#but I think it fits Blue in fc5

[aceghosts]

Far Cry 5 Aesthetics

Hey Everybody! I was tagged by @nuclearstorms, @harmonyowl, @clicheantagonist, and @direwombat to do this. Thank you all for tagging me!

Tagging: @sstewyhosseini, @purplehairsecretlair, @derelictheretic, @thomrainer, @hoesephseed, @natesofrellis, @marivenah, @henbased, @poeti-kat, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @ishwaris, @adelaidedrubman, @indorilnerevarine, @jacobseed, @shellibisshe, @turbo-virgins, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else who wants to do this! (I apologize if this is a double tag. I haven't been super online lately.)

Rules: bold what applies to your ocs/their aesthetic, italicize what sort of or somewhat applies, strike through what doesn’t/never applies.

HOLLAND VALLEY

red, gold, and orange leaves against a clear blue sky // rows of apple trees in an orchard // pick your own pumpkin patches // baskets of puppies // a sleeping fawn hidden away from predators // pumpkin spice // the bite of apple cider // a harvest festival // the faint smell of a bonfire on the wind // the slight unease of getting lost in a corn maze // a hint of fall in the air when it’s still warm // golden sunsets // leaves just beginning to turn from green to orange // the rumble of a tractor // the buzz of an airplane flying low overhead // golden wheat swaying in the wind // the smell of gasoline // sprawling river deltas // crystal clear water // an old wooden dresser // family heirlooms // jingling keys // crimson blood // dark ink on parchment // the sting of a bruise // the warmth of a grand fireplace // gunmetal // work boots in the mud // cattails // the harsh cry of crows // the faint musty smell of taxidermy animals // farm animals making a racket // open air farmers markets // catching your clothes on a barbed wire fence // a fresh breeze through an open window // white rocking chairs // old farmhouses // scarecrows // wild westerly winds // the barely contained excitement for the approach of autumn

WHITETAIL MOUNTAINS

fishing at dawn // the smell of woodsmoke clinging to your clothes and hair // wolfsong // locking eyes with another predator // a night that falls faster than expected // the crisp hint of snow in the air // log cabins // the scent of evergreen trees // stone fireplaces // a well worn camouflage jacket // old field guide books // the smell of a cigarette still lingering on your hands // lager // the roar of whitewater rapids // cool dark caves // the rough wood of an antique gun // the scent of iron // woodland paths criss crossed by gnarled tree roots // a haze of dust from a recent rockslide // losing your breath as you wade into an icy river // winding mountain roads // an eagle’s cry // the bright red flash of a foxes tail at the corner of your eye // the patter of rain on dead leaves // petrichor // seeing your breath in the cold morning air // the click of a projector // the jangling of a chain link fence // gunpowder // the sizzling of a grill // burnt hair // the grand lobby of a lodge // gravel crunching underfoot // the cry of blue jays // information boards // brochures piled on a table // cold metal bars // the sour smell of a lumber mill // the rough texture of scouting achievement badges // muffled oldies music from another room // sharpening a hunting knife // blood red leaves blooming from bone white birch trees // red bleeding into the edges of your vision

HENBANE RIVER

cloying floral scents // the thick mist that gathers near the ground at dawn // dewdrops sparkling on spiderwebs // the almost too intense morning sun // unseasonable warmth // birdsong // honeyed wine // walking barefoot in the cool grass // the clanging of a jail cell door // spying hazy figures of animals in the fog // lemon balm and lavender // the low growl of a wildcat that you can’t see (but it sees you) // choking clouds of pollen settling on cars like snow // vineyards // faint humming and singing from an unidentifiable source // juniper berries // feeling uncomfortably hot in overly formal clothes // lace // burning incense // frogs in the reeds // soft brunette tresses // long winding rivers // mesmerizing music // glistening trout // the sweet nectar of honeysuckle flowers // rumbling of truck motors // glass beakers // bundles of dried flowers // wind chimes tinkling // rough concrete bricks // tumbling barrels // the ringing of a vintage phone // sweet words // broken promises // moonflower and datura // the smell of freshly cut grass // the faint sound of children laughing

JOSEPH'S COMPOUND

babbling brooks // humming // whistling // dogs barking // grand oak trees // the faint sound of hymns // a crate of ripe peaches // melted wax candles // the smell of fresh newspaper clippings // caged birds singing // a warm embrace // wrought iron arches // flames reaching for the sky // gentle voices murmuring // your feet sliding in thick mud // pouring rain // vape smoke // the slight scent of sweat // ink on skin // the smell of wooden church pews // the rustle of hymnals // old book smell // slight hint of ozone from old electronics // bradford pear petals floating on the breeze

DUTCH'S ISLAND

creaking metal hinges // the crackle of a radio // the scratch of an old record player // the smell of antiseptic // the flickering light of a projector // the feel of pushing pins into cork board // echoing footsteps // shelves stacked with canned food and mason jars // dark shadowy figures on the edge of your vision // gleaming metal badges // a table of bullet shell casings // vertigo from standing on swaying radio towers // the sound of shattering glass // whistling pipes // suffocating heat // the chatter of squirrels // faint scent of mothballs // the sputter of a boat engine // the high electronic whine of an old television turning on // the sound of distant gunfire

#blue murphy #tag memes #thanks for tagging me in this #I think I captured Blue's vibes pretty well #and I'm not at all surprised that the Whitetail Mountains fits them best #I did Blue cuz they are my only FC5 Oc #hopefully I'll get another one of these out tonight

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

New OC intro - Kit Cross (FC5 Deputy)

Ask and ye shall receive @roofgeese!

First and foremost I have put a little side blog together for Kit and all things fc5 so if you’re interested you can find that here.

Kathleen “Kit” Cross is a Deputy with the Hope County Sheriff's Department. She is ex-military having served in Afghanistan for five years.

Nickname: Kit (kitten by Jacob)

Age: 32 years old

Height: 5′9″ (with combat boots on 5′10″)

hair color: auburn

eye color: blue

Kit grew up as an army brat, she is used to never staying in one place for very long having moved all over from base to base as her father is a military man. She comes from a family with a long heritage in the military and it was expected that she too would sign up when she was old enough. She ended her career with an honorable discharge and several commendations despite the fact that she was prone to acting out in fits of anger. In Afghanistan she was given the nickname wildcat by her squad, given the fact that she is stealthy, liked to work alone, and was able to get in and out of a situation with the same deftness as a jungle cat (fitting that Peaches becomes her favorite fanged ally) She is very skilled with most weapons including firearms and knives, and she is very capable with hand-to-hand combat.

Kit first grabs the attention of Jacob Seed when she enters his territory and quickly takes out the lumber mill. One woman and her dog taking down his chosen was a bit of an eye opener to say the least. He very quickly decides to put her through the trials, and with the help of his music box, turns her into a judge to deal with Eli and the rest of the Whitetails. Despite the fact that she knows Jacob has brainwashed her, and has made her kill for him, there is an undeniable chemistry between them, a pull that she fights to ignore. Jacob can’t seem to pin down one feeling with her, he runs the gamut from hatred to admiration at any one moment when it comes to Kit.

ship name: the Wolf and the Wildcat

They are both very damaged individuals, and their romance is highly toxic. This is definitely one of those “I can make them worse” situations. If they aren’t trying to torture or kill the other than they are thinking thots...

Anywho this was a very much longer than I thought it would be introduction to Kit, so if you got this far in reading I thank you very much. Also, if you have questions about her or the ship feel free to ask :)

#new oc intro #kit cross #fc5 deputy #fc5 #far cry 5

[strafethesesinners]

OC Study: Cooper McCoy

I got this from @archetypesinthefog ages ago and never finished it. I’ll tag a few people at the end cause I don’t know who’s done it yet. Feel free to ignore of course! Or to go ahead and do this even if I didn’t tag you! 

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

Name: Cooper Alexander McCoy

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Style/ Colour: Blond. Very short in the back and on the sides, slightly longer on top/in front. Gets curly the longer it gets. Short, scratchy beard.

Height: 6ft 4in (193.04cm)

Clothing Style: Jeans and t shirt or tank top. Regular work boots (cowboy boots are for special occasions), and a rather beat up brown cowboy hat. Big sunglasses. The t shirts and tank tops are usually plain but Cooper has some 80s band shirts he’ll rock. Also has some of those 80s style crop tops he wears on occasion (some actual crop tops and sometimes he’s just wearing what he finds around the county and the shirts are too small and turn into crop tops). He gets cold very easily and has been building a collection of flannel shirts, hoodies, and denim jackets since he got to Montana. He’d really like to save up and buy either a cool western style coat or a leather jacket or both. He also owns a couple of pairs of very short denim shorts (Daisy Dukes more or less) but hasn’t broken them out in Hope County yet. 

Best Physical Feature: Where to begin? His physique, his sparkling eyes, those ARMS. But if I had to pick one I’d say his smile. Gotta love that big goofy grin. (rest of the layers under the cut.)

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: Cooper is afraid that nobody actually cares about him as a person and that they only like him because they find him useful. Also that he’ll never reconcile with his estranged parents and never get to see them again. 

Guilty Pleasure: Cooper doesn’t feel guilty about things he enjoys for the most part. But the hooking up with John Seed thing.....yeah, definitely a guilty pleasure.

Biggest Pet Peeve: People assuming he’s an idiot just because he can be absent-minded and forgetful (Cooper has ADHD). More recently, when Jacob calls him “pup” Cooper fucking HATES that. (May or may not be writing in a scene of him clocking Jacob over that.....hmm).

Ambition for the Future: Cooper tries not to think about the future for the most part, he’d rather live in the now. But he does have a vague idea of settling down with someone and having a ranch with horses and cows, so he can be an actual cowboy. 

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: “oh no....can I please go back to sleep?” (Usually he does for at least another half hour)

What They Think About The Most: John Seed. How in the hell he’s going to get out of this mess. What would be the quickest way to end the war between the Cult and the Resistance so he can get out of Montana.

What They Think About Before Bed: How sexy John Seed is.  Texas. Old friends. New friends.His family. Regrets. How horribly lonely he is...

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Cooper is very proud of his strength. Some of it is vanity, but Cooper really believes if someone is gifted with physical strength and fighting skills like he is, they should use them to protect and help people who don’t have those things, and he thinks that’s both his best physical quality and his best personality trait. 

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Either, but if Cooper is really interested in someone he’d prefer a single date so he can get to know them better.

To be Loved or Respected: loved. 

Beauty or Brains: Both or either. Cooper might tend to go for beauty more but only because he’s had bad experiences with “smart” people in the past who were really condescending to him and kind of hurtful. If someone’s smart but kind though, Cooper would totally befriend them/be interested in them, even if they weren’t classically good-looking. 

Dogs or Cats: Both!

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “Well yeah, I mean, I have to. I gotta survive, at least for a little while, and really, a lot of folks can’t handle the truth so it’s kinder to lie to ‘em.”

Believe in Yourself: “I guess so....most of the time.”

Believe in Love: “Yeah, I’ve seen enough of the world to know it’s out there....can make people do some fucked up stuff sometimes too. And some good things I guess. But yeah, it’s real.”

Want Someone: “...........yes......”

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: “Does stripping count?”

Done Drugs: “Hell yeah.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “For sure. Sometimes you have to.”

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’s THEIR…

Favourite Colours: Yellow or sky blue

Favourite Animal: longhorn cows, or dogs.

Favourite Book: The only books Cooper has ever finished were for school and he hated them.

Favourite Game: Red Dead Redemption 2! 

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: 8/18/1985

Age You Lost Your Virginity: 17

Does Age Matter?: Yes. 

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: [REDACTED] ....uuuh the night sky :)

I feel: lost

I hide: my past. 

I miss: Texas

I wish: the Peggies would just calm down, give up, and go back to being a weird church and leave these people here alone.

Tagging: @madsismad @risenlucifer @pd3 @dep-yo-tee @deputycolt @deputyrhiannonhale @deathvalleyqueen @chyrstis @amistrio @iigoart @indigorox @unleashed111 @sleepfight @goodboiboomer-fc5​ @glitchinndn​ @nightwingshero​

#OC: Cooper McCoy #my oc #oc facts #far cry 5 oc #OC study #long post #far cry 5 deputy oc #far cry 5 male deputy #far cry 5 male oc #we'll pretend that hat up there is a cowboy hat ok #there's photos of Chris with cowboy hats but the ones I haven't used before are real goofy #like his hair is terrible #i'm sorry young Chris

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 1/10

I’ve held out for a while now, thinking it’d be silly to post this here after finishing edits to this on AO3 back in February (and having an older version of this already up at the FC5 Holiday Exchange), but I think the only thing that was being silly was me. Because extra edits were badly needed, I’d love to add this to my FC5 masterlist, and to anyone that read the original and powered through the whole thing in one go back in December? Kudos to you, because it was always meant to be posted chapter by chapter here instead.

So, without further adieu, here’s Ch. 1 of 10 of the romantic comedy I didn’t plan on writing for them, but am very glad I did. ...Just with 100% more accidental arson and singing fish involved.

And also, many, many thanks to @finefeatheredgamer​ for being the lovely person to prompt this over at the Exchange to begin with. <3

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 4.1K 

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

---

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

-----------

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. 'Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face.

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

---

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much. Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John.

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t, and was actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on, and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.”

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with.

“Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

-

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

-

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, 'cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

John raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette.

Lots of them.

---

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, and loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. Saw it broken down into smaller pieces, smaller sections, and having it all stripped down like this helped him see it for what it was. Doable, and not even half as complicated as he thought it’d be. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like, this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #with the snippet I posted yesterday referring back to this it's only fair to post the actual story #just in easier to read chunks at a time #and if I can finish up the other fic soon after posting Ch. 5 even better #FC5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

[llucy-san]

CHARACTER STUDY

Tagged by lovely @pd3 ❤️ and maybe someone else but.... 🤷‍♀️

@faithchel @ja-crispea @smithandrogers @shelliechen @v3ryvelvet @veinereastath @dieguzguz @f0xyboxes @fadedjacket @risenlucifer @tomexraider @fromathelastoveritaserum @goodboiboomer-fc5 @geronimo-11​

I made it as my OC's would answer this ask game, so go ahead and read if you want to know more about them or how they interact.

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Hope Amelia Lansdowne but Hope is enough.

EYE COLOUR: It's mix of blue and green, but more of blue.

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Long, wavy blond hair, but I like to comb it into a bun or a ponytail.

HEIGHT: 5′6″

CLOTHING STYLE: I usually wear comfortable things like T-shirts, pants, combat boots and of course my military jacket. But you won't find anything fancy like dress in my closet.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: *shrugs* Don't know, whole body i guess. I'm trying to be fit.

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: Lose the ones I love.

GUILTY PLEASURE: I got drunk once so hard with mates, Sharky and Hurk that you don't even want to know where we woke up the next day. A week after our little meeting, I felt still little dizzy. But I would never trade my two to ride and die. NEVER.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: My plane!! You can look at it but don't touch it.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Live life to the fullest and enjoy every moment with our loved ones.

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Glaring at those little numbers on my alarm clock and whisper “I hate you” but then *sighs* I remember all the things that awaits me that day and somehow, I get out of bed.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: If I will have the strength to get up the next day.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: My baby!! I usually fall into bed and instantly fall asleep.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: My flying skills and maybe my humour. There is nothing better than being sarcastic to someone who you don’t like. Or if I won fight over men twice my size.

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: I don't do dates, and quite frankly, I don't even have time for it. But if I have to choose, I prefer single.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Can't I choose both? I think they're both corresponding.

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: Brains, definitely.

DOGS OR CATS: Both, take a look at Bommer and Peaches. They're both so adorable.

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: Who hasn't? I try to be honest but sometimes some situations requires it.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: What kind of bloody question is that? *frowns* Of course, I believe in myself.

BELIEVE IN LOVE: If you meet the right one, go ahead. Though, I was not so lucky.

WANT SOMEONE: Why are you asking? You offer?

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Nope.

DONE DRUGS: Sharky has a lot of stuff, but I keep my hands off it, so no.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: I don't need to pretend in front of anyone to fit in. I am who I am and I will never force myself.

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: Don't have one.

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Wolves, I adores them.

FAVORITE BOOK: *shrugs* I don't read much, but when I do, I read what's first hand.

FAVORITE GAME: If you consider games where you drink a lot, then yes. *shifts in her seat* Hey, you should come to Spread Eagle with me sometimes and we can play our drinking games. Hurk will bring his liquor he got from many journeys he survived and Mary will make her famous cocktails.

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: 24th September

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 25

LAYER 09:

I LOVE: Flying, I have flying in my blood, or just being in lap of nature.

I FEEL: *sighs* Tired of your questions.

I HIDE: My bourbon! You wouldn't believe how hard it is for me to bring it here unseen. Especialy from Sharky cause he will drink anything he can see.

I MISS: My parents. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye with them one last time or go to their funeral.

I WISH: To be done with this so I could go.

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Marcus Adam Lansdowne but Marcus is fine.

EYE COLOUR: Blue

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Short-cut blond, short on the sides and up here *combing his hair* I have to comb it back or hold it with something, usually cap helps me.

HEIGHT: 6′1″

CLOTHING STYLE: T-shirts, pants but also something elegant like suits. But I wear them only at special occasions. 

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: Arms, for sure. But Avery, my wife, will tell you something else.

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: My family above all. All I have left is my sister and my loving wife. So if you so much as look at both of them in the wrong way, *leanes closer in his seat* then, you and I have a problem, mate. 

GUILTY PLEASURE: You would believe me but singing while playing on my guitar.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: When I lose something and Avery or Hope says, "Well, where was the last place you had it?" Seriously? That's being helpful? If I knew the last place I had it, it wouldn't be lost, now would it?

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: I don't know. I have everything I need and don't need anything else.

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Time in the army taught me to get up early so, next question.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: Family

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: What kind of question is this? *frowns* The bed equals rest. What else should I think about? Oh you mean. *clears his throat* Next one.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: Strength, devotion, intellect.

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: I don't know what you want from me anymore.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Respect from others and love from family.

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: Brains.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs.

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: I hate it when people lie to my face, but I'm not an innocent either.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: Yes, I do.

BELIEVE IN LOVE: Yes

WANT SOMEONE: *quirks his eyebrows* I'm hapilly married. Avery is only one I want.

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: No

DONE DRUGS: Never in my life.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: No.

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: Dark blue, black, dark green.

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Wolves, dogs, I don't know.

FAVORITE BOOK: I don't know, but the last time I read something was by Faulkner.

FAVORITE GAME: Hope once took me to one of their gatherings in Falls End and it didn't go so well. Although, I had fun like never before, but I have never had such hangover in my life. And I have to warn you about Sharky's home-made liquor. Strong as hell.

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: 2nd February

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 33

LAYER 09:

I LOVE: Enjoying days with my family and friends or spending time in the woods.

I FEEL: Fine

I HIDE: Nothing you need to know about.

I MISS: Parents. I miss them very much.

I WISH: To stop asking me these odd questions.

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Hayley Louise Moore but friends calls me Hale.

EYE COLOUR: Olive green

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Semi-long chocolate hair and at the ends it turns into soft waves.

HEIGHT: 5′5″

CLOTHING STYLE: It's usually a blouse and a pencil skirt, but also a dress. But what I love most are my sweaters and sweatpants, which I wear in the late evenings while reading books.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: I run around the docks every morning so I'd say legs. Nature here isn't like in Atlanta or New Orleans, but it's much more beautiful.

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: *laughs* Well, my husband's flying. Like, I'm not afraid of flying, but the last time he took me with him and he did his wild stunts like front flips or whatever he calls it, I almost killed him after we landed. I'm not kidding. *shift in her lovechair* Affirmination and I are not friends.

GUILTY PLEASURE: Dancing while vacuuming or cleaning the ranch.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE:

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Seeing my kids grow up into the wonderful adults we're with John trying to raise.

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: New day new beginning. Morning is my favourite time of day.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: Kids, Family, you know stuff like this.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: Sleep, only sleep, and maybe something else, *whisper while leaning closer* but that's not appropriate.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: My persuasive skills. I always get what I want because I learned from the best, I know.

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES:  Single, certainly single. Actually I think I've never been to a group dates before.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Both

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: Brains. No matter how handsome or beautiful you are, I care how you will deal with difficult situations so I choose brains.

DOGS OR CATS: Cats

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: Not often, but only here and there.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: Yep.

BELIEVE IN LOVE: I do.

WANT SOMEONE: Why are you asking? Only my husband.

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Nope

DONE DRUGS: No, it will completely destroy your brain.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: I've never been able to pretend who I'm not, so no.

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: I don't have a favourite colour, but my wardrobe mostly consists of soft colours and black and white combination.

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Cats because of their eyes.

FAVORITE BOOK: Fitzgerald. I love Great Gatsby.

FAVORITE GAME: I don't play games much. I'm not very good at them.

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: 15th August

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 27

LAYER 09:

I LOVE: Watching my husband cook, because have you seen someone like him work around in the kitchen? *glances behind her shoulder* I just adore him.

I FEEL: Good

I HIDE: My cookies!! Listen, I love Jacob, he is my favourite brother in law but he always eats almost everything on plate before I can. I have to be fast if I want at least one or two cookies from Faith.

I MISS: Every now and then I miss my life in Atlanta and my best friend Nadia. *sighs* God, you should meet her, you’d love her.

I WISH: To have at least one of those delicious cookies cause my brother in law just came so if you don't mind I will go.

#oc ask thing #oc asks #oc hope amelia lansdowne #oc markus adam lansdowne #oc hayley moore #fc5oc #Thank you for tagging me ❤️ #my oc's

[solesurvivorkat]

FC5 Deputy GFH Dialogue

(Quickie ‘Katie IRL’ Update: So sorry for lack of writing... to be succinct, I might have a sleep disorder, possibly Sleep Apnea - been very tired/lethargic for several months now, finally have a test scheduled for late August. Will have to ‘make do’/power through fatigue until then. I will do my best to jump-start my writing {and my YT channel} until then!

Also - as for ‘I Need to Tell You’ (FC5 no-cult AU fic) - I don’t think I have a ton of readers for that one, so I’m just gonna stick to the movie-plot where I can & finish it up {the end is nearing!}. If anyone wants to read anything else from that ‘verse, lemme know & I’ll whip something up - otherwise, I’m gonna finish that up & get back to working on ‘The Book of John’ again, which is loooong overdue {poor Sarah’s been in John’s bunker forever, lol!}. THAT said... )

~~~~~~~~

Deputy Sarah Rook

(NOTE: My apologies if Sarah’s dialogue is similar to anyone else’s OC’s... I promise and swear that if it happens, it’s purely coincidental. I am adamant about not {purposely} stealing anyone else’s creativity! <3  Also, this is quite long... but it’s not everything in FC5, so if you like it & want even more, just lemme know, lol.)

With Fangs for Hire:

Boomer: “Aww, who’s my sweet, brave boy?” (kisses forehead) - “Good boy, Boomer!” - “I know what it’s like to have someone you love taken away from you... but don’t worry boy, you’re not alone. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never are again.” - “I won’t let Eden’s Gate use you, I promise.” - “Boomer, go!” - “Rae-Rae won’t have died in vain, I promise you.”

Peaches: “I’m... usually more of a dog person - but as long as I get to keep all my fingers and limbs, I’m satisfied.” - “Peaches, attack!” - “Us girls gotta stick together, right?” - “Hmm... one blue eye, one brown. Unique!” - “Needless to say, a cougar’s a very dangerous pet. Miss Mable never should have tried to raise you in captivity. Still... it can be handy to have a cougar for an ally.” - (gives affectionate pets) “Aww, my sweet little ‘danger kitty’...”

Cheeseburger: “You’re like a... big, dangerous teddy.” (laughs) - “Cheeseburger! How are ya, buddy?” - “Wade was sweet to look after you. I promise I’ll try to do the same.” - “I will not let Jacob take you.” - “Ohh, those big brown eyes of yours...” - “I can’t believe Wade not only found a collar to fit you, but also one that had cheeseburgers on it. Wow.” - “I’m glad you’re on my side, boy.” - “No, I can’t give you any more cheeseburgers. ...Stop looking at me like that, you know they’re not good for you. ...You’re on a diet, remember? ...  (sighs)  .....Okay, ONE burger. Don’t tell anyone.”

With other Guns for Hire:

Sharky

(serious) “Sharky... just between us... you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” - “Sharky... never change.” (smiles)

“Sharky, I know fire is your, uh- ‘specialty’, but... you need to try not burning down half the forest with us!” 

“Anything you say, Charlemagne.” 

“You and Hurk are a dangerous duo - in more ways than one.” 

(horrified, after hearing about his mom/parents) “Anyone who'd do that to an innocent baby doesn’t deserve them. You’re better off, Shark.” 

(cheesy grin) “I hope Eden’s Gate stocked up on ‘Shark repellent’!” 

(when fighting together) “Time for a ‘Shark attack’!” - “You’ve got us between a rock and a shark place!” - “Sarah and Shark, makin’ their mark!” - “You might be better off using your gun here, Sharky.”

“Disco, Sharky? Really? (sighs) ...All right, to each his own.”

“Hey Sharky, got a bad joke for ya - what’s a shark’s favorite bible story? ...’Noah’s Shark’!”

“Ride or die, buddy!”

“No matter what, I’ve always got your back, Sharky.”

Grace

(chuckles nervously/anxiously after seeing ‘serious/deadpan Grace’) “Sorry, I... joking around is kind of my ‘defense mechanism’...”

“A medal in the Olympics... that’s amazing, Grace. ...Er- no pun intended.”

“For what it’s worth... thank you for your service to our country.”

(after Grace mentions destroying copies of ‘Only You’, Sarah chuckles sadly) “Y’know, it’s funny... I actually used to like that song...”

“I know you want to protect your dad’s grave, I do completely understand... but we also need to help protect innocent people that’re still living too, you know? They need us... need you.”

Hurk

"Hercules Drubman Junior - as I live and breathe." (smiles)

“Hurk, I... don’t think a rocket launcher is the best weapon to use right now...”

“As... ‘tempting’ as ‘Hurk’s Gate’ sounds, I... don’t think it’s quite for me.”

(at a loss for words) “...Oh Hurk...”

“Y’know Hurk... there is a lot more to life than beer, drugs, and sex...” - (Hurk {looks horrified}: “...Say whaat? What’choo talkin’ ‘bout, Dep??”)

“Hurk, just... be careful.”

(stares blankly, then slowly raises an eyebrow) “...Monkey... King/God??”

“No offense dude, but... if your dad doesn’t stop talking I may have to ‘accidentally’ shoot him.”

(sneaking around) “You’re not exactly the ‘king of stealth’. Why don’t... you hang back here for a minute? I’ll signal you or call out if I need you.”

“To each their own, but ‘partying’ is... not really my thing.”

Adelaide

(pointing in turn to Sharky, Hurk, then Addie, during ‘tongue-in-cheek’ suggestions for Sarah) “No, no, and HELL no.”

(Addie: "Punch it Chewie! ...Bet you got a kick out of that, you fuckin’ nerd.") “Hey- I love the reference, and I’m proud of who I am. ...Mostly.” (smiles)

“Addie, for the last time - no, I did not inspect John's underwear drawer when I was at Seed Ranch. I was a little occupied at the time.” (turns bright red as Addie looks thrilled) “...That- that’s not what I meant!”

(reluctantly) “Addie? I kind of need some... ‘womanly advice’.” - (Addie, eyebrows raised: “And you came to me?? Oh hunny...”)

“While I appreciate your... ‘openness’, no - I do not need ‘tips’ from you and Xander about ‘positions’.”

“Addie... ‘showing more cleavage’ is not going to help me with the Seed brothers or Eden’s Gate, despite your insistence.”

“...I am not playing ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’...”

Nick

(after flying Carmina - and puking once landed) “Nick... if you ever make me do that again... I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be bad.”

“Flying may be great for you, but I’m much happier with my feet on the ground.”

“I’ll protect you and your family as much as I can - that’s a promise.”

“Defending your business, plane, home, family, and friends like you have been... I’m sure your family would be very proud of you.”

“There he is, ‘King of the Skies’!”

“You and Kim... you’re lucky to have each other. I kind of envy that.”

“Rook and Rye - on land and in the sky!“

“I know fighting Eden’s Gate is important, but... don’t forget to be there for Kim too. We’ve [the Resistance] got this... Kim and your baby need you more.” 

(After Carmina's born) "How's Kim and the baby? You'd better be taking good care of my goddaughter!"

Jess

“I know we grew up in very different ‘environments’, but... I also know what it’s like to feel alone for a long time. No pressure, but... I’m here if you ever need someone to lend an ear.”

(re: Jess’s insane survival skills) “...You’ve got to teach me that/how to do that sometime.”

“You’re related to Dutch? Wow, that’s... kinda cool.”

“I thought I swore a lot, but... wow.”

“Yeah... I’m not one for small talk, either.”

In Combat

(to herself, stressed) “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...”

“Aw shit...”

“Fucking Peggies!”

(to herself, quickly and quietly) “You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day...”

“Let’s kick some Peggie ass!”

(to herself) “I can do all things through him who strengthens me...”

“May God have mercy on you.”

“I don’t think my soul is the one that needs saving!”

Driving

(hears ‘Oh John’ on the radio & starts humming along. After a couple seconds, realizes what she’s doing and shakes her head, murmuring to herself) “...Damnit...”

“I’m driving? If you say so.”

“ ‘Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need... roads.’ “ (smug grin)

“I used to like driving. Found it kind of relaxing, most of the time. ...That was before I started having to get used to being pursued and chased down by Eden’s Gate trucks.”

“Time for... LUDICROUS SPEED!”

“Fasten your seatbelts... it’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

Idle

“...So...?”

“Everything okay? Do you need a break?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I spent most of my life in New England - Connecticut, actually. Born and raised. I moved out to Hope County only a few years ago, when the Deputy job opened up. Thought it’d be... a ‘fresh start’. ...Definitely didn’t expect anything like all this to happen.”

“I used to roll my eyes - or want to - every time the Sheriff and the other Deps called me ‘Rookie’. They thought it was so funny, on account of my last name and all, and me being the newest addition to the department. Now that we’re all spread out and fighting against the cult... I think I kind of miss it.”

“Some of the most horrible things imaginable... have been done by people who claim they had ‘good reasons’ behind their actions.”

“There’s an old proverb that states, ‘Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works’. ...There’s a lot of wisdom in that.”

“God has a reason for everything, even if we don’t always understand why...”

“The right thing to do is not always the easy thing to do...”

“Faith is believing in things when common sense tell you not to.“

“Imagine the things we could accomplish... if we would just try.”

“ ‘Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.’ ...Make fun of me all you want, but it’s true.”

“I do love nature. ...You know... when it’s not being interrupted by religious idiots.”

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear... it’s deciding that something is more important than fear.”

Recruiting/Greeting

“I’ll do everything I can... you can count on it.”

“Good to see you again.”

“Let’s do this.”

“Stronger together!”

Dismissal

“Until we meet again - stay safe.”

“Call me if you need me.”

“Done already? Aww, you’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

Injured/Down

“God damnit... not yet...”

“FUCK!”

“This can’t be it...”

“I’m sorry... I tried...”

“I need some help!”

Revived/Assisted

“Thanks... now let’s teach these assholes a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

“Never tell me the odds!”

“Never give up, never surrender!”

“Thanks for the help!”

“Thanks... our work’s not done yet!”

Stealth

“Shh... ‘silence is golden’, remember?“

“Keep a low profile!”

“Be cautious...”

“Don’t let ‘em see you comin’...”

“ ‘Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise...’ ”

Being aimed at

“Watch where you’re pointing that.”

“I’m a much better shot than I let on. Just remember that.”

“Two hits - me hitting you, and you hitting the ground. I suggest you aim elsewhere.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Location-Specific:

By any body of water: “When I lived in Connecticut, I loved seeing the ocean. The lakes in Montana can be beautiful, but... it’s not quite the same.”

The Henbane: “Freakin’ Bliss.” / “Please promise me... that you’ll never, ever let me end up like one of Faith’s Angels.” / “Exploiting people’s weaknesses and fears to get them to do what you want... it’s wrong on so many levels.” / “Rachel Jessop wasn’t the first, or even the second ‘Faith Seed’... I wonder if she’s ever afraid of ending up like them.” / “God wants people to follow him willingly, to choose to do good - not be forced into it with trickery and fear. Even if - in an insane world - Joseph was right, it doesn’t excuse the things that Eden’s Gate has done. If they have a message to spread, this isn’t the way to do it.”

Holland Valley: “Saying ‘Yes’ to everything doesn’t make you a better person.” /  “Many people know the seven deadly sins... but few people can name - let alone even know about - the 'seven virtues': chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. ...But you don’t see John tattooing those on people.” / John is... he’s done some horrible things. Committed heinous acts. But knowing the life he had to endure as a child when the Duncans adopted him... I hate so many of the things he’s done, but... part of me can’t help feeling sorry for him, too.” / “Underneath all those layers of ‘jackass’, way, waaaay deep down... I think there’s a lot of hurt and pain in John.”

The Whitetails: “Jacob acts like having feelings, friends, caring for things and people makes you weak. It’s just the opposite... having things to fight for - people to fight for - is a strength. More than just a ‘purpose’ - it’s a blessing.” / (angry) Jacob turning me into a weapon of destruction... he’s going to pay for that. / Forcing Bliss on animals to turn them into Judges... it’s wrong on multiple levels. / “I’m ‘weak’, Jacob? I’ll show you what a ‘weak’ person can do.”

#far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry 5 oc #fc5 oc #my oc #junior deputy #female deputy #deputy sarah rook #sarah rook #deputy rook #guns for hire #fangs for hire #travelling companions #fc5 dialogue #far cry 5 dialogue

[nightwingshero]

Unwanted

Okay guys, so I’ve been working on two different stories for FC5: one that follows the game and the other is a burlesque/mafia au that I couldn’t get out of my head. This is the first piece of work I’ve posted for Wren and John, and its for the burlesque au. I’m going to be posting my work on AO3 soon, but I got really excited about this and wanted to share it! Trigger warning for some alcohol use and dark thoughts, so read at your own risk!

Her green, venomous eyes were taunting. She sneered at everything that came across her withering gaze, her hips swaying with a little extra effort to gain the attention from those around her. It was in vain, of course, with Rowan’s performance still in full swing. But that didn’t stop this woman from holding her head high as she looked down her nose to our dancers. We’ve had people in here before from the first class. Most of the time, they were pleasant, friends of Whitney or John. Some just stopping through to check out the club they’ve heard so much about, but that southern charm had never failed. Until now.

She flipped her platinum blonde hair, the curls catching the little light that created the ambiance. Her short emerald dress hugged her curves, showcasing her breasts perfectly. I was almost impressed. I shifted a bit, fidgeting with the material of the outfit I wore for my last performance. I was talking to John before he had ducked outside to take a call from a client. I stood there, waiting for his return, but as her gaze narrowed on me, I knew I was in for it.

“Where’s John?” she asked in a clipped voice. I would have thought her beautiful, if her personality had matched. I frowned at her.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s asking?” I asked in curiosity. John had people come in here and there, asking for his time. This wasn’t new. He would brush them off, telling us to make sure to ask who they were and why they wanted to see him. He was so allusive here, insistent that his business hours were always clearly communicated. If those expectations weren’t met, then too bad. He took his schedule seriously.

She sneered at me, her glossy lips shimmering with her teeth. “I’m his fiancée. Now, go tell him that I’m here.” My brows shot up in surprise as my heart stopped. Fiancée? He had never mentioned…

“I didn’t realize he was engaged.” I replied quietly, hoping to keep the disappointment hidden. I felt deflated, as if someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to stay neutral, not give away how my heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the thought of it. But she smirked, her green eyes twinkling.

“Well, he is.” She let out a little laugh. “Its cute, you know? This little crush you have.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh please.” She snapped. “It’s so obvious. He probably already knows. You wear it on your sleeve. It’s disgusting and pathetic.” She clicked her tongue as she gave her a look of pity. “Let me guess, you’re some country girl from the middle of nowhere who is trying to make it in the big city. Am I right?” I don’t answer. I’m raging, the blatant rudeness wiggling under my skin. But I can’t seem to defend myself. My tongue feels heavy and the tears are coming. It only fuels her, knowing she is so close to making me collapse into myself like a house of cards.

“Oh honey, did you really think he would go for that? Some little girl playing dress up when she belongs back on the farm? You’re way out of your league.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as she squeezes with a false sense of reassurance. As if we were in this together, the two of us against the world. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Saving you from the humiliation of rejection. John has standards, a particular taste darling. And this? This isn’t you. It’s not fitting in the slightest. Whore isn’t exactly on John’s radar. He prefers women of class, love. You’re beneath him. It’s time for you to understand that you’ll never be good enough for him.” She smiles again, before rubbing her hand on my cheek. Then with a slight smack against my skin, she’s gone, and my eyes are catching Whitney’s shocked ones.

The room spins as I lean against a chair for support as Whitney tries to call for me. Fight or flight is strong in my veins, roaring in my ears as my stomach twists and twists, creating something I don’t recognize within me. Reforming, as I stumble to the back, desperate for something I can cling to, something real I can put inside myself to make me real. I’m a ghost of something as I gather my things to leave. The breath in me is gone, forcing me to choke on the stale cigarette smoke Adelaide is supplying. I’m almost in a trance, and yet I feel some sort of clarity. The fantasy broken like a magic mirror, and suddenly I am seeing my true self in the broken pieces lying before me. I barely register Faith’s words, but I’m sure she’s asking if I’m alright. I smile, say yes, pretend that I’m still the same person on that stage. She’s not convinced and so I tell her I’m going home. My sleeve must be dirty from everything that shows there.

I leave quickly, feeling like a fool. Perhaps I should laugh, like most clowns do, pulling all those emotions out of my sleeve like a colorful handkerchief chain. That would require a voice, something I was lacking. A mime would be more fitting. My body the tool, invisible and locked inside a box I created for myself as I tried to put on a display. A vision no one had wanted, the piece of art that sat in the back unwanted. I forced a sob down as I entered my car, fumbling for the keys.

I wish I could say that I remembered getting to my apartment. Out of character for small town Wren, sweet little Wren. The box was closing in, my chest threatening to implode. I let go, the tears and sobs forcing my body curl into itself on my bed. The little moments were a mirage, something my naïve brain believed to be something more. How many times had he been there to protect me? His bullet wound had only just healed. How many times had he saved me? The disaster of a date with Detective Pratt merely weeks ago. I could still taste the fear on my tongue as Pratt plied me with glass after glass of wine. The gentleness in which John had handled me, almost caring. Like I was the most fragile thing in his world.

I scream them into my pillow, the broken pieces of my heart. Pieces of my soul shattering like the illusion of him, the illusion of what I thought we could have become. I breathe in deeply and that’s when I feel the shift, the steel resolve of my psyche overcoming me. It’s the numbness I notice first, turning my sobs into nothing. I rise, making my way to the kitchen like a vengeful spirit that is the one being haunted. The vase is crystal, a gift from Adelaide for the new place, but it’s the flowers I want. He had them sent to me, celebrating our big show only a few nights prior. I laughed to myself, remembering the rush I had felt. For the first time, I had felt high. Elated.

I swayed, humming to myself a bit as I made my way to the bathroom. Turning the chrome handle, I began to run the hot water, desperate to feel the burn against my skin to help me rid myself of her touch. To purge the gaze that had taken me in with such disdain, as if I was a stain upon this earth. Her tainting touch scorched my skin, leaving an invisible mark that only I could see. That I could feel. And with that, I ripped the soft petals from the stems, allowing them to sprinkle down into the water. They dance across the surface, a secret waltz that only they knew.

One by one, I light candle after candle, a dark ritual that was only just beginning. My hair is twisting up and up, piling elegantly on top of my head, and then I’m dipping into the water. The warm, baptizing water welcoming me, loving me as it takes me as I am. Scars and all, it holds me securely in it’s embrace. I could almost hear the shushing of its calming voice, almost feel the comforting fingers of my mother as she played with my hair. The ghost of her was almost enough, pushing me back to a time where I didn’t have to feel the weight of loss or rejection.

And suddenly, her ghost is gone. Blue eyes have taken over haunting me, her fingers replaced by his tattooed ones. He plays me like a harp, pulling my tight strings just so he could hear me sing, watch as I move with a simple flick. The hypnosis of his ocean eyes is deep and tempting, calling for my drowning. They wish to claim my last breath, the very last bit of my being. And I’m rising from the water, panic clawing my throat because I can feel the pull, feel his gaze as I felt hers. I fight off the tears that demand to be seen, that want the show they so rightfully deserve. It was only fair, my heart screams, but I laugh at it. Life is never fair.

I stand naked in the mirror, but I see her standing next to me. The blue bloods that own this city, the embodiment of the perfect Georgia peach. A woman I could see John taking by the waist with pride. Her red lips and dark lashes, the long neck and golden blonde hair on display for all to see. My body not nearly as lean or as striking. I imagined her in her castle as a child, the beautiful princess of Atlanta, ruling her kingdom with her head held high. My childhood filled with softball tournaments and the old beaten up acoustic guitar that slept in the corner, while she attended operas and orchestra concerts. A culture I had never dreamed of, a social circle that could never be touched by the likes of me.  

I dry my skin, the feeling of being paper thin is overwhelming. I laugh to myself, because I know what comes next. I know what I’m about to do. It’s silly, childish, and yet I glide to my dresser. Slowly, I pull out my favorite number, something I had always imagined wearing for him. Not on stage, no. This was something for him and him alone. I put on the bra, the black lace striking against my skin and suddenly I’m untouchable. Slipping on the lacey underwear to match, I turn to my closet, desperate for the last pieces. The silk ebony robe sending shivers down my spine as it caresses me, and it’s as if I’m being held in my lover’s arms. The heels are last, simple and elegant. Tall and black, two thin straps leaving my feet bare, the same shoes I had worn to my father’s funeral. I felt like death herself, all powerful and ready to take whatever she wanted. Provocative and demanding, a queen among men.

My hair is released, falling like a waterfall down my back. It felt good to pretend, to believe in this moment that I was like her, that I wasn’t me. That I was a woman that was cherished and wanted, an envy-worthy being. I reason with myself; I know I’ve gone mad. I had fallen off the deep end and taken flight, and it had never felt better. The feeling addicting, the need for more growing and growing. The heels clicked against the wood floor, fueling me. The righteousness they sang, the vengeance they demanded, it became a soothing lullaby.

The kitchen is dark, only the light above the stove and sink burned with life. I reached for the most expensive red wine I had, pouring a glass with a smile of satisfaction. The blood red liquid was all consuming, drawing me closer. The dark, bitter taste becoming my sanctuary, but I wasn’t done. No, far from it. And as I sat down at my small vanity back in the bathroom, I choke yet again on a sob, and force out a laugh instead. I had a plan, a traitorous plan against the tears that begged for the freedom they longed for. I knew how to trick the emotions into becoming wisps of smoke on the inside of my porcelain glass exterior. I had never been an artist, but I paint. The burgundy against my lips, the black liquid liner creating sharp edges that would dare touch without permission. The brush then creates a frame for the windows of my soul, residing in the blue green irises staring back at me. They’re heavy, sad even, but the mascara does its job and I finish with a flourish.

I’m suddenly beautiful, a perfect doll someone would love to have, to play with, and have on their arm. I wonder briefly which arm he would use to put around my own waist, and suddenly my vision swims. I scoff as I hold my head high and take a sip in victory, toasting myself for outsmarting the betrayal of my heart that suddenly matched the blue of his eyes. I was so strong, I told myself. I was better. But as I held the glass gently, it became comforting to me, whispering sweet nothings and promising me a numbness that kept me safe and sound. I knew I was lying to myself. I was far from better.

A sound pulls me from the calling, and I set the glass down as I rose. The noise led me to my bedroom window, finding a cat messing with some metal trashcans as it scavenged for its next meal. Then I hear the soft clicking of my front door, and I scoff while squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I should have known. Rowan was the only other one with a key, and I could almost bet that Faith had sent her my way. The wine’s singing int the next room, creating an atrocity of noise in my head. Perhaps just one glass, just to get the noise to go away. To make everything quiet.

Rowan would wait patiently in the living room; she respected my privacy. She wouldn’t just wander around. No, she would sit on the couch or at the kitchen table, preparing for whatever conversation she had planned on having. “Rowan, I’ll be out in a moment.” I call out in a sigh, letting her know I was aware of her and wasn’t being ignored. “I hope your show ended well. Sorry I wasn’t there to see the grand finale.” Every word was an effort, taking energy away from me. I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

I give only a few more seconds as I come to my decision and began making my way back to my bathroom. I could down the glass quickly. Rowan gives no response, but I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. But as I step into the bathroom, I freeze. The blood in my veins suddenly turn to ice and my breath hitches. The glass was missing, as if it were never there in the first place. Sad and confused, I approach the vanity. The red wine, that had matched my lips, was gone. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded that I could never be her, or any of them. The beautiful women that could seduce him with just a soft smirk, a glance in his direction as her finger curled, beckoning him closer. I cringe as I turn away. I didn’t need another reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

“Rowan, give it back. I’m fine. Let me finish my fucking wine.” I stomp down the fall, my heels screaming their wrath. That’s how I enter my kitchen, ready for war, but I stop as something catches my attention. I make my way to the sink in a daze as I reach for my empty glass, the stain from my former lipstick taunting me. The wine bottle is set down and I reach for it, not caring of the guest I had yet to acknowledge. The lightness of the glass bottle tells me exactly what I had been thinking, it had not been spared. Everything was empty, just like me.

I slam the bottle down as I clench my teeth, seething. I wanted to scream, to see the world burn with the rage I was feeling. “Rowan!” I snap and I begin to shake, but whether it was from anger or the lack of control, I wasn’t sure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I barely had any—”

I’m no longer yelling but choking on the gasp that rushes out as fingers caress my neck, a hand gripping my hip tightly. They tease at the base of my neck before tracing my collarbone. The hand on my hip is sliding and sliding until its entangled with the knot of my robe. I know this touch, this gentle melody against my skin. The same gentle caress that ran over my skin as he marked me, embedding his creation into my skin with his dark ink. A permanent work of art that would be displayed on me for the rest of my life, and then suddenly he grasps my neck, squeezing only slightly. I knew what this was. I knew that this was a punishment, his own way of showing his disappointment for my lapse. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trusted him, and I knew that concern was driving his anger. My head rests against his shoulder as his lips find my ear.

“Promise?” he asked, dead serious. His breath makes me shiver and I breath out slowly through my nose. “Promise me that that’s all you had, Wren. Do not lie to me.”

“I promise, John.” I whispered in shame. He knew, god he knew. I was usually good, drinking only in moderation and at social events. I was so careful. But he knew, in this moment, that I had no intention of stopping. I was so swept up in the hurt, in the insecurity and anxiety, that I hadn’t realized how quickly I was falling down the rabbit hole. I make a sound at the back of my throat, and I feel my armor began to fall, disintegrating into nothing as I’m fighting the tears that are coming back.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to cry. His lips find the junction of my neck and I sigh. Rowan wouldn’t have taken that step, pouring everything I had down the sink. That just wasn’t how she was. She would have lectured, sure. Express disappointment? Absolutely. John wasn’t like that. John was bold, unafraid of anything that ever came his way. I let out a shaky breath as he pulled away, his hand leaving my neck as his finger gently turned my chin. His lips found mine and I couldn’t think.

How long had we skirted around this? How many times had we came this close, but never crossed the line? The stolen glances, the shameless flirting. The way he held me the night I was almost shot in the alley, and yet neither of us were willing to take it further. I could almost laugh, because I had thought for so long it was just me. I was crushing on someone way out of my league. I had believed the words that woman had said. And suddenly, I remembered exactly why I was in this situation. I’m his fiancée.

He pulled away as the tears fell, and I looked away from him. He wasn’t having it. Gripping the front of my robe, he jerks me around. It takes only a few seconds for him to see, and without missing a beat, his hands are on my thighs. He sets me up on the counter as a sob successfully, finally, escapes my lips. His hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe the tears away. His eyes are soft and they’re pulling me in, a tug on my seams as I become undone. I tore my gaze away, trying to hide everything I was feeling.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his face close enough that I can feel his breath. I looked back, fear and hurt all over my face. “Listen to me and listen very closely. You are enough. Do you hear me? Wren, you are enough.”

“Enough for you?” I croaked as I cried. My hands twisted as the clung to his white button up shirt. I was creating wrinkles, but neither of us cared. His brow furrowed and his jaw ticked.

“Enough for me? God Wren, who gives a shit about me?” He gently pokes my chest, against my beating heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I think or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Anyone.” He sneered as a dark look swirled in his cerulean orbs. “All that matters, is that you’re enough for you. You matter, Wren. You come first.”

“But that woman said—”

“That woman is nothing. Her opinion is nothing. She will never touch you, or get close to you, do you understand? She’s a liar and a manipulator. A child throwing a tantrum for not getting what she wants.”

I shook my head, my insecurities still whispering doubts. “She’s so pretty, John. She’s so thin, and I’m nothing like her. I’m not like her.” I sobbed.

He chuckled, a soft smile gracing his lips and showing off his perfect teeth. The light gave him a heavenly glow, yellow highlighting his features that made him look warm. “No, you’re not. You’re nothing like her, Wren. But that’s one of the biggest things I love about you.” He gently pressed his thumb against my lips, helping silence my sobs as I hung onto every word. “Shhh. Don’t cry, darling. Do you not see? Do you not understand just how beautiful you are, inside and out? Do you not know what it is you do to me?”

“John—” I gasped, but he presses his lips softly against mine before pulling back.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of little else since I’ve first laid eyes on you.” He whispers. “I get to watch you, Wren. I get to watch you every night when you perform, and I want nothing more than to devour you, to have you all to myself.” He tugged the robe loose, making it fall open and his eyes travelled down. My skin heated immediately from his attention, his finger returning to my chest as it teasingly traced the top of my breast. “I waited, bidding my time for the perfect moment. It never seemed to come, though, and I had to watch as that idiot detective circled you. But I protected you when you needed, listened to you when you needed the shoulder to cry on. I wanted you, craved you, but needed you to be happy, to be ready and unafraid. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I laughed and his smile broadened as he leaned back. “So…you’re not engaged?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. We used to be, but that was years ago. She’s nothing to me.” He placed a light kiss on my nose, before going for my lips, but I stopped him. He gave me a look and I smirked.

“Did you break into my apartment?” I asked, my brow raising, and he gave me a smirk in return.

“Oh darling, I plead the fifth.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“It is not. Need I remind you that I’m innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, a breathless laugh escaping him. He gave me a mischievous smirk, something dancing in his eyes that made my lower abdomen pull as I bit my lip. “I heard about what happened, Whitney told Rowan and I everything. Rowan was enraged, I believe she may or may not have taken a swing at our unwanted guest. I didn’t stay though, I needed to check on my girl.” He tilted my chin up gently, his lips brushing mine lightly. “And you are my girl, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, John. I’m yours.” I breathed out and his lips crashed against mine once more. Everything forgotten as a sense of relief settled over me. My heart swelled as his hands caressed lovingly against my skin, holding me, and driving the last of my inner demons into the shadows as I fell into his sweet embrace.

#wren blake #john seed #burlesque au #poor wren #she needs a hug #dark thoughts #go john #sorry not sorry #please be nice #i tried #their first post

[they-are-not-just-stories]

I've been wondering how the Seed brothers would response to having to change their toddler's diaper, a baby girl, but don't know if they should barge into the ladies restroom or expose her to the men's restroom.

Aww thank you for the ask bbg!! Also this is so freakin cute!! 

Joseph: He would be a little afraid at first because he didn’t get to do this with his first daughter. He would be flustered and SUPER nervous. Most likely he would have Faith with him to guide him through it (we all can agree she can have that motherly aura around her). He wouldn’t want John or Jacob there because he feels they are too rough around the edges. He would try to sneak her into the men’s room, but feeling awkward there. Or he would just take her to a small office he had at his church. Once he was able to just lay his daughter down on a makeshift changing table and look at her in the eyes, hear her little giggles as he tried to give her a new diaper. “All this time, I was looking for the one who would mother my children. My flock. And bring me to Eden’s gate. But now I see. God has spoken. And here you are my love, my pride and joy. My sweet little girl.” He held her gently in his arms as she drifted off to sleep. He didn’t dare move and wake her, just carefully making sure she was still breathing. He watched her little angelic face smiling slightly in her slumber. This boy was done for. He was completely in love. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and would protect her with his life. 

(I know the gif isn’t FC5 related, but I could see this being Joseph and his baby girl)

John: He would definitely barge into a women’s room. It’s not like it would be the first time time he did either. He would just march in and be absolutely disgusted. Overly dramatic because “She peed. on. My. PRADA! You see this! On. MY. PRADA!!” and “Oh god, WHAT the HELL is that smell?! SHE cannot possibly produce that much!!” The women trying to tell him how to do it would just laugh at his state, angering him further. He would be upset and very disgruntled, but when he finally calmed down, his little girl would grab at him and be mesmerized with all his scars and tattoos. Absolutely no judgment in his baby girls, baby blues. And he was in love. He spent his life searching for someone to love him just as he was, and here she was, right in front of him. The best thing to happen to him in a long time. “Maybe changing her diaper wasn’t that bad, but it was still completely disgusting and now my favorite coat is completely ruined! Maybe I should take you to Jacob’s. You can ruin his stuff too sweetheart.” He smiled at his bouncing baby as she giggled at his baby voice. She was everything he needed right in this moment. 

(Definitely John’s baby! All the sass and charm in the eyebrows!)

Jacob: He would just rush her to his office and slam the door behind him. He couldn’t possibly be caught in a moment of weakness in front of his men and some of the women who were soldiers too. He laid his baby girl, hair like a strawberry, on his desk and paced around trying to figure how this worked. He was well trained, could kill a man with the bare minimum, but Jacob Seed, the Soldier, the Wolf, could not change a diaper. However, thinking back to when John was younger, young enough to still have diapers, he tried to remember what he did then. As he worked away on getting his little girl cleaned up, he glanced into her eyes. Brighter than any Montana sunrise. Bluer than any ocean that went perfectly with her red hair. She was perfect. A monster like him producing something as innocent and perfect as her. He couldn’t help but smile as she wrapped her tiny little hand around his thumb. She cooed at him and he leaned down and peppered kisses on her baby belly, his beard tickling her, causing her to be in a fit of giggles. He was completely taken with her, singing Only You to her as she gleamed up at her father. It was his special song, but a completely different meaning just for her. She was his new purpose. To protect her, raise her to be strong, the right way. To be free and caring. He was going to be the father he wished he had, because right now….that’s everything his little girl deserved. 

(Jacob’s little girl! Because we all know he will give her anything she wants without question, just to see her smile!)

Also I’m definitely not crying because I’m completely smitten with this. Soft Seed’s are the best Seed’s! Thank you for the ask darling!

#i added one for thing for jacob's hint hint ;) #jacob seed #joseph seed #john seed #seed brothers #far cry 5

[aceghosts]

2, 4, 6, 12, 15 and 17 for Blue! (thematic asks)

Thank you for these! I'm sorry it took a while to get to these.

Drawing from the language of flowers, what flower would symbolize them?

I associate Blue with the Rocky Mountain Columbine, the state flower of Colorado, and the Colorado Blue Spruce, the state tree of Colorado. I also associate them with Aspen Trees.

Columbine Flowers can represent Endurance, Risk-Taking, and Good Fortune, all things that represent Blue to some degree. (The Risk-Taking is extremely on brand, lol.) Also, in Christianity, the Columbine represents the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. (Guess that ties in nicely with FC5, lol.)

I would also associate Blue with Blue Irises, Yellow Tulips, and Blackthorns, all plants associated with Hope.

What mythical creature would they be represented by?

Answered Here.

Which of the four seasons best fits them?

Spring. While their favorite season is winter, I think Blue represents Spring. In Spring, plants return to life, and animals emerge from their slumber. Spring can symbolize a sort of rebirth, something Blue has gone through even before the events of Hope County.

Are they the sun, moon, stars, or something else in space (black hole, meteor shower, etc)?

Answered Here.

Pick an article of clothing to represent them. What does it mean?

Their brown bomber jacket. Blue is never seen without that jacket during the events of FC5. Despite being shot, stabbed, and blissed, that Jacket has survived everything. Hell, it survives a nuclear blast too. Like Blue, the jacket represents resilience, a promise to get up even when you’ve been knocked down.

What instrument would be used in their leitmotif (essentially their character song in this context)?

I would probably say an acoustic guitar. Think the Last of Us Soundtrack, especially the main theme.

[Thematic OC Asks]

#Kate answers asks #Blue Murphy #these are so much fun to answer #especially the instrument ones #and that jacket definitely has magical powers considering all Blue has put it through lol

[intheforest-hides-a-light]

A New Family | Part 1

Synopsis: Rachel Jessop’s life changes forever the day she meets Joseph Seed, and the seven years that follow are not at all how she expected them to be.

((So tumblr removed all my text from this post when I went to add a hashtag so here I am pasting it back in again *cries* there’s probably errors now haha))

Rating: M

Genre: Angst, Drama, pre-canon

Characters: Faith Seed (Rachel Jessop), Tracey Lader, Joseph Seed + others

Warnings: abuse, drug use, thoughts of suicide, implied sex

Length of Part 1: 6.5k Total Length: TBD

Disclaimer: I don’t own FC5 or its characters, only thing that’s mine is my writing.

a/n: Basically my take on Faith’s story as seen from her eyes. Who she is, how she ended up with PEG and why she stayed. Wrote this waaayy before all the “Did Joseph exploited Faith” drama came about. I’ve always been intrigued by their relationship/power dynamic so this delves into that as the story progresses. Also gets into the role that the Faiths play and why Rachel is different. Enjoy!

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I count the bruises on my arms and legs as I cry alone in my bedroom. Three on the right leg, two on the left. Four on the right arm, five on the left. I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror today but I am sure that my left eye is completely black and blue. There are fingernail scratches along my collarbones. Are they from my dad or from my brother? I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember. I run my fingers through my hair. Masses of strands fall out in clumps. Is it from being dragged across the kitchen last night? Or is it from the incident in the girls’ locker room two days ago? I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember.

I turn my nightstand around, looking for a secret stash of weed I keep hidden in case of emergencies. I find the plastic bag, but it is practically empty. There have been a lot of emergencies in the last three weeks. My backpack is sitting by the door. I head over to it and search the inner secret pocket. Another ziplock bag, empty except for a white powdery residue. I go into the bathroom, open up the lower cabinet door, feel around the upper inside and pull out another bag hidden between the pipe and the wall. Syringes. Empty.

My phone chimes. It’s Tracey. I hesitate to pick up. Deep down all I want is to talk to someone. Tell someone that it happened again, that I am back at the beginning, that no matter how much courage I try to muster up I keep falling back to this same place, dirt low, forgotten. Beaten. The only way up is getting high. That’s the only escape I know.

Tracey doesn’t need drugs like I need drugs. Tracey doesn’t depend on a leafy plant, or a fine white powder or a needle to numb her pain. Tracey is much stronger than me.

I swallow hard and pick up my phone, “Hi, Tracey.”

“Hey girl, how you holding up?”

Just hearing her ask the question shatters me. I hold in my sob, but my voice comes out shaky and weak, “I’m...not...not great.”

“What’s going on?”

“It was bad yesterday. It was really bad.”

“Your dad? Your brother?”

My  father is a pharmacist. Yet somehow, right after mom died, his years of education magically disappeared and he quit his job to start experimenting with homeopathic medicine. Since then things haven’t been so easy. He makes no money. We’re living in debt. He’s looking for a cure for my autistic brother. I try to tell him, because he won’t listen to his graduate degree, that it’s impossible, that David is going to stay that way forever and the only thing that is going to make it any easier on him is love and education. I tell him that and he beats me up. Whatever he cooks up in his lab only makes my brother angry, violent. I think it’s getting into my father’s head too. Sends him into these fits of rage. I go to bed hearing screaming matches between the two of them. I’m afraid that one morning I will wake up and--

I can’t think about it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t have anymore weed. I can’t break down like this because I don’t have a way up.

“Both.”

“Those bitches from school?”

Don’t think about it, Rachel.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry girlfriend. Got that secret stash I gave you?” She’s referring to the pot. She doesn’t know about the other two vices.

“All out.”

I hear her sigh, “You know that’s for emergencies only, Rachel. Not for everyday use. You’re supposed to be getting off that stuff, you know? We’re trying to get you better.”

“I know,” I sniff, “I know Trace. Lately it’s been so hard. I just wish there was a way out. I know I’m failing. I know you probably think I’m a failure but I am trying, I’m really trying.”

She chuckles, but I can tell that it is loving, “Hey. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. OK? I know it isn’t easy. You’re not failing as long as you keep trying. Speaking of which...I think I found a place for us.”

We’ve been planning on running away together, mainly for my sake but also for hers. I need to get away from my dad. And she, well, Tracey’s got it good, but she’s always seeking more from life.

“How far is it?” I inquire.

“Not as far as we hoped, Rach,” she sighs, “Hope County”.

“Well that’s about as local as it gets,” I say with dismay, “What is it?”

“They call themselves Eden’s Gate. The Project at Eden’s Gate.”

“What are they? What do they do?”

“Well they’ve got a sermon tonight at the Ranch in Holland Valley. I’ll drive. Wanna come and find out?”

“I don’t think my dad will let me.”

“Who said you need his permission? Come on Rachel. We’ve snuck out your bedroom window plenty of times. It’ll be just like the old days.”

I look at my window. Nailed shut with wooden planks. Tracey doesn’t know about my father’s latest attempt to keep me in. My door is always locked. My father keeps the key. I can only go out for meals. Meals that aren’t even worth eating. I eat a scoop of peas for dinner and drink a glass of milk for breakfast. I do have my own bathroom, and my own bedroom, but no connection to the outside world other than my cell phone. Which is why those secret stashes meant so much to me.

“Well...I really think I ought to ask first, just in case,” I look down at my bruised legs,  “I can’t afford to get into any more trouble. What do they preach? Maybe I can convince my old man?”

There’s a pause on the other end, “Just tell him they’re Christians. We are going to church.”

“Okay,” I pick at my nails, “I think he’ll be fine with that.”

------

Two hours later, blessed with permission from my unpredictable father, I am trying to cover up my black eye in the mirror. I don’t have a lot of makeup. My mother practically forbade it and my father continued the tradition. The only thing I can wear is concealer when I have a breakout, as every teenager gets. Otherwise he’s scared that I’ll get pregnant. But little does he know, back when Mom was alive, Tracey and I used to waitress at the 8-bit Pizza Bar while we were supposed to be selling girl scout cookies (sixteen is a little old for that anyway, in my opinion).  We’d pick up some good looking boys in there from time to time. It didn’t matter that I didn’t wear any makeup. Guess you could say I had that small town charm going for me. Or maybe it was the fact that I was an easy target. I didn’t have a backbone. I still don’t. The boys were genteel enough. Courteous. Charming. But the minute I got into one of their trucks their hands went straight for me. Not the steering wheel. My breasts. Not the stick shift. My thigh. As if they owned it. As if they won it over. As if it was theirs for the taking from the beginning.

I let them take it. I’ve forgotten how much I owe Tracey for all the morning after pills she brought me. Every night after it would happen, I’d throw rocks and her bedroom window. She’d come down to the front and let me in. We’d go to the backyard, sit in the rocking chairs. Tracey would roll two joints and always gave me the bigger one. She meant well by it, like how a grandmother always gives her grandkids the bigger half of a pastry, but for me it did more harm than good. I would take it anyway, inhaling long drags of the stuff and pretending the smoke held the power to disintegrate my memories, my pain. I’d tell Tracey what happened. Every time it was a variation of the same story, with the same ending. She’d listen to me until I was done, until I’d finished crying and letting it all out. Then we would go back inside. She would make chamomile tea and serve it with oatmeal raisin cookies. I always had at least three because of the weed. Then we’d sleep in her big bed upstairs. When I’d wake up I couldn’t even remember the man’s face.

She kept forgiving me over and over again. She tried to teach me how to stand up for myself. She still does. But she also introduced me to drugs. I smoked pot with her but I found my way into other things in the bad parts of town. Coke. Heroin. I do them when I can do them, which is not very often. I can’t afford it and I can’t get out of the house enough anymore. I don’t think Tracey ever thought I’d become dependent on drugs. I know she only wanted to help me escape. But for me, weed was a gateway drug. It opened up a forest of dangers. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I don’t have the self control that she does. Now she’s trying to wean me off of it. But she’s trying to cut off one head of the hydra. I need to smite all three if I want to get over this.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My complexion, once ruddy and bright, is now sickly, with tired eyes, bruises and scars all over. All of this makes me look like a corpse next to the plump small-town beauties full of spirit and life. I am a ghost. I float through the hallways like a ghost. I haunt my bedroom like a ghost.

I wasn’t always a ghost. I used to take care of myself. I’d lost about fifteen pounds since my mother died. My dad’s cooking is shit. Even though weed makes me hungry I never feel the desire to eat anything because nothing tastes good. My brown-blond hair (God couldn’t make up his mind when he made me, you see, at least that is what my mother would to say) used to be shiny with a slight wave to it, now it’s matte, dull, falling out in clumps and frayed awfully at the ends. I want to die. I feel like if I am a ghost I might as well be dead. I think I started doing heavier drugs because of that. Because I want to die, but I am too much of a coward just to kill myself and get it over with. Part of me hopes against hope that by getting out of this house and hopefully out of this town that I will find some reason to live again. I don’t want to be a ghost. If I’m going to live the rest of my life as a ghost I want to make that life brief, tragic and wasteful, like the duration of a tea candle’s flame.  

The black eye is still visible. I do not know how many times I’ve applied makeup to it. It’s still there, especially in brighter light. I pull out my tube of concealer and shakily squeeze more unto the back of my hand. The tube farts. It is empty. I begin to roll it like toothpaste, trying to urge the last drops out. A dismal portion exits the tube in another fart. I toss it in the trash and use what I have, religiously applying it to my bruised eye and giving a little to my unaffected eye, trying to make them match as much as possible. It doesn’t reduce the swelling or the pain, but it looks presentable enough. I wish I had some lipstick, anything to put some color in my face.

I am not sure what to wear for this evening. I do not know if this Eden’s Gate church is a “come as you are” sort of thing or if I should put on something a little more presentable than my oversized pajamas. I open my closet. . My father burned half my wardrobe when I missed my curfew by ten minutes one night. But he left the things that my mother passed down to me. Probably some of the few things left that still remind him of her. I find a light green dress she used to wear. Mamma was so pretty. I don’t think I’ll ever be as pretty as she. I put it on regardless. It zips easily, for its rather loose. Just six months ago it was too tight. I was afraid I’d break the zipper. Now there is no I fear of that at all. White lace adorns the sleeves and my cleavage. I debate pulling the neckline down or up.

It’s church, Rachel, I tell myself, Besides, no one will want to look at you anyway.

The last thought bites. It’s a personal truth. I look down and rediscover the scratches. I tug my dress at the back, raising the neckline.

Fortunately the doorbell rings just in time. I leave my bathroom and stop at the door to the hallway.

Once you’ve been in captivity, once you’ve been locked up alone with your thoughts for long enough, once you’ve accepted that you’re stuck, you don’t bother trying doorknobs anymore. You’re used to reaching that hard spot where it stops turning and opens nothing. It takes me a moment to touch the handle. I know it will feel cold. I know the distinct shape it has and how it will fit into the palm of my hand. What I do not know is whether or not it will open. It might reach that hard lock. I might’ve gone through all of this trouble and not be able to leave.

Knowing this, I twist, hoping for the best.

To my relief, it unlocks effortlessly and opens without so much as a creak. I head downstairs to greet my friend.

------

Sitting in the chapel in the ranch, I feel so nervous. My body shivers. My hands shake. My heart pounds. I do not know if it is withdrawal or what. But I am not completely at ease. The people here are disheveled. Messy. Somewhat gross. The kind of person I would become if I let my addiction keep its grip on me. They are the types that my father would advise me to steer away from, however in his current state he is more like them than he knows. I am more like them than he knows

A tall, fit man with a full, well groomed dark beard strides unto the stage in a flourish of applause. He completely contrasts the people sitting in the pews. He is nicely dressed, wearing a fitted blue silk shirt rolled up at the cuffs, black vest, and tight jeans. His belt buckle is exceptionally extravagant. A pendant of some sort hangs from his neck. The crowd cheers for him. He waves, flashing a million dollar smile and a glint in his bright blue eyes. He’s handsome.

I turn and whisper to Tracey, “If I knew that pastors could look as good as he does I would’ve come to church a long time ago.”

She smirks and holds back a giggle, “You’re terrible.”

“He’s hot,” I say, perhaps a bit too loudly.

“Shhhhhh!” She tries not to laugh, “Behave.”

“Who is he?” I ask as if I were inquiring about a handsome stranger across a bar, not a preacher at the front of a church.

“That’s John Seed,” she tells me, “He doesn’t give the sermon. He’s just the opening act.”

“There’s more of them? Tracey, you told me this was church, not that mythical place where all of the hot guys in Hope County disappeared to!”

“Rachel, shut up!” She giggles again, but then whispers to me, “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s as good as they get, well, looks wise.”

“Bummer. That means we’ll have to fight for him.”

“Rachel!”

Our laughter is camouflaged by the cheers and shouts from people in the pews, phrases like “Oh John!” and “We love you!” and “Praise our brother”. I observe the scene. Sometime during our banter two other people entered the stage. One, a very tall, burly, fearsome man with a long frizzy red beard and bloodshot beady eyes. He holds a large semi-automatic rifle close to his body, and scans the crowd meticulously for possible threats. Though he wears the uniform shirt of the U.S. army, his demeanor is not one of honor or pride, but of sickened, disillusioned duty.  The other, a girl, with thick yellow curls and a bountiful bust contained inside a too-tight white dress. She has slanted, sultry green eyes. There is a whorelike, slutty quality about her despite her conservative dress. But she is undeniably beautiful. I self consciously remember looking at my own chest this morning. Scratches everywhere. Nothing to be proud of. I run my fingers through my mousy hair, wishing I’d washed it. The beautiful woman holds a bouquet of flowers, with several blossoms strewn throughout her golden locks. She smiles at John.

I roll my eyes out of jealousy and look at Tracey, motioning to the girl sitting on stage, “Don’t tell me it’s a wedding,”

She shakes her head, “Oh no, that’s his sister. Faith. I don’t quite know if marriage is a thing here or if they’re all about brotherly sisterly love or if it’s just one massive orgy. I have no idea.”

I laugh at her raunchy train of thought. This is the Tracey I love.

“And who is Mr. Scary over there?” I whisper, trying not to make it obvious who I am talking about.

“Oh, him?” She whispers back, “I don’t know...He wasn’t here last time. I don’t exactly know what the gun is for, either.”

“Maybe he’s exerting his second amendment right?” I tease with a horrible attempt at the stereotypical Hope County drawl.

She looks at me. It’s not funny. “Why do they even need guns?”

“Tracey. We live in Montana. Everyone’s got guns here.”

“I know… but something’s not right.”

I look around the room again, “Maybe his job is to stop desperate bitches like us from throwing ourselves at that hottie over there?”

She bursts out laughing.

Our conversation is interrupted by John’s voice, “Brothers and sisters, welcome!” he proclaims, arms outstretched.

Applause. Tracey and I join in. At the moment we are spectators, like flies on a wall carefully observing but not yet involved.

“I want to tell you,” he continues, “how wonderful it is to see all of these new faces in our home this evening.” His eyes find mine momentarily. I’m intimidated by his strong presence yet also trying my hardest not to swoon. “We hope that this is just the beginning of your march with us.

“I want you to think of the life you’ve led before now. Of all the pain, of all the hardship, of every road you’ve turned down that felt like a dead end. I want to assure you, brothers and sisters, that the ship you’ve sailed across a sea of hardship is about to dock. I give to you a new captain who will guide you to an island of paradise. My brother, your Father, Joseph Seed!”

The crowd stands, clapping and cheering, holding their hands up in praise. The church doors open, and the blazing golden sunset from the west illuminates the doorway, revealing the silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man. The light comes through his yellow tinted glasses, creating two glowing dots on the ground in front of him.

He moves with a serenity. There is a comforting sense of peace, a radiance that surrounds him. His suit jacket fits him well. His long hair is tied in a small bun on the crown of his scalp. He carries a white book with the symbol of the Project etched in gold on the cover. A rosary is wrapped like a bracelet across his right wrist and palm.

I cannot yet see his face. I too am standing, on my toes, craning my neck around the people in front of me, squinting. Finally when he reaches the stage, he turns around, and the crowd goes silent. They return to their seats. I am the last to stay standing.

Our eyes lock like magnets. I do not need to hear his voice. He does not need to utter a single word. A look comes across his sullen, rugged face. He catches his breath. The room is completely silent. Time slows. My heartbeat pounds. He looks as though he has seen a ghost. I know I look like a ghost. Perhaps it is that I seem so weak and sickly that common sense says I should not be standing here, I should not be in this room. But I am. And I know, somehow, deep inside myself, that I am destined to be here. To meet him. His expression changes from one of shock to one of recognition, a longing for something far off in the distance which yet appears so near. A red string of fate ties the two of us together before either of us can object. But like some perfect private secret, I am afraid that anyone else caught on to it. As my awareness returns to the room, I sit. He swallows hard. I try to look away but I can’t. I’m already entranced.

He speaks right to me as he begins his sermon.

“It is fate that you have come here.”

His words are chilling. They pierce me.

Joseph continues, “It is God’s divine plan that you are here today. Whether you’ve devoted yourself to this project or if this is your first time with us, I tell you that you are here for a reason. This is no accident. This is no chance.”

His speech, though indirect and addressed to a crowd, feels so personal. It is as if despite all of the people in this room he is talking to me and me alone. I know that it is no accident, that it is no chance, that I am not confused. The connection I feel with him is mutual. In a sea of strangers I am seen. We see each other.

“Just as such,” he goes on, respectfully connecting with the others in the pews, “your existence, your very entrance into this world, your birth, your conception...all is for a reason.”

He cannot stand it long. Joseph looks directly at me again and reads my soul like an open book. “You who have felt lost, unwanted, undesired, and unnecessary to the world: have no fear. You have a purpose.” He assures me, “Your life is designed to have significance. Even when the road is foggy, when the path is untred and you know not which step to take, know that God has a destination for you. I have a destination for you.”

My eyes well with tears. For the first time since my mother died, I feel safe. Sheltered. Believed in.

His voice, like silk, his words, like music, envelope me. “When all doors have shut against you, when your friends and your families turn their backs on you, I will be standing here with open arms. I accept you, my children, just as you are. There is nothing you have to change. No one else you have to be. You are loved here, just as you are. And you have always been worthy of that love.”

I break.

When the people around me hear my sobs interrupt the silence of Joseph’s pause, they turn to me with a look of celebratory joy on their faces. A woman on my right with very few teeth and hair bordering on dreadlocks pulls me against her bosom and holds me. Two young men reach back from their seats in front of me and pat me on my shoulder. Now the entire church is watching me, overjoyed. Someone starts the applause.

I feel a new hand on my back from my left side. I turn, expecting it to be Tracey. But it’s not. It’s the woman in the white dress from onstage. The sister.

“Come with me,” she beckons.

I don’t know what this means. “Wh-why?”

I look at Tracey. For the first time she’s looking at me not as my best friend. She seems bitter, disgusted, as if I’m filth. Trash. Foolish. Petty. As if I had no soul.

Faith speaks softly to me, “The Father wants to meet you. Won’t you come up?”

I laugh through my tears, “I’m interrupting the service.”

“No no no,” she’s overbearingly gentle, “Please come up. Nothing would make us happier.”

“Go to the Father,” the woman holding me into her bosom says, lifting my torso towards Faith. I take the sister’s hand, and she walks me down the aisle towards The Father who awaits me by the altar.

When we reach it, Faith hands me over to him and returns to her seat.

His hands are smooth and cold. His eyes, up close, are a vortex behind his yellow glasses. Full of wisdom and peace, as if he had reached that Nirvana the Buddhists dream of. He’s good looking. Not in the way that John is good looking. John is the kind of untouchably handsome, out of everyone’s league yet inside every girl’s dreams. The Father is approachable yet with a true sense of authority, like all fathers should be.

“What is your name my child?”

Intoxicated by him, I forget it on the spot. “My name?”

“Your name.”

“Rachel,” I swallow, “Rachel Jessop.”

His lips turn up at the corners.

“Tell me, Rachel. What is making you cry?”

I search for the answer in his eyes and find it, “The feelings that your words are bringing me. Feelings of safety. Salvation.”

He holds my face in his hands, “Salvation from what, dear Rachel?”

Feeling all eyes on me, I choke up. “F-from my life. From my agony.”

He nods slowly, knowingly.

“And what gives you this pain?” He continues to hold my face so that I cannot look anywhere else except straight into his magnificent eyes. More tears come.

My next words are succinct, for I’m clinging to my composure. “My father and my brother beat me. I’m bullied endlessly by my peers. I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

He continues his knowing nod. “My brothers and I know intimately of your struggle. Don’t we?” He looks to John and Jacob.

I see John nod in my periphery, but Jacob makes no expression whatsoever.

Joseph’s left hand softens into a gentle caress, “What else, child?”

He pulls the words out of me, words I am sure I shouldn’t even say in front of so many people. “I abuse drugs for help,” the rest is a stream of consciousness through my tears, “I’m a rat. I rummage for anything I can get my hands on. I always thought I deserved this life… like I did something irredeemably wrong and my circumstances are a consequence. I take every blow and I let others take from me… but there is no hatred in my heart for anyone except for myself. I don’t blame them. I think it’s all my fault.”

He sighs, looking at me with pity and understanding, “What if I told you, Rachel, that none of it is your fault?”

This concept is foreign to me, “How?”

“The pain you suffer is not because of your own personal ills. If that we’re the case, why aren’t the money grubbers, the corrupt politicians and greedy business owners punished with the same abuses you experience?”

I look at him blankly, “I don’t know.”

“It’s society that is sick, Rachel. It’s the ills in society which are responsible for the pain and the suffering of the innocent. It’s not your fault. They don’t understand you, so they try to take you out.”

The clouds part in my mind. The sky is clear. I’ve never thought of it it that way. I never considered that I am not the problem.

“But here,” He touches my forehead to his. I adore the feeling. “Here you may be saved, Rachel. Here your differences are celebrated. Put to use. Here you can be fulfilled and you can be happy. That’s what this Project offers.”

The Project, on their cue, claps again, pleased with the power of their leader’s message. Joseph looks straight into my eyes. I feel his anchor sinking in to me. And I know I will follow him into the darkest depths of the sea.

“We will talk more, Rachel.” He says. I am passed back to Faith and seated beside her. She holds my hands tightly.  Joseph continues his main speech to the rest of the crowd.

“The world as we know it, as we see it today, is full of fog. Clutter. Sin. Distractors from our destined path. My children, can’t you feel that the world around us today is not the world that God intended to create? You, like Rachel, who have found yourselves here today as a result of his divine plan must be aware, even if remotely, of this fact?

“Let me tell you: God is angry. God intends to wipe this world clean again, the way he flooded the earth allowing only Noah and his family to board the arc. We are once again approaching a storm. Which is why, my children, God spoke to me. He has called to me to reach out to all of you, to each and every one of you, that you might be saved. That you might be redeemed. That you might discover your purpose and follow the path which he has set for us. My children, won’t you take my hand? Won’t you take hands with me, my brother Jacob, my brother John, and my sister Faith and join us in our march to Eden’s Gate?

“You do not need to decide tonight. But I hope that at the very least, I have planted a seed.”

John is the first to laugh at his closing statement. Jacob again, has no reaction. As the crowd catches on, the chuckling grows. I myself laugh through my tears, but when I look in the audience, I see Tracey scowling.

---------

Crickets conduct their nightly symphony as Tracey and I walk through the long grass back to her pickup truck. She’s quiet, but her anger can be felt loud and clear. She’s walked a few steps ahead of me the whole way.

“Tracey,” I stop her, grabbing her hand.

I look into her dark eyes, those eyes that know more about me than any other soul on this earth. My closest and dearest friend.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She scoffs, “What the hell happened between the two of you just now?”

I know she is talking about the moment I shared with Joseph, then my emotional breakdown and our uncanny closeness that took up a bulk of the sermon.

“I don’t know,” I tell her, “I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it yet.”

She crosses her arms for warmth, pulling on her long sleeve t-shirt. “It was...awkward- no, uncomfortable, no-- Rachel what the fuck was that? What the actual fuck was that?”

Suddenly I reread a beautiful chapter in my life as if it were some sort of vulgar oddity. I’m embarrassed. I look down.

“Look, Rachel.” Tracey sighs, “I know there are some things we don’t talk about. I know that everyone has got secrets. I just wish I knew before we came--”

I look up at her, confused. “Knew what?”

She swallows. “I shouldn’t say anything. Who am I to judge? I mean…”

“What are you trying to say?” I demand defensively.

“Nothing!” She puts her arms up and takes a step back from me. “Let’s just go home. Your dad is probably worried.”

“I don’t want to go home.” I tell her. It’s the truth.

She gives me a look of shock and confusion. “Rachel, these people…there is something not right about them.  They’re apocalyptic. They’re all talking about willing to die for that man. It’s like they’re being brainwashed. Some kind of new age Japanese kamikaze squadron ready to blow themselves up! Not to mention they look like a bunch of crackheads.” She puts both hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eye, “I want you to get better, Rachel. I’m afraid these people will just-just exploit your addiction. They won’t heal you. They’ll make you worse.”

“At least I don’t feel like the odd one out!” I shout at her. I am more frustrated with the situation than with my friend. “I don’t know how much more I can take! I don’t want— No, I can’t go back to my dad, Tracey. I can’t go back to school. I’m already failing. It’s not like I’m going to graduate. I’ve got nothing! I haven’t eaten a proper meal in three months! What am I going to do with my life besides waitressing or prostituting myself or having some rich man’s kids? This place…” I start to tear up, “I know it’s not perfect but it’s better than what I have now.”

She scoffs. “You know that you’re better than that Rachel.”

I laugh, but I’m exasperated. “I don’t! I fucking don’t! I’m not like you, Tracey! I’m not smart! I can’t get a degree. I don’t have a mom who supports me and takes care of me.”

I’ve wounded her. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

“And you know what?” Tears stream down, “I’m not your fucking charity case.”

“Well what makes you think you’re theirs all of a sudden? What makes you think you’re  his all of a sudden?”

So that’s it.

“You’re jealous,” I call her out.

She laughs it off. “Sorry, Rachel. I’m not jealous of your forty-something schizophrenic preacher boyfriend.”

Our argument becomes petty, like that of two bratty schoolgirls, the kind of people we have never been before. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh really?”

“Why would you even say that?”

“Well you sure seem pretty close don’t you?”

“I don’t know what happened!” I yell. “I never met that man before tonight! You heard me on the phone! I had no idea who this group was or what they do!”

Her mouth twitches. “Well you’re a damn good liar Rachel.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re trying to tell me that the little scene you made back there wasn’t planned?”

I shake my head. “I don’t see how it could be.”

“And I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“Tracey!” I try so hard to get through to her, but nothing is working, “I’ve never lied to you! Not once in all these years!”

She’s quiet.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

She sighs and looks away.

I know that she is jealous. But I realize in that moment that she is not jealous of what happened to me tonight. She’s jealous because she can’t believe that I can find peace and happiness in a different place, that I can find it with people other than her.

“They aren’t trying to fix me,” I say with an angry, disillusioned certainty,  “All you ever do, all you ever talk about is trying to fix me. You believe that I’m broken. You want me to be broken so you have something to do with your life besides sit in your nice fucking house with your nice fucking family. All I want...for God’s sake all I want is to feel like I have a purpose. I don’t want to be someone else’s purpose, Tracey. I want to be my own purpose.”

Tracey continues to avoid looking at me. She glances in different directions, looks at the ground by her feet. “So that’s it, Rachel?”

“What’s it?”

“You’re just going to throw our friendship away?”

I want to shake her. “What? No! Tracey that’s not what I said!”

She glares at me. “I’ve been here for you. I’ve fought for you for the last three years. We’ve grown up together. I’m sorry that’s not enough.”

“Tracey!”

She’s running to her truck. I try to follow her, but my lungs and legs are weak.

“Tracey!”

She’s too fast. I feel dizzy. My vision starts to blur. I try to pick up speed.

“Tracey I didn’t say that!”

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t look back. Gets in her car, starts the engine. The lights turn on and she speeds away.

I watch her tail lights fade. I’m sick of the taste of my own tears. I’m sick of this life. I drop to my knees and grip the grass as hard as I can with my fists. I scream into the blue night sky. What is the way? Where is the path? What is my life supposed to be? Who am I now that I have no one? I can’t walk home. I don’t want to walk home. I could call a cab but I don’t have any money.

If I go home, I don’t know if I will ever get out of the house again.

I hear Joseph’s words in the back of my head. I remember them almost verbatim: “When all doors have shut against you, when your friends and your families turn their backs on you, I will be standing here with open arms. There is nothing you have to change. No one else you have to be. You are loved here, just as you are. And you have always been worthy of that love.”

I turn around, take a deep breath, and run back to the ranch. It glows with warm light from inside. It’s the only light I see.

#far cry 5 #faith seed #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 faith #fc5 #joseph seed #fc5 fanfic

[teamhawkeye]

Cross Road Blues

Fandom: FC5/FC3

Characters: Anna Bishop, Hoyt Volker, Sam Becker, Buck Hughes, Willis Huntley, Dennis Rogers, Citra Talugmai, Vaas Montenegro (mentioned only)

Pairing: None

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Canon-typical violence (can’t stress these two enough, it’s a Far Cry game fic), minor character death

Word Count: 9,530

Summary: Alone and on the brink, would you accept the hand extended to you when it belonged to sin incarnate? (A FC3 AU starring Anna L. Bishop)

________________________________________________________________

“‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'

'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.

'I don't much care where -' said Alice.

'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

'- so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.

'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.’”

- Lewis Carroll, “Alice In Wonderland”

________________________________________________________________

The bottle in her hand was slammed down unceremoniously on the counter.

“Another.”

The barkeep barely even looked at her as he slid a fresh beer her way. Anna wasn’t all that drunk and she wasn’t bothering anyone, even with as unnecessarily loud and brusque as she was being. Badtown had far worse come through this dive daily – she was actually surprised she hadn’t seen the usual suspects come slinking in yet at noontime. Perhaps they all sensed her foul mood and kept some distance…a wise decision, she guessed, given how agitated she was and willing to look for any excuse to release some of her frustration.

She hadn’t made many friends since leaving the States, even less since arriving unceremoniously on the Rook Islands. So feeling essentially dumped by the two separate anchors she’d come to rely on – both in the span of a single month - had reduced her to day drinking as she did now, sitting sullenly and contemplating her future…or lack thereof.

Maybe that Vaas character was right…she’d hit the ground and no longer had a chance. She should have never jumped from that plane…

____________________________________________________

Anna’d been thinking for some time that she shouldn’t have left the United States. Her whole life, she’d never even seen the West or East Coast – there was so much territory left uncovered she could have explored.

But then Louis Draven had been paroled and common sense had gone out the window.

All her neighbors and family friends in Jackson County had beseeched her to go on vacation, to get away – however far away it may be - and find something else to occupy her mind. They’d all had the good sense to predict that if she remained, some other terrible thing might befall her…or she herself would go seeking trouble.

…they weren’t wrong to worry.

She’d sat for a few days in Chief Deputy Shaw’s living room, surrounded by relics of her past – of photos of her mother and father in their prime smiling down at her – and contemplated her future. Nothing seemed more alluring than seeking out Draven and confronting him; if there was ever a chance at closure for the deaths of her parents, it lay with him.

…but then again, he was the monster in her closet. The nightmare that had plagued her for years, that had completely upended and destroyed her life. A chance at seeing him face-to-face again left her trembling so violently she could scarcely even remember to breathe.

So she’d booked a last minute trip out of Bozeman to California and turned tail and fled.

And after a few days on the coast – finally getting to the see the ocean she’d spent her whole life dreaming about – she’d booked another trip to Thailand at the behest of the hotel concierge. And from Bangkok, she’d been talked into joining some new barcrawling acquaintances in a group skydiving venture over some secluded islands, far from prying eyes.

Every single bad decision – both past and present – led back to Draven. If he had just stayed rotting behind bars like he was supposed to, she would have never been besieged by pirates on that beach and dragged off to be thrown into a cage, readied for auction to the highest bidder. She would have never met Vaas, that psychopath who treaded a dangerous line between absolute insanity and startling clarity. She would have never had to have broken herself free and taken off into the jungle alone, pursued by armed guards, snarling dogs, and even a Black Hawk helicopter.

She might never have taken her first life as she had been forced to during that desperate escape to freedom.

“What do they say in America? ‘There is a first time for everything.’”

Dennis Rogers had told her that at their initial meeting in Amanaki Village. He’d been her first real ally, outside of the scatterbrained Dr. Earnhardt.

And the first person she’d mistakenly put her trust in.

The Rakyat seemed noble enough: they were a people fighting to preserve their home, their islands besieged by chaos and violence. They fought to survive…something she could relate to. And so she’d readily agreed to help them where she could, taking on Vaas’ pirates head on and fighting to reclaim some of their territory for them.

Dennis had promised her an eventual meeting with the Rakyat’s enigmatic leader Citra - the real power and figurehead on the northern islands. Anna wasn’t particularly convinced of the woman, just based on what she’d heard whispered about her; the Rakyat saw her as some sort of warrior goddess and Anna had long since run out of patience with stories of the divine…Still, if anyone would be able to help her return to the mainland and figure a way back home, she was the person who could.

There had been an eventual arranged introduction, after Anna had been escorted to Citra’s mysterious temple in the middle of the jungle; she’d been received with initial warmth in regards to her exploits in the name of the Rakyat, causing hope to blossom in her chest for the first time in weeks. However, the pleasantries had ended there when Citra had quickly made clear she didn’t see their working relationship panning out much further and summarily dismissed her.

“You possess great strength and courage – the makings of a true warrior…but you lack conviction.”

She might as well have just slapped her in the face: it would have left the same mark, the same brand. We appreciate what you have done for us but you will never be one of us, nor will we expend any effort to help you in your quest.

In spite of all the services she did in their name – all the lives she took, civilians she saved, outposts reclaimed – it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough, she quickly ascertained, even as Dennis tried to assure her otherwise.

“Citra sees the fire in you – but you must embrace it, not run from it.”

She’d seen him only two or three times more after that before being largely relegated to radio calls; now she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d even heard his voice. Those rejections smarted but she’d tried her best not to let it deter her. Especially not after several different sources in Amanaki whispered to her of people in Badtown who might be more willing to help an outsider such as herself. So she’d headed east and sought out the only other major center the northern islands housed…and almost immediately regretted her decision.

Filth lined the streets, with sick and drunken people either ambling about or sprawled out right in the open. Prostitutes were working every corner and there were probably more certifiably insane residents than there were sane ones. Her first minute in Badtown had Anna wondering if she wasn’t the victim of an incredibly malicious and unfunny joke: who on earth could be here that could possibly help her?

It wasn’t until the next day that she spotted him – the man in the white suit. Beyond his incredibly conspicuous choice of attire, he was one of the very few other Caucasians on the islands…picking him out of a crowd wouldn’t have been difficult.  

She had the distinct feeling he knew she was coming into town and let himself be seen; he implied as much without outright saying it when they were alone together in his underground base. He was Willis Huntley, CIA. He was on an important op for the United States government, tracking the activities of one Hoyt Volker and the massive criminal enterprise he’d built on the islands over the years. Did she want to be a true patriot and serve her country, here and now?

Anna would have agreed to just about anything in that moment if it meant scoring a guaranteed ticket home; she’d practically tripped over herself to say yes as it was.

And so she had become an agent of Langley…or an accessory to an agent, as Willis had been quick to inform her. She was by no means truly CIA and her involvement would remain as a footnote in a file that would eventually be buried in the stacks of some warehouse in the future. Fortune and glory had never been what she’d aspired for so it hadn’t hurt her ego in the least – she’d merely taken to her missions with gusto, eager to press forward.

A few burned drug fields, rescue missions for transport manifests, and a few covert spying ops later, she was feeling more secure in her chances of heading home within the next month or so. The Rakyat were managing to hold the ground she had secured for them and were finally giving the pirates enough trouble that they were forced to seek assistance from their mysterious boss, leaving them in a precarious situation. There was only so much left to do on the islands, as far as Anna could tell, before the big guns would sweep in to finally put pressure on the man in charge and force his empire to crumble.

Only fitting, then, that she’d returned to Willis’ shack for further orders and been blindsided her with the news that he was leaving her behind. His operation in the Pacific was over and he was shipping off to Russia to start a new assignment, putting the Rook Islands behind him…never to return.

“What about me?” she’d demanded when she’d regained her tongue. “When do I get to go home?”

“Whenever you can find your own way off this rock,” had been his blunt response.

He’d turned and stared at her while she visibly tried – and failed - to process what she was hearing.

“Your country thanks you for your service…but there’s bigger fish to fry out in Moscow. Hope you have enough money saved to charter a boat, since that’s your best bet of getting back to the mainland.”

That had been all he’d had to say on the matter. He was too busy with packing up his gear to even put much note into how long she lingered, hoping he was joking or that he’d at least give her something more to work with. She’d finally had the sense to drag herself back up the stairs and out into the stagnant Badtown evening air, tail between her legs, when it was clear he was an even bigger asshole that she’d pegged him for at their very first meeting.

Anna’s feet had taken her straight to the bar on the other side of town to drown her misery and ponder her disastrous luck once more…

__________________________________________________________

And there she had remained ever since. She’d poked her head out every now and then to see if Willis would ever show his face again, but she had seen neither hide nor hair of him. It was probably better that way, she realized, as her hurt was replaced with potent rage and despair – she might have slugged him given the chance. Not only was she going to be left behind with no real shot at making it to the mainland for help, he’d effectively handed her a death sentence by having her do all his dirty work in his stead.

It wasn’t just the pirates and Vaas she had antagonized now – she’d kicked the hornet’s nest by attacking Hoyt Volker’s product and sabotaging a handful of his operations. There was no way she’d escape those actions unmarked…it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if there was already a bounty on her head or a hit squad off in search of her.

The Rakyat couldn’t protect her, even if they wanted to (which they didn’t…): they could barely protect themselves. And Willis had effectively wiped his hands of her as he prepared to abscond north and head to his latest assignment. She was back to being on her own in these foreign lands, armed with only her wits and strength to keep her safe...

So, she was thoroughly fucked.

Knocking back another full swig of beer, she grimaced to herself at its strong ethanol kick. Maybe she’d head back to Dr. Earnhardt’s place for a spell while she sorted things out. She knew he’d never turn her away or turn her in: he seemed to have imprinted on her quite a bit. It didn’t take being called “Agnes” one too many times or finding old photographs of his daughter lying around to know she was filling some sort of void for him. She understood the pain of losing family but she wasn’t looking for a father figure…and the affection he doted on her left her feeling uncomfortable. Not because he was overstepping any boundaries – he was a very kind and respectful, albeit strange, man. His warmth simply left her with a painful yearning in her heart for something she’d been missing for so long...

It had made her visits to see him briefer and less frequent as her time on the islands progressed…but maybe this was the universe giving her a sign it was time to return for a lengthier stay. She’d spent time there undisturbed by the doctor’s usual pirate clientele in the past, meaning they hadn’t ever noticed or been clued into her presence. Perhaps there could be a way for her to stay there with Earnhardt and work on getting-

“Anna Bishop.”

It wasn’t a question; she took her time acknowledging, taking a swig from her drink and rolling it over her tongue before finally taking a glance over her shoulder. The men behind her were not what she had expected to see – not at all. They were well equipped - both in Kevlar vests and packing assault rifles – and clearly disciplined based off their rigid stances as they stood waiting at attention. Looking all the part of a PMC…and very much out of place in the shithole they all found themselves in.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded finally, expression trained blank even as she knew just who they worked for and why they were here.

“Mr. Volker wishes to speak with you. Please come with us,” the man on the left stated.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly and Anna was suddenly aware of how much of a pariah she’d just been branded; the eyes of the other patrons had all turned towards her, making her feel unspeakably hot under the weight of their stares. Trying not to focus on how her stomach had plummeted at the namedrop, she kept her gaze steady as she looked on as unimpressed as she could manage.

“And if I refuse?” she tested.

Neither man reacted to her bluff, still staring at her unflinchingly.

“We must insist,” the first man said simply.

She briefly weighed her options. Running seemed laughable, almost as much as making a stand did. Her eyes had taken in how trigger ready their fingers were resting on their weapons and knew they’d drop her before she even had time to reach for the pistol tucked into the waistband of her shorts. There was no one to recruit in helping her out around here – most of the locals were petrified of the pirates…and judging by their reactions to the appearance of these soldiers, even more terrified of the man who ranked above Vaas.

Turning back to face the bar, she briefly made eye contact with the bartender; his apprehension was so palpable she could practically taste his fear in the air. With a sigh, she knocked her drink back and set the bottle down with a loud clatter, pushing herself tiredly off her stool. The man on the right extended a hand out towards her; she stared at it wearily for a moment before fishing her pistol out of her waistband and placing it in his grasp.

As it slipped from her fingers, she had to work to control the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat, feeling as if the walls were suddenly closing in on her even as she was led outside and underneath nothing more than the burning glare of the Pacific sun.

__________________________________________________________

They’d chauffeured her straight to a helicopter waiting on the beach. And not some cheap passenger bird – a Black Hawk by the looks of it. She’d never been in a chopper before…hadn’t been in a plane until she left the States however long ago that was now, she couldn’t quite be sure…

It was better than being in cramped economy class, she supposed; but it was hard to feel anything other than anxiety as they crossed the sea and headed for the southern islands. There was a knot in her stomach that only grew tighter with each passing minute, amplified each time her eyes left the water below and back to her traveling companions. They were at ease, but she could see their fingers close to their triggers and knew that if she tried to pull anything before they landed, they’d riddle her with lead and dump her body in the ocean without care.

There was far less jungle on the southern isles – and far less natives. From the height they were cruising, there was nary a village or outpost unoccupied by privateers in sight. She’d heard Hoyt took issue with the locals and Rakyat but the legitimacy of such a claim became abundantly clear on his home turf. Even without setting a single foot on the ground, she could tell they ran a tighter ship over here…one she would not be able to bail from so easily.

She was starting to realize the knot in her stomach was a warning of perhaps more than just the end of this journey…

The massive concrete walls in the distance had to be their destination – it didn’t take a genius to figure out that was Hoyt Volker’s HQ. The compound was really more of a fortress: beyond the giant walls, all topped with barbed wire, there were checkpoints and armed guards at every single point of entry. There were soldiers wandering the street and sentries outside ever building on the premise, placing eyes and ears in just about every corner. Anna took in the sight of all of the security measures – all of the armed men prepared to rain fire upon their employer’s enemies - and felt something akin to acceptance settle into her chest, easing some of the sickness in her stomach…

The chopper had barely set down just outside the sprawling complex before the soldiers at her side were grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back out under the sun. It surprised her they’d been so benign up until now – being in sight of their boss and peers must have fueled their aggression and she knew better than to resist now. They paraded her through the streets, drawing every pair of eyes onto her as she struggled to match their pace. She was taken into the largest building at the heart of the compound and straight for the staircase at its center; it was all she could do to keep herself from stumbling on any of the steps, trying as hard as possible to maintain whatever dignity she had left even as her heart thundered in her chest with terror.

They marched her through a pair of large, opened doors and into a sprawling office space overlooking the front courtyard and the river beyond the perimeter wall. The large leather armchair behind the desk was occupied but turned away and facing the large windows as Anna was dragged before it by her escorts.

“Anna Bishop for you, sir,��� the man on her left announced simply.

Anna had only seen Hoyt Volker twice before now, both times at a distance. He wasn’t physically imposing, in the sense that he was very lean and lithe…but he had an aura of absolute menace that made all the hair on the back of her arms and neck stand on end as he turned in his chair to face them. The man took in the sight of her with a smile, looking remarkably pleased to see her.

“Ah, there you are! So good of you to accept my invitation to meet.”

Had her courage not abandoned her long before her arrival here, she might have leapt on that statement with a scathing retort. Instead, she could only hold her silence and try to keep her gaze steady as he gave her a thorough onceover. Finally, he made a dismissive gesture with his hands she quickly realized was not meant for her.

“Leave us.”

The soldiers released her and turned without another word; she fought the urge to rub the skin on her arms where their fingers had dug in, merely watching as they filed back out the way they came, shutting the doors noisily behind them.

Leaving Hoyt and her finally alone…

There was an unbearable silence that reined between them for several moments that left Anna feeling dizzy with apprehension as she turned back to face him, taking in the way he was gazing at her. Finally, he gave her a smile and gestured towards the chair across from him.

“Come. Sit.”

She didn’t want to – her base instinct of digging in her heels was replaced by the overwhelming urge to turn tail and flee. But she made herself walk slowly towards the offered seat and planted herself in it, trying to look braver than she felt.

Hoyt had an unwavering stare that made her feel smaller than she already was. Still, she forced herself to meet his gaze head on, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest she swore he could hear it. The silence was unnerving and she had a feeling he was letting it drag on longer than necessary to rattle her cage.

“You’re a difficult woman to get ahold of,” he said finally, looking amused. “There’s only so many…civilized places on these islands. And you seem to make very few appearances in them.”

He already knew she had been doing that on purpose – staying disconnected from his network of spies and informants who might lay eyes on her – so she didn’t bother with a redundant answer.

“Self-reliant. I like that,” he admitted. “There’s only one person you can truly rely on in this world to take care of you…and that is yourself.”

A lesson she’d long since learned; still, to hear it from him, made her already queasy stomach feel worse. It made her realize that somewhere in his past, there was a connection to her own…neglect, abuse, betrayal…

“Do you smoke?” he asked suddenly.

She swallowed thickly as she tried to regain her capacity for speech.

“On occasion,” she managed to force out, softer than intended.

Her eyes watched his hands as he reached into his desk and brought forth a box of cigars; he hadn’t asked what she smoked and she had to wonder if he knew that she’d only had cigars since arriving on the islands. She reached forward hesitantly as he offered one to her, careful not to let their fingers touch.

There was only a moment to sit awkwardly with the unlit stogie in her grasp before Hoyt produced struck a match and held it out to her. The only way to accept was to lean forward across the table towards him, forcing her eyes to leave him for the first time since entering the office. When she finally drew back and brought her gaze quickly back to him, she found his eyes had never left her, still watching her every move.

Hoyt’s eyes were a curious shade of green that could almost be described as pretty…if there wasn’t such sinister intent behind them. Just as she was starting to feel herself start to sweat under the weight of his stare, he turned his eyes from her and down to his desk. She watched as he flipped open the small booklet before him and took in the familiar sight of her portrait in its corner.

“Anna L. Bishop. Born 27 November 1993…only 18,” he stated, looking between her passport and her face.

She tried not to squirm under his roving eyes, finally taking a drag from her cigar to help steady her nerves.

“You look it,” he acknowledged after a moment. “But after all the trouble you’ve caused, I’d have thought you were at least mid-20s. And trained by the military…or police…”

He reached for something else that immediately caught her eye, her heart stopping at the familiar glint of gold between his fingers. She watched him brandish the badge, her eyes glued to it, as he stared her down.

“A tad young to be sheriff,” he surmised correctly.

“…it was my father’s,” she managed to force out eventually.

“Ah. Dear old dad…won’t be missing this, will he?”

“Probably not. He’s been dead for years.”

“Hmm. And mummy?”

“Same for her.”

There was a momentary beat of silence where she forced her eyes towards the cigar smoking between her fingers, frantically working to recompose herself. Hoyt discarded the badge carelessly back onto the surface of his desk and it took all of her strength not to let herself look at it again, taking another puff from her stogie instead to ease her frayed nerves.

“You’re not military, you’re not police…”

His gaze was unrelenting as he pinned her to the spot.

“So how is it that you’re running around out there making professionals look like a bunch of fucking children in a sandbox?”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, thinking over her response carefully. In the end, when she finally returned his stare, she chose honesty.

“It’s me or them. I’m just out there doing what it takes to survive.”

Hoyt scoffed, laughing lightly beneath his breath.

“Survival would be hiding beneath some rock and avoiding attracting any attention to yourself. Instead you’re leading raids on Vaas’ men, burning down fields and blowing up weapons caches.”

He wasn’t wrong but she held her tongue and watched as he visibly weighed his next choice of words.

“I’m not bothered by you fighting your way to freedom. Or the men you killed, or the trouble you’ve been giving my boy Vaas,” he said finally.

This is the calm before the storm, she realized suddenly.

“What I can’t have is you destroying my product, my property!”

Her heart was racing even as she tried not to give a reaction to his shout; still, when his hand had swung down towards the desk’s surface, she’d flinched, unable to stop herself from closing her eyes in preparation for a hit that never came. She only gave herself a moment or two to steady her breathing before forcing her gaze back on him, taking in his scorching glare as evenly as she could.

Several seconds passed before he finally leaned back into his chair, his gaze softening ever so slightly as she brought the cigar back to her lips and took another puff.

“Fortunately for you, the pirates you killed in that last little stunt were all stealing from me.”

How convenient.

Still, she could hardly believe anyone would be ballsy enough to try and rip off Hoyt Volker. She understood those who crossed him seldom lived to tell the tale - had observed as much back at Beras Town when he’d forced those people through the minefield for taking his transport manifest.

Then again, until recently, she had been actively undermining all his operations with gusto…perhaps being far removed from the man and his presence gave an inflated sense of confidence. Sitting before him, as she did now, was an entirely different thing altogether: she couldn’t imagine taking him head on anymore.

“The plan was always to burn the cut they intended to sell and then be rid of them…You did me a favor handling that all in one go. So, I’m going to cut you a break.”

The look she sent him must have spelled out her disbelief as he spread out his arms as if to wave away her suspicions.

“Clean slate. Back at square one.”

“Square one,” she repeated hollowly.

Her mind placed her back to that night in the cage, before she’d broken free and ran from an armed pursuit into the jungle. She knew from the start they were going to sell all their captives off - the pirates’ chatter had left her with no doubts about that, long before Vaas had dangled the impending danger in front of her. First they ransomed off their prey…only to then auction them off to the highest bidder anyway.

If Hoyt still meant to make a buck off her…

“It’s just me…,” she spoke up finally, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t have any money to pay a ransom. I...”

A lump formed in her throat voicing that last statement and she quickly swallowed around it, working hard not to crack. She’d run out of tears a long time ago – she’d be damned to have that change now in front of Hoyt of all people.

“Negotiations generally go better if you don’t play all your cards at once,” he advised with a hint of amusement.

Probably true. Still…

“We’re a bit beyond bullshitting each other at this point,” she stated plainly. “I know when to fold a bad hand.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle at such a statement but she wasn’t sure what it was that he latched onto; she could only watch as he rose from his chair and circled the desk to come stand before her. As he loomed over her, she could barely keep herself from shaking, even as he reached out and grasped her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward. Hoyt’s eyes seemed to bore into hers and it was all she could do keep from shutting hers tightly to escape from some of his intensity.

“Such a rare thing, eyes like that,” he noted. “Plenty would pay a fortune for a pretty girl with different colored eyes.”

Her heart lurched in her chest but she held his gaze, letting her gaze harden to steel. Terrified as she may be, anyone trying to buy her would be met with resistance. She was a fighter, through and through, and would be damned if she didn’t go down without a fight…

“If I were to sell you,” he continued, finally letting her face slip from his fingers. “But I don’t want to do that.”

The look she gave him conveyed her disbelief; his hands rose in a gesture of good faith.

“Really I don’t. You fought hard for your freedom. And I’m inclined to give it to you…”

She watched him warily as he leaned back on the desk behind him, regarding her with a suddenly neutral expression.

What’s the chance he actually intends to let me walk outta here?

Slim to none, she wagered. In spite of his assertion of a “clean slate”, she didn’t see him allowing her to skip town after everything she had done. After everything she had seen. The drugs, the smuggling, the kidnappings and the murders she had witnessed in her short time here must only scratch the surface of all the dark deeds being undertaken on the Rook Islands.

She wouldn’t have the first clue who to approach back on the mainland, but her testimony could surely get something in the works…couldn’t it? Hoyt had to know that – he was already 5 steps ahead of her, it seemed, and knew the danger she presented left to her own devices. No, she didn’t see herself getting to leave this all behind…she could only see this ending one way…

“Work for me, kid.”

Nothing could have prepared her for a job offer – not when she was readying herself for death instead. Anna could only blink, unable to keep the shock from her face as she stared up at him in disbelief.

“You’re young, talented…a bit green, but you show real promise,” he said casually, making the situation seem all the more absurd.

He circled back around the desk and sat himself back down in his armchair; she watched as he produced another cigar from his box and lit it for himself, taking his time savoring the initial drag before addressing her again.

“You’ll be compensated accordingly…a roof over your head, real food, neither of which I know you were getting in those savage towns or the jungle.”

…that was all certainly enticing, she wouldn’t lie. Starvation and restless nights weren’t unfamiliar to her but it still wasn’t wonderful to be experiencing them once more. The promise of a decent bed and square meals certainly had her thinking it over…

“And - best of all - you get to keep doing what you do best. Only in my name now; you go where I tell you to go, and you shoot who I tell you to shoot,” he told her, gesturing with his cigar animatedly.

Anna swallowed thickly, feeling the saliva in her mouth turn acrid at his words. It had…troubled her, to say the least, at just how easily she’d taken to killing. After that first pirate in her escape from Vaas’ camp, it had become almost second nature: she barely even blinked when taking a life anymore. She hadn’t been lying to Hoyt minutes prior when she chalked it all up to survival…but perhaps it went a bit beyond that.

Hoyt, at the very least, seemed to understand that. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t be casting this pitch here and now. He thought she belonged among his ranks…working in the service of a slaver and drug lord. She hadn’t forgotten what he was or how he made his money; all his praise and honeyed words couldn’t take that knowledge from her…

He must have read the indecision on her face, given how pensive he seemed from a moment prior.

“But I understand this is big commitment, and one not taken on lightly. So…name your price.”

Anna stared at him, not quite comprehending.

“What do you mean?” she finally dared to ask.

“Anything you want…within reason,” he amended after a moment, taking a puff from his cigar. “Name it and its yours.”

What could she possibly want from him – what could he possibly give her? Her eyes darted to the far corner of the desk and the shiny gold star winking at her from it.

“I want that back,” she said quickly, gesturing for the badge.

He placed it down on the desk before her and she had to force herself not to snatch it up in the same moment. Having it back in her grasp lifted an enormous weight off her shoulders, letting her breathe normally for the first time in weeks. Her thumb slid over the shield, following the smooth trail she’d worn meticulously over the years and felt the familiar comfort and strength it lent her seep into her chest. She only allowed herself a few strokes before burying it deep in the pocket of her shorts, far from Hoyt’s prying eyes, still watching her every move.

“I was going to offer that back to you anyway,” he told her simply, leaning forward once more. “It’s meaningless to me – and probably just about everyone else. So, as a gesture of good faith, name something else.”

Anna could only stare at him, seeing how he waited in anticipation for a response and realized he was being sincere. What else could she ask for? Not her freedom, obviously, since he wanted her staying here and working for him – but what else did she want?

There was so little she craved. Money wasn’t a priority, nor was status. She would be content with so little if she could just live comfortably and in relative anonymity…all of which waited for her back in-

No, it doesn’t, a voice in her head warned suddenly, conjuring up a familiar face in her mind’s eye.

Her blood ran cold as she thought of Louis Draven once more. Everything always linked back to him – everything was always his fault. Her parents, her time in foster care, all the abuse and neglect she’d suffered, her decision to skip town and come out here-!

Wrath consumed her, causing reason to abandon her. Swallowing thickly around the angry lump that had formed in the back of her throat, she tried to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke.

“There’s a man back in the States: Louis Draven….say I wanted his head-”

“Done.”

Her eyes snapped back to Hoyt instantly, some of her rage tempered by disbelief.

“Just like that?”

He merely shrugged.

“Simple enough.”

“You don’t need to know why?” she pressed.

“You’ve got your reasons – good ones, I’m sure,” he said simply. “We’ll leave it at that.”

He levelled her with a stare.

“But know that if I do this for you, you’ve signed a contract with me. Your life becomes mine.”

There was something more than just sinister in his choice of words…but all she could think of was the smile on Draven’s face when he’d walked away from her father, bleeding out in her arms in the middle of Main Street. Her eyes were hard as stone as she stared back at Hoyt.

“You get him for me, I’m all yours,” she insisted.

If he kept his word, she meant it. But she had her doubts – no one delivered on such promises. Kind of like when the judge looked her in the eye and told her Draven would never see the light of day again after being thrown behind bars…

Still, when Hoyt smirked and reached a hand out across the desk, she took it without hesitation, shaking it firmly. An even if he didn’t make good on his word, she might have a better shot of finding help here on the northern islands than back in Badtown or Amanaki. Maybe Hoyt’s apparent interest and attention would wane and she could slip onto a boat bound for the mainland and there would be no real fuss over her vanishing. She could play the long con, if that’s what it took…with any luck, she’d be back in the States in a short while, putting this whole fever dream behind her for good.

She kept that in mind, even as a sudden heaviness in her chest cautioned her of who she had just signed her soul over to.

____________________________________________________________

Nearly two months had passed and Anna remained in the belly of the beast – but all things considered, it wasn’t so bad, she supposed.

Cutting a deal with the man pulling all the strings had immediate benefits: unlike previous agreements she had entered into with others on the Rook Islands, Hoyt actually came through for her. Real, decent food she didn’t have to scrounge for, a solid roof over her head, and an actual mattress to sleep on had her ready to speak all the words he wanted her to say a hundred times over.

The Privateers weren’t the best people to be suddenly thrust into the mix of…especially not as the lone female among their ranks. There were eyes constantly on her, making her feel next to naked just walking the streets as she learned the layout of her new home. Most kept their distance, either maintaining silence or simply catcalling as she passed. Others were bold, putting themselves in her space and forcing her to contend with their unwanted attention and defuse as skillfully as she could.

It had taken just one man going a bit too far to finally have someone step in. One of the tallest, most intimidating men she’d seen in her time at the Compound came forward and immediately had her intimidator on guard as he sized him up.

“No one messes with this one or they go straight to Hoyt,” the tall man said in a thick German accent that perfectly matched his physical appearance. “Boss’s orders.”

And that was that. The harassment all came from afar from that moment onward – and she had become fairly attached to Sam Becker, her unexpected knight in shining armor. He’d actually supervised some of her training and seemed to be grooming her to join his squad out in the field in the future.

Out of all the possibilities that laid out for her, that one was indeed the most promising. The longer she stayed here, the less certain she was that trying to make a break for the mainland was even possible. Most of the men who served here were bastards and would sooner sell her out if she approached them with such a conspiracy instead of offering a hand; those who were more decent, such as Sam and several others she had grown friendly with, would likely caution her against crossing Hoyt in such a way. He’d extended mercy to her once before – he would not do it again.

For the most part, she didn’t see too much of Hoyt himself. He was busy running his empire and she was fully occupied with being put through the paces of becoming a Privateer. The training was rather intense – she didn’t have military history like most of the men around her and hadn’t been prepared to be dropped into boot camp – but she put in her best and tried keeping pace.

When the boss did deign to drop by, it was almost always to look in on her and whatever she was being subjected to. It was a seemingly average day when he made one such unannounced visit while she was in the midst of target practice with a handful of others.

“Anna.”

Nobody ever called her Anna, as she’d said time and again. But Hoyt Volker wasn’t nobody. And he didn’t take “no” for an answer so she hadn’t bothered correcting him like she did with everyone else. She turned towards him instantly, abandoning her company at the drop of a hat; none of them protested, all knowing what happened to those who thwarted their boss’s even most inconsequential whims.

He actually waited for her to join him at his side and she was immediately suspicious of how pleased he looked with himself.

“I have a present for you,” he taunted.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly before she could even think to conceal her skepticism; she was a second too slow, based on Hoyt’s laughter. Had it been anyone else, he might not have reacted so well to such insolence, but for some reason, he seemed to indulge hers to a degree.

“Walk with me,” he commanded.

It was a strange request but she didn’t dare question him and easily fell into step behind him. Still, as he led them away from the range and back towards the center of the Compound, she could feel her brow furrowing with confusion. Hoyt wasn’t one for silence and his quiet left her feeling deeply unsettled. Either he was deep in thought or he was unhappy…and she finally thought to be more worried about where he was taking her as he led her down into the basement of the main complex.

She didn’t need to be told what happened down here: the sight of the cells that lined either wall and the heavy aroma of sweat and fear were all the indications she required. It left her throat dry, wondering just what reason she was being brought down here for. Hoyt had called it a “present”…but was he merely toying with her? Did he have any reason to suspect she was still harboring a desire to skip town at the first chance?

As he led her towards the furthest cell back, the man she had come to know as Buck exited through its door. He spoke to Hoyt in a low tone that had the other man chuckling under his breath before waving him away. Anna watched in silence as Buck sauntered off, but not before casting a wink her way. Immediately, her hackles raised; she didn’t know him well but she knew enough about Buck Hughes to be deeply wary and unsettled by him. She didn’t have time to watch his departure as Hoyt gestured her into the cell first.

Hesitantly, she approached before nearly stopping dead at the sight before her. There was a man inside, tied to a chair and beaten to a pulp. His head was drooped over his chest, obscuring his face from view; Anna could only stare in confusion as Hoyt passed by her and towards him, circling around behind him.  

“A deal is a deal,” he told her pointedly.  

She struggled to find the words to voice her confusion just as he grabbed the other man’s hair and brought his head back up straight. Anna’s heart stopped in her chest the moment she recognized just who was before her.

That face…she’d never forget that face. Not even bruised and broken as it was now. It haunted her...she saw it when she closed her eyes, she saw it when she slept…

She couldn’t have predicted that Hoyt would have hand delivered Louis Draven to her. Beyond the doubt that he would make good on his word at all, she’d just assumed she’d be told that he was taken care of. Having him here, before her, for the first time since his sentencing all those years back…

“Well, I imagine you have some catching up to do,” Hoyt said cheerfully, dropping his hold on Draven and striding back towards her.

Hoyt’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, anchoring her to the reality of the situation: this was real, this was actually happening. He leaned in close and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“Take as long as you need,” he told her.

She felt his fingers slip away and heard his footsteps dissipate as he walked off.

Leaving her and Draven alone…

For a long time, she remained rooted to the spot, merely staring at the man before her. He barely acknowledged her, head rolling from side to side as he contended with the pain from his previous beatings. Buck must have been the one to put him through the wringer – she didn’t feel sorry for him in the slightest but she could practically feel Draven’s pain as he sat there breathing heavily.

For so long, she’d seen him as only a monster. Some sort of shadowy specter that was untouchable. Seeing him bleed reminded her he was just as human as she was. It finally gave her some power over him.

“Do you remember me?” she spoke up, softer than she intended.

“Fuck you,” Draven slurred after a minute.

“Do you. Remember. Me?” she demanded, voice rising sharply as she took a step forward.

Draven cast a tired, irritated glance her way but he did make an effort, sizing her up.

“No,” he said finally.

“March 8, 2004,” she stated stiffly, stalking closer. “Mountainview, Montana. You gunned down the sheriff and his wife in broad daylight on Main Street.”

She watched the surprise blossom in his one good eye and felt herself begin to quake with rage. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“They had their daughter with them. You didn’t kill her.”

He was silent for some time, staring openly at her.

“You gotta be fucking shitting me – you?”

Anna stepped closer, eyes brimming with the full hatred of the last 7 years.

“Me.”

Draven sneered, showing her bloody teeth.

“Well look at you, all grown up…and working for some thugs. Parents would be so proud-”

“You don’t get to talk about them!” she shouted.

She had to wait for some of the red to bleed out of her vision; everything was so loud and moving so fast, much like her heart thundering in her chest. Inhaling and exhaling through her nose rapidly, she fought to regain any of her composure.

“And you don’t get to judge me for how I’ve survived up until now. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

“So that’s my fault too-“

“Yes. It is,” she snarled. “If you hadn’t killed my parents, none of this would have happened! If you had just stayed in prison like you were fucking supposed to-!”

“I did my time.”

“You were handed a life sentence,” she hissed. “Just because you managed to exploit some fucking loophole and get out does not mean you ‘did your time.’ There will never be enough time on this earth to make right what you did to my family, to me.”

“Your old man killed my brother, did they ever tell you that?” he asked.

“For trying to kill him – and several civilians,” she snapped. “It was his job to stop him.”

“Still killed him.”

“You killed both of my parents.”

“It was revenge.”

“So is this.”

He glared at her through his shark-like black eyes.

“Bite me.”

Anna surprised herself with the cruel bark of laughter that ripped from her throat.

“You took everything from me. My parents, my home, my life – every terrible foster home I got shoved into, every time I got beaten and smacked around, every hardship I’ve faced these past years is all on you. That all falls back on you and what you did that day,” she spat.

He remained silent, his glare shifting from her to the wall as he exhaled in pain, finally letting his tough guy act fall through. Anna stared at him for a long time, taking in his state as she attempted to rein herself back in. Her rage sat hot and tight in her chest and the back of her throat, making it hard to even try and sort through her thoughts. But there was still a question that needed answering – something that had plagued her for so long…

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and gave herself a second before pushing forward.

“Have you ever once felt any regret for what you did?”

“No.”

His response was fast but concise: she didn’t doubt his sincerity. It didn’t make the feeling in her chest any better but at least there wasn’t the problem of guessing if he was lying to her or not.

“Given the chance…”

She turned back towards him with surprise, waiting for him to continue. He rolled his head back to stare at her, a nasty smirk on his lips…the same one she remembered from so long ago-

“I’d do it all over again, just the same.”

Her hand flew down to her holster before she even had time to think. The Glock in her hand fired off two rounds, one into each knee. His screams made her stomach turn but she refused to look away, watching him writhe.

“You bitch! You fucking bitch!”

She reholstered her pistol with shaking fingers, trying to regain control over herself. The action had been so kneejerk – she wasn’t even sure if it’s what she intended this all to lead up to. It would be an outright lie if his pain didn’t bring her any pleasure…but by and large, she just grew angrier with each passing second.

It didn’t take much for her to realize that she had reached the point of no return. What she had done just now already spoke volumes …what came next would absolutely define her for the rest of her life. Anna shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to sift pass the cold, angry voice in her head that called for blood – had called for it for so long - to see if this was actually what she wanted.

“I should…have killed you too,” he wheezed out finally. “That’s my one regret.”

When she turned back towards him, her eyes were filled with cold resolution.

“Yeah. You should have.”

His eyes went instantly to her holster as she strode towards him, but her fingers went straight down to the sheath attached to her boot instead. He didn’t deserve quick or relatively painless – this was too personal. Draven had a moment to take in the sight of the blade before her hand arched and brought it down straight into his chest.

It was nothing but reflex at this point – she barely even reacted to his gargled exclamation before she pushed the knife in further. She let it sit for a few moments, before retracting quickly, ignoring the sudden warm spray on her cheek as she brought it down again.

He finally looked to her and she forced herself to meet his eye. For a moment, she remembered that smirk he’d given when he’d ran out of bullets and walked away from her family in the street, leaving her cradling her father while he bled out. Now Draven was the one dying, his blood covering her hands…only she had no smile for him. There was no happiness to be found in this act, only hatred and wrath. Anna made sure to hold his gaze as he slipped away, the light fading from his eyes as he finally slumped over and struggled no more.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed – it felt like both a second and an eternity – before she pulled the knife out and stumbled back a step or two. Her gaze couldn’t leave his face – at his still open, lifeless eyes, vacant and unseeing – as she panted for breath, standing in the center of the cell with silence as her only remaining companion.

Her father’s badge, safely tucked away in one of the pockets on her pants, felt suddenly heavy. Like it knew what she had just done and was reminding her of the gravity of her actions. She didn’t dare reach for it, hands slick with Draven’s blood, the knife still clutched tightly between her fingers.

Slowly, she lifted the blade to wipe clean on her sleeve. She didn’t trust herself to use any of Draven’s clothing for the task – she didn’t want to set foot near him again and chance unleashing more of that fury on his corpse. His death didn’t bring her the closure she’d hoped: killing him hadn’t brought back her parents. It didn’t undo all the injustices she had endured or take away the pain she felt.

All it did was stoke the anger inside her.

Still…even if justice hadn’t been served, vengeance had been claimed. In the end, she supposed, that was all that mattered. It was over and done, nothing further to be gained; she’d just have to accept that.

After several moments of staring at the limp body across from her, she forced herself to turn and exit the cell. Out in the hall, she felt she could finally breathe again, inhaling shakily through her mouth. It was like she’d suddenly become present again after being removed from time and space – that had actually just happened, it wasn’t something she’d imagined. The blood on her hands and face seemed to have gained weight, making her hyperaware of their presence; it didn’t leave her feeling sick as she expected…just inexplicably calm as she navigated her way back out of the cellblock.

Hoyt was at the surveillance desk when she reached the end of the hall, eyes already looking to catch sight of her as she rounded the corner. Anna realized he had been watching through the camera feed and had witnessed everything that had just transpired. A knot formed in her stomach at such a deeply personal moment being watched by an outsider…but knew it would have never taken place without his orchestration and tried to smother the feeling as best she could. His smile of approval greeted her as she drew closer, spreading his hands out in question.

“Satisfied?” he asked simply.

Anna couldn’t be sure that was the word she’d use to describe how she was feeling…but it was probably the closest to catharsis she’d ever reach. Searching for the right response, she found that there wasn’t anything remotely poignant or intelligent she could provide.

“Thank you,” she managed to force out quietly.

Hoyt merely shrugged, looking unfazed.

“Merely upholding my part of the bargain,” he reminded her, watching her closely.

Her eyes flitted to him, voice returning with a sense of conviction.

“I’m with you,” she said earnestly. “Here on out, I’m yours.”

She meant every word.

Perhaps there was no coming back from this – no redemption, no absolution. But maybe it was better this way…maybe it’s what she actually wanted. She’d struggled so long with the feelings of darkness within her soul – finally given the chance to act upon them, there had been no hesitation, no doubt…

Absolutely no regret.

Maybe she did belong here with Hoyt and his men after all. He was giving her a look of approval that she’d be damned to deny didn’t make her feel sinfully justified.The desire to return home was non-existent in her now: this was home, wherever Hoyt was. She’d follow him to the ends of the earth, into Hell itself if he asked her to; she owed him a debt she could never repay.

The darkness didn’t seem so scary now, not when she walked side-by-side with what lurked in it. There was no place for any light in that inky blackness…she’d have to leave it behind in order to move ahead.

That suited Anna just fine. 

______________________________________________________

“Yeoo, standin' at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride Ooo eee, I tried to flag a ride Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee, eee, risin' sun goin' down I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down”

Robert Johnson, “Cross Road Blues”

__________________________________________________________

Author’s Notes: I’ve replayed FC3 a lot the past month and a half and it had me thinking...Jason Brody was 25 and stranded with friends and family to look after when he arrived on the Rook Islands. My girl Anna Bishop would have only been 18 in 2012 when the game’s timeline is set, with no family and no friends to speak of. It had me wondering just how differently things would have played out with her in a leading role as opposed to Jason.

No attachments means less danger...but also greater loneliness and despair. And she didn’t have what Citra wanted in the end so I saw her path diverging substantially from Jason’s. Aside from how charismatic I find Hoyt, I also felt that Anna would be more susceptible to him and what he had to offer than Jason ever was. It also would open up the door for future interactions with Vaas, Sam, and even Buck going this route so i ended up typing up this little story as a way to kill time between writing some of my FC5 stuff.

#Deputy Anna Bishop #teamhawkeye writes

[sml8180]

A Gift

I was tagged by @johnseedsplane for the last line tag, and it made me realize that I hadn’t yet posted something I’d been working on-

Not a FC5 shot, but it’s still a nice D:BH one I finished the other day. I’mma just post the full thing; It’s about when Elijah gifted Markus to Carl. 

Not gonna tag anyone for this, because a lot of people I follow have already done this sort of thing, so, yeah-

Carl had been the life of the party at one point. After the accident, though, that was a different story. Drugs and alcohol became a large part of the next few years for the man, before a stint in the hospital and rehab pulled him out. He was recluse after that, making no public appearances, not hosting events, the man even stopped doing what he’d always loved most, painting. None of this went unnoticed, either. Rumors spread concerning Carl’s condition, until he faded from the public’s interest altogether.

Elijah was worried about the man he looked up to as an inspiration, and thought of as a friend. Despite the gap in their age, they had grown close as friends, both being visionaries and influencers in their respective fields. In some ways, Carl had almost been a father to Elijah, and his recluse nature worried him. Kamski had always been more of a loner, but Carl had always been the life of any event. So, in an attempt to help his friend, Elijah commissioned a secret project for a select team at CyberLife. He had it kept quiet, with only himself and his most trusted people working the project, but he wanted it to be a surprise.

It was several months before they finished. Elijah hadn’t heard anything from Carl, and he was getting worried with each passing day. Finally, on a sunny day, Elijah left CyberLife early, with his original creation and constant companion, Chloe, and his newest creation, an RK200 android, by his side. They met a cab outside, and rode in silence until they arrived at Carl’s home. The grounds, though well planned and landscaped, were somewhat unkempt. Carl used to take care of them, himself, or have someone come up to do it, but since becoming more and more of a recluse, they had been mostly neglected. As they walked up the path to the front door, the RK200’s LED spun yellow from time to time as it took in the information presented to it. The prototype hadn’t been informed of why they were here, but the programming running through its head told it that this was where it was needed.

Elijah rang the doorbell as they stood on the front steps. Chloe stood by Elijah’s side, admiring the outside of the house, while the RK200 stood just behind them, hands clasped behind its back. A couple of minutes passed, and Elijah was about to ring the bell again when the door opened. On the other side, Carl was seated in a wheelchair, looking unkempt and sleep deprived. He looked up at the man at the door, his gaze shifting between Elijah and Chloe, before going to the third subject in his view. The older man wasn’t against androids, not entirely, at least. He knew that the world was going to keep advancing, and there was no reason to fight it. But, he still thought of androids simply as machines, no matter how human they seemed at first sight.

“Elijah. I wasn’t expecting you,” Carl casually stated. His voice was a tad hoarse from hardly being used.

“I would’ve called, but you haven’t been getting back,” Elijah explained. He gave a subtle smile to the older man. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. But judging by the second android you’ve got with you, you didn’t come by just to say hello.” Carl wheeled himself back from the door, motioning for the young man and the two androids to come in.

As the three guests entered, Elijah and Carl started with a bit of idle chatting as they made their way into the living area. The RK200 looked around, LED spinning yellow as it took in the interior of the home. There was a fine layer of dust on most of the surfaces, indicating that it had been some time since the space was last dusted. The walls were adorned with various pieces of artwork, and even the stairs leading to the second floor had a painting formed by their outward facing surfaces. This was clearly the home of an artist, and it was made all the more obvious as the group came into the living area, where the walls were lined with bookcases and a piano sat in the corner. A chess set was at the ready, but clearly hadn’t been used at least since the last time the home was properly dusted, as the same layer covered the pieces. Carl and Elijah made their way over to the set, Carl settling behind the gold pieces, and Elijah at the silver, and they began a casual game as they started to talk, with Chloe and the RK200 standing by, watching over Elijah’s shoulder.

“You normally only have Chloe with you. What’s the new android, Elijah?” Carl didn’t waste any time as they started to play. He’d been curious since he opened the front door.

“Well, you’ve shut out the world, become depressed, lonely; I thought you could use a companion,” Elijah’s tone was casual as he made his own move. “The RK200 is a prototype I had made as a potential companion for you. Based off the current RK series, this is one of our most advanced androids to date.”

“I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself.” As always, Carl was stubborn. If nothing else, at least that hadn’t changed.

“I’m not implying that you can’t. But it isn’t healthy to just stay in here alone like this. Besides, going off the state of the place, you could use an extra set of hands.”

Carl was quiet as he made his next move, sighing as he thought over the words of the young man in front of him. “What can it do?”

Kamski smiled a bit, making another move. “Anything you need. It’s programmed to cook, clean, even help with the yard work. Most of all, the RK200 is meant to be a companion to you.” His explanation was to the point, as he motioned to the male android over his shoulder.

Carl finally looked at the android properly, taking it in. The android in front of him had skin that could be described as a sort of golden tan, striking green eyes, and very short brown hair. Its build wasn’t quite slim; it seemed strong, and one could say toned, if it were human. In all, Carl wouldn’t be surprised if there was someone out there who would find the android attractive. It certainly was pleasant to look at, the man would at least admit that. “You like to name your prototypes. What’d you call this one?”

“I thought I’d leave that up to you, Carl,” Elijah smiled a bit, watching as his friend seemed to think this over. He knew the man wasn’t much of a fan of androids, though he wasn’t against them. The young innovator could only hope that the older man would accept his gift. Several moments of silence passed, before Carl have a sigh, giving a bit of a shrug, seeming to accept the offer to name the android and keep it around. “Do you have a name in mind?”

“I think so. But, if this backfires, you’re coming and taking it back,” the artist’s words were a bit hasty, with a bit of annoyance. He didn’t really want anyone around, human or android; he just wanted to be left alone. But, he knew that, like himself, Elijah could be a stubborn man. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The younger man nodded, looking up to the male android. “RK200, register your name.”

“Markus.”

The android’s LED spun yellow for a cycle, before settling to blue once again, green eyes settling on Carl. “My name is Markus,” were the first words to be spoken by the prototype that day. It had a smooth, gentle voice. Carl had to admit to himself that he found the voice pleasant, though he wouldn’t say so out loud.

Elijah and Carl went on with their game, and their visit went on for a short time longer, before Elijah got a call that he needed to return to CyberLife to assist in resolving some issue. The younger man stood with a sigh. “Seems I need to go and sort some things out. I hope that Markus will be able to help you,” he mused to Carl as they made their way to the door. Chloe kept by his side, and Markus stayed closer to Carl this time around. The older man hadn’t let the android wheel him to the door, choosing to do so himself.

“I’ll call if anything happens,” Carl told his younger friend.

With a nod, Kamski bid the artist and male android goodbye, and left with Chloe. On the way back to CyberLife tower, Elijah could only hope that his friend would be alright. If anyone could eventually see an android as a member of their family, he felt Carl would fit the bill, if he gave the younger’s creations a chance.

As time went on, Carl would call Elijah from time to time, asking questions about Markus, giving him updates on how things were going, and occasionally just to talk. As they spoke about the android, Elijah could hear in Carl’s voice that the older man was growing more and more fond of Markus. Eventually, the artist even started to refer to Markus as “he” rather than “it”. The development made Elijah smile, and he did so even more as his friend spoke about the things that Carl told him. The prototype was studying music and literature under his guidance, taking an interest in the works around Carl’s home, even trying to ease the other back into painting. After a year or so, Elijah saw Carl’s first new piece up at an exhibition. The joy he felt at having helped his friend in the only way he really knew, to Elijah at least, felt like a gift in return.

#tag meme #idk #dbh oneshot #dbh kamski #dbh carl #dbh markus #fanfiction #dbh fanfic

[aceghosts]

Deputy Blue Murphy + Related TV Tropes (Part 2)

Part 1: X

Ship TV Tropes: X

#Far Cry #far cry 5 #The Deputy #The Junior Deputy #gamingedit #fc5edit #farcry5edit #mygifs #i always wanted to make a follow up #and i finally did it! #i wasn't sure about the good is not soft #but I think it fits Blue in fc5 #Joey Hudson #John Seed #virgil minkler #also i apologize for my terrible gameplay lol #blue murphy

[aceghosts]

OC Name Meanings

I was tagged by @chazz-anova, @hoesephseed, @adelaidedrubman, @johnnycranes, @strafethesesinners, @belorage, and @shellibisshe to share the meaning behind the names of my OCs.

Tagging: @allthearchetypes, @gamer-purgatory, @chyrstis, @spookyvalentine, @commander-krios, @florbelles, @derelictheretic, @vasiktomis, @clicheantagonist, @henbased and anyone else who wants to do this! (Apologies if I've tagged you and you've already done this!)

Rules: Google and post the meaning of your oc’s name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! Bonus if you can find something for their last name too.

Deputy Blue Murphy

Blue (Nickname): A shortening of their childhood nickname, Blue Jay. Most people call them Blue.

Blue Jay (Nickname): A nickname given to them by their mother after the bird. Only their grandfather, mother, stepfather, Eric, Nadia, and their goddaughter, Christina are allowed to call them Blue Jay. This nickname is reserved for people Blue considers family.

Jay (First Name): In English, the name Jay is derived from Latin, meaning "To rejoice". It is a short form of names beginning with the letter J, such as James or Jason.

Murphy (Last Name): Murphy is an anglicized form of Irish Ó Murchadha meaning "descendant of Murchadh". Murchadh means "sea battle", derived from Old Irish muir "sea" and cath "battle".

Commander Rooney Shepard

Rooney (First Name): Rooney is a reduced Anglicized form of Gaelic Ó Ruanaidh ‘descendant of Ruanadh’, a byname meaning ‘champion’. (Pretty fitting for them, especially after what Rooney goes through.)

Shepard (Last Name): Shepard is an Occupational name meaning "shepherd, sheep herder", from Old English sceaphyrde.

#tag meme #commander rooney shepard #I won't let fear compromise who I am #I really love Rooney as a name #and I think it fits Shepard so well or at least my shepard #also I'm toying with the idea that Joseph would call Blue 'Blue Jay' when they got close enough later in their canon #And I would absolutely consider it canon that Blue would let Sharky and Grace call them Blue Jay by the end of FC5 #blue murphy

[aceghosts]

what poisonous flowering plant are you?

Hey Everyone! I know I'm a little late to the party, but I was tagged by @adelaidedrubman, @gamer-purgatory, @belorage, and @faithchel to take this uquiz. Thank you for tagging me!

Tagging: @allthearchetypes, @strafethesesinners, @chyrstis, @henbased, @nonfunctioning-queer, @i-am-the-balancing-point, and anyone else who wants to do this! (I'm blanking on who to tag, lol!)

Deputy Blue Murphy

Lily Of The Valley

This is the poison of giving too much. You feel yourself emptying out, dizzying, discoloring-- until you fear you will fade entirely and wither away. You have always had to give. You never had a choice before. They pluck your flowers for their beauty, they trample your leaves carelessly, they pull out your roots by the fistful and berate you for daring to grow. And now that you have a grove to spread out in, your rhizomes tangle and curl in on themselves. When cruelty is all you've ever known, thriving seems impossible. But the answer is not to make yourself small and offer every lovely thing you are to the world in the hopes it will have mercy on you. The answer is to let yourself dare to thrive for thriving's sake, to grow in the wild ways you wish to-- and to do that for yourself for once.

Commander Rooney Shepard

Oleander

This is the poison of stagnation. You grow drowsy. Your heart rate slows, and when you do move you can't seem to stop shaking. It may seem to others that you're lazy, or reticent. Like you avoid hard work on purpose, like you always take the easy way out. But you know deep down that it wouldn't be like this if you weren't so tired, so deeply tired. If you weren't crushed under the weight of sorrow like a mile of water over your head. Nothing brings you peace, except rest and-- though you can hardly dare to ask-- having someone tend to you gently and sweetly. A good gardener speaks to their plants, sings to them, waters them, fertilizes their soil, prunes the dead parts, nurtures the new growth. You yearn to be cared for like that, even though you feel you don't deserve it. The secret is that you do. You always have. And someday, you'll learn that, and receive that care, and the exhaustion won't keep you from growing strong and lovely anymore. You were never the problem. These are simply poor growing conditions for you.

#tag memes #commander rooney shepard #i won't let fear compromise who I am #I'm not sure that Rooney's result fits #but I really think that Blue's result does #especially in the context of FC5 #also some of you might be getting double tags tonight #lets see if i have the motivation to do the pinterest thing too #blue murphy

[aceghosts]

oooh I, M, Q, T, W for the fanfic asks?

Thanks for asking! I rambled a little on some of these answers.

[Fanfic Ask Meme]

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Not really? I’ve kinda given up on considering anything a guilty pleasure, and I have just decided to read or write whatever the fuck I want. I think it's working out for me pretty well so far, considering I'm having fun.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I don’t really have a lot on the back burner; I’m trying to spend my time working on the Five Years Later AU, Blue’s canon, and prompts. These are a few ideas that I would consider on the back burner:

Rooney’s Canon: This is for my Shepard from Mass Effect. It is going to happen, but I think I need to take an afternoon and just plan it all out. I have a few ideas here and there, but I would like something more concrete.

World Ender: This is a recent idea, but oh boy, this one is gonna go full-tilt horror. Essentially, Blue dies at the hands of the Seeds and is buried in a shallow grave. But Surprise! They came back from the dead, and something isn’t quite right with everyone’s favorite goofball. It's heavily inspired by Lord Huron's The World Ender.

Batman (2022) Longfic: I would love to write a longfic for Blue’s DC canon, but I just don’t have any specific ideas right now. I figure after I write a few prompts for them; I’ll figure it out. That’s how it usually happens anyway.

And all my original stuff.

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

Essentially any fandom that isn’t Mass Effect, FC5, or DC. I’m just generally not really interested in those projects anymore, but I may revisit them at a later date. I have two Fallout oneshots, a Cyberpunk 2077 oneshot, and a The Outer Worlds oneshot that are unfinished at the moment.

I also have a few discarded scenes from the Werewolf fic. Originally, Blue wasn’t going to know the werewolf who was attacking Hope County, but I thought it would make it more interesting if they did. Also, the scene where Blue and Joseph are having tea in the Church, was originally a scene where Blue accidentally runs into Joseph and his siblings while in their wolf form. While adorable, I didn’t think it fit the fic well. Unfortunately, for y’all, you missed John getting knocked over by Blue’s wagging tail.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

I wanna preface this with a 'Mutuals, none of this is about you.' As far as I know/remember, I don't think I've seen anyone do this.

I don’t know if this really counts as a trope, but I immediately nope out of a fic if a writer starts being weirdly fucking aggressive towards a character that is either (a) a potential rival love interest for their ship or (b) a character’s canon love interest. It is 20-fucking-22; you do not have to hate on that character. Also, there is a double layer of awfulness because the character is usually female, and some writers feel like they have to make that character an Evil Woman™. And not to be the pettiest fucking bitch alive, but the dude they’re fighting over isn’t worth it.

In general, I’m not a huge fan of when a writer demonizes another character unfairly, especially when the characters they’re writing about is equally shitty. I’m not saying the character shouldn’t be a bastard; I actively encourage that. Sometimes, a writer's biases show, and it can kinda ruin the fic. I find the FC5 fandom can be kinda egregious about this. For example, I find they can demonize Joseph a bit unfairly, but John, the man who fucking skins people, is a poor soft boy who must be protected. They’re both bastards; just let them be bastards.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

I feel like I walk a fine line with this. If a prompt is too general or too specific, I think I struggle a little bit. I usually find I work best off of Dialogue prompts or action prompts. Most dialogue prompts are pretty general and I feel like I can work them in some way. Although, if someone sends me a prompt, I'm always willing to give it a try.

#kate answers asks #i'm sorry that this gotta little long lol #I had a lot of thoughts for question T lol