#the other heralds know about it but they all keep it a secret from joseph

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

if you’re taking the smut prompts, perhaps “i told you to stay still” <3

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry this took me so long to get to.

Warning: 18+, Minors DNI, adults doing adult things inside a cage

Words: 987

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Female Deputy (Kit Cross)

smutty goodness down below

The cold metal of the cage bars burned into her flesh as he pushed her back against them, his thigh pressed between her legs spreading them open. A sharp hiss pulled through her gritted teeth. One hand held on her jaw, the other pinning her wrists above her head. She was immobilized in her cage once more by the Herald of the Whitetails. 

He loomed over her, head and shoulders above her. His mass blanketed her in shadow, even the flames of the fires along the perimeter couldn't find her.

"Now Deputy, I told ya to stay still. You have no one to blame this on but yourself." His thumb stroked her full lower lip, fingers brushing through the waves of auburn that framed her face. 

She stared up at him through her lashes, her heat already pooling between her thighs. "I thought you liked it when I put up a fight - Sir." She knew exactly what she was doing by saying that last word, putting all of the focus onto it. It was her secret weapon when she wanted to break him. 

His brow furrowed, his normally stoic exterior shut down for just a moment. His scowl morphed into a smirk. “Oh kitten, you’re asking for trouble now.”

“Thought that’s what got me thrown back in here?” Her eyes scanned over the interior of her cage. 

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing down at her, a predatory stare within them. The things he’d do to her if they were out there in the forests, away from prying eyes, away from those who’d warn Joseph that his brother was acting stupid - weak -  about the sinner in their midst. 

Her mouth curved into a smirk, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He was at the mercy of the image he was meant to uphold as the Herald, at the rules that had been placed upon him and the other Peggies. He should have set her free, thrown her back out into the wilds. They could have their hunt, he’d chase her down and toss her to the ground, stripping her bare the same way he had with her mind. But instead, they had to keep up the charade, the game, where they were enemies, where this was punishment and that neither of them were enjoying being pressed against each other. 

His hand gripped tighter around her wrists, nails digging crescents into her flesh. His breath fanned over her, like a wolf in those last moments before it clamped its jaws down upon its prey. She rested her head back against the bars, tipping up her jaw, exposing her throat - submission. His pale, empty stare turned dark. His pupils grew wide at the sight of her giving up, of knowing her role, her place with him.

He pressed his mouth to her ear, dragging his teeth against the lobe. “Really gonna make it so easy for me, Deputy. Just gonna roll over and die like that?”

“There’s hardly enough room for a wrestling match in here. Besides, what would your people think?” She spoke in a husk.

His hand trailed down her throat, fingers pressing against her cold skin kissed by the mountain air, feeling her pulse below. “It doesn't matter what they think.”

“Says the man who still hasn’t made a move yet?” Her eyebrow cocked, her tongue dragging across her lips. Tempting him, tempting fate. 

He sneered, bearing his white teeth. His hand dragged across the letters etched into her skin. “All that fight in ya, and I don’t see you putting in the effort either.”

“Guess it's a stalemate.” She stretched out her back, pushing her chest forward, breasts pressing against him. Grinding her hips against the leg still pressed between her thighs. Testing her limits to see just how far she could go before he’d give in. 

“I don’t do draws.” He nipped at her lower lip, rough kisses smothering her, bruising against her mouth. All teeth and tongue as he forced her body back against the bars, his weight crushing against her. 

She moaned into his mouth, forgetting sense, the act between them slipping. His hand finally released her wrists, she was given the freedom to let them roam, but she continued to hold on to the bars. If she didn't she was sure her knees would buckle underneath her. 

His hands traveled under the hem of her shirt, calloused fingertips skating over scarred tissue below. His beard scratched against her as his mouth wrapped around her neck, teeth scraping against her. 

“When’s your next guard supposed to be on patrol?”

He pulled away from her neck just to speak. “He’s already started his rounds.” Going right back to work on leaving red and purple marks on her pale skin. 

She melted under him, surrounded by the scent of him, sweat and pine and blood. Her mind swimming with the thoughts of what she wanted him to do to her. Of all the places she wanted his hands and mouth to travel to. She dragged her lip past her teeth and squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. 

“Well, won’t this be an interesting sight for him to stumble upon then? You, here in this cage with me. The deputy at your mercy, pinned against the bars. You’ll be a real hero then, won’t you?” She purred. 

He grew hard against the outside of her thigh, he’d never admit it but stroking his ego did incredible things for his performance. Slipping one hand down, she caressed his jeans, the outline of his cock was already visible. 

“Think you got it in you for a quickie?”

He pulled away from her, a wild look in his eyes, he was half way between madness and control, trying desperately to hold on for his own sake. “Out here in the open? We could get caught?” His words came out in a growl from the depths of his chest.

“All the better.”

#far cry 5 #fan fiction #lemons #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed #oc: kit cross #my oc #skelly writes

[deputyash]

you have a vampire au for dove right? tell me about that au with her and john! (--direwombat)

This is less headcanons and more just me rambling about my Vampire AU haha XD I love that I’ve finally been given a chance to talk about my AUs. Thanks for sending it in! :D

Like her regular storyline, Dove is from Texas originally. She was living a normal life until she was turned into a vampire (haven’t planned out how exactly yet). Obviously the sun-filled state of Texas isn’t a good place for a vampire, so she moves to Hope County with the help of her uncle’s friend, Earl Whitehorse. Dove moved to Hope County because she thought it would be a nice, quiet, peaceful place to escape the sunlight and have access to all the wildlife she would ever need to survive. Well…that didn’t happen, at all. 

In this universe, she still starts out as the junior deputy. It was a way to cover up her secret and give her a sense of normalcy. She stuck to the night shifts (again thanks to Sheriff Whitehorse) to ensure she would be safe. Unfortunately, when a certain cult by the name of Eden’s Gate moves in, things take a turn. When the Marshal shows up to arrest Joseph, Whitehorse is forced to bring his dwindling team with him, including Dove. (Somehow Whitehorse convinced Burke to wait until nightfall to make the arrest.)

After she is separated from everyone, she is mostly on her own. Besides fighting an entire cult on her own, it’s very difficult for her to balance her need for blood and her desire to keep her humanity. She doesn’t get to hunt for animals nearly enough and she refuses to drink from people unless they are willing (or if they really manage to piss her off, but even then she tries her best to be restrained). She fights the cult as best as she can, but it’s slow progress due to her restrictions. However, the fact that she can’t really become injured or die easily does help. This does begin to raise suspicion among some people. John is the first to notice out of the Heralds. He’s only ever encountered her at night and he’s heard stories of her getting into situations that would’ve killed anyone else. His initial guess is wrong. He believed she was a demon, sent to destroy him and his family’s divine mission.

To further investigate, he sets a trap for her (more of an experiment actually). After she escapes her bindings in his bunker, he willingly opens the doors, only for it to be revealed that it was daylight outside. He asks her what was wrong, already knowing the answer. Dove is instantly angry at him, knowing that he’s figured out her secret. When she’s forced to walk back to their confession room, they have a back and forth discussion (semi-mild argument really). John accuses her of being a monster and Dove retorts that she may be a monster, but that he’s no better than her. He has his humanity still and yet he does awful things.

Jumping ahead in the timeline, Dove and John manage to get themselves stuck in one of the random small bunkers in the county. (Haven’t come up with a reason why yet haha.) There’s plenty of regular food in the bunker to last until they can be rescued, but of course Dove can’t eat it (or gain any benefit from it at least). Dove is already weakened from restricting her diet so much that she’s essentially starving to death. Also, important note, at this point, her and John have moved from pure enemies to “it’s complicated.” John reluctantly offers to be a willing participant for Dove to feed from. She is wary of his willingness, but she’s hungry so she accepts the agreement. And oh no, John finds that he’s into the act of Dove biting into his neck and oh no why is he thinking about all of the other places she could bite him (*coughs* “You know Dove, there’s a pretty good artery on the thigh.” - John Seed). Meanwhile, Dove’s in absolute heaven from finally feeling stronger again. And oh no, why does she like the feeling of John’s heartbeat racing against her palms? Why does she want to be closer to him, to feel his warmth against her skin?

#I love this AU so much #I need to write/post more about it someday haha #replies #my ocs #dove ash #(vampire au) dove ash #dove ash x john seed #deputyash's writing

[iamfaithfulfaith]

Are you being sustained by God?

Are you being sustained by God? One interesting fact about God is that sometimes before his promised abundance comes our way it is preceded by a period of sustenance. But not everyone knows this truth which makes some run outside the will of God in search of abundance elsewhere. Sustenance is a period when you have little for yourself. It is a period you have just enough for the present moment. During this period, you eat the same kind of meal all the time with nothing to spare. There is no room for luxury. From the Bible, there are men and women, families, and even nations, that God sustained, and he is still sustaining many today. Take, for instance, from the Bible, Elijah, the widow of Zarephath, her son, the children of Israel in the wilderness, Joseph, the Egyptians, and other countries. Elijah, during a period of famine was instructed by God to go to a desert place in the east of Jordan where he will send a raven to feed him at the brook Cherith. And just as God has said, he sent a raven to Elijah that brought him A piece of bread and flesh in the morning. And a piece of bread and flesh in the evening. When the raven stopped coming, God instructed Elijah to go to Zarephath where he commanded a widow to sustain him. As one source closes, God made provision for another source. (Ref. 1 Kings 17:1-6) At Zarephath, Elijah, the widow, and her son were sustained with A handful of meal and a little oil, continually every day. (1 Kings 17:7-16) Also, the children of Israel in the wilderness ate Manna which was rained down to them from heaven every day for 40 years (Ref. Exo. 16:35) Joseph in the land of Egypt sold corn to all Egyptians, families, and countries for 7 years. (Ref. Gen. 41:57) ........ Sustenance is not the same as poverty. Even though you eat little, and the same kind of meal, not a day passes without you eating. This is God sustaining you. When poverty is involved, some days, you will have no choice but to starve, and this one is not of God. Maybe you are in the desert phase of your life when all you have is not enough and you even need to be very calculated to not lose that little, here is a little encouragement for you to understand the actions of God, his unparalleled ability to sustain you in any way and by any means before he eventually grants you entrance into his abundance. In case you don't know this before know now that sometimes before God brings people into a place of abundance, he first heralds it with a period of sustenance. But here is the secret. Keep trusting him and Don't Reject Whatever He Is Using To Sustain You Presently. No matter your condition today, always know that God will sustain you. Read the full article

#Nugget #shortposts #shorts

[havingsomemorejohnlarks]

Joseph: social media is a terrible way for humans to evolve. It should have never existed. Faith?

Faith: that is 100% the truth. Jacob?

Jacob: i totally agree. John?

John, scrolling through the deputys instagram and trying to find pictures: mhm

#this man had instagram #you cant convince me otherwise #he used it for the deputy too #he wants those shirtless pics mate #the other heralds know about it but they all keep it a secret from joseph #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #the seed brothers #the seed family #The Seeds #far cry 5 #fc5 #eden's gate #project at eden's gate #the father #the deputy #deputy rook #rook #thedeputy

[ofravensandgenesis]

I'd love to ask about '03 Rachel/Faith notes, backstory, past Faiths, Bliss Mechanics, Tracey, etc' and 'Redshift Collision', if that's okay! 👀

Oo, fun choices! :D Thank you for asking!! ♥ Putting it below the cut, also trigger warnings for mentions of child abuse, drug use, dark backstories, in line with or inspired by Far Cry 5 canonical content. Trigger warnings for Redshift Collision include mentioned fantasy religious content, topic of euthanasia mentioned, magical diseases, etc. Long post is long, I hope the read is enjoyable though!! :0

————— 03 Rachel/Faith notes, backstory, past Faiths, Bliss Mechanics, Tracey, etc ————— So this folder breaks down into a dozen docs with split up notes, we’ll touch briefly on a bit from most of if not all of them, but the list is as follows:

01 Faith Character Notes, NPC Followers

02 Rachel Jessop’s Backstory for ACABH

03 Deaths of the Former Faiths Prior to Rachel, Some Bliss Mechanics

04 Tracey Lader Backstory Notes for ACABH

05 Types of Bliss Drug

06 Bliss Dart Mechanic Notes

07 Faith NPC compilation links

08 Overarching Bliss Realm Mechanics

09 Priestess pictures for Athalia - refs, tattoos, etc

10 Jacob’s Men talking about Bliss Shipment Amounts for Various REgions, Bliss Barrel capacity

11 Faith’s character arc, [Redacted for spoilers] - Major Plot Developments for All Main Characters

12 Angels versus Lost Souls

So, fun tidbits from these various docs! Some are implicitly dark because Faith is a Seed and Seeds don’t get to have happy, fun backgrounds in cult-centric AUs like ACABH, poor souls. The first Angel that Faith ever made, and the first ever Angel of the Project, was a woman named Abigail. It was an accident. Researched the first and last (and alternate) names for both Rachel Jessop, Faith, and Tracey Lader. Fun stuff honestly, Tracey’s is very fitting in that one definition of the name is taken from the Irish word "treasach" meaning "war-like" or "fighter." Lader is from Old English and Middle English words meaning to load; draw up (water specifically.) Rachel is as far as biblical names go, the name of the favorite wife of Jacob, and means “ewe” as in a female sheep. Fitting in a metaphorical sacrificial lamb way, if one chooses to look at it like that, among other sheep-like metaphors such as following the herd, etc. Rachel’s father was a doctor who researched the biochemistry of various plant  based compounds that he extracted from specimens he grew at home in controlled conditions. Her mother ran a florist shop and delivery chain, and grew orchids in the green house as a past time. Rachel was passionate about the sciences when she was young, but neither parent looked upon this favorably for various (toxic and abusive) reasons, leading Rachel to become far more withdrawn and reclusive about her passions and activities—in as much as she could manage, beneath her parents’ ironclad rule. Rachel in the present day still is passionate about biology (specifically botany) and biochemistry, but keeps that to herself unless she really happens to trust the other person. There was a brief time when she was a more rebellious and spirited young girl—but her parents quickly stamped that out through any means necessary, including force. It is a major reason as to why Rachel is so conflict avoidant: she remembers how badly it can go, how quickly it can escalate, and she is so very aware of the inherent fragility of both life and limb. There are quite a few conflicting points-of-view regarding the deaths of Rachel’s predecessors, and a great deal of misinformation. Rachel believes that the Seeds aren’t being entirely forthcoming with her about how their own abilities work and the limits of said abilities, and that there’s a lot of secrets not being told regarding the details of how the two former Faiths died. Selena was the first Faith, chosen while the Project was still in its infancy, long before they had made it to Hope County, and Joseph was so sure she’d be the prophesied fourth Herald to help shepherd the faithful through the Collapse. Lana was the second, stepping up to fill the role when Selena died—but Lana died two months later, with both Faiths’ deaths serving as markers of the dangers of the then proto-Bliss-realm. Rachel had been at the Project for half a year at that point, and was the one who took up the mantle of Faith and has served ever since for the past seven years. She was eighteen when she took up the name Faith, but despite her young age had marked accomplishments to her name that had put her forward as a candidate, namely her works with the geneticist Peter on developing the first strains of the drug that would later come to be called the Bliss. This lead to huge leaps and bounds of development with regards to the psychic network that would become the Bliss Realm, and without Rachel’s work, it would be safe to say the Bliss both in drug and psychic plane form, would likely not exist. Jessop as a name is potentially from a root name of Joseph in the form of Yosef, meaning “may God increase, or add (another son)” which ties into Rachel’s family’s thwarted desire for a son rather than a daughter very well in this AU. Thematically, Rachel does arguably share ideology from both Jacob and Joseph, so in a way that is also extremely apropos for her. Ah, Tracey. She did not come from a happy home life either—but that doesn’t surprise anyone in the slightest I think. Her father left her mother the moment he found out she was pregnant, and that’s all Tracey knows and wants to know of him. Her mother worked hard to support them but was absent most of the time, leaving Tracey with relatives to keep an eye on her. Said relatives were very shitty in their treatment of her, leading to a whole host of problems for Tracey to deal with growing up, ranging from neglect to verbal and emotional abuse. This is a cluster of reasons among others that lead to Tracey learning to look out for herself—and to stick up for those who couldn’t look after themselves. She and Rachel met in high school, and they were each other’s first real meaningful friend. It was when they were together that they first thought of the possibility of a better life than all the horror and terribleness they had to live through so far in their very young lives. They were so sure they’d be friends forever...until they weren’t. As of writing this, there are currently six major strains of the drug bliss in ACABH, including Regular Bliss, Sleeper’s Bliss, The Chosen’s Sacrement, The Angels’ Bliss, Cleanser Bliss, and Red Bliss. Variant strains within those major categories also exist as it’s an on-going series of projects for Faith and her followers, with varying levels of involvement from other Heralds, regions, etc. Red Bliss is specific to Jacob’s region and is used in both the Judgification process and the Trials. The others are all largely self explanatory for the most part, or explained or will be explained in the fic. Bliss darts! These are what John’s hunters use, same substrain of Sleeper Bliss that Jacob’s hunters and Faith’s followers use in the form of Bliss arrows and Bliss grenades (think like smoke grenades) to capture non-Project-members too, alongside their attempts to capture the Deputy. Joshua still has a nice stash of them at this point, so the whole family’s in on this. Commonly used even in the Project’s rank and file to subdue kidnapped targets. People can die permanently if they suffer sufficient psychic injury or psychic death in the Bliss in general, but that’s not a guarantee. If some form of psychic death is induced while the person is in the Bliss, it’s possible with immediate medical response to potentially resuscitate said person. Some people can “die” in the Bliss without problem though, aside from likely waking up in a panic as if from a very stressful nightmare. Most people can’t without being connected to the private Bliss network in Jacob’s region—Jacob’s is specifically split off from the rest of the Bliss Realm through the exclusive use of Red Bliss, though Faith and her priestesses could in theory cross over and connect to Jacob’s network, they generally do not. It is easier for Jacob’s people to cross over to the main Bliss network than it is for other rank and file or even Chosen that belong to other Heralds to enter the Red Bliss network if they are not induced into it through drug use. The Heralds have a much easier time of it, but it’s still difficult—Faith and Joseph have abilities that allow easier passage for it among other things, whereas John would struggle more with it sans other additional factors to help said effort along. Athalia was originally one of John’s people before she transferred to help support the previous Faiths, and Rachel retained her as Head Priestess from early on, striking up something like a friendship over time. Some of Athalia’s loyalties may still lie with her old Herald though moreso than her chosen Herald, certainly some of her outlook mirrors John’s dogma moreso than Faith’s, though Athalia keeps that underwraps more often than not. They have a SHIT TON of bliss being shipped around to the different regions. They have to have one hell of an industry for making the stuff to keep up with that scale, depending on what the chemical makeup and ratios are. The doc regarding the plotting of Faith’s arc is all spoilers, so we’re skipping any mention of it here. Angels are different from what the Project calls Lost Souls due to the fact that Angels aren’t 100% disconnected from their bodies and lost in the Bliss Realm, they’re still distantly connected to their corporeal forms in reality, just busy enjoying the Bliss high trip and for the most part uninterested in returning to the real world...for the most part. A minor part of the job for Faith’s people is to ensure that the Angels don’t wander too far in the Bliss realm, or else they’ll become Lost Souls and if gone too far for too long (average length of time spent too far required to become a Lost Soul is a little over a week), this separation can induce major multiple organ failure, including cardiac arrest. It is possible to revive a Lost Soul, much like with reviving someone who died a Bliss-plane death, but it requires that the person’s soul in the Bliss Realm be found and brought back immediately, to sustain the body without extensive external life support systems. Even then, brain death has been known to happen. What counts as “too far” varies from person to person, but the general rule of thumb is within shouting distance—namely, having the Angel’s psychic form in the Bliss Realm’s counterpart of the real world being within shouting distance of where the Angel’s physical body is in the waking world. Brief bouts of separation have not been noted to cause harm to Angels, so it’s fairly lax as duties go to shepherd their souls about and is often tasked to lower ranking Priestesses on the day to day basis. ————— Redshift Collision ————— Redshift Collision is a fun idea that spawned from a crossover fanfic idea I was considering a while ago before letting it evolve into its own original fantasy setting with sci-fi elements instead. It centers on a character named Edgar Loom, short for Loomis, which is his family name. A bit of cultural trivia about the name: The reason he’s called Loom instead of Loomis is because only the heads of a house may use the full family name, everyone else is introduced with a derivative surname. As Loom is next in line to be the head of their household, he is typically the one people refer to when using the name “Loom”, though casual use of the derivative name happens for applicable family members here and there as the situation calls for. First names are typically a much more private affair, and people typically have “use” names that they give when introducing themselves to others including but not limited to prospective business partners, strangers, distant family members, etc. Telling someone your given first name is seen as a huge sign of trust, the equivalent of saying that the other person is part of your inner circle. It is generally expected that first names not be given out prior to knowing someone for a socially acceptable amount of time (length of time not given because I’m not done working out the calendar yet.) Typically, the head(s) of house can use just the family name as their use name if desired, or if there are multiple heads of house then their own use name can be used either as a stand alone or combined with the famiy name. In Loom’s case, since he’s next in line, his use name is typically Loom by default, thus why he’s called that in the ensuing paragraphs. Loom is the only child of his parents, much beloved and happy with his lot in life, having spent his time apprenticed in order to learn how to take up his father and mother’s trade, namely overlooking the production of luxury textiles in the guild of weavers (you can imagine where their ancestors got the surname Loomis from.) Tragedy however has befallen their world in the last two decades, an unknown cataclysmic event has shorn the very fabric of reality in such alien angles, even the gods are left scrambling as they try to figure out what has happened—and what is happening. Despite the new dangers and unforeseen changes that continue to twist the fabric of their world however, life goes on. People still survive, and flourish, adapting as they can to the strangeness that has taken root upon their planet. However, one of the new shifts brought about in their world includes new diseases—plagues. One such disease is called Wraith Fade, so named for what a person becomes as the disease progresses, and how. It is unknown how Wraith Fade is transmitted, but it is widely suspected to be magical in some form, due to lack of evidence for it being transmitted through the more common corporeal means. Loom contracts Wraith Fade, and he and his family all know that it’s a death sentence—sufferers of Wraith Fade are typically observed to have a year or for the more robust two before succumbing to the disease. Typically, the course of treatment is for the afflicted persons to make good of their last days, and then to call for a doctor to help with euthanasia—most countries if not all sponsor covering costs for this procedure to varying degrees, due to the dangers that wraiths pose if left unchecked. And wraiths are very dangerous, and very hard to kill. One of the early to mid stage symptoms is what appears to be a magically-induced loss of voice—both medical professionals and thaumaturgical researchers are at a loss for the mechanics of it, as studies do not register readings of magical structures either natural or artificial that would induce a silence effect. Various treatments have been attempted, but no direct results have been observed thus far in the trials. Another symptom is what has been referred to as “greying”—specifically, a gradual fading into total translucency and loss of most forms of color in the afflicted person’s physical appearance. The silencing and greying that sufferers of Wraith Fade endure eventually comes to encompass most if not all sounds that they make towards the end of the disease’s incubation period, and coupled with the greying effect this translates into a near silent and visually obscured entity when the person loses themselves fully to wraithood. Older wraiths have been observed as occasionally being able to silence entire areas seemingly at will for brief periods of time, and some of the more markedly dangerous individual wraiths have even learned to disappear from sight completely in what appears to be true invisibility. Their hardiness and resistance to what would constitute mortal injury to many living beings also seems to be supernatural in origin, though it is yet one more area that eludes researchers and experts to a vexing degree. What makes wraiths so dangerous however is their penchant for hunting in sporadic and irregular patterns, and the predominant pattern of many wraiths taking to heavily populated areas as a preference. Why they hunt people is a mystery, as sufferers of Wraith Fade are noted as slowly losing sensations of hunger and thirst, and late stage sufferers going without either food or drink without succumbing to starvation or thirst beyond noted secondary effects. The individual modus operandi of a given wraith develops over time, to terrifying results. It is not unusual or imprudent for the public to break into mass hysteria should a murder occur in a city, with people fearing that a new wraith has taken up residence. It is for this reason that sufferers of Wraith Fade are at times persecuted and sometimes killed on sight by unruly mobs, so-called vigilantes, and at times even government-sanctioned organizations in some countries. It is dangerous to travel for both the afflicted and for others, should the afflicted’s health take a turn for the worse and their condition deteriorates faster into wraithood. There is no known cure for Wraith’s Fade—but there are rumors of one, in the strange and distant city-state of Wyrrawyr. Loom is however a soul defined by hope, in that moment of definition. He chooses to try and seek out this rumored cure, and he and his family and friends have a tearful goodbye, knowing this full well could be the last time they see each other in this life. Wyrrawyr is a strange place. It is the city of stained glass, the gateway to the Snowfeld Sea, the broken circle which once sat as the crown jewel of the mighty Hederan Empire, the land of a thousand sieges—and a land of the old ways. Wyrrawyr has been conquered many times, but no conqueror has ever met with good fortune when trying to rule that place. Ill fortune plagues any power that tries to rule that city for long, and Wyrrawyr has garnered a reputation as a place to avoid...not that everyone listens to such tales. It is known as a cursed place to many, but those brave souls who dare to call it home say otherwise. The local gods of Wyrrawyr in particular are strange in their antics when seen through the eyes of the more northern countries, but not so strange as the people—some of whom say the city itself is a divine being in its own right. It is for that reason first and foremost that the Northern Alliance calls it the city of heretics, proud and unyielding in their strange ways. But age-old feuds are reduced to mere distractions as the entire world shudders as the shifts seemingly grow more aggressive where once they were placid. The landscape of their home world seems to shift more drastically in a short span of time than ever it has before, and many are driven to terror at the thought that reality may be collapsing into an unrecognizable form of chaos as they watch the mechanics of their world come apart at the seams. Loom arrives to a sundered Wyrrawyr, as parted and torn with unknown magical phenomena as if a slip-strike earthquake had cracked the earth’s crust open. It is in a sundered Wyrrawyr that Loom meets Death. Specifically, the local Wyrrawyran incarnation of Death, who offers Loom a deal: stand as Death’s champion and agent to investigate the phenomenons, and to enact Death’s will in restoring a form of natural order back to their world—among Loom’s tasks should he accept is to find those souls spirited away by forces unknown. Gods unknown, perhaps, is Death’s suspicion. In exchange for Loom’s services, Death offers him an out that will spare him from dying from Wraith Fade—and this is the only way to avoid that fate and all the sinister after effects that come with it. But both their deal and the “cure,”—in so much as it can be called that—requires Loom to leave their home world, never to return again. Loom must go where Death cannot: into the new world that is slowly colliding with their own, the two ripping each other apart like the collision of galaxies into a new, singular galaxy. A world where magic is a foreign idea, and technology is the watchword of nearly all who live there. A world that is out of place. This collision shouldn’t have happened. These two worlds were not on a collision course—far from it, they had been moving away from each other in their shared planes of existence. That is why the gods of Loom’s world have taken to calling the matter the Redshift Collision. It is the possibility of survival and a world full of the unknown that Death offers, should Loom agree—or, as a mercy, the option of a swift, safe, and painless passing into death and the afterlife, if Loom would prefer to die in his home world while he is still himself. Loom accepts. And that’s the starting point for Redshift Collision’s story!

#chyrstis #tw: child abuse mention #tw: abuse mention #tw: drug use #tw: euthanasia mention #tw: religious themes #ACABH #FC 5 #Far Cry 5 #Far Cry 5 AU #FC 5 AU #Faith Seed #Rachel Jessop #Tracey Lader #long post #original fic talk #Redshift Collision

[veinereastath]

lack of time (find some time for me);

Some time ago I wrote in one of the “gush about your OC” asks that Irina trimmed John’s beard once, and I’ve decided to elaborate on the subject, so have this... Thing. Pairing: Deputy (more or less) Irina Carter x John Seed. Warnings: None. Well, just a bit of blood, sexual tension, beard trimming, you know how it goes. :)) Word count: 2629. Sorry for eventual grammar mistakes, English hard mucho very~ ~    John's home, however cozy and quite nicely furnished, was not exactly what suited Irina’s taste. Although she was reassured by the sight of those well-known wooden panels and decorations - including deer skulls and stuffed predators, probably gifts from his oldest brother - she felt jusr overwhelmed by the size of this place. Her heart still belonged to those small cabins in the woods, or even a forest in itself, beautiful despite its dangers. 

   She was used to spend the night on a tree branch or in small caves. She usually had company in the form of rats, sometimes wolves also appeared, but after a while it ceased to discourage and frighten her. Routine. At some point she realized that animals in the Whitetails became so used to her that they were almost ignorant about her presence.

   The ranch was, however, an unusually extensive property, and the only living things around were humans - that bothered her. Irina was used to being among animals, but people always heralded potential problems. The only trusted person - though the term wasn’t really appropriate - was John, but she didn’t feel comfortable enough – not to mention that it would just look weird – to follow him everywhere in order to get rid of the uneasiness.

   Not to mention that she shouldn’t really be here, and if any of the guards caught glimpse of her, she would be probably shot on sight. To Joseph’s greatest displeasure, she imagined.

   John got used to her visits, unpredictable and random, and they didn’t bother him at this point. Quite the contrary – he liked them, because it was the only chance to get to know her better. Irina was fascinating, but infuriating as well. He hated and loved her at the same time, because he wanted to know every single detail about her past and her mind, but she was only giving him the bare minimum. And though he liked to unveil everything piece by piece, he wasn’t really patient, and after days, weeks and months of playing this game with her, John’s jaws were clenching with more force, and his eyes were more sharp every time she was saying “no”, or just giving him this ominous half-smile of hers.

  Irina wasn’t attractive in the typical sense of the word; the longer he looked at her, the more flaws he saw - lips that were rather narrow, a nose that for most of today's society would be considered a bit too big, eyebrows devoid of natural, feminine shape and symmetry. It seemed like she had never cared her appearance like most women – or, should he say, women that he used to know - did, but it was good because it meant she had more serious priorities. Deputy was also thin, but he suspected that being starved by Jacob had the greatest impact in this case. Her breasts were small, and torso in general was even slightly androgynous. Scoliosis did not escape his eyes either.

   She had her flaws, but John knew that people were not perfect by nature; and he sometimes scoffed at himself when he realized that he was giving her appearance too much of an insight. It didn’t matter how she looked like.

  But there were things he adored in her as well.

   A massive scar cutting through her left cheek and distorting the corner of her lips was a fascinating thing – because while it definitely wasn’t something that could be called a jewelry, he was quite close to calling it this way. It was giving those typical, half-smirks of her even more dangerous notes, and in a very weird way seemed to just be destined to be there. John couldn’t even exactly remember how she looked like before the scar incident, and he didn’t really mind. It was unique, and made her look totally different dependable on the light source – when she was sitting by his fireplace, the flames dancing on her features made her look, interestingly, nearly divine; but when he was looking at her in his bunker in a dark room, where only half of her face was visible, he was pretty sure that before his own eyes stood the devil himself.    Irina was a mess. Wild mess, indeed; always in a rush, always chasing someone or being chased, but she seemed to truly enjoy it. And even when she was standing right in front of him, covered in blood and with wet clothes sticking to her figure, John saw in her eyes those well-known sparks of excitement, like if she wanted more, more, even though her body was screaming and begging for a rest. She couldn’t live without a fight. Got addicted to it, pretty much like he used to with cocaine and women in the past, and how he got addicted to her. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t even totally rational, but he didn’t want to fight with it, and allowed the addiction to consume him whole.

   “Fuck.” John cursed under his breath, closing his eyes and looking at his hands, standing in front of the mirror. He wanted to start his typical, mourning routine, but his mind had other ideas and wandered somewhere else, somewhere where it definitely shouldn’t be right now.

   “Fjandinn.” This made him open his eyes and look in the mirror once again, only to see her leaning on the doorframe. Fjandinn, he repeated in his mind. Considering the way she liked to use this word, he already managed to deduce that it was something close to English “fuck” or “damn”. “Does even something so simple as trimmering your beard makes you go all cogitative?”

   He clenched his jaw, but not in fury, rather in an amusement, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She was smirking, it was barely visible, but he saw it. Clever girl. “You’re trespassing, Deputy. Or are you here to arrest me for something? I don’t see a warrant.”

   Irina sighed, averting her gaze and trying to focus on untagling a strand of her hair. Covered in blood, he noticed. So, everything seemed to go as usual in her life so far. “Naaah.” She murmured, sighing quietly. “Just trespassing.”

   John smiled a bit. The audacity. “Came to steal another bottle of alcohol, I presume?” He asked, his eyes wandering to her slim fingers, fighting doggedly with strands of hair, combined from probably all shades of blonde know to this world. He even saw bits of light brown here and there.

   “No.” She seemed pensive, like if trying to say something. Something that required her to be careful. “I was just passing nearby. Thought I would come in and see what’s up.”

   Well, that would explain the hesitation, John thought. It was hard for her to admit that she genuinely wanted to see him, because it meant she really cared. Her pride, as always, was standing in her way, but this time she won the battle with herself. He was proud, but now it was his time to keep it to himself.

  “Well, as you see, ‘something so simple as trimmering my beard made me go all cogitative’.” He repeated her words from before and she smiled bitterly, but still didn’t look at him. “So I dare to say that I’m well.”

   “What were you thinking about?”

  Well, he was pretty sure that this question will make it’s appearance, but that didn’t mean he prepared a good response. About you, he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. They were both prideful, it seemed, too prideful to admit that they have each other in their minds most of the time, one way or another.

  “I’m afraid I can’t share these thoughts with you. It’s confidential, you see.” It was his time to send her a half-smile, with a hint of cynicism in it. Irina looked at him in this very moment, and he saw something flash in her brown eyes. Irritation mixed with interest. Oh, he knew that she would give a lot to get her hands on some secrets regarding the Project’s plans for the future. He also knew that this is not going to happen.

  “’Confidential’.” She repeated and chuckled darkly. “I’m pretty sure that me and you sleeping with each other once in a month or so is also confidential. Would be such a shame if Joseph and other VIPs of your merry little cult got to know about it.”

  He looked at her, sharpness in his blue eyes, but it only seemed to make her happier, because she smiled, and the smile was nearly genuine. Nearly. He turned around, finally, to actually face her, and leaned on the closet. “A-aah. This knife cuts both ways, dove. You’re way too smart not to realize that.”

  “Mhhhm.” There it was, the hint of resignation. “You’re no fun, John.”

  She rarely spoke his name aloud, and it made him feel something, a burn in his chest, but he decided not to dwell on it. “Of course not; I’m a professional. But there is always time for fun after the work is done.”

  The girl hissed at him, but he didn’t miss the mirth in it. “Cheeky bastard, that’s what you are.” And with that she slowly walked over to him, holding the tangled strand of hair in her hand. Now she’s going to change the subject, he thought. “Help me, will ya’?”

  He clicked his tongue in amusement but didn’t say anything, gently taking the problematic strand in between his fingers after soaking them in water. “Who lost his life today, hm?”

  “Today? No one. The blood is two days old.” The ease with she was able to give such an answer was something that fascinated him. He chuckled shortly, slowly managing to win the fight with her messy hair, then brushing it behind her ear, mildly looking at the scar on the left side of her face. She always seemed to be nonchalant about it, and even now she didn’t flinch – but he knew how to read people, and never missed the ever so slight hint of irritation when his eyes were focusing on her distorted cheek.

  “How about a shower, then?” John suggested, doing everything he could right now in order not to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He could never figure out why he wanted to do it, it just seemed to be an impulse. Sometimes he just wanted to hold her and don’t let go, sometimes to throw her into his bed and make her forget about everything else in the world. But something in him, the pride, he realized, wasn’t going to allow John to admit just how much he cared. She’s still an enemy, he reminded himself. Oh, but that only makes everything so much more interesting.

  “I don’t have a time.” Irina murmured, and it seemed that she was fighting with something in herself as well. Lust or love, he had no idea. “Need a help with…?” She pointed her finger at his beard, just barely touching it with her fingertip. But it was enough to make him gulp.

  “Don’t have a time for a shower, but you do have a time for that?” It would sound desperate and needy if he just straightforwardly said ‘yes, feel free to help’, so he absolutely wasn’t going this way.

   “Your suggestion about me taking a shower could lead to only one outcome, and for that I indeed don’t have a time.”    “And what outcome could it possibly be?” Of course, he just wouldn’t be himself if he wouldn’t start teasing her, and even though his face was stoic, the blue irises of John Seed’s eyes were glistening with obvious answer, the one that he was undoubtedly trying to put in her lips.

   But she just shook her head, fighting with a smile trying to form on her face. It also had a second purpose – the hair once again fell loosely on her face, hiding the blush that started to blossom on her cheeks. You started it, she reminded herself, but it didn’t make it any different. “Just… Sit down.”

   John literally purred, and she just clenched her jaw. Irina didn’t say anything else because she knew her voice would start to tremble. Her eyes were focused on the floor when he brought the wooden chair closer and sat on it, with his legs spread so she could stand between them. Oh, fuck you, John… Well, at  least you’ve got trousers on.    She reached her thigh holster – slowly, not to disturb him – and took a knife, getting ready to start. But in this moment those blue eyes of his darkened, and he grimaced.

   “What? You didn’t think I will use an electric razor, did you?” Her words were full of amusement and this time she could fight with an ominous smile that appeared on her lips. “Oh, come on, John, I’m from a wilderness. Using something like this would be a true heresy, in my case.”

  He huffed in agreement and clicked his tongue again, gently but firmly grasping her leg to make her come closer. He didn’t spread his legs only for her to stand so far away from him, after all. Irina hissed again, but he wasn’t bothered by it. John noticed long ago that she was indeed somehow wild, and half of her mind was spoken in growls, hisses and other sounds.

  To his interest, Irina seemed to be experienced in beard trimming - she knew how and where to cut, as if she had done it many times already. It made him frown slightly, and he gave her a questioning look. John didn't have to say anything. You know me, he thought. You know what I mean.

  “I used to know a lot of bearded men before.” Was her answer, and his nostrils flared up a little.

  “Do I want to pressure this subject, or…?”

  “No, I think you don’t.” She cut him off, but not angrily, clearly focused on her work and not interested in small-talk of any kind. He felt her fingertips brushing his chin as she tilted his head higher, his whole throat at her disposal, knife literally kissing the skin on it. “Don’t say anything and try not to swallow right now, unless you want a cut on your Adam’s apple.”

  He won’t listen to me, she thought. He won’t fuckin… Yeah, of course he won’t.

 John didn’t listen indeed, because he gulped with as much strength as he could possibly muster, while looking her dead in the eye. Irina didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes and sighed. Why did I fell in lo-- Why are you like this…?

  A narrow trickle of blood began flowing down his skin, but the bastard didn’t even flinch, just kept staring at her, a silent challenge in his eyes. “I’m bleeding, officer. Could you help me?”

  “Poor choice of words, my boy.” He was older then her, but it didn’t matter. “Said to a wrong person, they could be misinterpreted in a very, very bad way.”   “That’s why I’m saying them to you. You’re not wrong person, after all.” Or are you? He didn’t have to say it, because she caught the wind of it immediately.

  Irina sighed and put her knife away, then painfully slow kissed his neck, tasting his blood on her tongue. His grip on her leg got stronger and she barely stopped a whine that threatened to rise from her throat.

  “Come on, Deputy. Don’t be shy.” He murmured into her ear and with one strong pull she was forced to sit in his lap, his right hand immediately clutching to her hair, while left one trailed under her shirt, caressing her spine.

  It turned out she had to find some time, after all.

#another chapter of: this looked way better in my head #well #it be like that sometimes #deputy irina carter #john seed #my writing #far cry 5

[ultraklll]

Tony Miller as a Gun For Hire! Tagged by the lovely @envyfelled ! Ty! This was super fun! Also, I'm on mobile, so sorry for the garbo formatting! (Fun fact, tonys voice claim is laura bailey as fiona/fem!boss)

Paired With Fangs For Hire:

Boomer - "Heya buddy!" followed by excessive scratching behind the ears | "Fuckin' love this dog, can sniff out a peggie like shark sniffing out blood. Good trait to have! Awfully convenient too…" | [patpatapatptpataptap] | "Atta fuckin' boy Boomer!" When she sees him get a kill | "Who's a good boy! Who wants to kill some cultists!" | "Wanna play fetch? Rip out their necks?"

Peaches - "Good girl…" | stealth gang stealth gang | peaches: mows down peggies/tony: a baby!" | "I jus' think it's funny that when we went to the Henbane, we picked up a cougar, Addie, an actual cougar, Peaches, and joined a crew called the Cougars… Just'a thought," 

Cheeseburger - "This reminds me'a Vegas pride, saw plenty'a bears there too" | "Kinda ironic to find you in Jacob's region, all things considered," [snickers to herself] | [PATPATPATPATPATPAT] | "Get outta my pockets! These snacks are mine, not yours!" | "You remind me of those like, beware of dog signs, but the dog is always a sweetheart who'd rather play with a home invader rather than attack them," 

Paired With Other Guns For Hire:

Jess - stealth gang stealth gang stealth gang | Jess has a MASSIVE crush on Tony. Everyone can tell. Tony knows | jess: guns are fucking lame and the sniper rifle is the cowards weapon/ tony: uses a sniper rifle/ jess: actually sniper rifles are cool as fuck | "Good shot Jess!" "S-shit, um, thanks, Tony," 

Grace - sniper gang sniper gang!! | [steals a headshot Grace was lining up] "Cmon Gracie, thought you were meant to be Olympic level!" | highly competitive, do a shot whenever they get a perfect headshot to die instantly | smug top solidarity | also heavily depressed solidarity 

Adelaide - [acts like she's not sleeping with her nephew even tho Addie knows she definitely knows] | Tony is either constantly laughing or constantly face palming over the shit addie says | have gotten into an argument once bc addie said john was a top 

Nick - "What's up eye in the sky?" | [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [fli | Nick: speaks/Tony: god I just love the way you fucking talk | often talk about kim together | "Can we have a barbecue at your place once these fuckers are dealt with?" | [pretends not to be bitter the Deputy got to help deliver Carmina and not her]

Sharky - "Heya baby!" | [constant back and forth flirting. It's embarrassing] | any second they're both not talking is a second they're making out | Can and Will go john wick on some peggy ass if he gets hurt badly | "Do you wanna have a sleepover?" "Lemme ask my momma," | she calls him Charlie :> | loves him so so much they're just constantly talking about anything and everything | literally like A Comedic Duo. Have together for certified funnies

Hurk jr. - "Junior! This'll be just like Kyrat!" | competitions about who can shotgun a beer faster every 4 seconds | WILL tell you stories about their time in Kyrat together | Tony has punched Drubman sr in the nose before and she'll do it again | "Hey Tony? You still in contact with Ajay?" "He sends me a royal postcard every now n' then. Apparently it's boring being king, and his only solace is that his new bodyguard is cute," 

In Combat: 

Seeing an enemy - "Fucker in my sights," | "I got a bullet with your name on it… actually I don't, who the fuck has time to carve names in bullets, but you get the idea- im just gonna shoot you now" | "You're dead on arrival, shithead," 

Sneaking - "You'd think me sneaking is counter productive because I'm 6'4 and have a very loud gun, but you're the boss Dep," | "Shhhh… we're huntin' shitheads… Heard it in a game," | [shoots alarm boxes] "You ain't allowed to call your friends, you're all grounded," | *peggy triggers alarm* "Fuckin snitch!" 

Killing an enemy - "SKULLCRACKER!" | "I just don't miss!" | just fucking headshot after headshot after headshot | [sucks in breath through teeth] "God damn I'm good," | when shes not using her Wifle (wife rifle, a 45/70) she's being FUCKING EFFICIENT with her ak-ms or just blasting ribcages open with her shotgun

Reviving - "Up you get, baby," | "You ain't dying on me that easy, Dep" | "Not today Satan!" | "You gonna let some unwashed asshole kill you?" 

Hurt - "Motherfucker!" | "That's another scar I'll tattoo over," | "Thank god people find scars sexy," | "God fuck that's smarts!" 

Downed - "Dep! Give me a hand?" | "Clean up on Aisle 4 needed!" | "Don't worry about me, just bleeding out over here, no rush," 

Revived - "Drinks on me when this is over Dep," | "Thanks babe!" | "I'll kiss you when we get outta this mess," | "I owe ya!"

Driving: 

Entering a vehicle - "Lemme take over I'm a way better driver than you," | "Floor it!" | "Hang on I've got a mixtape, just hope I havent fuckin' crushed it," | [takes the opportunity to roll cigs] | *peggies roll up* "Keep her steady!" [leans out the window and headshots the peggie on their ass, causing them to crash the car, like that isnt the coolest shit you've ever seen] "Aight cool,"

Reckless Driving - "Watch the fuckin' road asshole!" | [desperately tryna grip the wheel so she can take over driving] | "STOP THE CAR! I'LL JUST FUCKING WALK!" | "Are you tryna kill us?! Fuckin' swap seats now!" | tony is the designated driver bc one she's fucking good at it and two shes also a really bad backseat driver. Just let her drive 

Changing Radio Stations - "Now don't tell Charlie I said this but some of the peggies music is actually good,"| "John's a prick but his music taste is fuckin' good," | [punches radio in when Only You comes on] "...Sorry… Force'a habit…" | "Bold and brave my ass, John looks like he needs help getting spiders out of rooms and wears fuzzy pink bathrobes," 

Idle: 

"Man, John's a freak, and yeah I mean that in the sexy way. Someone who demands so much outward control whilst being a shithead little brat likes to get trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and stuffed like one too. Don't give me that look Dep, I'm right and we both know it," 

"That dude Jacob ate was called Miller?? God, that could've been me if I was much older and way uglier!" 

"Faith just makes me fuckin sad man. She's been manipulated and groomed into this life by fuckin Joseph- she's so goddamn young too. I'm not gonna tell you what to do Dep, but that's just my two cents,"

"Joseph's the worst kind of man- a manipulator. He tells you what you wanna hear, targets the misfortunate who have nothing left to lose, builds a fucking army out of em. The other heralds I'm ok with arresting, but Joseph's got to go,"

[Lights cig with either her fancy lighter or by striking a match on the bottom of her shoe] "Don't start smoking, Dep,  bad for your health," 

Location Specific: 

Testy Festy Aftermath - [pinches bridge of nose] "Not again…" | "Anyone got a water and like, 3 aspirin?" | "Ain't the first time I've woke up passed out in a field, won't be the last," | "Did we at least get a photo from the night? I've won the competitions here for the last 3 years in a row now, I'm not fuckin missing one cuz of these peggies," 

Falls End - "Fuckin shame to see Falls End like this, but Mary May and Jerome will take good care of her now weve got it back, they always do," | "Think we'll get free drinks for life at the Spread Eagle when this is all over? Actually, we probably won't even get free drinks for week, so for life is wishful thinking," | she enjoys playing with the singing fish on the front of the speed eagle and keeps tryna convince Mary May to let her take it for herself bc tony goddamn miller has the biggest singing fish collection in the entire county 

Seed Ranch - *loud whistle* "this place is swanky as fuuuuck… Not that big a fan of all the dead animals though…" | "IS THAT WEED ON THE TABLE? Johnny boy you fuckin' hypocrite!" | "Oh he's definitely got a secret room behind one of these bookshelves, like a home torture room? Oh my God, what if he has more than one...?" [starts frantically pulling books off shelves] | regarding his shelves with peggie memorabilia [takes baseball bat to it] | [pretends she's never been here as she frantically stuffs any of her own belongings she might've forgotten here into her bag]

Entering the Henbane - "Don't trust a goddamn thing you see here. You think you see something you're not supposed to, hit it," | [swinging at bliss induced angel/animal/faith visions] | "Can we try savin' Faith? Don't feel right killin' her, she's so young…" | "Can we go to Sharky's place? I left some stuff there that could be worth picking up,"

Hope County Jail - "Sheriff Whitehorse has always been a good man to me, Dep. Would appreciate it if he lived through this," | "I always feel like a giant whenever I come here, everyones like 5'3. Virgil, Tracey, Charles, all shortasses," | "I think it's cute they gave you a little pin! You're part of their Pride now! Or whatever the cougar equivalent is to a lions pride… do Cougars even travel in packs? Aside from when Addie used take the girls out for drinks,"

Entering the Whitetails - "Always feels like something's watchin' you in these woods. Keep your eyes peeled," | "Always felt like there's something in these woods that there ain't supposed to be…" | [Shifting from foot to foot] "Can we get a move on? Aint'a big fan of standing around waitin' to get shot by some fuckin' sniper with a bow," | [watching Jacob's video punishing Pratt] "I'll fuckin' get you outta here, Stace… you just gotta hold out a second longer," | [about all the dead bodies and 'you are meat' graffiti] "Love what Jacob's done with the place," 

The Wolfs Den - "Eli Palmer is a good fuckin man. Kind, smart, careful and ruthless against peggies. We've made a good friend here, Dep," | "Heya Wheaty! Got a few more vinyls for your collection! They're all my own though, so be careful with em," | "I don't think Tammy likes you that much Dep. I don't think she likes much of anything anymore, other than attaching jumper cables to Peggy's nipples… Oh god, my piercings hurt thinking about it," 

Joseph's Island - [hand firmly on rifle grip] | "Creepy, evil motherfucker, had him pegged right from the start. Well, not pegged. I'm not pegging Joseph. I'd rather stick my dick in a ceiling fan then go anywhere near him- I'm just gonna stop talking," | "You know what? No one else has asked it so I'm gonna- where the fuck does Joseph sleep.  In the church? In one of these houses? In the dirt somewhere? What if he hangs upside down from trees like a bat?" 

#shut up mof #oc: tony #long post #ty miles!!! #this was really helpful actually was super fun thinking about tony being a gun for hire #amd got to help me with writing her

[nightwingshero]

16, 27, 35, and 42 for jane and faith? :3

Thank you, darling!

16. Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat?

Faith and Jane (in canon, at least) never become official, but Faith doesn’t get intimate with anyone else. Jane has a few interactions here and there, but nothing serious that means anything. Faith knows about it, but there’s no judgement. Their relationship is...complicated, to say the least. Jane does keep secrets and lies to Faith, especially when it comes to Wren. Jane protects Wren from Faith, lying and keeping Wren’s whereabouts and actions to herself, all for John. Faith keeps secrets because well...she’s a Herald. And she will never tell Jane information that’s too sensitive, out of devotion to Joseph and her role. 

27. Do they have kids? Grow old together? Split up?

Unfortunately, no. While they have their tiny escapades here and there, it never becomes official between them before Faith is killed (in canon). Jane never gets the chance to actually tell Faith she loves her. Jane is brokenhearted, and it takes a while for her to bounce back from it. 

35. Do they bring out the best in each other, or the worst? Do they have a fatal flaw?

At first, it’s positive. But as the battle rages on and Jane keeps protecting Wren, it turns sour. There’s lying, manipulation, and jealousy. Faith wants to be the one to deliver and turn the Deputy for Joseph, just as John did at first. Faith eventually finds out that Jane is lying, but keeps it a secret as she tries to use Jane’s love to do “what’s right” for her. She forces Jane into the role she had always dreaded: choosing one over the other. And she chooses John.

42. Do they let each other get away with things that would normally bother them?

Absolutely. Faith finds it adorable with Jane, and Jane has a soft spot for Faith that she doesn’t have for many other people. Faith is always special to her. So, she just smiles and let’s Faith get away with whatever she wants. 

[englass]

Holy Gold

Pairing(s): Polyseed x Deputy

Warning(s): Moral ambiguity, mentions of murder, blood, sexual thoughts/interpretations, possessive thoughts/interpretations.

Word Count: 4,230

A/N(s): Been working on this for months now and it had me stumped for a good while; wasn’t sure where I wanted it to go. It’s definitely been a labour of love though, I’ll say that. Any likes, reblogs or feedback is more than appreciated!

- - -

There is something peculiar about the deputy. Everyone notices it, can sense it in the subtle shift in the air as they enter a room or confrontation; all eyes turning toward them in a magnetic draw that traverses any form of reasonable comprehension. Air pressed down by a heavy pressure that is swiftly eased by a lighter touch, dunked underwater only to be pulled into the cool embrace of newly birthed air. Their presence on par with a spiritual baptism, enlightening and unburdening. Catching on forgotten instincts, profound and unnamable.

Even away from conflict and in a more public setting – out in the wild where they are the most at ease – people can still feel that distinct air, can see it like a slipping glamour in the way they move and hold themselves. A controlled certainty in the slightest movement, a pivotal purpose that holds them tall and hauntingly regal; an old deity in a tale now lost to time. The sweet and evocative scent of a freshly watered earth hangs off of the young deputy like a heaven-forged shroud, cotton soft and compellingly serene. Oozing a reposeful safety and a forbearing reassurance.

People can even see it in their eyes. An abstruse gleam that ripples like a pebble skipping across the surface of a vast and empty loch. Their honeyed eyes a hidden cenote filled with mystic treasures that reflect the iridescent wink of lonely stars. A concealed sorrow twinkling benignly within the depths of their veiled eyes, watching the ripples, as they throw an enigmatic glance; silently eluding but never telling. A fond and near teasing smile on their lips, a secret not yet shared.

And that never will be.

Even the Heralds of the resident cult, key figures in this long-awaited plan, know that this rookie deputy is not all that they appear to be. There is so much more to them (old and pained and lonely) than appears at face value, but what that is even God’s chosen messenger cannot say. They are a special kind of child, that they do know. In need of righteous guidance like any other member of God’s shepherd’s congregation. But they are different, they are something special. God has told him so.

They are a painting posed with resolve and weighted by troubles unseen, bowed to a higher authority that cradles them as lovingly as a mother would her babe. Littered with many meanings and interpretations, clues scattered and inconspicuous like the remnants of an old world in the shadows of the new dawn. Joseph Seed wants nothing more than to tear that picture down, peel back the canvas to look inside, and discover the truths that the rogue lamb so selfishly clutches with greedy hands.

God has whispered to him of their significance, hinted at it as vaguely as the deputy speaks. Spoken of their attachment to this polluted world, how they refuse to bend to the task they have been divinely given even though it is a plan long in the making. Their loyalty to this world is boundless, and as much as they long for a time past they cannot bring themselves to destroy the one they have worked so hard over. It is why they hold still, buy time, and barter over the fates’ of those that are still yet undecided; those that could be saved. No matter how futile the endeavour.

They have amassed an abundance of experience, secrets from times gone and nonexistent, that now aids them in their own self-appointed task; goals not yet fully known. Yet, despite their newfound use, they are still secrets, theirs to keep and look upon, theirs to weep and toil over. And weep they surely do; their sorrow unmissable. It is a glue that keeps their determination so strong, keeps them high and raised with an aura of assurance, never arrogance, in the face of certain adversity.

It is because of this accumulated wealth of garnered experience that they are so efficient at their sworn duty. Why the Voice whispered in the remnants of an osculant tone, that is only ever felt and never heard, with a sensation of forlorn surprise, known betrayal turned resignation, brushing against Joseph’s edges as the deputy came forward that destined night. His words, existing within the cosmos of ideas, leaving his prophet cold.

Oh. It’s you.

No matter how Joseph asks, begs and prays on the crutches of a wavering faith as his flock perish under the jaws of roaming wolves, the Voice does not answer. Letting him stew in the many possibilities that such ambiguity creates. Although, the chosen prophet does take notice of the change within the Voice; the edge of a scolding twang vibrating through the air, tinting it with a parental disappointment as the deputy marches upon His prophet’s people; against His awaited plan.

The Voice does not outright speak of the deputy, of who they are or exactly what it is that their duty entails, nor give a number to the secrets they have banked, but It does concede in the slightest brush of an absent touch that they are wayward. The knowledge they are in possession of a burden that no one else but they can withstand; but that it has also wounded them the sensitivity of mortality. Their position, and all that surrounds it, whatever that may be, is sacred. Even when coated sour in the wake of this rebellion.

And Joseph can believe that, and not just because the Lord has told him so. The weight in the deputy’s eyes, even through the film of a picture, is a turmoil unexplored; treacherous and unfathomable. There is a deep sorrow, a scratching want, and a dormant rage that swim with the fluidity of an eel beneath the reflective lakes of their eyes. Each blinking star upon the surface a new flare of emotion, another tale within an untold saga, all obscured from view; distorted in the ripples.

From what the Lord has told of them to Joseph, shared what little pieces He can of the lonely martyr, and what the prophet has heard from the conflicted whispers of his flock, he believes he understands the part that they are meant to play in this long promised prophecy. What their role may be in this divine scheme.

And Joseph refuses to be denied any part of it; any part of them. He will see it through, see them down the path God has dictated they walk. The Lord’s chosen lamb was always meant to be his; his to nurture and coddle, his to guide and direct and to heal. A child should not be without its parents, nor be keeping secrets from said parents; and the secrets of the deputy are vast and unnamable.

No doubt they will need to be cleansed, shown the path to atonement so that their burdens may be unpacked from their weary vessel. Gifted the opportunity to seek salvation and acceptance in the arms of those that will listen and truly love them unconditionally. The lost gleam in their auroral eyes given new life under Joseph’s promised salvation, and the love they would share; the love he was promised and they are bound to share.

Yet, the price for such hypocrisy is a steep one, for gifts are nothing more than veiled investments.

Herald John knows this better than anyone, and still his hypocrisy runs deeper than the bed of the darkest seas. He preaches beliefs and teachings that he does not practice, pounding pulpits with the fervour of a man with too much power and zero regard for the responsibilities that follow it. He claims to be another sheep in the flock, another humble follower looking for salvation, yet he wraps himself in self-aggrandisement and forces needless suffering upon those who are brought before him on bended knees.

However, for all his flaws John does not stray too far from his brother (his reverence for Joseph‘s praise exceeding the one he should hold for God), nor his desires concerning the elusive deputy.

John has always been exceptional at reading people, finding their truths, washing out their real colours, and scrubbing the numerous sins that stain their tainted souls away. A master at his own deep-rooted hatred and resentment, twisting it into a deranged form of salvation that has him mutilating all those that come to him; some willing and others not.

The deputy is just another sinner. Another poor soul that has not yet been warmed by The Father’s light, lost to wander a blackened void where sins fester like mould. They must be cut from it. They must atone. They must be shone upon by the light of The Father, dragged from the depths and forced under its righteousness. Wrestled and hauled and torn asunder so that they may emerge free from the cage of their own transgressions.

At least, that’s what John thought. That’s what he believed. But he knows now. John sees a lot more than people give him credit for; a lot more than what other people see in general.

On the surface they may be another sinner, another drowned vermin that John would take an abundance of pleasure in squeezing until they have bled out across his floor; grin manic in questionable ecstasy as they spill secrets like viscous liquid, bright and raw and unavoidable. Holding, bending, twisting, pulling, cutting until they have been broken down to the core, shredding through inhibitions like a power saw through iron-forged bars. Soul laid bare for him to reap like a God-given harvest.

But the deputy... they are different. John can see it. The bars to their cage have long been eroded, their sins nothing but rust. Grounded down and then forged into a courage that does not drool over the spilling of life. Wielding a dedicated fury and a divine mercy within each hand, scales even and in balance, at peace in their coalition as they kneel side by side beneath the reigning banner of ‘Deputy’.

John is not close to said deputy, does not know their stance on God or religion, but he knows they have been touched. They radiate a glow that is not there, move with an elegance that outshines the noblest of steeds and the craftiest of snakes. Holding strong despite the burdens at their back; the world trembling in the knowledge that they could bring it all down should they share in those veiled troubles, yet they choose not to.

Instead, they ease the suffering of others while they drown beneath a disembodied pressure. Offering assurance to even those who are undeserving of it. Reaching out with a tender touch and a slipping smile as they whisper with a forgiving hush, stars submerged in the water of their eyes, that it’s okay, that you don’t have to worry anymore; everything will be okay.

It was never your fault.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Let me save you, John.

And John believes them. For some inexplicable reason he believes them – trusts them, as surely as he believes and trusts in his own brother; their words a cooling hand on blistered skin, a refreshing drink after days without. Their accent holds and nurtures and pleads for an alternative to the path they walk, a raw passion built from the fury of their mercy as they compel you to listen and consider. Never forcing you on bended knee, making you bow your head in subjugation toward them, but raising it. It is personal and close and strikingly reminds him of his brother. They are just like Joseph.

Only their edges are cashmere soft and universally merciful, not forged from broken pieces and laced with eclipsing threats. Tones rigged with a soul-tearing disappointment. Instead they are cleaner and sweeter than the freshest nectar, pure in their sincerity and melodious in their understanding. Yet, so distant and doleful. Ancient and unexplainable. Thunderous in their ire as they are restless in their compassion.

And John wants to crumble at their alter. Wants to lay praise upon them a million times over, until his throat bleeds raw and his hands are carved white. He wants to sacrifice the sinful, flagellate the faithless, and swear himself beneath their reigning banner. Purge his hunger for materialism and drought his thirst for bloodied salvation so that he may collapse wantonly within their tender embrace, mouthing at the swell of their fulfilling fruit that they would so submissively offer him, creating a safe haven solely for him within the cradle of their thighs so that he may sate his thirst by drinking deeply from their divine deluge; allowing him to take and indulge as he givingly and exclusively explores the plains of their sanctity. If only they would let him (he’d be good).

They could ask him to sell his soul, to let them own it and do as they sordidly pleased with it, and he would scrape his knees in order to thank them for that privilege. If only they would give him the opportunity. They could ask him for anything, to reveal every detail, no matter how small and no matter how petty, about himself and he would not miss out a single day. Someone could hurt them, desecrate their purity, and no matter how they pleaded, begged that he rise above the corrupted, he would descend in order to enact his own form of rightful punishment; carved in blood and formed from rusted iron.

He would let the world burn if it meant he could have them. He would rather Joseph be wrong than risk losing them and the gift they so graciously offer him with hands outstretched. He would do anything for them, for no one but them, and all because they are different, because they can see and they can understand; because they are something special. It is not a sin, it is not lustful, if it is with the divine; it is praise and it is worship. And if his family cannot accept that, cannot accept the love that he so greedily wishes to feast upon, then he would rather forsake them with reluctance in his blackened heart and blasphemy for their false god on his vile tongue than lose his sacred deputy.

They are heaven sent, divine in every way, and John only wishes that they would keep their light upon him. Remain at his side and bless him with all that they are as he would surely do for them and more. All jagged lines begging to be filed down to a smoother edge by their loving guidance. They can teach him, show him the love that he is so sorely lacking and desperately searching for. The love that his older brother says will change his fate. He knows they can offer that to him, he has glimpsed it, tasted it in their sweetened words and smelt it within their rain-fallen proximity. He knows they would. He just needs them to accept him, for them to allow him this greatest of gifts.

Show to him the path that they speak of with an ethereal reverence, guide him down that fate changing road with their fingers interlocked in a picture of genuine love and intimacy. Just the two of them, for no one else but the two of them. Only that is not what they do. They cannot walk that path with him, only show it, stepping away the moment he is on it (no, don’t leave me). The journey is his alone to make. They can only watch and follow and steer him back when he falls astray. They are not meant for him. They are meant for all who are lost, who are troubled, who need direction in the dark. He wants – needs all of those things and more, so, so much more.

But what about them? What do they want? Who is there for them?

Surrounded by companions that sing their praises with insipid tones, uninspiring and lacking in the true majesty that they deserve. John could do so much better, could give them so much more. He can see the void in their far off gaze, a lonesome lake that makes the iridescent stars in their eyes shimmer like glitter and gold. He can hear its echo in their voice, a forlorn undertone that murmurs between the splinters. Pleas that they know with regretful smiles will go un-listened to.

John’s brothers and makeshift sister are left conflicted by the youngest brother’s shift in attitude toward the deputy, his growingly frenzied need to capture them stirring a mixture of emotions within the crooked family.

Joseph is mutely elated by the interest and selfishly wishes to know everything that John has gleaned from their wayward lamb, every touch and word and utterance they have been gracious enough to bless his broken brother with; anything that may draw them closer to understanding the troubles that plague their lost and weary child. Joseph knows more – silent whispers gossiping in nonexistent tones around veiled words –, but also less than John (we can’t have that).

The eldest brother, Jacob, on the other hand is wary of his siblings fevered interest. For a sheep can still bare its teeth like any feral wolf.

Unlike his siblings Jacob has seen a lot more of the tactile deputy than either of his brothers, or his farce of an adopted sister, have. Not necessarily in terms of time spent in person, but rather through the monitoring of their actions and all that they interact with; every person killed and saved, every battle lost and won. And the picture this deputy paints for Jacob is a very different one to the piece that Joseph preaches so sweetly of – a soul to polish and love and make his own – and that John chases after with a desperate abandon – his to love and cherish and worship with bloodstained offerings.

Jacob’s deputy is a tactician looking down upon the board, places held by pawns marked with nicks and notches. A sharp eye for all that is seen and all that is not.

Jacob has run them through his trails, thrown them into the pits with his wolves, both literal and otherwise; beastly soldiers with copper on their tongues and flesh on their teeth. Corralled and trapped them in a room stained with viscera and littered with chalked bone, cracked and whole, under a twinkling melody that chisels the cave of the mind into a tunnel directed at a singular purpose: to cull the weak, and all those that threaten them.

Yet, they hardly budge. Standing tall with a stilled expression, remorseful shifts of water in every glance, in every flowing action and blow that merges into the next; streams to rivers and rivers to lakes. But Jacob is nothing if not observant, and he catches the sunken sheen of ice, glistening within the star filled void of their auroral eyes, with a stilted breath. A primal glare buried beside a dormant rage.

Despite the compassion they twirl like a finely crafted staff, the gentle hands they may outstretch with a tranquil smile, they also brandish a blade forged from hell-risen flame. Merciless in every swing, vicious in every trigger pulled without a single glance, and cruel to every cowering wolf that they hum and hush to before snapping with a loving smile; soft words of praise to their corrupted souls, horrors made real, before freeing them with a sudden flick. Their smile a brand worse than any nameable scar.

Just like God is all merciful he too is equally as wicked, his mercy a cruel mistress which knows no bounds.

The scales even and in balance.

Jacob can see the duality within the deputy a lot clearer than his siblings, the caring murder of his brother’s latest version of Faith a testament to that, and suddenly the eldest wolf of this pack begins to shift his paws, head tilted and fangs flashing; interest peaked and curiosity gained. And when his chosen hunters finally capture the miscreant deputy, an easy endeavour that Jacob questions with instinctual suspicion, they merely smile at him. Sitting amongst the dead and dying, hand placed upon the pale pallor of a sickly man, they speak in a tone that barters no interruption; quiet and calm, but weighted by motives unknown. A dangerous hint of something more undulating beneath the waters.  

You don’t have to keep fighting.

They’ve lead you down the wrong road.

Faith doesn’t play a role in our game, Jacob.

And Jacob does not doubt them. War is a game that harbours little need for faith, for having faith does not win you wars. Faith is – and was – a loose end, a means of control over the weak and worthless. Jacob knows it. John understands it. Joseph does not, but the deputy certainly does. They understand the need to remove the pitiful and undeserving, when to save a life and when to extinguish one. When to turn your back on those that can no longer rise, strength diminished to an exhausted lick of fire.

It is why Jacob is unsurprised when he turns away, catches the soothing murmur of a poisoned prayer, then hears the echoed crack of bone and the rattled wheeze of a final breath; a life stolen and claimed under a monochrome mercy.

He merely chuckles when he finds their cage empty.

His brothers however are less than amused by the loss, their respective rage and disappoint rearing their heads like threatened cobras, eager to tag and reprimand, but Jacob hardly cares. They do not see what he does; their poor, sweet deputy a warrior who understands the battlefield, the plans laid upon it, and the stakes at which this hunt is played at. Chips made of flesh and bone placed upon a gambled tactic, an uncertain move that can lead you to certain victory; or down the wrong road.

While his brothers chase and pursue the slippery deputy – the days drawing on and turning to weeks, creeping toward the fall of the month – Joseph starts to wonder if his own subdued hunger toward the mystery of a deputy is actually a blessed gift or a veiled curse from the Lord himself; each sibling stepping off their labelled path. In a way it is a blessing, for his brothers are not motionless husks strewn at his feet; but it is also a curse, for how will the promised Collapse occur without the spilt blood of fallen martyrs staining a broken seal.

Yet, when all stand as one, a trifecta of blood as they each stand united in the presence of the other, does the deputy come before them. Content amongst the screaming birds that flock toward the distant north, the screech of warning sirens piercing the thickened air. Eyes placid pools that sparkle like dying stars, glittering off the treasures they conceal in the wounded chasm of their soul; endless and bleak and shielded by a smile that speaks in different tones. A whisper forgotten in the void of time, the echo of one without a home, a broken cry of a fractured spirit; the lonely whine of an abandoned child.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

I only want to save them.

You have to believe me, Joseph.

And Joseph wavers. The sincerity of their plea resurrecting a long silent doubt. His brothers praise and respect, and Faith’s gentle removal, causing him to question the only companion he had for the majority of his difficult life; the Voice’s guidance and promises for the future the only thing to give him hope when all else seemed dark and dire.

The sky rumbles, the wind roars, and the ground quakes; and through it all the deputy stands before them like an immovable tower within the storm, unconcerned by the approaching destruction and the liberation it will bring. Expression fierce as the world begins to burn (an unplanned variable in a well laid scheme). Hand outstretched toward them all, palm skyward, in an unspoken gesture; a silent offer.

John lunges for their hand.

Jacob prowls to their side.

Both call in a blended mixture of panicked, excited and hurried tones to their dispirited brother.

And all three follow as their peculiar deputy leads them to the gates of their promised salvation; beneath the earth and into the womb of their metal tomb. The brothers arm in arm, never to be separated again, huddle close as they hold and cry and preach in equal measure; all that they worked for finally coming to bloom. A prophecy made true. Not as intended, or as foretold, but true all the same. A far better outcome than the many that Joseph had once envisioned.

And as the deputy watches them, iridescent stars drowning beneath the darkened water, something shifts in the lonely loch of their eyes; a ripple upon a still and empty pond. The bulwark breaking as a serpent born of ancient sin skims the surface with withered scales, fins rotted and horns splintered. Their eyes flare, water dyeing, as a hidden geyser drools a molten sunset; lips tilting, twisting with ill intent and the sweetening taste of a ripening revenge, as the lake in their eyes droughts into a scorching sea of holy gold.

#i had an idea and i ran with it #it’s defo changed a bit since i first started working on it tho #but not by much #just couldn’t decide how to end it lol #ambiguous deputy #polyseed x deputy #joseph seed x deputy #john seed x deputy #jacob seed x deputy #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #far cry #far cry 5 #fc5 #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #narrative piece

[unclefungusthegoat]

New Dawn Review- MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD

So, I’ve been screaming a lot in tags, but haven’t really summed up my emotions about New Dawn... so here we go. Under the cut because it’s pretty long and I don’t want to spoil it for anyone. But what I can say is:

Hmmmmm.

Also this totally turns into a rant at the end hahaha

If you have decided to brave my waffling, welcome.

Well, let’s start by saying, I have mixed emotions. It’s fluctuating from very positive, because I genuinely did enjoy the game, to retrospectively being exceptionally annoyed with it. And so here are my thoughts. 

FYI this looks really unbalanced because the negatives are a lot longer than the positives, but again, I reiterate, I did enjoy this game!

POSITIVES

The game looked GORGEOUS. Absolutely fantastic. The graffiti everywhere was awesome, the flowers were beautiful, the colours glorious and Prosperity was fab. A+ job guys!

I LOVED the twins and wanted so much more of them, especially Lou, who I felt was really sidelined in favour of Mickey. Cara and Leslie did a fantastic job playing them, but five or six cutscenes to get to know both of them was nowhere near enough, especially when you think each of the Seeds got that individually. I get it was a shorter game, but still... I loved their designs, their ‘rabbit’ catchphrase, the skull crushing helmet, the scene with their mum... they were just brilliant.

I thought some of the story missions were awesome, mainly the ones where you infiltrate the Highwaymen- the fighting pit idea was cool, as was the Derby, and returning to the jail was great! And let’s not forget collecting the Word, and then going to see Joseph in his sanctuary!

I generally really liked all of the new characters, particularly Carmina and the Judge. Timber and Horatio were adorable and the homages to Boomer and Cheeseburger were sweet. There was ONE however, who I fucking HATED, who I will discuss momentarily... three guesses who hahahaha

Prosperity upgrading system was nice.

Fun outfits for the Captain.

The photography challenge was heartbreaking and I loved it.

Speaking of that, seeing Fall’s End, John’s Gate and other recognisable places in such a state was gut-wrenching (especially the Spread Eagle and hearing about Mary May, holy shit), but it’s really nice that it had that effect on me. Makes me realise just how much I cared. (Also totally glad the giant cow was still there OH AND THE YES SIGN AT THE DERBY ARENA)

I prefer FC5′s soundtrack, it feels more like ‘home’, if you know what I mean, but I have been listening to this one a lot on Spotify and it’s so good! Definitely worth a listen if you haven’t already!

NEGATIVES

Ethan. Holy shit, what a whiny bitch. Kylo Ren type ungrateful children of previous lead characters always really annoy me and he was no different. ‘What have you ever sacrificed’ was an absolute knife to the heart. I get he had his purpose in the story, but ugh. And I think we’re all in agreement that there is no fucking way that he’s Joseph’s actual son, because NO.

Come to think of it, something about the whole New Eden being a sort of caveman colony now just doesn’t sit right with me. I get the whole ‘casting off society’ angle, but I’d rather they’d have been more recognisable as the cult from the last game. Even if it was just them wearing the sweaters or having a couple of banners up hahaha. They didn’t feel churchy enough.

Only one GFH at a time... *cries*.

Details missing, just small things. Sharky and Hurk’s tattoos. Joseph’s rosary around his hand. Tiny things, but things that could have easily been in it.

No cult songs. Period.

No explanation (as of yet, someone may yet find something) about Jess, Tammy and Wheaty’s fates. (I take it Garrett Barnes was no relation to Tammy???) Can’t say I think it’s a coincidence that they’re all Jacob’s region characters and that’s the region that has been ignored the most by the developers.

Also real talk, in my initial hopes for the game post, I wrote something like ‘I’m hoping for Mary May, Tracey and Wheaty’ to be in the game. Like that was an actual sentence I wrote.

Basically, just... don’t be a character I root for, because YOU WILL DIE.

The ending. I like that you can spare Joseph and Mickey, but I dunno, it just felt... underwhelming? Like either way you chose, it didn’t make much difference. And the Ethan transforming into the beast thing didn’t do it for me. It felt silly. Unrealistic, and yeah, I get that FC5 wasn’t exactly realistic, and it was supposed to be about unclean souls and being unworthy and whatever, but this felt a step too far? Magic sacred fruit? I’m with the Highwaymen on this one I’m afraid. Like, keep the Eden and apple reference, just do it in a different way???

AND HERE IT IS FOLKS, HERE’S WHAT REALLY BROKE MY HEART AND FROM WHAT I’VE BEEN READING YOUR HEARTS TOO-

I made no secret in my ‘Hopes for New Dawn’ post I put together when the trailer first came out, that I, like many others, was here for the Seeds. Yes, I knew that John, Jacob and Faith weren’t going to be in it. They’re dead.

BUT.

I wanted something.

Ubisoft, how could you practically ignore your most popular characters like that?

JOSEPH DIDN’T EVEN SAY THEIR NAMES.

‘My family is ash’ is fucking heartbreaking, but not enough buddy.

No songs, no shrines, no saint like murals, barely any NPC dialogue or notes, and I liked Thomas Rush, but don’t even get me started on how pissed I felt that he got a grave, and our Heralds didn’t. Not even at Eden’s Pyre, which is where is would have made logical sense???? No Affirmation wreckage, or challenges to collect personal effects like Jacob’s knife, or the ghostly laugh of Faith still echoing at times. You couldn’t even explore Jacob’s region very much.

Like those three had such an effect on the people of Hope County’s lives, and we don’t even get any reflection about them by the characters?

I feel cheated.

Like, Ubisoft know. They have to. All those tweets they get from us. They know how much we love the Heralds.

And yet????

I love that we have this game, but I would have happily waited another year or six months or something if it had meant more detail and more content. And instead of quenching my thirst for more of these characters and this setting and this Hope County universe, it’s just made me want even more because I feel so unsatisfied.

I’ve been posing the question ‘where is our live action mini series’ on here for a while now because we are being cheated of Seed content, and I am in such a mood after this game that I might just sit down and fucking write it myself, because if that’s the only way we’re getting it, I will write that shit and fly to Canada to hand it to Ubisoft personally.

*flips table*

Thank you all for coming to my TED talk hahahaha

#far cry new dawn #far cry new dawn spoilers #chloe gets real mad at the end hahaha #don't get me wrong #I did enjoy the game #it's just... *sigh* you'll see

[friedesgreatscythe]

Tagged by @queensroad​ (!!! ♥) to do the Cultist AU questionnaire. Like Krista, all my deputies end up part of the cult in some capacity, so I just chose my fave gal (oops) and kinda played with canon a bit.

I tag @deandomino​, @myrcella​, @tormentedbythirst​, and anyone else who wants to do this~

Name: Johanna Engel (Yo-hanna).

Eden’s Gate Title: The Mother, the Hands of the Father, the Rose of Eden, Mater Dolorosa.

Short Biography: Johanna was born and raised in Missoula by a single mother (Evetta Engel). She was considered an odd, “strange” child, extremely averse to any physical contact, with an almost unnatural understanding of people’s secrets, moods, and thoughts. (Someone attuned to the occult might call Johanna’s gift “scrying” or “psychic”).

Mother and daughter were not close, and Johanna was frequently made a ward of the state or a burden on her paternal uncle, Earl, when Evetta was hospitalized or jailed (for failed suicide attempts and petty crimes respectively). In her late teens, Johanna was legally emancipated and wed very shortly thereafter to a forgettable but unfortunately charming journalist from Missoula. It was a disastrously abusive marriage, though without friends or immediate family to lean on, it took Johanna several years to get out safely (thanks to the aforementioned uncle Earl–Earl Whitehorse). She moved to Hope County and after polite nepotism strings were pulled, she became the department’s junior deputy–for all the good that did anyone in the end.

Location: Joseph’s Compound, Eden’s Gate Convent, John’s Gate, Faith’s Gate, Jacob’s Armory.

Beliefs: Johanna was slow to believe that any god or higher power could care about her in any capacity, but she did think there had to be something out there to explain her “gift.” She did also believe the world was quickly going to shit, and she was intrigued by what the Project preached, and made it her personal mission to bring the best dishes to the barbecues. The more time she spent working with the cult, the more she quietly decided it did not matter whether or not God had a hand in anything–what mattered is that she does, and she will put her hands to use.

Sins: Pride.

Relationships:

— Joseph: Perhaps not his better half, but most certainly his other half. Johanna saw Joseph for the first time at the first service she attended, but that was not the first time he’d seen her. Joseph had visions of Johanna for his whole life, and waited and prayed as patiently as he could for God to deliver him the other half of his heart. The day she first came to the service was one of the happiest days of Joseph’s life, and after the service was complete, he pulled her aside personally so they could speak in private. The only one who knows what they spoke of (apart from themselves) is God Himself. Over time, in an endearingly old fashioned way, Johanna was “courted” by Joseph–not converted, not tricked, not manipulated. Courted. It was of the utmost importance to Joseph that Johanna be brought in as an equal, and to be an equal, they would need to understand each other, know each other, communicate freely and with absolute trust. He Walks the Path with her, he is there at her Cleansing and Confession, and together they decide what she can bring to the Project: compassion, mercy, healing. In short, a Mother’s Touch.

— John: Johanna is incredibly uncomfortable around John, as he reminds her too much of her abusive ex-husband (which isn’t exactly something he’s thrilled to hear--especially not after he had the man quietly dealt with as a “welcome to the family” present). She keeps a polite but distinct distance from him, yet she often speaks in his defense when Joseph privately laments John’s behavior and how easy it is for the youngest brother to fall back into the traps of sin. Her work with the cult requires her to work closely with every herald, and she helps steady John’s hand and gently guides him away from his darker nature, either by reminding him of the Word of the Father, or by scolding him outright. When John discovers Johanna’s “second sight,” he immediately asks to put it to use with the Confession and Cleansing. Johanna agrees, but on one condition: their hands must be bound together. That way, she’ll be able to see into his heart and know if he gives in to his sin. (John tries to make a joke about handcuffs, and then wonders if God will forgive him for flirting with his brother’s beloved. He decides that’s up to God to figure out.)

— Faith: At first Johanna is happy to work with Faith on the Path, on cleaning up and tending to the convent and the shrines, but a lot of their grittier, “uglier” responsibilities weighs heavy on her heart. Johanna often helps people come out of the Bliss, holding their hands, stroking their heads, drying their tears, and feels a great, personal shame at every living failure, who are soon made into Faith’s Angels. Faith supplies Johanna with sorrowful, repentant "children" to care for, and Johanna rehabilitates them before sending them back to the fold. On a personal level, Johanna is extremely uncomfortable with Faith, as she reminds Johanna too much of her mother. Faith discovers Johanna’s “second sight” by accident, when Johanna responds to something Faith thought instead of said. Johanna promises to take all of Faith’s secrets to the grave--including Rachel. “Mothers forgive where Fathers cannot.”

— Jacob: There is little common ground between Johanna and Jacob, and what little exists is simply polite ambivalence. As the Mother, Johanna often oversees funerals for Jacob’s failed soldiers (cremations mostly, but some are sky burials high in the mountains). Jacob gains respect for Johanna when he sees how easily she can get her hands literally dirty as a mortician and undertaker, and how she doesn’t shrink back from blood or death. He does, however, think she’d be better off if she didn’t cry so much all the damn time, but she politely reminds him that she isn’t called the Mater Dolorosa for nothing.

Bliss Exposure/Level of Indoctrination: Johanna, like the Seeds and Faith, is curiously immune to the Bliss. She is not indoctrinated.

Other Notes:

— She visits Earl as often as she can, more for his sake than hers. She wants him to know that she’s happy, that she’s at peace, that she really feels like she’s making a difference.

— She and Joseph eventually have twins--two sons named Gabriel and Michael.

#johanna engel #x: song of songs 8:6 #far cry 5 #[screams loudly] i just!! #johanna as the mother! #both the calm and compassionate mother #and the stern unyielding griever #the mother with strength to endure and strength to harm when needed #that's! her!!

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

A Newsies history lesson: Joseph Pulitzer

I haven’t done a Newsies history lesson in a while, so I thought I’d do another one about arguably one of the most interesting people in the story: Joseph Pulitzer, The World publisher and antagonist of the musical.

Buckle up, y’all, because this is a long one (but his life is worth the read, I’d say).

---

Early Life

Joseph Pulitzer was born on April 10, 1847, in Mako, Hungary to a wealthy Magyar-Jewish family. His father was a grain merchant who retired in Budapest, where Pulitzer grew up and attended school.

In 1864, when he was seventeen-years-old, Pulitzer tried enlist in the Austrian Army, Napoleon’s Foreign Legion, and the British Army, but he was rejected because of his poor eyesight and bad health.

Pulitzer still wanted to become a soldier, however, so he enlisted as a substitute for a draftee after meeting a bounty recruiter for the U.S. Union Army. Pulitzer enlisted for a year in the Lincoln Calvary, which worked for him because there were many German soldiers in the unit. Pulitzer was fluent in German and French; however, he spoke very little English.

After a year in the Lincoln Calvary, Pulitzer left for St. Louis, where he worked odd jobs as a muleteer, baggage handler, and waiter, among others. 

While in St. Louis, Pulitzer studied English and the law at Mercantile Library, and it was here, actually, that his journalism career began.

The Start of Pulitzer’s Journalism Career

Pulitzer met two editors of the leading German language daily, Westliche Post, while observing and critiquing their chess game, and they offered him a job after engaging him in conversation and finding him rather impressive.

In 1872, four years after beginning work for the Westliche Post, Pulitzer had already built a reputation as a journalist. He became a publisher for the paper at age 25, and by 1878, he had bought and become owner of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, another St. Louis-based newspaper. Pulitzer was already making his mark on the world of journalism.

Pulitzer worked tirelessly to improve and change the St. Louis Post-Dispatch into a spectacular newspaper. His specialties were investigative articles and editorials exposing corruption, tax-dodgers, and gamblers, and he did it incredibly well. This type of dramatic news was popular with the public, and the St. Louis Dispatch became very popular. 

The World

In 1883, Pulitzer met with Jay Gould, the financier, and bought The New York World, a newspaper close to bankruptcy. He immersed himself in The World, changing everything from its editorial policy to its format, and used some of the techniques that had helped the St. Louis Post-Dispatch prosper to build back up The World’s circulation.

“He crusaded against public and private corruption, filled the news columns with a spate of sensationalized features, made the first extensive use of illustrations, and staged news stunts,” a biographical article by Seymour Topping on the Pulitzer Prize website reads. “In one of the most successful promotions, The World raised public subscriptions for the building of a pedestal at the entrance to the New York harbor so that the Statue of Liberty, which was stranded in France awaiting shipment, could be emplaced.”

These techniques proved very successful, and over the next ten years, The World’s circulation increased to more than 600,000, and it became the largest circulating newspaper in the United States.

However, all this success came with a price that had only been building since the beginning of Pulitzer’s journalism career: both his health and his eyesight were rapidly failing, and there were many factors that only exacerbated the problems. One was Pulitzer’s unrelenting dedication to his work, and the other was a slanderous campaign against him by Charles Anderson Dana, publisher of The Sun, a competing newspaper.

Dana was frustrated by The World’s success, so he took matters into his own hands by attacking Pulitzer and his Jewish ancestry, writing him as “the Jew who had denied his race and religion”, and seeking to “alienate New York’s Jewish community from The World” (Topping).

This attack caused further stress on Pulitzer and caused his health to deteriorate to the point that he was virtually blind by 1890, when he then withdrew from the editorship of The World and was unable to return to its newsroom. Pulitzer also had severe depression, which was the partial cause of an illness that left him extremely sensitive to noise. Because of this, Pulitzer spent a great deal of the next portion of his life in soundproofed “vaults”, as he called them, “ aboard his yacht, Liberty, in the "Tower of Silence" at his vacation retreat in Bar Harbor, Maine, and at his New York mansion” (Topping).

Despite the fact that he was constantly travelling, trying in vain to find a cure for his illnesses, Pulitzer still kept a close eye on his newspapers and was very much involved in their editorial and business direction. He was so intent on keeping his communications with the newspapers secret that he actually kept a code book of approximately 20,000 names and terms.

The War, The Journal, and Yellow Journalism

1896 to 1898, Pulitzer found himself engaging in what has been described as a “bitter circulation battle” against William Randolph Hearst, who ran The New York Journal, during the years of Cuba’s rebellion against Spanish rule. The headlines and stories in both newspapers became increasingly sensationalized and inaccurate, coming to a head when the U.S. battleship Maine blew up and sank in Havana in February of 1898, and both The World and The Journal called for war against Spain.

After the Spanish-American War, Pulitzer withdrew from the battle with Hearst and what had become known as “yellow journalism” - the act of using sensationalized news, headlines, and cartoons to attract readers and increase circulation.

The Newsboys Strike of 1899

During the war, 200 publishers raised the price of a one-hundred paper bundle from 50 cents to 60 cents, which worked well for a time because so many newspapers were being sold due to the exciting headlines. Once the war ended, most papers brought their prices back down, but some--most notably The World and The Journal--did down, much to the anger of the newsboys who distributed those papers. The newsboys and girls (both groups referred to as newsies for the sake of consistency) declared a strike against the newspaper companies.

There were rallies in the name of the strike that drew more than 5,000 newsies from all over the city. Below is an excerpt from strike leader Kid Blink’s speech, quoted in an article by The New York Tribune:

“Friens and feller workers. Dis is a time which tries de hearts of men. Dis is de time when we’se got to stick together like glue…. We know wot we wants and we’ll git it even if we is blind.”

After two weeks, the newspapers and the newsies came to a compromise: the price of the papers would not decrease, but the newspaper companies would buy back any papers the newsies did not sell.

Columbia University

In 1903, Pulitzer donated $2,000,000 to Columbia University to help create the Columbia University School of Journalism. According to the State Historical Society of Missouri, “the school oversees the Pulitzer Prize, an award given to those who excel in journalism, literature, and music. The prize began with a donation from Pulitzer and was first awarded in 1917.”

“In May 1904, writing in The North American Review in support of his proposal for the founding of a school of journalism, Pulitzer summarized his credo: ‘Our Republic and its press will rise or fall together. An able, disinterested, public-spirited press, with trained intelligence to know the right and courage to do it, can preserve that public virtue without which popular government is a sham and a mockery. A cynical, mercenary, demagogic press will produce in time a people as base as itself. The power to mould the future of the Republic will be in the hands of the journalists of future generations’“ (Topping).

Political Views

Pulitzer was active in politics in his twenties, and was elected to the Missouri state legislature in 1869. From 1871 to 1872, he helped to organize the Liberal Republican Party in Missouri, which nominated Horace Greeley to run for President in 1872. Greeley lost the election, the party collapsed, and Pulitzer became and remained a Democrat for the rest of his life. 

According to the United States History website, “Pulitzer supported organized labor, attacked trusts and monopolies, and exposed political corruption. He was committed to raising the standards of the journalism profession.”

Joseph Pulitzer and Theodore Roosevelt

There isn’t much on what Pulitzer wrote about Roosevelt before the latter was elected governor (at least not where I have easy access to it), but there is still controversy an event in 1909, when The World exposed a fraudulent payment of $40 million by the US to the French Panama Canal Company. Roosevelt then accused Pulitzer of spreading false information, and the federal government indicted Pulitzer for criminally libeling Roosevelt and the banker J.P. Morgan, as quoted in an article in The Herald and News (quotes by Roosevelt):

“The real offender is Mr. Joseph Pulitzer, editor and proprietor of the World. While the criminal offence of which Mr. Pulitzer has been guilty is in the form of a libel upon individuals, the great injury done is in blackening the good name of the American people. It should not be left to a private citizen to sue Mr. Pulitzer for libel. He should be prosecuted for libel by the government authorities.

“In point of encouragement of iniquity, in point of infamy, of wrongdoing, there is nothing to choose between a public servant who betrays his trust, a public servant who is guilty of blackmail or theft or financial dishonesty or any kind, and a man guilty as Mr. Jos[sic] Pulitzer has been guilty in this instance. It is, therefore, a high national duty to bring to justice this villifier of the American people, this man who wantonly and wickedly and without one shadow of justification seeks to blackmail the character of reputable private citizens and to convict the government of his own country in the eyes of the civilized world of wrong doing of the basest and foulest kind, when he has not one shadow of justification of any sort or description for the charge he has made. The attorney general has under consideration the form in which the proceedings against Mr. Pulitzer shall be brought.”

However, the courts ultimately dismissed the indictments against Pulitzer, and he won an important journalistic victory concerning freedom of the press.

Death

Joseph Pulitzer died on October 29, 1911, aboard his yacht. The following is an excerpt from his obituary in the New York Times:

“CHARLESTON, S.C., Oct. 29.--Joseph Pulitzer, proprietor of The New York World and St. Louis Post-Dispatch, died aboard his yacht, the Liberty, in Charleston Harbor at 1:40 o'clock this afternoon. The immediate cause of Mr. Pulitzer's death was heart disease. Although he had been in poor health for some time, there was no suspicion on the part of those accompanying him that his condition was serious.

The change for the worse came at about 2 o'clock this morning, when he suffered an attack of severe pain. By daylight he appeared to be better and fell asleep soon after 10:30. He awoke at 1 o'clock and complained of pain in his heart. Soon he fell into a faint and expired at 1:40 o'clock.

Mrs. Pulitzer, who had been sent for, arrived from New York today, and reached the yacht shortly before her husband died. At his bedside also when the end came was his youngest son, Herbert, who has been cruising with his father.

Mr. Pulitzer's body will be taken north at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon on a special Pullman car. The funeral will be held at Woodlawn Cemetery in New York probably toward the end of this week.

Mr. Pulitzer's son, Joseph, Jr., is now on his way from St. Louis with his wife, and one of his daughters will come from Florida. Ralph Pulitzer, the eldest son, is on the way to Charleston, and will meet the train en route.

Up to an hour and a half before his death Mr. Pulitzer's mind remained perfectly clear. His German secretary had been reading to him an account of the reign of Louis the Eleventh of France, in whose career Mr. Pulitzer had always taken the liveliest interest. As the secretary neared the end of his chapter and came to the death of the French King, Mr. Pulitzer said to him:

‘Leise, ganz leise, ganz leise.’ (softly, quite softly.)

These were the last words he spoke.”

Joseph Pulitzer may have been the antagonist in Newsies, but he also definitely led a very interesting life, and it is safe to say that he and his newspaper had a great impact on journalism, and will continue to for years to come.

---

Sources:

photo from the New World Encyclopedia

Biography of Joseph Pulitzer - The Pulitzer Prizes

Yellow journalism

Extra! Extra! Newsies Strike of 1899

Joseph Pulitzer - The State Historical Society of Missouri

Joseph Pulitzer - Jewish Virtual Library

Joseph Pulitzer - American newspaper publisher

Joseph Pulitzer - United States History

Obituary: New York Times

#let me know if y'all want more of these #newsies #joseph pulitzer #please read this i legit spent like 5 hours on it

[isobel-thorm]

53??

53. “Well, that wasn’t very subtle.” 

It Runs in the Family 

Earl Whitehorse reflects on his found family and the one single trait that seems to run within it. 

Earl Whitehorse wasn’t an idiot. 

Sure, there had been accusations of him being one over the years- and plenty of implications- Marshal Burke was among them, judging by how quickly he had grouped Earl in with the fame-chasing cops.

Well, he might not have been book smart. He had graduated in the top fiftieth percentile of his peers in high school and college. But he had enough street smarts and knowledge of Nicolette Raylan to know when things were off with her.

For all intents and purposes, he had been her father since he had been the first responder to that domestic violence call made by the scared-yet-furious fifteen year old that had grown up to be the hero of the Resistance. He had helped raise her through tough teachers, first loves, first heartbreaks, a couple of college tours. He knew her at every single emotion, and she confided in him for all of them. Outside of their first encounter, she had always kept her emotions in check. She was the picture of subtle. It was nearly fitting that she ended up being a sniper- silent, subtle, and dangerous - all things snipers needed to be.

It was his sense of responsibility for her that had gripped his heartstrings and yanked a week after he was back in Missoula. He was safe and sound, and Nicolette was still in Hope County, dead or worse, courtesy of Jacob Seed. The thought had plagued him for ten minutes before it had sent him throwing a bag of necessities together, throwing them in a truck and heading back to the county that same night.

The same went for yelling at her in the middle of Falls End once he had gotten back. She had screamed and hit him and then sobbed and held onto him for dear life, and he held her all through it because it was his damned job as her stand-in father. He had failed her by bringing her there, he was determined to make up for it at all cost by sharing the burden the county gave her.

He should’ve known things had changed drastically in her life the second he had seen John Seed loitering behind her in town. More so when Earl saw John watching him and Nicolette embracing with some strange mix of envy and what looked relief in his eyes.

He should’ve known when John followed Jerome’s orders to come with him to the abandoned house for the night just because Nicolette had given him a pleading look.

He should’ve known when Nicolette couldn’t label her and John as friends or not.

He should’ve known when John had been the first one to suggest a search party to find her when they all discovered she was missing.

He should’ve known when John sounded like he was in physical pain when she had come back and he voiced that she had gone to Joseph over him for answers for whatever was going on.

He should’ve known when Nicolette only seemed to care about sparing John’s feelings about throwing herself into danger like that.

And then he did know they had at least fallen into bed together when he had walked in on their argument about it that night. He had played stupid until she came to him with that particular confession.

Nicolette had always been a… flighty girl. She had only ever thought she found love. Those exploits usually ended badly, so she had sworn off love. Except she never made a show of it. It was one of the few things she was private about. She was subtle that way. And now she was attached to the least subtle man in the county.

So of course it came as the biggest shock yet when the fucking world ended and John showed up in the bunker looking lost and confused and heartbroken, covered in soot and God (if there was one, after what Earl had just witnessed) knew what else with Nicolette slung over his shoulder, unconscious. The younger man had refused to leave her side once she was carted away, and Earl realized that John was in love with her.

A man that didn’t know the fucking meaning of subtle had found room in his cold, dead heart for her under everyone’s noses and didn’t so much as announce it to anyone- even as part of a trick. 

In the days that followed, the role reversal came in about every single aspect of John’s life.

The man was constantly quiet, and dare Earl even say polite. John knew he wasn’t welcome. He knew his days might have been numbered, and he knew he would be met with trouble if he so much as stepped a toe out of line. He had spent most of his waking hours with Nicolette, either at her bedside or wrapped around her in the bed- the latter only when he, Sharky or the Ryes were around. He was still intent on keeping their relationship a secret to all but few, it seemed.

Once she was up and awake and entirely alive again, John had kept being subtle about everything between the pair of them. Any show of affection was quick and invisible to all unless you knew what to look for: An extra long glance here, a skim of his fingers across her back there, a couple of linked fingers under a table while they sat close enough to hide it, a protective-possessive sweep of his eyes from her growing baby bump to her face any time she had talked about her pregnancy with anyone else while he was in earshot- the list went on.

And Nicolette was ever the picture of subtlety, returning the gestures but never being too affectionate out in the open.

Of course, there was the one time he had walked in on them mid-tryst in a storage closet was equal parts subtle and not. They could’ve gone into their dorm and locked the Ryes and Stones out to... carry on, but that would have been anything but subtle. And they had been keeping quiet in the closet, after all. He had only walked in to get something from it by sheer chance. Still, Earl didn’t like to dwell on that particular event anyway.

In a twist that he didn’t even see coming, the tables were turned during a conversation Earl had been having with John.

It had been about rationing resources. Being in a group of about thirty people when there were supplies for at least a hundred for years eased most of their minds, but it still left room for debating just how to ration or use the extra supplies. John and Earl had been stuck on planting duty for food prep and somehow they had gotten into an albeit strangely amicable argument about the most efficient ways to plant the certain vegetables. Earl had won, citing quality over quantity in the main garden plot. John had relented easily, but the pair had brought it up later at dinner to get second opinions. The tone had been light. Earl had restated his opinion but signed off with  “I wasn’t an Ivy League educated hotshot lawyer or nothin’” and John had come back with calling him a “crotchety old non-conformist.” The laugh they shared in response was something new but not unwelcome. Joking with John Seed after everything was an experience, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Earl had expected anything amicable with the former herald to be. The conversation had ended with John leaning into the man, hand draped on his closest shoulder as they switched topics with whatever Dan Stone had to say. It was the picture of a family, if they took away all the emotional baggage.

And then suddenly Nicolette had come up from her spot nearer to the wall in the mess hall. She slid onto the vacant spot beside John, and when John turned to see what she wanted, she took his face in her hands and kissed him for every single person in the room to see.

The ten different conversations screeching to absolutely stunned silence was almost funny.

Oblivious to eveyone’s reactions, John immediately melted into the kiss, reaching to scoot her closer to him. After a few seconds, if either of them noticed their interested audience they made no effort to care.

And then, the kicker:

Nicolette pulled back, pressed her forehead to John’s and said the firmest “I love you” Earl had ever heard her utter to anyone other than her mother.

John stared at her for a solid seconds. And then he leaned forward in order to kiss her again.

Earl glanced up and did a quick sweep of the room to gauge reactions. The cat had been yanked out of the bag now. No one looked furious. Some looked annoyed and scandalized, yes, but there were no immediate threats to deal with by the looks of it. As much as it pained him to admit, John had come a long way since the bunker doors closed behind him. He had started earning his place and the people’s respect, that helped things from getting ugly at that particular reveal, at least least. And if worse came to worse they could still sell the fact that something might’ve happened between them in the bunker and whole ‘Sharky’s the baby’s father’ cover story could still hold merit.

Earl loitered for a bit, decidedly not looking in the couple’s direction once tongue got involved in the kiss.

Once he was satisfied no one was going to start anything, he cleared out.

A while later he found her back in the dorm, folding clothes. He sat on the end of John’s bed and sighed. “Well, that wasn’t subtle.”

“We’re not subtle people,” she said after a moment. 

“Your boyfriend isn’t. You, on the other hand.”

“Eh, end of the world was bound to change a few things,” she replied.

Earl hummed. “So… you actually love him, huh?”

“I…” she sighed. “Yeah, I do. He’s an idiot and he doesn’t remotely deserve it but-”

He sighed and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t gotta explain it to me. Might still be a little… torn on the subject, but I stick by what I said. I trust you. And well, we do have the shovel launcher. And he can’t run far if he does anything bad to you or the kid.”

“And you have the nerve to say that I’m not subtle.”

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a dad- and the kid’s got to a granddad. You’re damn right I ain’t subtle, especially for you two.”

“Two of the least subtle men in the county and they’re the most important ones in my life,” Nicolette mused. “Three, if you count his godfather…” she blinked. “And backup godfather… and the least subtle woman is his honorary grandma-aunt.  My god, my kid’s gonna be the least subtle kid in the entire county just from influence alone.”

“He ain’t gonna even know the meaning of ‘subtle’,” Earl agreed.

“… Shit.”

He had laughed at that, which got her to laugh and put her head on his shoulder. And just like that, things felt like the old normal from years ago.

That night, he returned to the dorms to find John curled up in bed with Nicolette, holding her much like he had that first horrible night when the Collapse began. Except unlike the first night, he wasn’t remotely being careful with who saw him there. Apparently Nicolette’s admission had made him forgo anything resembling subtlety in presenting their relationship to the public. 

Christ, things had changed. 

Still, they were happy- Nicolette was happy, and that was all he could ask for. Subtlety be damned. 

——

A matter of months later, Baby Apocalypse- Callan “Cal” Raylan had his first taste of what passed as solid baby food in the bunker. He blanched,  and within seconds, it was launched off of the high chair tray and hit John square in the chest.

Not very subtle indeed.

As family traits went, however, “not very subtle” was hardly one to complain about.

#Johnnic #this went in a completely different direction than it started and I hope thats not too obvious #but HERE IT FINALLY IS #I might still post the other ideas I had once they're not skeletons #because the other ones were far more fun #but before I keep dragging myself Imma stop there #jackalopestride #l

[fantasmagoriam]

2, 4, 6, 17, and 20 for my babies!

2. Big spoon/Little spoon?

Depends on the mood and on who needs to be held more at the given time

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

I mentioned it quite a few times, but apparently, it’s sitting together and drinking coffee in the middle of the night. They did that at the beginning of their relationship (even when neither of them would call it like that) and it carried on even much later when they tried to put what was between them back together after the war with the cult. It becomes some sort of a bonding ritual between them.

Also, playing cards/dice. Rose found a whole gambling set in a stash one time and brought it to one of their meetings, they spent nearly entire night playing that day. As well as few following days after that. They played chess a few times as well, but after Jake bet her in it without mercy every single time Rose refuses to play with him anymore.

Additionally, after the Collapse, they enjoy going hunting together.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

For Rose, it’s Jacob’s arms: nice, strong, good for hugs (try to tell me that’s not true), and when they’re wrapped around her it makes her feel safe. Personality-wise, it’s how protective he is over the people he cares for. Boi, that girl would sell her own soul just to feel safe wouldn’t she?

For Jacob, it’s Rose’s eyes and how they always betray her emotions even when she tries to keep them at bay. He especially adores the glimmer of determination in them. He also loves the smile she always gives him right before she inevitably does something that will piss him off, but he’ll never admit that. Personality-wise, it’s that nothing seems to be able to break her spirit.

17. Who says I love you first?

Neither of them, for a very long time. Then Rose did, and she was full of regrets afterwards.

Words are… hard. Saying things is even harder, especially if you can’t even accept them yourself. Both of them had no illusions about their arrangement and knew that at some point it had to come to an and, because Rose would never join him in the cult, despite the fact that after each night they spend together they inevitably end up in the kitchen of a small cabin in the mountains they always meet in, talking and making jokes, and just feeling at ease, and she feels like they understand each other like no one else, and Jacob would never leave his brothers, even if every time he wakes up next to her in the morning he can’t help but think that this is the life he could have if he only decided to leave.And it just goes like that, from one meeting to another, until they both realize that some deeper feelings are starting to get involved. Because one night Rose whispers that she loves him, and it’s like someone poured a bucket of cold water on both of them. They realize that things have gone too far and they can’t keep it going any longer. They go back to fighting each other like that used to before, like there was nothing between them, trying to kill it before it’s too late (spoiler alert, it doesn’t work)

Neither of them is brave enough to say it again for years afterward, knowing what it led to last time. But it’s not like they need to at this point. There’s been enough gestures and actions between these two to prove how they feel.

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Truth is, they’re very good at hiding it, so it takes a lot of time for everyone to find out.

Rose’s family never gets to know, not that she’d tell them who her lover really is anyway, they’re already careful the story with her last partner. As for others? The people in the resistance have their suspicions, especially when she insists on not killing the herald and locking him in the jail for the time being instead, but there is little to no proof for these suspicions. Later on, after the Collapse, when their relationship stops being a secret, the reaction is mixed, but no one dares to comment on it. There are some people who stare disapprovingly, others are more understanding but overall, everyone has more important things to do just trying to survive and the fact the deputy found comfort in the arms of the oldest Seed is the least of their concerns.

The reaction of Jacob’s family can be predicted. Both John and Faith are amused, more or less. Faith seems to be the most enthusiastic about that fact, she’s excited to see what this whole situation will lead to. She’s also the one teasing Jacob about the fact that he fell for Rose of all people. John’s attitude changes like the wind, he’s clearly amused by the whole situation as well, but there is also jealousy hiding in there. He’s not jealous of Rose in particular, rather of the feeling of acceptance and affiliation he so craves for, that his brother seemed to gain without even trying. He’s teasing Jacob as well, but at times there is way more venom in it. The fact that he and Rose can barely stand each other is also not helping much.

Joseph strongly disapproves. For the brief moment he can.

#Ambie I love you u know that right? #thank you for letting me talk about these two idiots #... did I straight up copy part of the conversation we had bc I was feeling lazy? Perhaps #x: me and the wolf #noonvraith

[theprojectatedensgate]

58. Is that blood? John/Dep

“Is that blood?”

Rooked up at John in bewilderment, his coat swaying gently in the breeze. The Gunshot wound ran wet down their forearm and hands, one hand clamped over the bullet hole while the other hung limply at their side.

“Is it blood?” The repeated voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t even know to be honest John.” Rook attempted a shrug but winced with pain their shoulder brought. They leaned their head back against the road sign, “Black Horse Peak.” hung in bold letters above. They were just down the road from John’s bunker.

 He had spotted them as he was taking the turn. Forcing the brakes on his black, glossy, Mustang to work sharply. He put the window down, taking in the sight before him. Rook was a mess and a dark stain was spreading through their clothes, mixing with the dirt. No gun in sight. John was stunned, it’s not what he expected to see today, he wasn’t sure if he ever expected to see it. But he felt blessed, it seemed like God was providing him with a golden opportunity. The Deputy, unable to run away, unarmed, at his mercy. 

The Deputy groaned when they saw John step out of the car. Of course only John would have such an expensive car. Fear shot through them as the saw the look on his face, a grin that radiated arrogance. The smile quickly disappeared when he saw all the blood. 

“Don’t give me attitude, you’re lucky I even stopped for you.” John retorted, Dep’s eyes narrowed and they scowled at him in response. He looked over their crumpled pose. “What happened to you?” he demanded an explanation, like Rook owed him one. Rook huffed at him, slow deep breaths between sharply in taking air. They sounded like it had been knocked out of them, but they looked even worse, skin pale in the daylight, blood and dirt gracing their hair and complexion. There was no staying clean for long in a war zone.

“A group of your guys ambushed me. I managed to put down three of them, but the fourth one got a shot in before it was his turn. Asshole shot the gun out of my grip, he kicked it into the lake. I tripped him up, he went down and I ended him, I took his gun too, but I couldn’t carry it. I just needed somewhere to rest and this sign was the closest so…” It was patronising having to explain to the Herald what happened. Rook felt like they were a child explaining to a teacher why they skipped school. John looked on with the same authority. 

“You were shot by my men.” John smirked, stating the obvious. “Oh how the tables have turned, Deputy.” He flashed his teeth lightly. “Only you could be so deserving of this.”

“Look John if you’re here to gloat can you just go? I want to die in peace.” Rook groaned at him “Or at least put a bullet in my skull and put me out of my misery.” John laughed at that, ending it with a sinister growl.

“Ohh Deputy, You’re not going to die, don’t be so melodramatic.” Even though if it was him in this situation, he would be much worse. His dramatic flair knew no bounds. “Is it still in there? The bullet?” his hand pointed towards Dep’s arm.

“No its straight through. I don’t even get a cool souvenir from the experience.” Rook answered glumly, nodded their head at him meekly. John hesitated a moment, looking around him, eyes narrowing and biting his lip. The blue in his eyes barely visible.  He seemed to be arguing with himself internally, pacing slightly, before stopping with a sigh and turning back towards the Dep’.

“I can patch that up for you.” He said with confidence, but Rook detected the hint of uncertainty. He wasn’t used to this, to being nice, to doing something that didn’t benefit him in away. Such a selfless act was alien for him, it didn’t fit with his personality. And he knew that, they could tell, as looked on at the Deputy with reluctance. He would just leave them to bleed, but he wants to help them. That didn’t sit well with John, but like a chameleon he covered the doubt up with an arrogant demeanour.

The Deputy didn’t know what to say at first, John offering to help? It tore at their logic. Everything they knew stopped making sense. But was it really that surprising? They heard Joseph speak of it before, that John wasn’t always this way, he was human at some point and apparently the most caring of the Brothers. Years of abuse and torment made the John everyone see’s today. Arrogant, Sadistic, Confident and Manipulative. Would it really be such a bad idea to let him help? There was always the idea that he wouldn’t let Dep’ go on their way afterwards. No he would want to keep them there, extracting every sin and confession from them. Exposing their darkest secrets, Punishing them with the pain and torture of his tool box, Branding their sin onto them, only to peel it off afterwards. A mess of blood and tears. But they had escaped his bunker once before. When he made the mistake of leaving them next to the stairs when he took Hudson away to her room. Confessions were meant to be private after all. Rook had done it once, surely they could do it again, it was a risk they needed to take, being left to bleed, vulnerable, was not an option. 

“Why? What’s in it for you?” John smiled at their reluctance. It was humours to him.  

“Just see it as a favour Deputy.” John made his way over to Rook, stopping just before them. As if testing the boundaries between them, smirking when Dep’s showed no urge to fight. “I do this for you, then you owe me.”. There was the catch, but recalling their wound, throbbing into their arm they had no choice. John or Death. They managed a weak breathy chuckle at the realisation.“You’re not skinning me though.”“There will be time for that.”. 

They didn’t fight when John put his arms around them, lifting their good arm around his shoulder, hauling them to their feet with ease. It hurt, he wasn’t gentle about it, but Rook didn’t expect him to be. He always meant to cause harm, why stop now? They couldn’t refuse now, his grip made sure of that. They lay still as he placed them into the back of his car, he took one last look at them before he closed the door. When he got into the drivers seat he stared at them through the mirror, watching the way they breathed and hissed in pain. He was drawn to it, he needed them to hurt. Just like so many of his flock had done. But he saw this as a chance to get Dep’ to atone. A chance for them to be in his debt. He watched Rook carefully, attention flicking between the road and his passenger or more or less, prisoner. John thought of the events to come, when the Deputy had healed, they would without a doubt attempt escape again, he wasn’t stupid. Although he knew not to leave them alone with the stairs anymore, that proved obsolete. A different form of restraint was needed this time, perhaps chained by their own cuffs? He smiled at the irony, increasing the speed of the car. What ever he decided to restrain them with, he would not let them get away so easily.

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[bigbirdgladiator]

WASHINGTON -- Whether investigating charges of torture by the CIA, rolling up an organized crime network or prosecuting crooked government officials, John H. Durham, the veteran federal prosecutor named by Attorney General William Barr to investigate the origins of the Russia inquiry, burnished his reputation for impartiality over the years by keeping his mouth closed about his work.At the height of the Boston mob prosecution that made his name, he not only rebuffed a local newspaper's interview request, but he also told his office not to release his resume or photo.That wall of silence cracked this month when Durham, serving in the most politically charged role of his career, released an extraordinary statement questioning one key element of an overlapping investigation by the Justice Department's inspector general, Michael E. Horowitz.Horowitz had found that the FBI acted appropriately in opening the inquiry in 2016 into whether the Trump campaign wittingly or unwittingly helped Russia influence the election in Donald Trump's favor. In response, Durham, whose report is not expected to be complete for months, released a caveat-laden rebuttal: "Based on the evidence collected to date, and while our investigation is ongoing, last month we advised the inspector general that we do not agree with some of the report's conclusions as to predication and how the FBI case was opened."The statement seemed to support comments made half an hour earlier by Barr, who assailed what he called "an intrusive investigation of a U.S. presidential campaign," based "on the thinnest of suspicions." Durham's decision to go public in such a politically polarized environment surprised people who have worked with him. They found it out of character for him to intervene in such a high-profile way in an open case."It's fair to characterize what John did as unusual in terms of his past practice and I don't know what the rationale was," said Kevin J. O'Connor, a former U.S. attorney for Connecticut who supervised Durham for several years in the early 2000s. "But I know John well enough to know that he did it because he -- not the AG or anyone else -- thought he had an obligation to."Others have been less willing to give Durham the benefit of the doubt, and it is clear he has placed his reputation for impartiality on the line by accepting this latest assignment.Durham's decision to speak out seemed to supply political fuel to Trump, who has repeatedly blasted the Russia inquiry as a "hoax" and a "witch hunt." At a campaign rally in Hershey, Pennsylvania, the day after Barr and Durham issued their statements, Trump called FBI agents involved in the Russia inquiry "scum.""I look forward to Bull Durham's report -- that's the one I look forward to," added Trump, who appointed Durham as the U.S. attorney for Connecticut in 2017.The inspector general's report makes no substantive reference to Durham's investigation. But before the report's release, Durham got into a sharp dispute with Horowitz's team over a footnote in a draft of the report that seemed to imply that Durham agreed with all of Horowitz's conclusions, which he did not, according to people familiar with the matter. The footnote did not appear in the final version of the report.A former Justice Department investigator who knows both Barr and Durham, a Republican, said that while the men were aware of each other's professional reputations, they are in no way close. Barr, who was unfamiliar with Durham's recent work, made quiet inquiries before appointing him to lead the investigation, this person said.The potential explosiveness of Durham's mission was further underscored by the disclosure that he was examining the role of John O. Brennan, the former CIA director, in how the intelligence community assessed Russia's 2016 election interference.Durham is known in New England's close-knit law enforcement community for working long days on his cases, and providing sought-after guidance on others'.Wearing gunmetal-frame glasses and a drooping goatee, he rises early and dresses in the dark, often mismatching his suit jackets and pants. His reputation for discretion, on top of a long record of successful high-profile prosecutions, are among the reasons he has been a go-to person when Washington -- under Republicans and Democrats alike -- needs someone to handle sensitive tasks.O'Connor, who was associate attorney general in 2008, was among those who recommended Durham lead an inquiry into the CIA's destruction in 2005 of videotapes depicting the torture of two operatives of al-Qaida.That investigation, started under an administration that had supported the use of so-called enhanced interrogation techniques, continued into the Obama administration, which brought a very different agenda to the issue. After President Barack Obama took office, Durham's brief was expanded to include a criminal investigation into the CIA's role in the deaths of two detainees overseas, based on allegations of mistreatment by their interrogators.Durham completed the torture investigation in 2012. The Justice Department, under Attorney General Eric Holder, declined to prosecute anyone, saying that "the admissible evidence would not be sufficient to obtain and sustain a conviction beyond a reasonable doubt."John A. Rizzo, the CIA's former acting general counsel, was questioned for more than eight hours in the investigation.Durham "didn't personally question me, but he did the agency people who had contemporaneous knowledge of the plan to destroy the tapes, and he was very tough with them," Rizzo, who retired from the CIA in 2009, said in an interview.Despite the political uproar at the time, "there were no leaks and he certainly didn't issue any public statements," Rizzo recalled. "I just don't see him bending to political pressure, so I was surprised he made a statement here."Those who know him portray Durham as the consummate straight arrow who is unlikely to have bowed to pressure from Barr or anyone else in his current assignment. Durham declined to be interviewed for this article."He believes in four things: his family, his profession, his religion and the Boston Red Sox," said Hugh F. Keefe, a Connecticut defense lawyer who says Durham is so by the book, he once asked Keefe whether he had reported a free Red Sox ticket to the IRS. "If anyone thinks they can lead him like a horse to water, they're mistaken."Last year, Durham, a staunch Catholic, delivered rare public remarks at the University of St. Joseph in West Hartford, Connecticut.The topic was his prosecution of John Connolly Jr., an FBI agent jailed for racketeering, obstruction of justice and murder stemming from his collaboration with Boston's notorious Winter Hill gang, led by James (Whitey) Bulger, an FBI informant.In a preface to his presentation, Durham said, "It is as important for the system for prosecutors to protect the secrecy of proceedings, not because we want them to be secret, but because we're not always right." He added: "Maybe accusations that are lodged against somebody are untrue. And again, we can destroy the person or persons if that information gets out."Durham was born in Uxbridge, Massachusetts, and received his law degree at the University of Connecticut in 1975. After a stint providing free legal advice to the Crow Indian tribe as part of what is now AmeriCorps, he worked as an assistant state's attorney in Connecticut until 1982, when he began a 35-year career as an assistant U.S. attorney, serving in a range of roles leading organized crime and public corruption prosecutions.He won 119 convictions from 1983 to 1989, including against associates of the Genovese, Gambino and Patriarca crime families, and provided evidence instrumental in convicting the Gambino boss John Gotti in New York.In 1989, fishermen found the body of William (The Wild Guy) Grasso, the Patriarca state boss from New Haven, Connecticut, dead of a gunshot wound in weeds near the Connecticut River.Durham, who colleagues said "could hear grass grow" on surveillance recordings, led a prosecution that linked mobsters in Connecticut and Rhode Island, even unveiling the first recorded mob-induction ceremony. Durham secured a raft of racketeering convictions against men linked to Grasso's murder, gutting the Providence, Rhode Island, based Patriarca mob. His doggedness, even after a note with his home address on it was found in a mobster-occupied Hartford, Connecticut, jail cell, earned him the nickname "Bull."In 1999, Attorney General Janet Reno appointed Durham to lead an investigation into corrupt links, rumored for years, between FBI agents and their criminal informants in Boston. Prosecutions of Bulger and his accomplice Stephen (the Rifleman) Flemmi uncovered a relationship with FBI agents, a retired Massachusetts state trooper and others, in which the mobsters exchanged cases of wine, a stolen two-carat diamond ring, and money for "the keys to the kingdom of all organized crime information in Boston," Durham told the college audience last year.In late 2000, he uncovered government memos indicating that FBI officials were involved in framing four men for the 1965 murder of a mobster, to protect a hit man who was one of the bureau's informants, a scheme likely known to the bureau's director at the time, J. Edgar Hoover. Durham alerted defense lawyers. Two of the four men had died in prison, but the surviving two were released, and the government paid a $100 million civil judgment in the case.Durham and his team worked amid speculation that the Justice Department would pull the plug on what was becoming a deeply embarrassing prosecution. In 2000, a colleague told The Boston Herald that Durham would rather "pull an Archibald Cox" and resign than submit to pressure.In a Washington Post op-ed this month, Holder cautioned Durham, whom he said he has been proud to know for at least a decade, about joining Barr in disputing the inspector general's findings. "Anyone in Durham's shoes would do well to remember that, in dealing with this administration, many reputations have been irrevocably lost," he wrote.This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2019 The New York Times Company

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