes her eyes she can still see the look on his face when he’d trespassed onto her land and she’d greeted him from the porch with her shotgun aimed level on him. Not a few breathless kisses and almost desperate clutching had occurred before the pull of the road and debts he owed had pulled him away from the Mountain. She didn’t expect him to stay, though who could say what might have happened if he had? After a few years, she figures he’s smart and isn’t coming back. And lastly, there are the dreams. Sometimes she has them when she’s wide awake, snippets of some other now far away. The city looks nothing like what she knows. Not the sept, not town. Not even the metropolis that is Gatlinburg, which she’s been to, once, a long time ago. There’s too many people and a lot of water and things she has no name for. And there’s a boy not much younger than her. Always the same one. He feels cripplingly lonely and he dreams a lot too. She doesn’t know what the connection is, and she’s never told anyone about him. Not even Andy. She sometimes cries with him. Sometimes her hands ache something fierce, sometimes she feels this tremendously profound sorrow that hangs from him like a shroud. And sometimes, late at night, when her eyes refuse to close and she has only the company of the coons and the possums, the crickets singing their night song, she can feel...other things. Desires and hungers she’s never felt before. A vast yearning for something...or someone... else. It never lasts, no matter how much she tries to hold onto it. And even her best scrying tells her nothing more than a glimpse of hair like late summer wheat and eyes that are the heavens above in all their varying shades of blue.  She will admit to some part of that, maybe. “Sometimes...sometimes I... explore...uh...m’self. But it’s never real...satisfyin’. Not like them other gals sometimes say. I don’t think I like it very much. But it’s better’n the tub than the bed, for what it’s worth.”

#Mahalo!Nilza <3 #The Great Unknown|Nilza Valdez #Into the Wyld|Nilza and Beth #Honourable Mention: John Frost-Rends-The-Bane #Honourable Mention: Baz Barton <3 #Honourable Mention: Anakin Skywalker #Criss Angel is STILL a Douchebag|SPN verse #Smoke on the Water|Appalachia #Copperhead Road|Tennessee #southern-belle-outcasts

[nightwingshero]

WIP Wednesday (FINALLY!)

I was tagged by the ever talented @seedlingsinner thank you, hun!!!

So, this is a mafia/assassin thing I’ve been playing with for a while. I always feel bad, because I think I post too much on these. But I got excited and couldn’t help myself. Sorry!

“I met this little one at the gallery opening a couple days ago,” he slurred with a laugh as he squeezed my ass. I shift, transferring the champagne flute to my other hand before my well-manicured hand is placed on his chest. “Poor thing had no fucking clue what she was looking at.”

Wrong. I’ve known this man for a month, I’ve broken his schedule, his habits down to the minor detail. I knew he would be there, and men like this didn’t want a strong, smart woman. If he did, his wife would be here, not me. But that was fine, because her being out of town meant he would feel comfortable enough to take me home, and at this pace that I was keeping him on, he wouldn’t make it past the living room. His safe was in his office, behind a painting he changed out frequently.

His young companion threw his head back with a laugh. “Now, don’t fault the poor girl, Charles. You’re a bit old for her, don’t you think? Besides,” the man threw me a smirk with a dark glint in his eye. “I could teach her a thing or two.”

“Is that so?” Charles taunts, his own sneer crawling along his wrinkled face. “Word on the street is you can’t keep a damn thing. This last case makes what? Seven that you’ve lost to John Seed this year, alone? He pretty much takes what he wants from you, Trey. No, if I was gonna hand this little thing to a younger and greater man, I would just escort her to him myself.”

The blonde male’s face reddens, but not from the alcohol. I hadn’t been in Atlanta very long, six months since I had moved from LA, constantly on the run. But I heard the last name Seed a few times since being here, and I had made the decision to steer clear the best I could. They were a very profound mafia family in the city, specializing mostly in gun dealings and embezzlement, and some drug trafficking. You didn’t fuck with that family. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.

“Yes, well, maybe you should shove the whore to his feet as a gift. It’s his party, after all.” Trey snapped before moving on to someone else and I freeze, my gaze falling frantically through the crowd as unease sets in, and I realized I wasn’t as prepared as I believed. I wasn’t exactly aware of who had thrown the even, too focused on my mark than anything else. It was my first big job since coming here and I had gotten tunnel vision. Rookie mistake. I didn’t even know what they looked like, and here I was, aiming to steal from their own guests. I’ve never felt so unprepared and stupid in my life.

Charles squeezes me again, bringing my attention to his drunken smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I won’t let the big bad lawyer get yah.” He teases. “He might not always be an ally, but he’s respectful. He’ll wait until I’m done with you. Besides,” he kicked back the rest of his scotch, a drop running down from the corner of his mouth. “the little prince doesn’t attend these damn things anyway.”

Tagging: @thatpinkthot @chazz-anova @spicevalleys @zacklover24 @foofygoldfish @bioshocking and whoever else wants to share their amazing work! Sorry if you’ve already been tagged!

#mafia au #deputy wren blake #john seed #My writing #fc5

[renee-writer]

Two Into One Chapter 11 A Kidnapping!

Over the next few days, Jamie is very busy, working on getting his whisky business up and running. Expanding takes a lot of paperwork and meetings. It bothers him to leave Claire without his presence but she goes nowhere without Julia and usually, Isobel.

She has her own plans she is working on. She wishes to set up a fully functioning clinic at Lallybroch. So, she and Isobel go from bookstores to herb shops, searching for seeds and plants, books on medicine. She has some knowledge but will need more to be able to effectively treat the people of Lallybroch. She misses her husband desperately but is quite proud of what he is doing to take care of her and their tenants.

This is why she is quite excited to be going to the theatre with Isobel and their husbands. It is a play from New York and is quite the rash at the playhouse. They are having a great time laughing and crying. At intermission, Claire has to go to the loo. Isobel accompanies her.

“You love her.” John states to his mate as they wait on the lasses to return.

“I can't deny it. She is sweet, beautiful, smart, ambitious. She cares for my tenants as much as I do. She is courageous and courage is no small thing.”

“I am glad you found such a good match.” Jamie smiles at him. That smile fades as Isobel hurries back to them, alone and quite pale.

“Claire.. She was grabbed.. I didn't even have time to scream. They threw on their carriage and was gone..! They placed a bag on her head!”

Jamie and John, who was yelling for the police, even as they ran, heading into the street. Jamie sees the carriage speed off, heading to London Bridge. Jack Randal is driving. He grabs the first horse he comes to and speeds after them. He instructs the horse, ��Cho luath’s a thorgras tu feumaidh sinn mo ghaol fhaighinn” (go as fast as you wish we have to get my love). The horse understood the riders urgency and starts a hard gallop after the fleeing carriage.

He catches up and climbs on to the carriage and finds his wife trying to fight of Frank Randall. He feels rage like he has never known. “I would thank you to take your hands off my wife!” He doesn’tgive him a chance to obey, jerking his arms off and pulling Claire into his arms. He jerks the bag off her head.

“Are you alright mo ghaol? They didn’t harm you, did they?”

“They didn’t have time, thanks to you.” He nods before turning and knocking Frank fully out.

“Can you make it back to the horse outside the carriage or stay here? I've business to finish with Jack.”

“I can stay here. I can handle Frank.” She takes off her shoe and hits him in the face with it. God, he loves this woman!

“Yell out if he comes to.” He instructs before climbing up to the front. Jack tries to fight him off but his rage is overwhelming. He lifts him up and throws him of the carriage, caring not if he kills him or severely injures him.

The police arrive to find both man injured but not morbidly. From the safety of Jamie's arms, she tells them what happened.

“I was leaving the loo. The next thing I know, the clothe bag is over my head and I am being carried to the carriage. I hear Isobel scream but I can't. I was scared but knew Jamie would come for me.”

The Randall’s are taken into custody. Jamie and Claire head back to the theatre on the borrowed horse. Jamie returns him to his owner and then offers to buy him. He would be excellent as a stud horse. He then takes his wife home.

“Are you sure you are okay?” he asks her as he holds her in their bed.

“I am. I knew you would come. “

“Always. I will always come for you.” They hold each other close all night.

#my writing #jamie and claire #outlander fanfic #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #two into one #a kidnapping!

[darlingsdevil]

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 7: Letters of Misfortune

Masterlist

•••

Charles hadn’t seen much of Arthur since Mahala’s death. Arthur didn’t deal with grief like other people did. He never had the chance to grieve before, he was too busy with helping the gang to ever grieve. The process was new to him.

He spent as much time as he could away from Charles’s home. He only returned in the late hours of the night, long after Charles fell asleep. Charles was never sure where Arthur went, the only telltale sign of Arthur ever returning home was the occasional note, telling Charles he would be out for a few days.

Arthur visited post offices around the states the gang had last visited. Everyday was a new post office. The mailmen were familiar with Tacitus Kilgore, the second Arthur stepped into the post office they would shake their heads. Arthur wasn’t sure what letter he was looking for, perhaps one from John, Sadie or you. It was risky business traveling around the states, especially with the threat of Dutch and Micah possibly lurking around. But no one ever recognized him. He held himself in a manner that was entirely from the old Arthur, people would have to truly take a good look to recognize him.

It was two months of searching, until he finally just told the post office masters to send any letter he received to the Valentine post office. He couldn’t truly embark on that journey to find you without any clues. He was going to honor Mahala’s last wishes if it was the last damn thing he ever did. Arthur was no religious man, but he prayed that he would find you one day and that a clue to your whereabouts would soon appear. He knew you were smart enough to get the hell out of anywhere the gang had last been, in case Dutch was lurking around. He thought it was strange that John had sent no letter to Charles though, considering that John knew where Charles last resided.

Arthur swallowed his pride and returned home to Charles after not finding any letters addressed to Tacitus Kilgore at the Valentine post office. He felt strange as he stood on the doorstep of the quaint home. Taima stood hitched by the tree, so Charles was definitely home.

He clutched the seed packet of daffodils in his hand, contemplating whether he should knock or just enter. Arthur lived here too, but he hadn’t been home in so long he didn’t want to spook Charles.

“Arthur!” A voice shouted from behind him. Charles.

Charles came quickly to Arthur, hugging him tightly.

“I’ve missed you. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Charles laughed to his friend, releasing him.

“I know.” Arthur laughed along with him, still feeling strange.

They were silent for a moment, both men studying each other.

“Well, welcome back.” Charles said with a smile, opening the door for Arthur.

“Glad to be back.” Arthur said as he set down his satchel on the table.

“I have a letter. John sent it to me a day ago.” Charles said from behind him, hanging his coat up.

Arthur turned around, eyeing the ripped open letter in Charles’s hand. Charles handed it to Arthur, leaving Arthur to read the letter by himself.

He slowly pulled the letter out from the envelope, his hands shaking in anticipation. It was definitely John’s crude handwriting. It was like John wrote with his less dominant hand, while on a horse, and being chased by a pack of wolves while doing it. Arthur was never so glad to see his brother’s terrible handwriting.

2/18/00

Charles,

Abigail, Jack and I are in Detroit. I’m sorry for the late letter, but we’ve been so busy with the move. We’re hoping to head out to Canada. No one has recognized me yet, but I’m known for having a bad streak for people recognizing me and causing trouble, so I won’t be surprised if we’ll have to move again.

Sadie is in Illinois. We met her a few weeks back during our travels in Chicago. She’s starting a bounty hunting business apparently. I’m sure that work will treat her well.

Arthur’s wife is in Richfield. A city on the other side of the Grizzlies. If you visit her, you can’t miss the city, it’s big and upcoming. I haven’t had the time to send her a letter either, but I’m sure she’s doing well. Mrs. Morgan is a persuasive spirit. I’m sure she’s doing just fine with her new found life.

I’m not too sure how long we will be staying here, so please send a response soon. I hope you’re doing alright, Charles.

Regards,

John

Arthur had never felt so many emotions hit him at once. He felt ecstatic, nervousness, love, a thousand things. You were alive. You were settling down, something Arthur had always wanted for you. He prayed you were still in Richfield. Arthur was sure you were still running scams and causing mischief in this sparkling new city, like you always did.

“It seems like you’ll be leaving me again.” Charles entered the room again. Arthur gingerly set the letter down, as if it were the most valuable thing in the entire universe.

“I have to look for her.”

“I know. I hope you find peace with her, Arthur. I’m sure she’s still waiting for you too.”

Arthur gripped onto his friend’s words like they were something precious, leaning against the table.

“But first, you have to plan this out. If you don’t find her within a month you’re coming back and we’ll wait for another letter.” Charles said, giving him a knowing look. He was right though, if Arthur didn’t find you he’d end up in Richfield looking for you forever.

“I’ll take the next train out. If I don’t find her within a week, I’ll come right back. If I find her, I’ll take her home.”

•••

“Mr. Rinascita?” You called out from the front of the store. Lee’s father went to go retrieve a restock of apples from the back room, but he was gone for ten minutes, no sounds came from the back room either, making you worry. It was deathly quiet. You waited until the customer you were helping had left to search for him.

It was only you and Mr. Rinascita at the store today, Lee was meeting with some suppliers down by the pier to discuss business, but he promised he would be back by three, and it was two-thirty.

You stepped into the dimly lit room, and Mr. Rinascita lay against the floor, breathing heavily. You rushed to his side, helping him up.

“Doctor.” He mumbled, his head laying limply on your shoulder.

You leaned him against the counter as you flipped over the open sign on the door, pulling him out of the door as quickly as you could.

The doctor was on the same street as you, luckily being one of the few original buildings in the city meant that they were all on the same street.

You nearly burst into the doctor's office, you struggled to hold onto Mr. Rinascita. The receptionist hurried to your side, helping you carry him into the doctor's office. She told you to fill out some information at the front desk and assured you the doctor would be in momentarily. You decided it would be better if you waited for him, not wanting to intrude on his privacy.

The receptionist allowed you to use the phone at the front desk, you never used one before. It was a strange concept, there was one in the general store, but only Mr. Rinascita and Lee used it.

You hated the doctor's office since that fateful day in Saint Denis when Arthur passed out in the street. That was his death sentence, you saw him die that day.

•••

You spotted Arthur leaning against the lamp post. The air was thick and heavy, too humid for your liking. The swamps of Lemoyne created a thick air that fell over the city, and you absolutely hated it. It was late June, which meant it was even hotter than usual.

He had been coughing more than usual. You assumed it was stress or some strange illness he had picked up while in Guarma. Disease ran rampant on ships, he could have caught it there too.

Arthur noticed you walking up to him, and you gave him a quick peck on the cheek as he continued to cough.

Your mind filled with worry when you noticed the panicked look on his face. He couldn’t stop. Your husband's chest heaved and his eyes became clouded with pain. Blood splattered from his mouth as he fell to the dirty street.

A scream erupted from your throat. The patrons of Saint Denis averted their eyes to look at you. Only one man came to help you.

He carried Arthur to the doctor’s office while you trailed behind, your hands trembling and your eyes filling with tears. The receptionist called to you once you tried to follow Arthur into the office.

“Miss, I think it’s best if you stay out here for a little while.” Her voice was sweet and soothing, but you needed to be with him.

“I- I need to be with my husband.” You stuttered through tears, attempting to wipe them away and the woman nodded with a sad smile. You entered the small office, Arthur’s blue eyes slowly opened, and they widened at the sight of you. He looked terrible, and it broke your heart.

“No, no, honey, you have to leave,” He mumbled, his chest shuddering. Tears fell freely from your eyes, and you shushed him.

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you.” You turned away from him, not being able to bear looking at him. You wiped the tears from your face, trying to put on a strong face for him.

•••

Lee rushed to the office as quickly as he could the second he received the call. You nervously bit your fingernails, a habit you had picked up while escaping Dutch and Micah. It had been awhile since you’d bitten them down, but life hadn’t been too stressful since then.

You stood up and walked to him, handing him the rest of the paperwork you couldn’t fill out.

He sat plopped down against the rickety chairs, moving his hands through his dark hair, sighing heavily before beginning to scribble some words onto the paper. You eyed him cautiously, taking his strong hands in your own. They were cold still, he had probably just gotten back from the pier.

You were in his position many months ago, you knew exactly how he felt, hopeless and filled with uncertainty.

Mr. Rinascita had complained of chest pains, and had little appetite, but being the stubborn man he was, he refused to get it checked out, claiming it was just his old age.

After a few moments, the doctor called you back.

The doctor entered after a few painstaking moments.

The doctor held the door open for you and Lee.

The doctor examined Arthur’s lungs through a stethoscope, as he sat breathless against the chair.

The man asked you to sit down next to the examination chair, Lee’s father sat unreadable on the leather seat.

The doctor pulled out a pipe, with a frown on his face, you begged him to tell you what was wrong. Arthur coughed, more blood fell onto his sleeves.

The doctor waited for a moment before speaking.

“He has tuberculosis.”

“I believe Mr. Rinascita may have cancer.”

You gasped, covering your hand with your mouth. Lee held your hand in an iron grip as he stared at the floor.

Those few words were like a stab to the chest. Quick and painful.

“I’m sorry.” Both doctor’s had said to you. What could they possibly be sorry for?

#tbor