#john seed fic

[wrathfulrook]

James Rook

James Rook is 15 years old and has never known who his father is. But when he finds out who his father is, he realizes it's his mom he may not know. AU, no collapse.

Ship: John Seed x Patience Ekner (deputy oc) [past relationship]

Rating: T

Word count: ~4.9k

Read it on ao3.

Maybe James Rook was naïve. None of his friends trusted their parents the way he’d trusted his mom. None of them considered their parents their friends. Until recently, he’d thought his close relationship with his mom was simply a result of being raised by a single mother. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

It was easy to sneak away.

Now 15 years old, his mom had assumed his recent distance from her was just a bit of teenage rebellion. But it wasn’t him. It was her. All of her lies and secrets. He hadn’t even known his mom’s real name until recently. What kind of mom does something like that?

The more generous part of James’ mind reminds him that he grew up happy and loved. That his mom gave up a lot for him; he knows that. Based on what he’d been able to find – and he’d found quite a bit; it had been national news at the time – changing her name was likely just a desire to protect herself, to protect him. That generous part of his brain tells him that there’s no way his father was a good man. If he was, James wouldn’t have been on a Greyhound and travelling cross-country to visit a prison.

James loved his mom.

But the less generous part of him seethed in anger. What kind of mom hid her kid’s origins from him? That part of him also ached, felt shattered. He felt like a fool. And he felt betrayed. How was he ever supposed to trust her again?

~

When it all ended, when the National Guard came, they all ended up behind bars. Joseph, Jacob, John, and Faith. Tucked away where they could never hurt anyone ever again. In the aftermath, her own name and face were plastered all over the news. Her statements were used in each trial, printed in papers nationwide. And so the courts had been all too willing to grant her petition for a name change. Patience Ekner ceased to be, and Patience Rook was born.

Patience Rook left Hope County, left Montana, never to go back. She put it all behind her and moved forward, the only reminder she chose to keep, the new surname she took, her nickname from those brutal, bloody days. Of course, there were other reminders she hadn’t chosen. The tattoo of her sin, for one. Wrath, he’d assigned her. Not that she ever believed, but she found wrath fairly fitting at the time.

In hindsight, he’d chosen wrong. It shouldn’t have been WRATH she spent hours getting covered up with flowers that she didn’t think particularly suited her. No. In retrospect, it should’ve been LUST.

But the tattoo wasn’t her only reminder of that time, of him. There was also the child she’d birthed, the child she adored. Her son.

Hers.

But, oh, did he look like his father. His hair dark where hers was blonde, eyes blue where hers were grey. He even had that same charming smile, the one that had worked so well on her those many years ago. The only thing of hers she could see on her child were her numerous freckles. But while her freckles remained always, her child had outgrown them by the time he hit high school.

Every now and then, he would say something, make some face, talk with his hands in a way that she was hit full force with the memory of his father. Both the horrible things he’d done and those stolen, secret nights they couldn’t keep apart from one another…

But mostly, usually, she looked at her boy and saw only him. James. Her perfect miracle baby. The gift that made everything about those dark days worth it in her eyes. He had been such a happy, smiley baby. Always giggling and gurgling. He’d been talkative long before he learned to speak. Always so sweet and kind. Petting her hair and telling her “Okay mommy… s’okay mommy…” as she purged herself of a stomach bug he’d brought home from daycare when he was too small to even form full sentences, while she in turn tried to reassure her baby that mommy was ok.

Even now, he was her perfect child. Still sweet, still happy. But now his own person. And she was so amazed by the person he’d become. He was funny. Funny in a way she never was. And so clever. Amazing grades as well as a quick wit… Patience loved her child and she knew how much he loved her too.

Even despite how he’d recently been pulling away.

~

James wondered how many signs he’d missed over the course of his life. How obvious it should have been. His mom had always told him she didn’t know who his father was. He recalled once, in one of his earliest memories, that she’d told him she chose his name because she’d always liked it, but also because she thought his father would like it too.

He’d asked her about it later, and she said that she’d never said it. And he believed her. He was so little at the time; it could’ve easily been a false memory. He still wasn’t sure it wasn’t. After all, he had a memory from around the same time of flapping his arms and flying like a bird throughout the house, and that memory felt equally as real.

But whether or not she’d told him his father would like his name, she knew. His mom knew who his dad was the whole time. Because he looked exactly like one of them. The Seeds. The cult leaders. He couldn’t know which was his father, but one of them was. He looked exactly like John Seed. The Baptist. The sadistic monster who tortured and murdered and starved innocent people. Just reading about his crimes had been enough to give James nightmares for a week.

He didn’t know whether or not that man that was his father, but he was related to him. There was no way he wasn’t. He’d been able to find some footage of the court proceedings against him, and it filled his stomach with an uncanny dread. Like watching an older version of himself. The same smile he saw every day in the mirror, the same gestures, speaking with his hands in the same way James did. Even his voice sounded familiar. Not the same, but certainly not very different from the way James sounded to himself in videos.

If John Seed wasn’t his father, he was at least his uncle. One of those men – John, Joseph, or Jacob – was his dad. His mother, the woman regarded nationally as a hero, the deputy who brought the cult to justice, had had a child with one of the cult’s leaders.

James had spent the past weeks learning everything he could about the Project at Eden’s Gate. And he was horrified at the thought that his mom would ever willingly have any sort of relationship with any of those men. He almost hoped she hadn’t. But if one of those men was his father, and his mom had in fact not been voluntarily involved with any of them… No. James couldn’t stomach the thought of that either.

No matter what the circumstances were back then, the situation now was that James had told his mom he was spending the long weekend camping with a friend’s family, when in reality he was on a bus to Montana to meet the man who might be his dad.

It had been surprisingly easy to contact John Seed. Apparently, you could write a letter to anyone as long as you knew their name and which prison they were at. James’ first letter hadn’t received a response. Probably because he had intentionally been a bit light on the details. Eventually he’d tried again, this time including his mom’s former name and, after much mental back-and-forth, a photo of himself.

And that had received a response.

John Seed had written back, though he didn’t say much. And via snail mail, they had arranged to meet. John Seed had even offered to fund the excursion, but James had declined, instead saving his allowance and taking small amounts from his mom’s purse every now and then, little enough each time not to be noticed.

He’d never stolen before, and he didn’t feel good about it now. But James liked to think himself honorable, and he would find a way to pay his mom back every cent he’d taken once he’d figured out who his dad was.

And hopefully John Seed could tell him.

~

Patience wasn’t nearly as obtuse as her son thought. Oh, how she sometimes missed those simple days when he believed she knew everything.

No, Patience knew that James had something going on. She didn’t know what it was, but she had a few ideas. As a mother, she had quite a few worst fears – drugs, alcohol, vaping… But those were just fears. James was a smart boy. He knew better than to get involved in something like that. Plus, he’d been exhibiting no signs of substance abuse. He was just suddenly more secretive and private than before. She had a more realistic suspicion than drugs.

Sex.

She feared her baby boy had become sexually active. 15 was so, so young for that. Patience had never even been kissed until she was 19. She’d been a little awkward growing up, a bit of an ugly duckling. Not James, though. Yet another way he took after his father. He’d always been a cute boy. Her son had taken a girl to the middle school dance. Kids had had crushes on him his whole life. He’d already had three “girlfriends” in his young life.

And so, what if his recent distance was a result of him starting to have sex?

Moms were meant to worry after their children, and Patience was no exception to that rule. But she’d always tried to be open, honest, and educational about sex. He should know enough, be responsible enough, to do what he was ready to when he was ready to. And inform her when he was ready for her to know. After all, a child asking where babies come from while only having one parent… James had been aware of the concept of sex from a very early age, especially with her claiming not to know who his father was.

Patience sometimes felt like she should feel guilty about lying to her son about something so serious as his parentage. Especially because that one lie involved a million more. James didn’t know about her time as a deputy. He didn’t even know she’d ever lived in Montana. He didn’t know their family name was actually Ekner. There were a lot of tiny lies that went into covering up who his father was. But she didn’t feel bad. Not even a little.

Because she was keeping her baby safe. Safe from publicity. Safe from her past. And safe from John Seed.

~

James had never felt more out of his element than when he was checking in as a visitor at the prison. That is, until about twenty minutes later when he was sitting across the table from John Seed.

John Seed wore a beige correctional jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed to the table, which James hadn’t been expecting. Despite this, the man seemed completely at ease. He was well-coiffed, his salt and pepper hair slicked back, his facial hair neatly trimmed, and the crows feet around his eyes creasing when he smiled genially at him. He had clearly aged in the past 15 years since the news coverage James had found, but he was certainly recognizable, and still eerily familiar.

“So, you’re the deputy’s son… It’s nice to meet you, James.”

“Nice to meet you…” James floundered on what to call the man across from him. John? Mr. Seed? He opted to let the sentence dangle awkwardly.

“You can call me John.”

James nodded. “John.”

“I’m assuming you have many questions for me.” John dove right into it and James felt a bit flustered. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, though, and doubted anything would seem normal in a situation like this.

After a brief pause, he spoke. “Yes… Like I wrote in my letters. I think you or one of your brothers may be my father and I-“ James swallowed uncomfortably, a too-obvious tactic to buy time to build courage. “I was wondering if you knew who my father was.”

John smiled. The smile seemed friendly on the surface, but there was something in his eyes that James couldn’t place.

“I am. I’m your father.”

James nodded, surprised that he didn’t feel surprised. Logically, he knew it could have been any of the brothers. Logically, he knew that it was likely his close resemblance to the man across from him that made him feel any sort of connection. But the moment John confirmed it, he realized he’d known. He felt, somewhere deep inside of himself, that John Seed was his dad.

“So… you and my mom…?” James let himself trail off, not really sure what he was asking, or how he should ask it.

John nodded, one eyebrow raised, as if impressed by the audacity of the unspoken question. “Yes. We were involved. In secret, of course. We met up more than a few times, none of which were terribly romantic.”

James understood the implication and asked no follow up questions. John and his mother hadn’t been in love. They weren’t dating. They just… were. James didn’t love the idea of his mom being some guy’s late night booty call and didn’t particularly want to think about it. But at the same time, he’d spent his whole life believing his mom didn’t even know who his father was, so it wasn’t exactly an unbelievable idea.

“Is she well, your mother?”

James nodded.

“And where does she think you are right now?”

James blinked in surprise. “How-?”

John laughed, not unkindly. “She’d never let you come here. Not in a million years. Not to see me.”

James didn’t like the emphasis he’d put on the word “me,” some red flag going off somewhere in the back of his mind.

“She thinks I’m at a friend’s.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he spoke. “No, she doesn’t.”

James didn’t know what to say to that.

“Tell me, James, have you been raised in the faith?”

“I- what faith?” Surely John knew his mother never subscribed to the cult’s beliefs.

He shrugged. “Any faith.”

He shook his head no. “No. We’re not religious.”

John just hummed contemplatively but didn’t look surprised. Nor did he look surprised at the next, sudden question.

“Did you know about me?” He hadn’t even known he was going to ask the question until it was out, tumbling past his lips.

For the first time since his arrival, John’s face lost all traces of humor, of ease, of amiability. His eyes, the same eyes James saw every day in the mirror, bored into his own.

“No. No, I never had any idea. If I had known I had a child, I’d have been there for you. For her.”

James doubted that very much. Not because he doubted John; he had no idea whether he meant that or not. He doubted it because, even if he wasn’t locked away behind bars for the rest of his life, he knew his mother would never let this man near them. That’s something he would have known even before he found out just what his mother was capable of, what she’d done in Hope County. More than he trusted that the sun would rise tomorrow, he trusted that his mom would do anything and everything in her power and beyond to keep him away from any perceived threat.

And he knew his mom considered John Seed a threat.

John brushed past the serious moment easily, that same easy smile sliding back into place. “Tell me about yourself, James. A father should know some things about his son, don’t you think?”

James warily nodded. “…Like what?”

“Anything. Everything. What classes are you in? Do you have any hobbies? You’re 15, right? When is your birthday?”

“Uh- yeah. 15. I’m a sophomore. My birthday is June 21st.”

Though his facial expression didn’t change, James knew he was doing the mental math. And given that he didn’t say anything about it, the math clearly checked out.

“Are you driving?” John asked.

James shook his head no. “No. All the summer birthdays have driver’s ed in the spring semester. I have my permit, but mom’s only taken me out driving once, in a parking lot. I didn’t do very well, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. It’s like anything else – you just need practice.” John smiled kindly, and James could almost forget the horrible crimes he was convicted of. In fact, if he wasn’t wearing the khaki jumpsuit, he was sure he would’ve let himself. “And what about school? How’s school? Your grades?”

“Fine. As and Bs, mostly. I’m taking all the regular classes. And my electives this semester are Spanish, debate, and study hall.”

“Debate? How are you enjoying that?”

James shrugged, uncomfortable bragging about himself. “It’s fun.” He left out that he was captain of the underclassmen debate team.

“And Spanish is an elective?” John asked in an interested voice. “Does your school not have a language requirement?”

“No, it does. Two years. But I want to take Spanish for all four. I just meant, I’m taking Spanish as opposed to French or German.”

John nodded. “That’s a very intelligent choice. Does your mother help you with your Spanish studies?”

James nodded, a bit taken aback that John knew his mom spoke Spanish. It wasn’t like she spoke it often. He was surprised it came up in their time together. “Yeah, sometimes. When I was first learning last year, she labelled everything in the house. And she’ll speak to me in Spanish sometimes when I want to practice.”

“She sounds like a wonderful mother.” John spoke softly, kindly, genuinely pleased.

“She’s the best.”

~

James had returned when he said he would, but he was very light on the details. When she’d asked how camping had been, all he said was “fine.” But she knew he hadn’t gone camping. She’d called the parents of the family he claimed to be camping with, and they were home.

James was lying.

Would he really lie about spending the whole weekend with a girl? He never used to lie to her.

Patience had gone out and purchased condoms, dental dams, and a few other small but useful things and left them in the top drawer of James’ bathroom. She considered leaving him a note, assuring him they didn’t need to talk about it if he didn’t want to, but eventually decided that leaving no note would convey the same message.

She was fairly certain she had James’ sudden secrecy figured out until a few days after his return. James had just gotten on the bus for school, and she was about to head to work. She pulled out her phone to check her banking app, debating the financial pros and cons of stopping for a coffee on the way.

She froze.

She double-checked that the name at the top of the account was hers. Then triple-checked. It was. She went into her checking account, to see where the staggering windfall of cash had come from.

And then she threw up.

~

James couldn’t focus at all. He hadn’t taken a single note, hadn’t read anything his teachers wrote on the board. He’d even been called on in government class, but he hadn’t even heard the question. His mind was elsewhere. Back in a Montana correctional facility with his dad.

His dad who was friendly, who missed flying his planes, who wished his siblings were housed in the same facility. His dad told him what each of the small tattoos on his hand meant, who laughed kindly when James clarified the latest teen slang he’d used, who promised to keep in touch and had already kept his word – a letter had arrived in his secret PO box just yesterday.

The same dad who was and remained a religious extremist, who’d used his legal knowledge to cheat people out of their homes and businesses, who’d cut off food supply to the Holland Valley. The same dad who’d tortured people, who’d skinned people, who’d murdered people.

James thought that meeting his dad would clear things up, but he’d never felt muddier…

~

John had aged well in the intervening 16 years. He had lines around his eyes, and his hair and beard had gone salt-and-pepper, but it worked. He looked just as good, if not better, than he had when she last saw him. How was it possible to age so well in prison? It hardly seemed fair.

He smiled at her from across the table, with that same charming smile and those sparkling white teeth. “Deputy. What a wonderful surprise.”

Patience glared at him. “Cut the shit and don’t call me that.”

“Patience Ekner.” The smile didn’t leave his face. “Or Rook, now, isn’t it? Cute.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you find this amusing, truly, but I actually need to speak with you.” They fell back into their old banter so easily that it startled her.

John leaned easily, comfortably, back in the cold metal chair. He nodded for her to continue.

“What the hell is that money?”

“It’s for my son,” he answered easily. Too easily. As if it were the most normal, natural statement in the world.

Patience had to restrain herself from leaping across the table and throttling him like she should’ve all those years ago.

“My son!”

All the mirth drained from his features and she was faced with the stony, terrifying look that lingered in the nightmares of so many Hope County residents.

“Our son. That you hid from me for 16 years.”

“He’s 15.”

“Pregnancy, dear. Also hidden.”

“And for good fucking reason!”

He scoffed. “I don’t think there’s any reason good enough to keep a father from his son. And James agrees with me.”

If looks could kill… well, John would’ve been dead long before he got her pregnant. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you even say his name.”

“Why not? It’s a perfectly good name. Strong, masculine, Biblical. I’m pleasantly surprised. I’d have expected you to name a child Björn or something ridiculous like that.”

Patience rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, John, your opinion didn’t actually factor into what I named my child.”

He smiled softly. “Yes, it did.”

“John, I am only here to tell you to leave us alone. And to take your money back. I don’t need it.”

“It isn’t just for you. It’s for James.” How calmly he spoke did nothing but piss her off even further. “I’m assuming you didn’t react well when James told you he’d visited me.”

Patience stayed silent and John grinned as she fell into the obvious trap.

“Oh…?” His tone was thick with blatantly-faux surprise. “He didn’t tell you? And I suppose you didn’t tell him you were here now?”

She remained silent, glaring.

“Interesting. It seems you’re both talking more to me than to each other.”

“Stop it. Just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

John shrugged. “I can leave you alone, yes, but if James wants a relationship with me, I have no interest in denying him.”

As Patience left, she heard him call out to her back, “You still look wonderful, Deputy!”

~

James heard his mother slam her bag down onto the table first thing when she came home. He walked into the kitchen to greet her.

“Bad business trip?”

His mom looked at him with a look he couldn’t place, one he’d never seen before.

“…Mom?”

“I wasn’t on a work trip, James. I was in Montana.”

Oh. That was the look. She knew. Of course she knew. James had never lied to his mom and he was apparently not very good at it. Not like her. He tried to quash down the unkind thought.

He also tried to quash down his initial impulse to apologize. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Well- at least, looking into this and contacting his dad wasn’t wrong. And he wasn’t going to apologize for that. The stealing and the sneaking off to Montana… that might warrant an apology.

“James…” Then his mom was rushing towards him, taking him into her arms, holding him so tightly she was practically crushing him.

And then he was hugging her back.

“How? How did you find this out?”

James sighed. “I was doing a Wikipedia deep dive on cults…”

His mom raised one eyebrow, perplexed. “Why were you doing that?”

He felt his face redden as he thought about Millie from geometry class. But he explained nonetheless, “My friend Millie is into true crime. She was interested in Jonestown, so I just… did a little research.”

He nearly jumped, he was so startled when his mom burst into raucous laughter. Seeing the look on his face, she tried to pull herself together.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry; it’s not funny. Just, that we got into this mess so you could impress a girl!” She laughed again and kissed his forehead. “Oh, you are so my son…”

James grinned at the joke.

“So. How did you realize?”

“I look like him.”

She nodded. “You really, really do.”

“I saw some videos of some of the trial.”

She nodded again, squeezing his arm in support. “That must have been hard.”

“I saw lots of interviews with you, too. Ekner?”

“Yes, Ekner,” she smiled kindly. “That was my grandpa’s name. It’s Swedish.”

James nervously chewed his lip, in much the same way his mom often did. “Yeah. You look Swedish.” He paused. “I don’t.”

“No. You don’t. I don’t know where John’s family is originally from.”

They were silent for a long moment until he finally spoke again. “Why?”

“Why what, honey?”

“Him.”

“Oh.” His mom looked down, as if gathering strength. And then she was honest with him. Truly honest. “You have to understand, it was like the world was ending. Not like the Peggies thought – that’s what we called the cultists, Peggies. Not literally, like them. But like the world as I knew it was ending. We had no phone, no TV, no internet. I was the last law enforcement officer left, and I wasn’t enforcing any laws. I was just trying to save people where I could.

“Everyone was armed. And everyone was using their arms. There was no food. I went hungry a lot. Hunted and fished when I could. My home, along with lots of others, had been burned down. I slept in abandoned cabins, unoccupied bunkers, and in trees stands. People were trying to kill me and I killed people. Always in defense of myself or others, but I’ve taken lives.

“I never thought I’d see a day where I could check the news on my phone, drive to work, go out to eat with friends, go on a walk unarmed… It was a completely different world. It was a war. Horrifying. The things I saw… well, I’m sure you read about them.”

James nodded. “I saw some pictures.”

He was once again pulled into his mom’s arms. “I’m so sorry, James. I never wanted you to see anything like that. I’m sorry you had to. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I want- Just keep going.”

“Ok.” She nodded and continued, “It was basically the end of the world. And in spite of everything he was doing, he was charming. And we became… well, obsessed with each other. Rivals, almost, though that makes it sound trivial. Taunting each other over the radio, going out of our ways to make each other’s lives harder, even in ways not specifically related to the cult or the resistance…

“And then it just sort of happened.

“And then it kept happening. In spite of everything he was doing. I knew it was wrong. And it’s not that I didn’t care… it’s that I didn’t care enough.”

“…Oh.”

“But I can’t regret it because it brought me you.”

He returned her small smile.

“And I’m sure you’re angry with me. And I’m sure you’re hurt.”

Yes and yes. But he didn’t respond.

“You’re allowed to be upset, you know.”

“I am,” James admitted.

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect you. He’s not a good man.”

“I know.” He looked down at the linoleum flooring beneath them. “But he’s still my dad.”

“Just biologically.”

James simply shrugged. “Maybe. But shouldn’t I get to decide that?”

His mom’s eyes watered with unshed tears and her face became pink in an effort not to cry. “You can’t trust him, honey.”

James wasn’t sure he could trust her either anymore. But he knew in his gut he would trust her again someday. So, he spoke honestly. “I don’t trust him. I just want to know him.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of person anyone can truly know.”

“Did you know him?”

His mom hesitated a long time before telling him, “I’m not sure.”

“Oh.”

She gently squeezed his arm again. “I can tell you what I do know?”

James looked into his mom’s eyes and nodded once. And for the first time, she began to tell her son about his father.

#my stuff #john seed x patience ekner #john seed x deputy #john seed fic #john seed #oc: patience ekner #oc: james rook #far cry 5 #fc5

[looklikeapencil]

CH 04. True Witness Revelation 1:19

Word Count: 1.7k Warning(s): very brief mention of child abuse Summary: The local newspaper editor, Brad, reflects on his first meeting with John Seed and John's friend, Sibylla.

CH 05. Beasts of the Earth Revelation 6:7-8

Word Count: 1.7k Warning(s): canon-typical violence, brief description of dead bodies and decomposition Summary: After learning of her colleague's fate, the Deputy makes the trek to Fall's End.

CH 06. The Flock John 10:14-16

Word Count: 1.5k Warning(s): N/A Summary: Jerome takes care of the Deputy and she wakes up to disturbing news which adds fuel to the fire.

want to start at the beginning?

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fc5 fanfic #fc5 fic #john seed fic #far cry #P.S. the smut scenes are being edited as we speak #see the ch 6 note to see when u can expect them ;) #fun fact: sibylla is inspired by all the gross christian fundie girls out there #who spew toxic BS and will never have the capability to self-reflect and change #*ficwriting

[lulu2992]

I don’t know what the story is or why I ended up improvising a new coloring technique as I went, but I had fun drawing this :)

#I saw the scene in my brain and wanted to see it with my eyes too #my deputy #taylor rook #the deputy #still her but also not really I guess #this isn’t part of 'that fic I’ll never write' #john seed #look I drew his glasses for once #john seed x deputy #my art #fan art #traditional art #digital coloring #drawn in june 2023 #I need to post art because I now have 4 new drawings (this one not included)! #far cry 5 #story: 'I don’t know I just felt like drawing this'

[josephseedismyfather]

The Seeds Tarot Cards

The Seed brothers. All 3 brothers are done! What do we think?! Can't wait to get more. 😏 @redreart, I wish I had the words to describe how much I love these. You, my friend, are insanely talented and I couldn't ask for more beautiful pieces from you! THANK YOU SO MUCH! 🥰😘

If y'all are considering getting art from her, please do it! You will love it!

#redreart #far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #jacob seed #The Father #the seed brothers #tarot card art #far cry 5 fan art #The Project at Eden's Gate #yes they were meticulously picked #they definitely fit how i wanted them too #welcome to a little insight into my fics 😏 #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH 😭

[adelaidedrubman]

— i was fishin’, he was wishin’ we were kissin’ (🎣)

had the absolute treat of commissioning @derelictheretic to bring to life what’s playing in john’s mind during this scene coming soon to hook, line, and sinker. as always dean brought john and jestiny to life beautifully and blessed me with endless joy. if you can, i highly recommend purchasing a commission from him and supporting his art!

#well let’s be real what’s playing in his mind 24/7 in every verse but this time he’s in the salmon shorts #THANK YOU AGAIN DEAN YOU ARE INCREDIBLE #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #fic: hook‚ line‚ and sinker #jestiny images #arts and commissies #john seed

[dedkake]

a two nap kind of day | g, .8k, mcshep

Prompt: Twice in one day?

The first thing Rodney thinks when he steps into his room that afternoon is that his reflexes have really improved. There was a time that he would’ve dropped whatever he was holding if he found someone huddled in his bed in the middle of the day. As it is, he clutches his laptop with one hand and waves his other to close the door. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t made a sound. The plan had been to work for a few hours in the relative quiet of his room, farther than his lab from where Radek and the engineers are remodeling after Keller nearly turned into a hive ship. John in his bed, however, is a more than welcome distraction.

read the rest on ao3

#stargate atlantis #mcshep #my fic #sga the seed #let him sleep #does it double count since i hit a second ep? #and his double injury #many twos #also #apologies for being predictable #cuddling and h/c and sleepy-grumpy injured john #are important to me

[her-midas-touch]

Moonlit Escapades (Part-2)

Not necessary but this post is part 1 if anyone wants to check it out :)

(In which the boys are out for a late night swim—tagging @loving-the-marauders yell your thoughts at me in my dms ahh <3 )

“Go on,” Sirius grins at him. “You first.”

“Me?” Remus ducks down panting, still breathless from their little run. “This was your idea,”

Sirius shrugs, tossing his shirt off while Remus gawks at him from where he stands, on the safer side of the boardwalk.

He’s pale and there’s the edge of a faint scar tracing down his back, which Remus can make out even from where he stands.

He follows the white scarred tissue, up his back to find Sirius looking back at him. Remus hastily averts his eyes. The other boy raises his eyebrows expectantly. Waiting.

So Remus unbuttons his own shirt, shivering slightly at the cold night air biting against his skin. It’s barely there, however, slowly being replaced by the thrum of steady excitement bubbling up in his stomach. 

Sirius nods, satisfied. 

Then he jumps. It’s followed by a splash and a triumphant sound.

Remus runs forward, laughing as Sirius breaks the surface, grinning victoriously. His long black hair floats around his shoulders like spilled ink.

Remus sits down at the ledge.

“Is it cold?”

Sirius shakes his head, even as he lets out an excited shiver. He edges closer.

“Your turn.”

Remus hesitates.

“Think I’m good,” He says, shivering as he lowers his feet into the lake. It is cold, in fact, delightfully so. "You go on,"

“Oh cmon,” Sirius pouts, nudging his knee. The contact sends shivers down his spine.

“Maybe in a bit,”

“You always need convincing,”

Sirius hoists himself upwards with alarming agility, so that his hands are planted on the wooden boardwalk, on either side of Remus, enclosing him. 

Beads of water roll off his shoulders like pearls in the crack of the moon and Remus can’t remember if his tongue normally feels this heavy and slack in his mouth. Their noses would be brushing, he thinks dimly, if Sirius were to lean any closer.

Sirius smirks as if he can hear his thoughts and Remus finds his face heating up at the prospect, silently thankful that there’s no one to bear witness but the shy rays of the moonlight.

“What are you doing?” He whispers, entranced, when he manages to find his words. Sirius doesn’t answer

His gray eyes rake over him, leisurely yet deliberate, like everything else Sirius does before they meet Remus’s own brown ones with a devilish grin and he’s slipping back under. 

It’s a second after, that Remus feels a tug on his ankle.

Then he’s falling, flailing limbs and a half formed sputter. He blinks, lungs screaming for a couple agonizing seconds, and something suspiciously slimy brushes against his arm before he breaks the surface. He hears shrieks of laughter next to him.

“Fuck you,” He coughs out, splashing water at Sirius, who has the nerve to look absolutely unashamed.

“Your welcome,” He sticks his tongue out. “How’s it feel to live for once?”

"I could’ve drowned, you prick,”

“Not with me” Sirius says confidently. “I wouldn’t have let you,”

“Idiot,”

“Says you,”

And because Remus is the mature one, he proceeds to flip him off. 

Then he ducks back under the surface, fumbling in the cool darkness until he finds Sirius’s foot.

Then he tugs. Sirius is a little more prepared. 

They lunge at each other in the shallow, murky water occasionally glimpsing the other through a dapple of moonlight.

They wrestle for a while—or try to, at least, slippery limbs and watery laughs, shivering in their boxers, nearly drowning each other several times in the process.

But it’s fun. 

And Remus doesn’t regret it. Because he’s having fun and he’s with Sirius Black and his night tastes of salt and flat water, earthy and sweet and all too much like a freedom.

And the moon is beautiful. 

Remus sneaks another glance at Sirius. The moon isn’t the only beautiful thing out today, after all.

And since it’s a fever dream of a night that’ll slip away with the coming of dawn, and since Sirius Black is a storm of a boy, annoying and loud and strange, with eyes like stars, and hair like an ebony waterfall and because Remus will most likely never see him again after camp, he allows himself to think it.

It’s a night for dangerous thoughts after all.

And Remus has never really been one to play it safe.

#wolfstar #fanfic #the marauders #hp marauders #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #remus john lupin #sirius orion black #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders era #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #they’re just silly little guys #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus #wolfstar seeds being sown ft remus lupin x pining #sirius being sirius #Its like baby wolfstar they’re just being kids and having fun but also things are happening? #who let me out of this cage I shouldn’t be allowed to tag smhhh

[englass]

Plains and Valleys

Pairing(s): John Seed x Deputy/Reader

Warning(s): John is his own warning; Possessive/Obsessive Behaviour; John being creepy; Stalking; kind-of Crack, this isn’t taken all that seriously; Not Beta’d; Experimental Piece; NSFW/Explicit, my first (and likely only) attempt at smut -- please kindly let me know if there’s anything else I should warn of here, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Word Count: 4,020

A/N(s): The title is basically a placeholder for while I was writing this because I had no idea what to name it... and truly, I can’t be asked to think of something better for a piece that only exists to see if I can write smut (spoilers: I can’t, but I’m not letting a completed piece rot away in my docs just because I’m embarrassed; I worked and spent time on this damnit!).

On another note, I was gonna just give this piece over as my contribution to WIP day that @derelictheretic was kind enough to tag me in, but decided against it. I’ll post a proper response and WIP later this week or next, so bear with me please hun! Just wanted to get this out there first.

- - -

John had a problem.

Well, he had many problems. Not least of all his growing frustration at the continued resistance from the Fairgraves' in his pursuit for the deed to their ‘establishment’. He also had been unable to play with Affirmation as regularly as he would have liked, so that put him in an even fouler mood than usual. And he wasn't going to even think about the stress he was starting to feel with his brother constantly breathing down his neck; always questioning his actions as though he were a child constantly getting into trouble and needing twenty-four hour monitoring, always asking after the progress of things that take time. A lot of time.

John may have a substantial amount of money at his disposal, but that does not mean he can work miracles.

Not all of the time, at least.

And his problems don’t stop there, oh no. Despite what many likely thought of him (and what a stroke to his ego that is, knowing that people think of him) John was well aware of his problems, his faults. He’d spent a lot of time getting intimate with them, after all; and every now and again they'd crop up like daisies, weeding their way to the surface yet again. He’d become rather good at managing them, if he said so himself, but even John wasn’t perfect (he was damn close to it though, as many would agree). And one fault he hadn’t quite been able to trim back was his tendency to fixate on things; obsess. 

He obsesses over his plane, over its upkeep and maintenance, its flight records, the slightest scratch that wasn't there the day before-- how the fuck did that get there!?

He obsesses over the details on the manifestos he’s given, the contracts he’s made, dates and times for resource collection, rotations, their members' personal records (he denies having those), PR management, expenditures and everything in between. 

He obsesses over his home, the décor, the colours and lighting, materials used, the whole aesthetic. How he presents himself, the clothes and brands he wears (it’s vain but he needs those creature comforts), his posture, his presence, his overall look that creates an identity that just screams nothing but John.

He obsesses over things.

He knows he does. It’s a faulty blessing.

And he has found something new to obsess over.

John has had a few run-ins with the local Deputies of Hope County in the past. Mostly Joey Hudson, delightful as she is, but ordinarily he doesn’t think too much of them. After all, he’s untouchable and they all know it. There’s no reason to worry about them, let alone waste his precious free time (what little he gets of it) thinking about them. They’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance at most. Completely irrelevant.

But then he saw her.

Standing there, innocuous, looking out at something (for something? Nothing?) in the distance. 

There’s a hitch, the catch of a stilted breath.

Where they were keeping her hidden he has no idea, but he is taken the moment he catches that rogue glance of her.

And, strangely, he doesn't know why.

Sure, John and his brothers have been in this County for a good while now and he has never seen her before, so it’s perfectly normal for him to be curious about the unfamiliar face in town. Nothing wrong with that, it’s innocent enough.

Except there’s everything wrong with that.

Because that’s not it.

He can’t even blame his wandering eyes on her appearance; she’s wearing that drab uniform that even a charity shop wouldn’t take, and it does nothing to enhance whatever natural beauty she may have hidden underneath it. Although, the girl-next-door look she gives off is begrudgingly cute (if he dared to utter the word unironically).

Honestly, she’s not the type of woman that he typically would have paid any special attention to back in his lawyer days. Fucked her stupid maybe, for the extra notch in his bedpost, but he likely wouldn’t have taken her number or thought too much about her afterwards. Relegated to just another lay in a long line of bed partners that he doesn’t remember all the names of.

To be blunt, she isn’t anything special.

And maybe that’s part of the appeal, what hooks him in. Because she is different; unassuming and uncomplicated, modest to a point of simplicity. And yet there is something about her that he can’t actively see or name from his spot across the street that has drawn him in without even trying. And he doesn’t know what or why.

It’s as infuriating as it is intriguing.

Perhaps there is some iota of truth in what Joseph had said to him a while ago, John supposed silently to himself at the time: the simplest of things can be beautiful, in their own unconventional ways.

Although his brother could have said as much with far less words, verses, and vague allusions to a potential future that might never be-- a spark of sudden change that sets a new course in motion; scales tipped by the most consuming of emotions; scorched by a soul so deceptively unremarkable that no one would have thought to believe just how uniquely special they would become--

…

…… 

… Huh… 

John creates a special slot in his increasingly hectic schedule just for her from then on out.

He goes out of his way to find more reasons to harass and bother the local population, all in a fruitless attempt to get lucky and have her answer their call for aid and come and tell him what a bad boy he’s being. (Annoyingly she never turns up, though.)

He makes calls and pulls some strings to the businesses he’s procured, makes inquiries to anyone that would listen to him, including those doing menial tasks or even going through their Atonement (they don’t understand the relevancy of his questioning and he may have been a little harsher with them than he should’ve been because of it), and all in the name of his personal investigation into her.

After all, he had argued to himself in front of a cork board covered with documents and pictures of her with a feverish flavour, what sort of Herald would he be if he didn't know everything about everyone living in his-- their, his and his brothers, soon-to-be County?

His invasive and not completely legal search into this new Deputy (and she is new it turns out, freshly transferred in fact) goes on for a full, nonstop month before -- during one of his totally-random-and-not-planned stops into town -- he discovers something else about her.

When he first saw his Deputy (and doesn’t that feel good to say) she was alone, leaning against the wooden beam of the Sheriff’s Department’s porch and staring out into the distant fields; the late afternoon sun haloing her figure in its golden warmth, its light making the colour of her eyes blaze bright and her hair shine silkily. The perfect picture of ease.

This time, when he finally manages to spy another in-person look at her, he finds that she has company. She’s standing next to the ever friendly Hudson, posture held strong by an understated confidence and arms casually crossed beneath her bust, an amused smile on her decidedly pretty face as Hudson talks animatedly about something that he can’t hear.

And she’s looking up at her.

John blinks, and blinks again.

He’s definitely seen her file, he even remembers glossing through her medical records (which he would most assuredly deny having if anyone asked), so he knows how tall she is. But for some reason it apparently hadn’t quite registered to him until now what that would look like in a physical comparison between the two of them.

He knows that the lovely Hudson is a couple of inches shorter than him, not too far off from meeting him eye-to-eye. His Deputy, from what he can see, is about a full head shorter than Hudson. Which would put her, what, roughly just about eye-to-chest with him...?

He thinks about it. Thinks about her next to him, imagines what that would look like. Thoughts surprisingly innocent as he wonders after clichés of reaching for something that she can’t reach, of cocooning her in his arms as he effortlessly wrangles her into his lap. Envisions the domesticity of easily resting his head on top of hers as he holds her from behind, slotting himself into the mould of her figure like matching puzzle pieces, perfectly meant to be and belong… 

A high pitched, shaky sound slips free at the mental reel.

It’s not a secret the type of life that John used to live. He has been with numerous types of women, something he used to take a great deal of pride in, and has indulged in and explored his fair share of kinks in the comfort of expensive silk sheets. But who would have guessed that the former playboy, John Duncan now John Seed, would have a thing for domestic bliss.

Or rather, domestic bliss with little. ol’. her.

John makes the executive decision then and there to talk to his Deputy as soon as possible. Preferably alone. Without interference.

It feels like forever before he gets the opportunity.

A week later, on a daily walk through Falls End that has only admittedly become a thing in order to check up on the lucky woman of his blazing affections (I am not stalking her, Jacob, he had grounded out menacingly to his accusing older brother over Sunday dinner; who proceeded to look on at John with a slow quirk of an eyebrow), he finds his ever elusive Deputy resting around the corner of the Sheriff’s Department’s building. Eyes closed, head down, arms crossed, and safely concealed in the shade; unsuspectingly calm in her desired time alone.

And John is quick to ruin it.

He can’t help himself, he really can’t. The opportunity is here and he would be remiss to let it pass him by.

Even if she does look rather serene.

He's seen a few photos of her, more than a few actually-- albums worth even, so he knows what she looks like up close. He even printed one out (it’s a favourite of his, a near perfect replica of the first time he saw her) and has it framed on his bedside table; but it turns out no amount of photos quite do the real her justice.

The closer he gets to her the more he notices how petite she is, how the loose yet deceptively form-fitting hug of her bland uniform subtly accentuates the curves and slopes of her modest figure; the daintiness of her fingers as they rest against the exposed, smooth skin of her arms; that familiar magnetic draw snapping to life in the colour of her eyes as they lazily open, sparkling as he gets closer and she looks up at him, wide and wondering.

Innocent.

Oh, he was so wrong about her, he realises wondrously. Did her such a disservice in his initial judgement of her all those weeks ago. She is far from average.

And being here in front of her, close enough to touch, to be able to easily reach out and trap her against the wall and between his arms if he so wanted to, safely protected under the cage of his form -- her neck craning back in order to comfortably gaze up at him, meeting his eyes as he stares down at her… 

It makes something inside him go wild.

John lays the charm on quick and swift, hand attractively running through his hair as a practised but handsome smile lights up his face, eyes twinkling through his lidded gaze with an aweing hunger he knows he is failing to keep hidden.

Getting the first word in, he leans close to the wall, not quite putting his full weight against it (his shirt was expensive) but close enough to allow him a moment of privacy with her by limiting her field of view to only him. Blocking out everyone-- everything else with his taller frame (and doesn’t that thought spark a sudden twitch of interest) as he eagerly monopolises her attention.

Daringly he edges further into her space while he talks ardently to her, truly basking in the unexpected pleasure he gets in watching her unintentionally baring her neck to him; being so beautifully submissive for him without consciously realising it. Amusement colouring his tone in pale notes as he watches the way her pretty eyes darken and narrow at his progressive disturbance and invasion of her time and space.

Fuck. He didn’t know it would be this intoxicating to be so close to her.

Even as he dances through conversation with playful words and hinting remarks, becomes enamoured by the soothing intonation of her voice as she is dragged along with guarded comments and wary retorts, he can’t stop the way his mind ever so sinfully wanders… 

It really would be so easy to have her up against this wall. To crowd her in with his frame on all sides and her vision filled with nothing but him. The centre of her universe and attention, him; and his hers. The concept of that sort of all-encompassing intimacy and devotion makes John shudder. Hungry all the more for it and the woman that has unknowingly given him a taste of what it could all be and become, of what that level of pure, unadulterated want is inspiring in him.

He could easily have her against this wall. Have her looking directly skyward up at him as if he were her moon and stars, as he looks directly down at her-- his entire world and more.

Snatch her thigh and hoist it up towards his waist. Have her balancing precariously on the tips of her toes and clutching desperately at him, trusting John to help hold and support her and keep her steady as he shields her from the world around them. Hides her away from the unworthy just as the unworthy have hidden her away from him. His lips sweetly latching onto hers, her taste finally on his tongue after all these weeks of wanting, involuntarily grounding his hips into hers as a desperate sound breaks within his throat.

Oh, John can visualise it now: the two of them breathing in each other's air, bodies flush as he tugs and pushes closer, her shirt riding up as it's snagged by the rough brickwork at her back, arching into him on an unsteady foot to escape its harsh bite. Teeth nipping teasingly at her lips and tongue licking moreishly into her mouth as his free hand roams down her stomach, pulls the rest of her shirt loose and fumbles in his eagerness with the buttons of her jeans, yanking the zipper down and shoving his hand below the waistband and into her underwear. Hearing her whine sweetly into his mouth as he feels just how wet she is for him, how much she wants him and how eagerly she welcomes him into her as he plunges his fingers into her slick cunt with a needy and quaking moan of his own. 

Would she want it quick and rough? His fingers thrusting knuckle deep as he presses tight circles to her throbbing clit, teeth at her throat as he claws into her thigh held tightly in the dip of his waist. Listening to how her moans get higher, her breathing gets quicker, turning into desperate little gasps before he tugs his fingers free of her; lips devouring hers in quick apology as he battles to pull his aching cock free, cursing lowly against her lips as his slick covered fingers slip on the metal of his belt. She’d help him, he knows she would -- such a good girl --, nipping and kissing him back with wanton sounds as she bats his hand away, revelling in the noises he makes for her -- only for her, only ever for her -- as she pulls him free; rolling her hips until his cock catches on her slit and he’s thrusting home into her.

Only then -- while feeling her walls flex around him, mouth hanging open as they both bask in finally, finally being so intimately connected to one another -- would he finally hike her other leg up to wrap fully around his waist, fully supporting her weight and driving himself deeper into her, one of his arms coming up to press into the wall beside her, hand caringly slipping behind her head; bracketing her in. Shivering as her breath warms his neck and she cries out for him.

And considering her height… fuck, he can only imagine just how tight she’d be for him, chocking his cock as she squeezes him, milking him for all he’s worth until his teeth are stained red against her lovingly maimed neck. His hips snapping into hers with a guttural growl, panting sensual snarls of encouragement into her ear as he demands and begs in equal measure that she touch herself for him, dexterous fingers chasing her end as he chases his own until-- she’s coming around him with a high and shuddery keen. Her soft walls sucking him deeper into her, legs locking tighter around his waist and keeping him there as he spills himself into the back of her hot cunt with a strangled moan. Claiming her as his as he presses in closer, plugging her full with his cock and cum and praying that it’ll take-- 

…

……

… Huh.

He will definitely be exploring that at a later date…

Or perhaps she wouldn’t want it like that. Wouldn’t want him to be so rough and careless with her. Maybe she would want him to go slower, to be gentle-- to be good for her, to take his time and truly enjoy and appreciate every sweet beg and whimper that falls from her perfect lips. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to fuck him at the back of her shabby place of work, or even anywhere out in the open; maybe she would prefer privacy, for him to make love to her. Would want him to steal her away into his home, to carefully lay her out on his bed and unwrap her like a delicate gift, hands tracing teasing paths along her body before spreading her wide for his tasting pleasures. Taking his time to truly savour her unique flavour on his palette, wanton sounds pressed into sensitive flesh as he takes her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks.

Broad strokes of his skilled tongue parting her lips and drinking her down, fingers firm as they hold onto the soft meat of her thighs and hips, thumbs rubbing soothing motions into her skin as he opens her up for him. Urges her with hot breathes, praising words, the flick of his tongue and the dip of his fingers into her wet heat, to cum for him; pleads with sound and touch and a greedy haze over his lust-darkened eyes. The gravel in his gluttonous voice vibrating into her, in love with how she reaches and cries out for him as he tells her how good she’s being for him, how badly he needs her to cum for him-- a debauched sound choking out of him as she does. Completely enraptured as she reaches the height of pleasure -- pleasure he brought her, that he will always strive to bring her --, bearing witness to his own personal God-given vision as he watches her writhe against his sheets and listens to her songs of praise, easing her down from that divine high and back into his devoted embrace.

Kissing a line up to her bitten lips, answering her mewls with soft coos and grounding touches, brushing over a nipple before taking the perky flesh into his mouth with a brief suck and fleeting skim of teeth, letting go with a lingering kiss before moving across and repeating the process to its twin. Reluctantly drawing away to playfully nip and press wet kisses into the column of her throat before letting her taste the tanginess of her juices on his tongue. Languidly kissing as he strokes her sides, writing indecipherable words of affection into her skin, content to let her enjoy the bliss of post-orgasm before he slowly pulls away, descending back down the line of her body with a husky, ‘one more, just one more for me, darling...’ 

John knows he wouldn’t stop at just ‘one more’ though. Hopefully she’d be generous enough to give him a few more before he finally slakes his need for her.

And hopefully she doesn't see the hard-on he’s now sporting after such vivid fantasies.

In a particularly bold move, temptation spurred into a fever from improper imaginings, John reaches for her; fixates on a strand of hair that has become untucked from behind her ear. She tenses, muscles coiling tight as she gives him the most suspicious look somebody has ever given him before. He’s actually rather offended. And very hurt.

But it’s sobering, in its own way. Because suddenly he can hear Joseph’s voice in his head from last Sunday (what a turn-off…), advising him that if he wanted to pursue a relationship with this Deputy that he was so smitten with then he needed to be gentle, considerate.

John may have done his ‘research’ on her, extensively so, but that did not mean that he was entitled or even deserving of her affections. He could not expect her to be on the same page as him, especially considering he had yet to even interact with her at that point. She may not have even heard of him yet, Joseph had speculated-- John and Jacob quietly sharing a disbelieving look. Everyone in the County knew their names, and with her being a Deputy there was no way she hadn’t heard of them.

Regardless, Joseph’s point still stood: if John wanted a genuine chance with her then he needed to soften himself, to be delicate, more tactful with her. Demonstrate that he can hear and see her for all that she is and can be, and that he accepts her without reservation.

Think of it like Atonement, Joseph had supplied sagely, fingers steepled, she needs to willingly give her confession over to you, John. Her affections. You can’t just take them.

And to Joseph’s credit, that actually made sense to John.

Atonement was all about accepting one’s sins, confessing them to another whom they trusted would never condemn nor judge them for their past actions or choices; unburdening themselves so they may be reborn pure and untainted for the hopeful future ahead of them. In that regard, his pursuit of his Deputy wasn’t too dissimilar.

So in that brief moment, in that flash of hurt as she steels herself against his considerate gesture and where John remembers Joseph’s words, he pauses. Convinces himself to go slower, to not try to grab at her like a spoiled brat reaching for things that weren't his-- yet. Reigns himself in enough so he doesn’t give her anymore of a reason to potentially be wary of him, to which he has very likely just given her quite a few. Trying in his own distinct way to smooth over her obvious distrust of him.

John knows he’s made mistakes throughout his life. Many would say he’s not a good man, and he wouldn’t necessarily disagree with them. But seeing and learning of her, of recalling his brother’s words and advice, of the many fantasies he’s had before and even during meeting her in this moment, he thinks he could change that. Knows that, if she would have him, if she gave him the chance, he’d be good. He’d be good for her.

Joseph always talks about love, about the power and control it wields over people and-- admittedly, John doesn’t completely get it. 

But with her? For her? He thinks he just might.

… 

He thinks he already does.

#can you tell i didn't know how to end this? #what a mess #plot is less than half baked #but hey i had fun with it so that's good #also #because i love ruining people's day #i can't help but read that first line in Jeremy Clarksons voice. makes this whole thing that bit funnier to me #oh and if anyone would like to draw a certain scene of John and a cork board that would be most appreciated #absolute pinnacle of me going silly with this fic #love it #also also #i was aiming to get this out for halloween because of how scary the writing is but i'm an hour late :( #very typical of me but i'm still disappointed #but it's okay i have my bed waiting for me so all is well lol #john seed x reader #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fc5 fanfic #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfic #tw: obsessive behavior #tw: stalking #tw: possessive behavior #don't feel like he's that possessive in this but still tagging just in case

[seedofjoseph]

quality time

Fandom: Far Cry: New Dawn

Relationship(s): John Seed x F!Judge; Polyseed feat. F!Judge

Rating: M (mature)

Words: 450

Warning(s): pregnancy kink; lactation kink; polyamory

Author's note: Check out the newest episode of my FC:ND AU. The first episode features Papa Jacob fluff and you can check it out here: link.

"I miss you."

He was putting away his paints, inks, and pens when you walked in on him.

"Missed you, too," he greeted you, still gathering supplies. "Had to color in a full sleeve, but I'm all yours now."

A brand new world meant everything was a canvas again. To John Seed, that meant every thing and every body in New Eden.

Slotting the swell of your belly into the curve of his back, and wrapping your arms around his waist, you spoke against his spine: "I miss you."

He halted the descent of your hand into his bottoms, pulling it up to place a kiss on it instead. "I miss you, too."

"Thought you were all mine," you escape the embrace and walk towards his work bank.

He follows in your footsteps and helps up hop on top of it. "Greedy, aren't we?" His mouth lashes you lovingly and his eyes take you in hungrily.

You were showing off the sin of Wrath he scarred you with almost a decade ago, pushing forward your breasts by pulling back your shoulders. Your belly wasn't the only thing swelling up. And you haven't yet forgotten the fever that consumed him during your first pregnancy.

You missed it.

You missed him torturing your tender flesh with his roughed hands, his mouth around your mound, the taste of you on his tongue. And you missed him being starved for attention, for your body, for its fruits.

"Greedy?" With one hand, you grab the hairs he let grow long at the back of his head. "My back is killing me." With your other hand, you tear at your top until a tit pops out. "I want to share my burden, not hoard it."

"Do you now?" John lets you lean on him, holding you up with one hand spread out on the small of your back, and the other kneeding the bare breast. "You'd let me have this one?"

"It's all yours," you pull him that much closer, legs incircling his waist and your fingers forcing him to your chest.

"All mine?" His fingers pinch the peaks, but he doesn't apply the same pressure he normally would. Though it did prove to be enough pressure to pull a sweet, strangled sound out of you and spread a smirk on his face. "What about your other husbands, my dear? Are you greedy enough to not share the bounty of your body with them?"

Your voice shakes as you say: "Not today."

He grazes your nipple with his beard and watches as gooseflesh and milk spread across the sensitive skin. Then, without saying grace, he latches onto it and drinks his fill.

"All mine."

#far cry 5 #far cry: new dawn #john seed #john seed x reader #john seed x deputy #john seed x judge #the judge #the deputy #deputy rook #fanfic #my fic #polyseed

[kittiofdoom]

Far Cry 5 - 1/??

#far cry 5 #fc5 #farcry5edit #far cry #john seed #the body hanging off johns sign where he talks about love is ominous af #love it #my edits #mine: fc5 #am i procrastinating my fic by making gifs yes

[wrathfulrook]

TGA

Deputy Patience Ekner x John Seed

Summary: Junior Deputy Patience Ekner falls into ice cold water and develops temporary amnesia. She knows that she knows the man who pulled her from the frigid current, but she can't quite place him.

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: This actually happened to me about 6 years ago at the Tamolitch Blue Pool the one and only time I went cliff jumping. (Don't go cliff jumping at the Tamolitch Blue Pool.) A bunch of the lines in this fic are ones that I said/repeated during my Transient Global Amnesia (TGA) episode. I reccomend looking up TGA. It’s really bizarre and interesting.

Read it on ao3.

Patience looked up from the campfire that was warming her wet, chilled form and suddenly realized she didn’t know where she was. Or why she had been in that river in the first place.

She looked around rapidly until she noticed John, startled to find him sitting beside her.

And Patience realized she had no idea how she knew John.

As they stared blankly at each other, and his brow began to furrow, she realized she had to speak.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to freak you out, but I don’t know anything.”

John didn’t appear any less confused. “What does that mean?” he eventually asked.

“Like, I know I’m not home. I’m out west in a different state. But I don’t know which one. And I moved here for a new job. But, I can’t remember what it is.”

Ignoring his bewildered stare, she plowed on.

“And I know I know you, but I don’t know how. And I know you’re John. And I know I know your last name, but I can’t remember it.”

Finally, John spoke. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She knew she had been in the river, that it was cold. Frigid. So cold that she was gasping for air as she fought her way to shore. Her lungs just weren’t expanding, and she couldn’t get enough air. She put all her focus into getting to the shore. Her gasps were resounding in her ears, the loudest sound she’d ever heard.

And then, John was there, wading into the icy water, pulling her to shore. And then she was sitting on a log, wet and dripping, staring into a crackling fire.

In lieu of an answer, she asked another question. “Why was I in that river?”

He gaped at her. “You fell. You were rappelling down the side of the bluff and you fell in.”

“Oh.” She didn’t remember that at all.

“And you’re a deputy.”

Patience gave him a puzzled look.

“Your job,” he clarified. “You’re a junior deputy with the Hope County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Oh.”

“That’s in Montana.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Why was I in that river?” she asked John.

He didn’t even look at her. Just continued to stare into the fire and spoke flatly. “I’ll answer your questions later, Patience. Be quiet for right now.”

So she stared into the fire and let time pass. But she was scared and confused. She didn’t know where she was, why she was there, what had compelled her to enter the freezing water, or how she knew the man seated beside her.

Eventually she whispered, “John?”

John let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes?”

She slid slightly closer to the man, laying her head on his shoulder, her cool, damp hair plastering to her face. He stiffened in surprise but then relaxed, tentatively reaching an arm around her in return.

“Will you answer my questions now? I’m kind of freaking out.”

He remained silent.

“I know I’m from Wisconsin, but I’m in a different state. Out west. But I don’t know where.”

“You’ve asked me that before,” he said calmly into her hair where she sat curled into him.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re a junior deputy for the Hope County, Montana Sheriff’s Department. My last name is Seed. You fell into the river while rappelling down from the top of a bluff and were having trouble getting to the shore. I pulled you out. You’ve been having some sort of amnesia, asking the same questions over and over. This is new, though.”

“What is?”

“Remembering I promised to answer you later. Usually I just tell you I’ll answer you later and to be quiet. You shut up for a bit before starting over again.” She could hear a small smile in his voice.

“Usually?” she asked. “How long have I been out of the water?”

He gently shrugged, slight jostling her as he did so. “About an hour and a half, an hour forty-five.”

That surprised her. It felt like minutes. That must have been obnoxious.

“Thank you for being so patient with me.”

He tightened his arm around her. “You were scared, Patience. I’m not a terrible guy.”

After a beat, she told him, “I think I’m feeling mostly normal now.”

“You’re not,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve said that about a dozen times now.”

“Really?” She really had thought she was back to normal. “How long have I been out of the water, now?

“A couple hours. Yes, really,” he said before she could ask it herself. Which she was about to.

“Why are we still out here then?”

“It’s night,” he said simply. “We’re waiting until sunup.”

That seemed like a lie. “Why? Couldn’t your men just drive out here and take us back to your bunker? I’m apparently in no state to stop you.”

From where she was curled into his side, she saw his blue eyes dart down to meet her gaze, a small, bemused smile tugging at the corner of his beard. “So, you remember me now, do you?”

She shrugged slightly, but didn’t pull away. “I technically always remembered you. I just forgot about the cult.”

“It’s not a cult,” he corrected her, but there was no heat behind it.

“So? Why didn’t you take me back to your bunker?”

“Because you need to be brought into the flock. You need to accept the Father into your heart. And that might be easier to do if you know we’re not terrible people, that we only want to help you.”

“I’m not going to go back with you willingly, John.” She sat upright, pulling herself off of him.

He kept eye contact, still smiling at her. “Not now, no. But when you feel your sin eating away at you, when you next need help, you’ll remember what I did here for you tonight. And you’ll know where to find me. You’ll say yes.

“And when you seek me out of your own volition, just to ask for my absolution, just to tell me that one little word, it’ll be all the sweeter.”

#my stuff #john seed x deputy #john seed #oc: patience ekner #john seed fic #fc5 #fc5 fic #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fic #high tag #transient global amnesia

[looklikeapencil]

CH 07. Deceitful Heart Jeremiah 17:9

Word Count: 1.6k Warning(s): mentions of torture Summary: John and his friend, Sibylla, discuss the Deputy's sin and as the stress mounts, one of his own sins makes an appearance. Note: My brain finally settled on what John would look like in real life. Most of the gifsets of the actor are him being adorable and a happy dad of three which is nice but also...I need bbLOOOODDD

want to start at the beginning?

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fc5 fanfic #far cry 5 fanfic #fc5 fic #john seed fic #*ficwriting

[lulu2992]

Another “old” drawing!

John has something very important to say, something he hasn’t told anyone in years (or maybe ever; he can’t remember). It’s a short, simple sentence, but also a surprisingly hard one to say, so before Taylor actually hears it, he wants to practice...

Full story and context under the cut :)

So, basically, at this point in Taylor’s story, life is hard.

Because of the truce that was negotiated between Eden’s Gate and the Resistance, Hope County is now living in relative peace, at least for the moment. But for the Deputy who made it possible, that peace comes at a heavy cost.

The same people who used to sing her praises and count on her to make things better now (understandably) feel betrayed, hurt, and are angry at her for sparing John, so they either awkwardly avoid her and talk behind her back, or are openly aggressive and contemptuous. Some shame her for “using her body to buy peace”, even though that’s not quite true (they aren’t there yet in their relationship, and the cult has rules anyway).

And despite the fact that, because of the circumstances, she’s now closer to Eden’s Gate than she is to the Resistance, not all cultists trust her. Of course, they listen to Joseph, who said he had faith in Taylor, but some still (also understandably) remain cautious and are worried for their Herald in the Holland Valley. Is it safe to welcome the Deputy or does that heathen have ulterior motives? What if she’s only trying to use and pervert John so she can more easily destroy him and the Project?

For peace, the Junior Deputy had to sacrifice her reputation, has lost many of her friends, and now feels judged by almost everyone in Hope County, even some of those who still tolerate her. So yeah, life is hard.

But paradoxically, the more upset people are at her for growing closer to John, the harder their hatred pushes her into his arms. Soon, the Baptist becomes one of the few people she really trusts and feels allowed to be vulnerable around.

That afternoon, after a particularly difficult moment in Fall’s End, she drove to Seed Ranch, resolutely walked through the front door without saying a word, barely acknowledging the few cultists on her way, went straight to John… and burst into tears the moment she put her arms around him. After the initial surprise, he signaled to the confused guards that everything was okay, that they could leave the room, and just hugged her back in silence.

“Everyone hates me,” she said when her sobbing quieted down and she was finally able to speak.

“No… No, not everyone,” he replied. “There are... There are people who love you. You know that, don’t you?”

She loosened her embrace to look at him.

“That’s why you came here, right?” he asked, smiling tenderly.

She smiled back, but soon she noticed he seemed… uncomfortable. Powerless, even; unsure of what to say and how to deal with the situation. Suddenly, she felt guilty... She had come here because she needed a shoulder to cry on, but she hadn’t realized her sadness would affect him too.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have come here and burdened you with that. I just- You probably have things to do, I should go...”

“No, wait!” he quickly responded, his hands tightening around her waist. “You can stay, it’s fine.”

She looked at him again, and he nodded before adding, “It’s fine. Really.”

She knew he wasn’t just offering her to spend the rest of the day at the ranch; he wanted her to, so she happily accepted.

That night, she fell asleep where she truly felt home: in John’s arms. Unbeknownst to her, for the first time, he told her something he knew he was ready to tell her, but not quite for her to hear yet; not before he was certain he could do it properly.

As she was peacefully sleeping, he whispered, “I love you.”

#my deputy #taylor rook #the deputy #john seed #john seed x deputy #my art #fan art #traditional art #digital coloring #drawn in december 2022 #only one ‘old’ drawing left! #story: 'that fic I’ll never write' #but wait... am I writing... fanfiction now?? #the incredible adventures of john 'emotionally constipated perfectionist' seed #also considering what the fandom is reportedly dealing with these days... yay I can’t wait for this to be copy-pasted! #far cry 5

[babygirl-coded]

ROT AND SIN

a little john seed x reader drabble because i had to get this out of my head!

[ warnings : third pov , non-gendered reader , use of ‘you’ , no y/n , mature content – violence and swearing ]

wc : 1.5k

synopsis : the collapse arrived. joseph was right. despite it all , the seed family survived. like a sympathetic family would to an abandoned dog , they took you in. they want to love you but first you must learn to love them.

“Let me go, you sick bastards !”

You clawed , heaved and struggled against the binds that held you down. The rope began to burn deep, red marks on your skin but you weren’t phased. You were forced to familiarise yourself with those kind of scars. You shuddered. Jacob’s trials. Jacob’s tests. It was his way of twisting and controlling you like a puppet , keeping you as a prisoner , locked inside your own mind.

Sick bastards.

The others were worse. Whereas Jacob laid you on a straight , blunt path toward whatever he wanted , the others were different. Faith and John fucked with you the most with their mind-games. Hallucinations of hazy fields and a barefoot woman — no — siren — and a lawyer with an insatiable appetite for the macabre.

Jesus, John.

With a smile and all , he was the one who tied you up to one of the bed frames. John decided to place you on the cold cement floor at the foot of the bed , out of reach within just about anything. The room was empty spare for the bed and a chair. There were no weapons , no blunt objects , nothing to defend yourself with. Nowhere to escape to.

“The idea isn’t to be comfortable. It’s to suffer. It’s what you deserve,” John had muttered when you first cried out as the rope tightened around your limbs. He had stretched the rope around and around and around your bound wrists and ankles almost frantically , maniacally , ignoring your pitiful cries until Joseph laid a strong hand on his shoulder, whispering a quiet , “no”.

Sick fucking bastards.

The door to the room wasn’t shut. It never was. You thanked god for that ; you don’t think you could have handled the isolation and the chance for loneliness to come creeping in. Even if you were chained up like a dirty starved dog , you were grateful you hadn’t died.

Yet you weren’t sure who exactly you felt grateful for. Joseph? For saving you? Or God?

Yourself?

“Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home.”

You hadn’t heard him step past the threshold at all. That smug grin of his was the first to enter your field of vision. His mindless followers would have said it was warm and inviting. Charming , even. Yet all he brought was a chill down your aching spine , and an air of terrible , horrible dread into the already morbid room. He grabbed a rickety , old chair that sat in the corner , brought it closer to you and down settled onto it.

“You could have at least put me on the bed , John,” you protested calmly.

He wagged a finger and tutted, like an owner reprimanding their bad dog. His fingernails were caked with dirt and blood , grime coated his flesh like a second skin and a nasty gash could be seen despite it being poorly bandaged up. All you could think about for the next few seconds was taking a big chunk off it, fingernails and all.

“The bed is reserved for when you show me that you have manners.” He casually leaned back into the chair and obnoxiously spread his legs. It groaned under the weight of him. “Be good , won’t you?”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “For you or for Joseph?” You pondered , “Or maybe Jacob?”

John snarled and lurched forward. He took your braid into his hand, wrapped it around his fingers and pulled it back. Hard. Your head snapped backwards and your back arched. You cried out as sharp pains burned away at your scalp. Fire licked along your bent spine. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip hard enough for a small trickle of blood to trail over your cracked lips. Tears pricked at your lower lids, threatening to spill over … and they did.

He hummed , still prodding and scratching and pulling at your hair almost as if it soothed something inside of him. It probably did. John leaned forward until his lips rested on the shell of your ear. He spoke in hushed whispers , “Being a sarcastic, tough-as-nails hero isn’t going to serve you any purpose here , Rook,” he spat out. “This isn’t Hope County. There isn’t one anymore. Down here is the future. Our future.” He trembled. You heard it, felt it. He struggled to hold himself together.

You thrashed around in his grip , tried to claw at his battered jeans. “It’s been … what? Only a few days and you’re already losing it , John?” You seethed. “Pathetic bastard.”

John grew still and silent. The tugging and pulling stopped. After a beat, the hold on your hair slowly loosened. A throbbing ache settled on your poor scalp. John leaned back , taking you with him and pulled you in even closer to his body. You groaned as your back left its contorted position but you were now forced to kneel — your hands bound behind your back and head resting on his lap. The scent of earth , wet moss and soft fragrance made your head spin. He started to pet your tangled hair in slow , languid strokes.

He laughed softly. “Days? It’s been months!”

It was your turn to be quiet , now. Months? Has it really been that long? How many months? Was John telling the truth or was he lying straight through his teeth? He’s certainly capable of that. Or was this Jacob’s doing? Is he the one who’s trying to mentally break you again? Fuck. You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. You don’t even know when you last ate , had a sip of water , saw the light of day.

John broke through your silence. “Don’t tell me you lost the plot already?” He sighed. “I’d be so disappointed.”

“Liar,” you whispered. His embrace was beginning to feel constrictive even though he held you so gently. The room spun around you. Black and blue swirled into a blur. Smells of dust and iron and a sickly sweet scent that you couldn’t put your finger on had bile rising up your throat. “You’re lying!”

He shushed you like a parent would silence their insolent child. “And what do I have to gain from that , mh? I’ve never lied to you —“

“Bullshit!”

“— I’ve only ever told you the truth. What you needed to hear , what you wanted to hear. And it worked , didn’t it?”

John tilted your head upright so that it was no longer resting on his lap. You met his gaze. Blue met brown and you hated what you felt ; there was that twang of desire and attraction you harboured towards him that you tried so hard to hide. It clawed to the surface as he brushed back a few stray curls that framed your face. You despised him yet craved his gentle touch. This shameful connection you so desperately longed for had you curling into yourself.

As always , John noticed. He reveled in your feelings of conflict. He didn’t want you to cower away from him and you hated this position he forced you in. You felt small and insignificant compared to him. It infuriated you that he had this much power. He was allowed to hold his head high while you could only grovel for the scraps he fed you.

He smiled softly. “I carve. I cut. I speak. But I don’t tell any lies. Lies are dirty,” he pressed the tips of his fingers roughly into your bloodied lips and his smile fell , “lies are sin.”

Your eyes darted back and forth between his lips and eyes. You spoke softly but tried your best to speak with conviction , “I don’t believe in God. Sin means nothing to me.”

Sin.

That three letter word. Your’s was wrath , according to John. Then it became pride. Sin got you into this country's backyard , sack-of-shit mess. It had you running ‘round like a lunatic. Killing cultists , drugged up angels, bears , cougars. It had you trying (and failing) to kill a certain bastard lawyer.

“You don’t have to believe in God. You just have to believe in him,” John replied.

“Like hell,” you cursed through gritted teeth. “You put me through a shit storm of religious fuckery and nuclear apocalypses , and you really think after all that I’d follow you?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I hoped for.” The attraction you held for him earlier quickly dwindled into resentment. Bastard. That ugly , insane , manipulative asshole. John rested his hands on your shoulder and squeezed. “Jacob had you. Joseph almost got you. I want you. All you need to say is yes. Say it.”

The tears fell freely now , you couldn’t see through it. Your lashes were wet and the man in front of you distorted into a blur. Anger flared in your veins. It was always going to come back to this and you refused to accept it or him.

You shook your head , “I won’t.”

John nodded solemnly then suddenly rose up from the chair. You roughly fell back onto your hunches and cringed when you felt a bone pop out place and quickly pop back in. John chuckled dryly , turned his back on you , dusted his jeans off and sauntered to the door. His hand hovered over the door handle and for the first time since you’ve been held captive in this bunker , you were certain. You knew.

The door would be closed and you’d be shut out once more , being forced to suffer in darkness.

“You don’t want to learn. You don’t want to have faith. Your sin stops you from reaching atonement. You will never be free,” John said over his shoulder. “For that , you must sit and rot in your sin. Let it fester and bubble until it burns you , until you’re aching. Call for me when you’re ready. Only then can you atone. Only then can you love.”

You said nothing and John left , shutting the door behind him. It had been closed on you and so were the Gates of Eden.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #john seed fan fic #far cry 5 fic #john seed x reader #do i hate this? yes #writing #y/n #did i get john’s characterization wrong? YES #over use or commas sorry #‎♡‧₊˚ 📝 — doll #rushed

[adelaidedrubman]

John and Jestiny put on a show for Skylar and Sherri. read here on ao3. 

notes: just in time for labor day, the sound of the summer is back! it’s hook, line, and sinker chapter 3 babey.  wordcount: 7.3k warnings: per usual, unhealthy relationships out the wazoo. stalking and harassment of past romantic partners (dealt with in a lighthearted manner but called for what it is in text), physical violence and semi graphic threats between present love interests (pre-relationship, but ft. john trying to pretend he’s not turned on about it), general deceit and manipulation, albeit mostly unsuccessful. humane animal death (it’s a fishing fic), weird sexual tension over fish gutting, littering, catchall johnjess warning. catchall my minimal proofreading warning.

“You got the plan down, right?” Jestiny hissed at the man fumbling uselessly with the task of baiting his hook, leaning into the motion of casting her line to inconspicuously shove in front of him and hopefully block the embarrassing display from Sherri and Skylar’s view. “Don’t need me to fuckin’ rehearse it with you again?”

By the time they’d parked the skiff just under the bridge connecting the road nearest Can of Worms Fishing Store with the island directly across from it where her ex-girlfriends were presently fishing, Jessie was beginning to think this entire thing had been a massive, undeniable mistake. 

“Yes,” John replied in a whistle through his own gritted teeth style into a grin, harmonized with a twang of his fishing line snapping. “You shouted it in my ear approximately ten times on the drive over.” 

He shuffled to her side, batting his eyelashes at her as he cocked his rod clasping hand back. “Dear,” he tacked on, with all the uncanny artificially synthesized saccharinity of a splenda packet. 

“Not your line,” she smiled in reply, letting go of the crank of the reel just long enough to reach over and bop the tip of his nose. There was no way she was going to let him actually cast in front of Skylar and Sherri. 

A well timed tug on her rod confirmed that luckily she wouldn’t have to — she was able to effectively knock his right arm down as she staggered back to oppose the force pulling against the line. 

She briefly darted her eyes to John to ensure was looking back with appropriately visible impressed enthusiasm — and not set to reach for his own rod — before settling her gaze on Skylar and Sherri as she wrangled her catch.  

The irritation at their stubborn refusal to look back was mildly assuaged by the sight of big, beautiful golden trout dangling at the end of her line as she yanked it from the water. 

“Oh, Jessie dear!” 

She resisted shooting another glare at the exclamation — Sherri and Skylar would know damn well she wouldn’t like being called that. 

This was definitely a mistake. 

“That might be the most impressive catch yet!” At least he was back on script now. “Please, let me have the honor of doing the work of gutting it for you.” 

“John,” she chimed bright with gratitude, dropping the fish into his outstretched arms. “That’s such a considerate thing to do for someone!” 

She gave a pointed look to Skylar and Sherri. 

“Anything for you, my dear.” 

She tried not to let tension settle too deeply into her jaw as she forced a grin. “I’ll cast your line for you while you do!” 

She made the barest of eye contact with her rod as she threw it out, the vast power of her stare settled on the tattooed hand bringing a knife down to pierce through the fish’s brain with expert precision. 

It was a genuine marvel to her how he managed to handle the task with such a natural grace that he seemed a completely different man from the one she’d watched flounder with the simple task of baiting a hook. 

If the fingers sliding down the clean, straight, perfectly placed incision along the fish’s underside weren’t branded with the same distinctive black ink, she would have thought they belonged to someone else entirely. 

She could almost imagine that he was someone different — someone she respected, even — as she watched his hand disappear into the cavern of the fish’s belly. 

The way he found the red knot rooting its spinal cord without delay, squeezing it tightly between his fingers. The way the delicate placement of his grip retained every bit of its exacting care even as his forearm flexed with powerful force to yank the long tether of nerves from the body. The way he remained completely unphased by blood dripping down to splatter atop those stupid, hideously expensive looking loafers. The way his arm flourished with a smooth, dramatic flair he threw the plucked out rope of organs into the water. 

“You’re good at that,” she murmured aloud before she even processed her mouth was moving. “I love watching you work,” she added with a deflecting chuckle and wink, forcing herself back into character. “Babe.” 

He blinked twice, a hint of genuine surprise seeming to spark through his eyes as he looked up to flash her a satisfied grin. 

“You might want to watch your line instead,” he replied with a nod towards her hands. “It looks like you have a bite.” 

Jestiny turned forward to see her pole bent to the point of being practically folded in half. 

“Fuck!” she screamed as she buckled her knees and yanked her arms back to oppose the fish. 

Jesus, this was embarrassing — how the hell had she missed the fish tugging? Had his shitty angling skills somehow infected her? She’d never had a fuck up like that when she was fishing with Sherri and Skylar. 

And now, thanks to him, she was making a fool out of herself right in front of them. 

Fuck. 

So embarrassing. 

Her cheeks flushed hot with fresh shame, only swelling as she successfully yanked up a massive largemouth bass. 

Fuck. She’d almost let a good one get away. 

This wasn’t like her. 

This was his fault, somehow. 

She should have never agreed to his stupid plan. 

This was a mistake. 

“What a catch!” the mistake in question cried with equal parts drama and vagueness, clearly lacking the know-how to comment on the specifics of the fish beyond the acknowledgement that it was one. “Would you like me to gut that one, too?” 

“She can wait,” Jessie replied, holding the fish up proudly. “Gonna wanna get a picture with her fully intact first. Sure beats that ten pound rainbow trout you caught earlier.” 

Listen to her. Even giving false credit for one of her catches. How far had she fallen? 

“Just pop open the cooler for me, then grab me some more bait.” 

She glanced forward again — Skylar and Sherri were looking now, at least, and she would tell herself they only started once the fish was pulled from the water. 

“Of course,” he offered pleasantly, to his credit tipping the cooler up so that the fish crowding it would be visible to her ex-girlfriends across the water. He was better at empty theater than he was at fishing. “All yours.” 

She swore she saw Sherri roll her eyes before turning to whisper something to Skylar. 

Those bitches. How dare they whisper secrets about her. 

Whatever. Moving on.

She swiped the cup bearing a proud ‘Drubman Marina’ logo perhaps a bit too hard from the cupholder, making a show of looking inside it. 

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, this time in feigned surprise. “Looks like we fished through all our bait!” 

“Fish biting a little too well, today.” 

“For some of us,” she replied, looking directly at Skylar and Sherri and the arrow-straight, undisturbed poles of their fishing rods. “But speakin’ of, I do believe that’s the proprietor of Cans of Worms Fishing Store over there with a full cup of bait. Let’s drive this baby over there to give their small business a little economic stimulus, at least.” 

“Jessie, do not fucking come over —” 

Jestiny cut off Skylar’s shouting with a rev of the motor rumbling to life, idling there as John pulled up the anchor. 

She could not so effectively drown out him whispering directly into her ear. “I didn’t say you could drive the boat,” he hissed. “The agreement was you would pretend to drive as we pulled up.” 

“I know,” she rasped back with a smile she didn’t have to fake. “I was pretending when I agreed to that. I deceived you. I’m good at that. You need work,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “You’re overselling. Make it subtle, don’t ham it up so much.” 

“Acting note taken,” he replied, scooching into the seat next to her. “Now give me the —”

She jerked the wheel and slammed her foot on the accelerator — giving it enough gas in the single pump that they were able to coast the distance to Skylar and Sherri’s place on the bank, the bow landing gently in the mud. 

“Expert docking, dear,” he commented syrupy sweet as he hurried to swipe the key from the ignition, slipping it onto his wrist. 

Possessive, paranoid, materialistic, overdramatic diva. 

Guess that explained the key she’d noticed hanging over his heart — must be to an even nearer and dearer expensive toy. 

God, she couldn’t wait to fake end their fake relationship. 

The sentiment only grew stronger as she watched him carefully tiptoe through the mud with sudden apparent concern over dirtying his already bloodied shoes. 

“Ms. Woodhouse,” John held out a hand towards the brunette that was met with nothing but a scowl in return. 

He made an apologetic ‘ah’ noise and wiped the hand on his shirt, but Jessie knew it was not the fish guts Sherri was repulsed by. 

“My apologies.” He bowed. “I haven’t yet had the privilege of patronizing your little store.” Jessie smiled. Patronizing was right. And Sherri deserved it. She had to admit she could revel in his condescension, when it wasn’t directed at her. “It’s so difficult when I have my own boat ramp right in the backyard to remember to get out there and support the small business owners in the community.” 

“Support?” Skylar cut in, scowling even harder than Sherri did. “When have you ever supported any business around here? You call trying to shut everyone down and take their property from ’em support?” 

Huh. That’s weird  — Skylar seemed to have history with this guy. And it was bad enough he was a lawyer at all, did she fuck up and start pretending to date a fucking foreclosure attorney or something? 

John waved the accusation off. “Please, I hate discussing business matters during my recreation time.” He reached into his back pocket to take out his wallet, pulling another hundred dollar bill from it. “I would love to support Can of Worms now.” 

He turned to Sherri, gauchely waving the bill in front of her. “I’m afraid my lovely date and I have fished through all of our bait. But it seems you have plenty left. He nodded towards the unopened can at Sherri’s feet. “I’d like to purchase it.” 

Sherri met him with a dead-eyed stare. “Store’s closed.” 

John turned, looking across the water at the Can of Worms storefront. “Your hours say open until 9.” 

“Well, I’m not on the clock.” 

“Oh, don’t be unreasonable. I’m paying well above market rate for something I could just waste time going over and buying from you, for much cheaper, in the store.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Skylar said. “Store’s closed.” 

He pointed behind him. “I see it open.” 

“Store’s always closed to you.”

Jestiny gave up on pretending not to notice the conversation, setting aside her beer to slam her hands down on the side of the boat. “Well, fuckin’ sell it to me, then!” 

“God, Jessie,” Sherri groaned, leaning down to hold her head in her hands. “Can’t you just fucking leave us alone? Following us, harassing us while we’re trying to fish? We broke up with you. We don’t want you around.” 

“Shit’s sad,” Skylar agreed. “Just stop. Don’t make us get a fuckin’ restraining order or something.” 

Jestiny kicked the side of the boat, hard. “They’re called Orders of Protection, in fucking Montana!” 

“You learn that from your slimebag lawyer boyfriend?” Skylar asked. Jessie frowned. That was hitting below the belt, she thought. “And did he learn it from law school, or ’cause half the fucking County wants to take one out on his creepy ass?”

Sherri brought a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh at Skylar’s joke. “They really are perfect for each other, huh?” she giggled against Skylar’s shoulder, setting her chin atop it and looking up at her adoringly. 

Jessie felt flames crawl up in her belly. Of all the infuriating insults. 

“Yeah, we fucking are! I finally have someone who can keep up with me behind the rod and on an intellectual fuckin’ level!” she forced herself to flash an adoring smile of her own at the man she shouted over. “And he’s got an actual sense of humor! Just look at his outfit!” 

John turned to shoot Jessie a glare. 

“Yeah,” Skylar laughed, turning to nudge the flyaway hairs clinging to Sherri’s dewy brown skin away with her nose so that she could finally whisper her teasing directly into the brunette’s ear. “Looks like you and I were the only ones that didn’t think to come dressed for the circus.” 

“I fucking heard that!” she leaned over the side of the boat to screech, crumpling the styrofoam of the bait cup in her fist and attempting to fling the trash across the distance to Skylar and Sherri — the bits floating down to scatter impotently along the surface of the water instead. 

“Jesus, Jessie, a fish is gonna fucking choke on that,” Skylar cried, pushing herself up from her lounge chair. 

“And maybe I can’t stop you from driving a boat on public waters, but you can’t litter on my damn property,” Sherri agreed, reaching behind her to pull a net from the pouch on the back of her own chair and toss to Skylar. “That shit drifts to shore.”

Jessie crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, rolling eyes dismissively to duck Skylar and Sherri’s judgmental glares with an earnest wave of shame — she didn’t mean to endanger any poor fish, obviously, she was just angry — instead finding John’s gaze, oddly comforted by the quiet, embarrassed fury she saw simmering back at her, as if the bright blue glitter of his eyes was a temperate pool to reflect her own angry humiliation, unfiltered and undiluted in their vibrant heat. 

Then something in his stare sharpened, an almost imperceptible narrowing of the pinpoints of his pupils into focus, gaining all the ice-cold clarity of a glacial pond as he darted his eyes back to where Skylar reached forward to dip the hoop of her net into the water to scoop up the ripped up bits of styrofoam. 

“Hi,” John hummed pleasantly as he stepped up to Skylar, placing a hand atop the handle of her net. “John Seed. Do you remember me?” 

“The fuck you —” 

He slid his hand down the pole of the net, pulling it closer until his fist was circled just beneath the base of its mesh. “I tried to buy bait from you a few moments ago. You refused to sell to me.” 

“...Yeah?”

“Big mistake,” he barked with a tug of the net to cause Skylar to stumble slightly, barely catching herself to remain upright. “Big. Huge!” He forced a manic laugh, snatching the net from her hands. “Because perhaps had I been occupied with my own fishing, I wouldn’t have time now to ask if you have a proper permit to fish with a net.” 

Sherri stood, moving to stand between John and Skylar, defensively. 

“I do my business selling fishing licenses, dumbass,” Sherri grumbled, pulling two crumpled pieces of paper from her back pocket to flash. “You really think I’d come out here without one?”

“Ah.” John clicked his tongue against his teeth twice, wagging his finger and tapping it against the paper Sherri held out. “But I’d like to see your netting license,” he said in sing-song. “A Class A resident fishing license only allows fishing with a hook and line. Netting requires its own permit.” 

Sherri and Skylar exchanged confused looks. 

“Ha!” Jestiny let out a single, choppy laugh as she hopped over the side of the boat, splashing mud as she landed. “It does.”

It did, when it came to hoop nets. But of course even if he knew the law he wouldn’t know the difference between —

He waved a hand in front of his face, then rested it atop his chest. “Oh, I’m only joking, of course,” he said with a smile, bowing his head. “Montana Code Title 87, Chapter 6, Part 5 Fishing Offenses includes an exception in paragraph (1)(a)(iv) for landing nets.”

Jestiny felt a giddy heat blossom along her cheeks — that was unexpected. He knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net. He’d actually studied up. 

He cocked an eyebrow, smile widening. “For after the fish has been hooked as specified in subsection (1)(a).”  He nodded down towards their rods. “And your hooks appear to be bare.” 

Skylar placed a hand atop her hip. “We weren’t even fishing with that net,” she said matter-of-factly. “We were just cleaning up the trash your girlfriend threw in the water.”

“That’s not what I saw,” Jessie chirped, throwing her arm around John’s waist and pulling him to her. “And I think the word of two officers of the court is gonna outweigh what y’all say.” Jessie leaned forward, snarling. “I think it certainly gives me probable fucking cause to seize all this shit as fuckin’ evidence of a crime, including the fucking bait,” she snapped. “I think it could mean both y’all forfeiting your fucking fishing licenses as penalty, if this shit gets charged.”

“And I have a feeling it would be,” John purred, turning to the side to beam at Jessie with a thoroughly convincing mimicry of proud adoration as he raked his fingers through her hair. His smile sharpened into a smirk as he turned back to their fellow fishers, hand still stroking up and down the side of Jessie’s neck. “I’m on quite good terms with the County Attorney.” Former prosecutor? Jessie worried in the back of her mind, not letting it distract her from their victory. “I think she’ll be quite concerned with such a flagrant fishing violation committed by a prominent player in the local fishing scene.”

“Good fucking God, Jessie,” Sherri huffed, swiping the can of worms from off the ground and shoving it in Jessie’s hands. “Here. Take the damn bait, since it means that fucking much to you. You win. We’re leaving.”

“Hell yeah you are!” Jessie cheered triumphantly at the pair throwing their tackle boxes into their truck bed. “Don’t let the trout bite you on the way out!” she called after them with a hand cupped at the side of her mouth. “Not that it’s been something you’ve had to worry about so far!” 

John threw his head back to laugh on cue at the jab, and Jessie had to admit as truck doors slammed to drown it out that he had something of a theatrical acumen. 

She turned to the side and clasped his face between her hands tightly as she grinned up at him in spite of herself. 

“That was amazing!” she said in a hushed roar. “I mean, I gotta fuckin’ hand it to ya, that was great, you —” 

She bit her lip as she watched him stand taller, a preening lift of his jaw as he basked in the praise. And for some reason she couldn’t summon the appropriate irritation at the vanity.

But as the engine of Skylar’s truck rumbled to life behind her, she nonetheless used the interruption to avoid inflating his ego further whilst keeping up the ruse by pulling him down to press her lips against his and kiss the smug smile away. 

He’s good, she thought as he melted against her obligingly with a swift but tender unwinding that felt shockingly natural, draping an arm over her shoulder to reach a hand around to thread in her short crop of hair as he kissed her back. 

His other hand rested gently atop one of hers still cupping his cheek, stroking along the leathery ridges of her knuckles as he dropped his jaw to deepen the kiss. 

It was so odd, the feeling of kissing him when they were playing at gentleness — the slow drag of the slick underside of his lip shifting up to expose the slight hairline cracks of chapping along its wetted surface, the surprising softness to the tickle of the whiskers of his beard that made her realize how meticulously oiled and groomed it must be, the careful way he mirrored her incremental movements as she finally parted, soft, panting breaths tingling against her skin as he dipped his head to stay leaned into her while allowing her the separation. 

“You, uh —” She drew in a sharp breath as she dragged her fingers through his beard, bringing their tips to rest just above his chin. “You knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net.” 

He laughed, warm puffs of breath falling against kiss chafed skin. “It’s defined in the Fish and Wildlife Commission Regulations,” he said, his whisper further softened by the airiness of the deflection. “Keeping up with them actually comes quite in handy, in my line of work.” 

Jessie sighed pleasantly, then stiffened just as quickly. 

His line of work? 

She’d already been concerned about him being a bootlicking landlord lackey or overeducated cop of some kind, could the situation be even worse? 

Could he be — 

She gulped, dropping her arms and taking a full step away from him this time. 

Could he be some kind of in-house counsel for one of the commercial fisheries around here? One of the goddamn slimy corporate lobbyists for those corrupt, greedy bastards? 

No, she shook the thought from her mind — she couldn’t entertain such horrible possibilities, and the sudden blare of Skylar laying on the horn as she coasted by would have drowned them out anyways. 

“Jessie,” Skylar poked her head out from the driver’s side window to call out. “Can we have a quick, civil word with you?” she asked, punctuated with a pointed look towards John. “Alone?” 

All her catastrophizing about her pretend boyfriend’s professional life vanished with the giddy soar of accomplishment — this was it. Clearly Skylar and Sherri had talked about it, and after her impressive showing here today they had accepted what a horrible mistake it had been to ever break up with her in the first place, and were about to beg her to come back. 

“Sure.” She drew out the syllable with a nasally whistle, eyebrows raising with expectant understanding. “‘Quick and civil’ is my middle name.” 

Jestiny smacked the man beside her on the rear end to dismiss him, shaping her wince at the harsh impact of his uncushioned tailbone against her palm into a playful wink. “Give us a few minutes for girl talk, would’ya?” 

He pushed out his bottom lip, giving her a flutter of his eyelashes as he turned to head back towards his boat. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

She wouldn’t — assuming the women were contrite enough, she was sure it would be five minutes flat before she was waving goodbye to him from the back of their truck bed as they all drove away together. 

Since he did know how to gut and clean them, she thought she’d let him keep the fish she caught as compensation for his efforts. 

“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked once John was sufficiently out of earshot, folding her arms along the window frame and resting her chin atop them to poke her head into the truck. “Need fishing tips?” 

“Look, Jessie, I…” Skylar gave her a pained look, drawing in a deep breath. “We talked about it, and… We really don’t want this to be any harder than it has to be, okay?” 

Jessie pursed her lips together, crinkling her nose and tensing her cheeks with a pressure she knew would cause dimples to sink endearingly into their rounds. She tried to not to savor the pained expression on Skylar’s face too much, but it was difficult not to indulge in the satisfaction from their begging with tail between their legs for her to take them back. 

Sherri nodded in agreement, leaning forward in the passenger’s seat to peer through the window. “We want to work this out.” 

Jestiny cocked her head further to the side, cheek resting against her arm. “I’m listening.” 

Perhaps she wouldn’t really make them beg, but at least a tearful apology was in order. 

“So, even though it’s right by my store, we’re willing to make a deal on this fishing spot.” 

Jestiny blinked up at them. 

“You can have it Saturday evenings through noon Sunday, and we agree to not come around,” Sherri explained. “Then we’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and you get Tuesday and Thursday.” 

“W-What?”

“It’s more than fair, I think,” Skylar tacked on, giving her a stern look. “Most of all, we don’t want it to be a big fight, anymore.”

“We want to handle everything peacefully,” Sherri said, expression pleading. “And we’re glad you found a new fishing partner, even if it is, well…” She shook her head, flashing a forced smile. “We’re just happy to see you moving on.”

Jessie clicked her teeth together, neck stiffening as she raised her head. 

This made no fucking sense. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Skylar shrugged, eyes darting over Jestiny’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, y’all do seem really good together. Right for each other. Better than we ever were for you.” 

No fucking sense. 

Jessie slapped a hand against the side of the truck, pushing herself off its frame. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” 

“Seriously, Jessie?” Skylar deadpanned in reply. “It’s a really fair deal. We’re being nice, after —”

“Nice!” she croaked in mocking tone at piercing volume, throwing a too stiffly splayed hand up to swing through the air in the arc of a goodbye wave before clenching it back into a fist at her side as she stormed away from the truck. “Real fucking nice!”

The tension locked into her shoulders as she stomped through the mud, pinching tight enough it wrapped around to squeeze the cavern of her chest, push stinging bile up to catch and smolder in her throat in a heavy lump. 

“How was girl talk, my —”

The arm that tried to reach comfortingly towards her was quickly pushed away — fingers curling the soft leather cord of his key chain as she yanked it from his wrist. 

The polite clearing of his throat rumbled in synch with the motor roaring to life as she jabbed the key into the ignition and cranked it to the right. 

“My dear, how was —”

“We’re leaving!” she shouted over the harsh rattle of gas pumping through the motor to spin its blades, shoving the gear shift into reverse as she slammed her foot on the accelerator. 

“H-Hang on, let’s —” 

“We’re leaving now!” 

She jerked the wheel sharply to the left once she’d put space between the bow and the riverbank, leaving John flailing over the side to hurry to hoist the anchor. 

“Very well,” he ground out, loud enough to pierce over the racket. “But I’m driving the —”

She shoved the gearshift forward and stomped down on the gas again, sending them lurching forward with a bounce of the bow towards the sky. 

She barely even noticed the sudden, heavy pressure of something falling in her lap, the man at her side losing his balance and stumbling to land with chest atop her thighs. 

She rolled eyes that had begun to water from the wind cutting against them as the boat zipped along. 

“Those assholes,” she cursed, tightening the grip of her fingers around the wheel until they grew numb. “How dare they. How —” 

How dare they do what, exactly? her brain struggled to piece together as wind whistled in her ears harsher as the boat quickly gained speed, gliding over waves growing steeper from the force of her wake. “How dare they think they can just buy me off like that! Do they think — think this is just about a fishing spot?”

“Well,” John spat, heel of his hand smashing against her thigh as he tried to push himself up in the brief of lull of the boat’s course evening out as Jestiny weaved them between jutting mudbanks to an open stretch of water, slamming the gas down harder upon clearing them. “Isn’t it?!”

“Oh, fuck you, too!” she shouted down at him, jabbing her elbow at his collarbone to shove him away, off her lap and onto the floor. “This is about the fucking principle of the matter,” she hissed, wagging a finger at him on beat with the forceful up and down bobs of the boat along choppier waters. 

“This is about fuckin’ fairness, and justice, and getting what’s owed to me for the months I put up with their shit!” She briefly glanced up as she continued talking, distant greenish brown blurs of oncoming land fading from her line of sight as quickly as it popped up over the horizon, another jerk of the steering wheel bringing her to a wide expanse of clear, glittering lake. 

Good, she needed to do nothing but sail fast and directionless enough to outrun her thoughts for a while. 

“After all that they’re treating this like a fucking scheduling issue, when they should be —”

Should be what? She choked on a particularly strong gust of wind, stinging her chapped and sunbaked cheeks as it whipped against her face, a matching burn rising in her throat. Apologizing? Begging? Taking it all back?

She gritted her teeth tightly to steel against the wind as she continued. “They have the fuckin’ gall to act like they’re the ones being nice about this, when they can’t even —” She clenched and ground her jaw. “It’s a public shore! Sherri doesn’t own it, just because her store is nearby and it’s fucking convenient for them! They never even had a right to —” 

“You need to slow down!”

She pushed away the arm reaching for the steering wheel. “I’m fucking talkin’ at a perfectly fuckin’ measured and goddamn coherent pace! If you can’t keep up, that’s —”

“The boat!” he screamed, fingers clawing and pulling at her arm without managing to get it to budge. “You need to slow down the —”

Sudden warmth slung itself along the tops of her thighs — a glistening mix of blood and saliva spurting from his mouth as his jaw crashed against the glossy wood of the dash. 

And the air filling her lungs to feed the complaining shout building in her chest was knocked from her just as quickly by the heavy impact of his torso crashing against her as he was flung back — landing in her lap for the briefest heartbeat before they were both sent flying over the captain’s seat and tumbling along the length of the boat as its bow tipped upward and the smooth coast of water along its hull was replaced by a harsh, violent scraping. 

The pressure of his body weight only intensified, now fully pressed against her to pin her down back flat against the backrest of the row of seats at the stern — which now ran almost parallel to the ground from the angle the boat had landed. 

She grunted, trying to wriggle out from under his weight at least enough to free her arms and push him off entirely — the effort proving unsuccessful, his body staying pressed flush against her even as the vast expanse of tangerine marbled sky stretching out above her became blocked by his head, lifted so the scowl twisting onto his face could show. 

She shoved the heel of her hand against his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling when he failed to budge. “Get the fuck off me!”

The angry curl of his upper lip deepened, head jutting forward until their noses were pressed together. A droplet of blood fell from his mouth to land with sudden heat on her chin. “You crashed my boat.”

“No shit!” she spat back, butting her forehead against his. “You shouldn’t have been fucking distracting me!”

His brow twitched, his body tensing further. “You crashed. My. Boat!”

“And did you get some kinda fuckin’ head injury during it or something?!” she barked. “The boat crashed —”

“You crashed —”

“— you have sufficiently fuckin’ established that.” She shoved her hand harder against his collarbone, digging her nails into the mass of his shoulder. “So how about instead of sitting around goin’ off like a broken record you get the fuck off me and help me shove this thing back into the water? I’ll even give you the honor of driving the piece of junk back to the marina, since you have such a minnow up your ass about me doing it.”

“Oh, and wouldn’t I love to,” he hissed out through tightly gritted teeth, lips twisting into a smile leagues removed in its exaggerated pleasantry from the bitterness of his tone and the rage in his eyes. 

His smile dropped — a swift movement of his arm breaking her grip on him as he pulled it towards his chest, then shot the hand forward to bury in short strands of copper and grab a fistful. His palm settled cradling the side of her skull as he jerked her head towards him by the grip on her hair, then slammed it back down against the seat cushion at an angle that caused her neck to twist so her head was turned towards the side and at the edge of the backrest as she landed, forcing her to look over the back side of the boat to the motor. 

“Had you not certainly managed to damage it beyond the point of being able to cross a puddle!” 

She paused only briefly to take in through narrowed eyelids the sight of mangled propeller he’d directed her gaze towards, a sleek black and silver blossom of twisted and dented metal, one of its petals bent so far back by the force it looked plucked clean from the stem. The second outboard was absent from the boat entirely, just barely peeking up past the waterline at the base of the short cliffs they’d landed atop. 

She flicked her glare towards the hand buried in her hair, then back up to his face so she could savor the wince of pain in his eyes as her boot made contact with the side of his stomach to kick him off.

She scrambled to her knees to grab him by the shoulders and slam his back against the ledge of the stern, climbing atop his chest and pushing him back further until his head hung off the side, neck nestled between the shiny metal blades of the propeller. 

She replicated the force he’d exerted against her, pulling gel-stiffened locks from their place plastered against his skull to shove his head back and sideways until the edge of the twisted propeller blade dug into the delicate skin of his neck. “I bet it still runs good enough I could start up the engine and lob your head clean off your fucking body right now!” 

She watched pink crawl up the stretched column of his neck and settle deep into his cheeks, blood rushing to his head from the angle. She felt his chest tense beneath her as his hands reached out to grip her hips, heard the rustling of his adjusting his legs behind her — certain he was readying himself to push her off and retaliate. 

She elbowed away the arm reaching towards her hip before he had the chance, settling for the sufficiency of her threat and hopping up before he could strike. 

She jumped down from the boat to stand atop the rocks and survey the landscape, scanning along the rocky coastline, the peaks of mountains and the sharp points of pine trees standing in backdrop past the vast expanse of sunset sparkling water. Her eyes traced the outline of the suspension bridge running roughly parallel to the shore, which Skylar and Sherri would likely be zipping across on their drive from Can of Worms back to Skylar’s trailer up in the mountains right about now. It was too vast and treacherous a distance of lake to attempt to swim across, especially in the creeping darkness, and the only other land in reach were the smaller, even less likely to be inhabited islands. 

“We landed at that big ass fucking island that blocks off the lake from the West,” she announced, dragging a knuckle along her chin as she thought, smearing away the droplet of blood she’d forgotten had settled there. “About three-quarters north ways into it, I’d say.” 

She spared a glance to the man still in the upturned boat behind her, fidgeting and pulling down at the hem of his now thoroughly dirtied shirt as he rose to stand. 

She sighed, briefly reaching into her pocket to check with a sense of predetermined defeat the display screen of her cellphone, confirming a thick circle around a diagonal line greeted her positioned at the service strength icon. 

“We can keep hiking north, along the coastline,” she said resolutely. “We’ll hit the main road eventually, and we can hitchhike along it. Worst case scenario if no one picks us up, there’s a little general store on the other side of the water. If we get started now, we might make it before they close up shop.” 

“Hitchhiking?” he repeated, weighed heavy with incredulity. “No, absolutely not. This isn’t exactly the place for —” 

“Jesus,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Look, I know you just lost one of your favorite toys, but we don’t have time for you to be a spoiled fuckin’ brat about how we’re getting out of here, too. It ain’t exactly my favorite pastime neither, but those of us born with mouths empty of silver fucking spoons know that sometimes you gotta do things that are —” 

“If you could stop talking down to me long enough to listen, perhaps you’d understand that I’m not protesting because I think it’s beneath me. I’m… familiar with this island, actually.” 

Jestiny rolled her eyes. Was there a thing on earth he wouldn’t find a way to brag about? 

“And I can tell you, there isn’t going to be enough traffic along the road for hitchhiking to be a reliable bet.” 

“Great!” she barked, pushing past him to reach for her now well dented tackle box. “All the more reason to haul ass towards Old Sun Outfitters before closing time.” 

“They’re closed already,” he deadpanned in reply. “Permanently. The owner and his family of si —” John cleared his throat, with a quick, hard blink, as if needing to abruptly shift his train of thought. “They shut down. I doubt there’s even a working payphone around there, anymore.” 

Jessie paused to study his expression, to scrutinize the strange, sudden dodginess behind the unnaturally soft smile and relaxed eyes. 

He was clearly hiding something. Had Old Sun really shut down? She’d only stopped by there a couple of times to pick up bait, and she couldn’t say she went recently enough to know, or often enough to keep track of their business. 

And how would he know, anyways? Was he — 

Her breath hitched, that same chilling, nauseating prospect bubbling back to the surface. 

Was he a foreclosure attorney? 

“But if we keep going west and cross the main road, there’s actually a —” he paused, the fluid wave of his hand continuing on beat as he stared on silent and searching for words. “...residential area, on the other side of the island. Closer than the rundown general store, and actually occupied. I know a place there we can shelter for the night. And some of my associates will be stopping by anyways tomorrow morning, and can drive us back to the Marina first thing.” 

Knowing the zoning for a place he didn’t live? Having associates in the area? 

Jessie gulped. This did not bode well. 

“No fucking way am I gonna go wandering into the woods at sundown with a fucking creep like you. And I’m sure as hell not joining you for a fucking sleepover.” 

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, throwing arms up into the air. “I could just as easily drown you under the cover of darkness during the little moonlit stroll along the coast you’ve proposed, were homicide my goal.” 

“Yeah?” she goaded with a raise of her brows. “And I could avoid the fuckin’ risk altogether by bashing your head open against these rocks, and selling whatever good samaritan I finally flag down a sob story about how my poor boyfriend just died in a boating accident.”  

“Oh, and how delicious and satisfying it would be to spend my final breaths watching you stumble helplessly lost through the woods, not finding another soul, until you finally collapsed from exhaustion and joined me in death.” 

“I would fuckin’ carve out your eyes and throw them in the lake first, so that the only thing you’d ever see of me again is my fishing hook when I came back here to catch whatever trout had the bad luck of eating you.” 

“Would you?” he gasped, with an unbothered, wild smile and a hand drawn to his chest. He pushed out his bottom lip so that his smile fell, clicking his tongue against his teeth and pinching his brow with feigned pity as he patted his pocket and added in taunting sing-song, “Because I still have your fishing knife.” 

She felt her jaw tense and her eyes bulge angrily, waving her arm as she stomped away to preserve whatever image she could of being unbothered by the revelation. 

“Keep it!” she shouted as she turned on her heels, beginning to stomp her way north in as steady of a march as she could keep atop the uneven rock. “I’ll walk my way back to the mainland alone, and you can fuck off into the woods!” 

“Oh, don’t be foolish!” John called after her. “It’s better that we stick together, you can at least be reasonable enough to see that.” 

“Sure fuckin’ can’t!” she shouted over her shoulder. “I’m following the road, whether you’re with me or not!” 

He huffed, impatient and petulant, stomping forward a few paces without properly committing to following after. “Would you just listen? You’re not going to find anyone to help, it’s —” 

Still, it was enough to let her know it was a bluff, and he’d be following along whatever path she chose. “At least I’ll be alone!” 

“Which is dangerous!” he bellowed after. “Jessie, will you please just follow me into the occupied part of the island? For fuck’s sake, do you even have bear spray?”

“Nope,” she chirped pleasantly, pausing a beat at the word ‘please.’ “I’ll take my chances!” 

“For the love of —” She picked her pace back up. “Wait!” His footsteps thudded more quickly behind her, and the arm swinging back with her upbeat gait was caught at the wrist by his hand. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“There’s a very secluded little stream on this island, out by the abandoned mill,” he explained with a renewed slow, measured calmness. “Not many people know about it, and hardly anyone is ever there. But I have it on good authority it’s an excellent place to catch rainbow trout.” He released his grip on her wrist, as if testing her willingness to stay in place without the force. “I could show you where it is — and see to it the few other people who know about it make themselves scarce from here on, if you’ll follow me to make camp for the night.” 

Jestiny clenched her jaw tightly enough she thought her teeth might crack as she paused there, considering. 

She knew bait when she saw it. 

He was a devious, manipulative, conniving bastard trying to lure her in with cheap tricks she was too smart to fall for. 

Biting now would be yet another huge mistake, and she was above that.  

She drew in a deep breath. 

“Lead the way.” 

#and everyone ignore the wrong chapter number on the banner when i first posted. that didn't happen you're crazy. #fic: hook‚ line‚ and sinker #writies and wordies #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #ch: john seed

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday and WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @josephseedismyfather @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @cassietrn and @adelaidedrubman

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @chazz-anova @josephslittledeputy @jillvalentinesday @wrathfulrook @poisonedtruth @voidika @strafethesesinners and @minilev

Got a snippet of The Years In Hope County (my almost slice-of-life September prompt collection fic that I'm still working on). You get to meet Silva's younger sister, Elsa Omar, and a special addition of Persephone. And a song for Elsa as well!

Additionally the chapter's almost done and might upload it either this week or next... so yay!

WIP below:

Sylvester’s brows creased at the word. She took a glance over to a group of men sitting at a table, one in a three-piece suit, a professional choice that matched his stoic disposition, while the other man, one she could only see the back of, was wearing a blue shirt and vest. Blue-shirt’s two companions had clothes that were shaggy, plain and they seemed less well-kempt.

She didn’t know many of the words they were saying, so she chose to move on. She listened to more conversations, writing down as much words as she could, until she heard the familiar call of her precious hermana and hija.

She looked up from her notebook and saw Elsa at the front counter of the diner, making idle and practised conversation with the clerk, her blonde hair locked into a course style that laid at her left shoulder, though there were still bangs that unavoidably stuck to Elsa’s forehead. Sylvester noticed she was wearing a regular blue checkered blouse with a plain green skirt, which wasn’t consistent to the eye-catching wardrobe Sylvester knew her young hermana had at her lodge. Even her leggings and flats were tame in comparison to Elsa’s usual… promiscuous tastes.

A blessing from Jannah, she supposed, considering Persephone was clutching at the hem of her tía’s skirt. Her hija's green eyes surveyed around the diner with intrigue, the three-year-old searching for source of the smells of hot food and warm beverages that tickled her small nose.

Once Persephone spotted Sylvester, the toddler's head perked up, then giggled as she ran over to her madre with a bright smile creased across her face, red curls bouncing. Sylvester got out of her seat to kneel down and catch her hija in a hug, nuzzling her little girl.

She saw Elsa cut her conversation with the clerk short, and made her way from the counter over to Sylvester and Persephone.

And here's a catchy song for Elsa that I believe somewhat describes her well enough:

""I fell in love with you 'cause you made me feel" "I fell in love with you 'cause you kept it real" "Man, you done changed up on me, you changed your flow" "Now I been hating on you everywhere I go", um, hold up

No, "I ain't too flawless" and, no, "I ain't the best" And no, "I don't say sorry" and, no, "I ain't perfect" But I am the man (DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO) I am the man (DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO) Shots fired!

(La di da di da di da da da! La di da di da di da da da da! La di da di da di da da da! La di da di da di da da da da!)

...

I am the man, no, I ain't aim for no crown (Woh! Woh!) But when you mention them, no, don't leave me out (Whoooooaaa!)

No, "I ain't too flawless" and, no, "I ain't the best" And no, "I don't say sorry" and, no, "I ain't perfect" But I am the man (DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO) I am the man (DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO) Shots fired!"

#far cry the silver chronicles #music monday #wip wednesday #far cry 5 #fic: the years in hope county #oc: elsa omar #oc: silva omar #oc: persephone omar #also vaguely alluded to but not outright said #john seed #oc: gavin turquoise #two lawyers who dislike each other