#2020 fc5 fanzine

[fanfiction-inc]

Hope Of A Forsaken Man (FC5 2020 Fanzine)

Verse: Far Cry 5

Characters: Staci Pratt, Jacob Seed

Rating: T for Teen

Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, torture references, and drinking

Word Count: 999 words (Limit was 1,000)

Summary: Staci Pratt begins to experience another episode of PTSD induced from his time in Jacob Seed’s cage. memories resurface, pain is felt, but what will be the resolve Pratt faces? Only you can find out.

NOTE: This was my contribution to the 2020 Far Cry 5 Fanzine. I highly encourage you all to go follow the artist I worked with as well as check out the rest of the art and stories from the fanzine itself. Below I will have the fanzine tagged. Art by the amazing: @dadtron-3000​. Thank you so much for being my partner in this and working so well with me, even if my idea was a bit delayed!

Link to the 2020 Far Cry 5 Fanzine: https://www.dropbox.com/s/qzje7mv8yq14guj/Far%20Cry%205%20Fanzine.pdf?dl=0

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021558

“It becomes difficult to deal with everyday life because you have hid your soul in a dark corner so it doesn’t have to face the dangerous world of the Trauma.  Without your soul, you are only half a person, a machine who is constantly running from reality.” - Amy Oestreicher

The clouds rolled in above the metal ceiling of a newly improvised cage, rumbling with the deadly winds and shaking the world about. Montana storms could be some of the worst to sleep during, some of the worst to escape from. He takes a deep breath as he lays in bed, listening to the pistoning of rain hammering the metal roof above, how the soft drip of water from a spot that leaked near the window fell into a waiting dish, half full already from the torment of the storm outside. Each sound had its own little reverberance, own little sounding off point, and it made his body toss and turn underneath the thin sheet he insisted upon when he first had a place to call home. At least, what could have been deemed a home. The lightest flinch followed when the window creaked and the room around him settled along with the touch strain of wind, watching the world around him shatter, even if the storm was supposedly supposed to be brief that night. 

The man could only recall back to his time behind metal bars, how the wind and rain hammered him, drenched him, and covered him in the mud from beneath. He could remember how the ground and bars faintly shook with each deep rumble of thunder above. The storms went on for days in those mountains, cutting off all the sudden then starting back up just when you thought they would be over. The world above was going to hell, and back then he never imagined escape. He never imagined leaving the confines of the red headed captor that held him there, bound by chain and sizzle of defiance. He hated that man, even when he showed what was a mock of sympathy. 

"Still got some fight in those eyes, Peaches. A few more days will do you well. Strengthen you up. You want to be strong, don't you? Strong enough to leave your bonds?"

Battered, broken, starved, and diminished. All the other could do was nod along in a feeble gesture of loyalty. This 'loyalty', built on the backbone of the blood, piss, and sweat of the others that had been just as unfortunate as him to sit on the muddy ground beneath him, was all he had as his sign of hope. He thinks back to it now, as the storm rages on outside with his back pressed onto a filthy mattress and pillow wrapped around his ears, how wrong he had been at the time to think that loyalty would have gotten him anywhere. He lets out a broken sob when the walls around him shake, shaking limbs curling into a fetal position as best as they can while being tangled in the mess of the thin fabric around him. Some would think after months of being away, he would have a way to cope… But there truly was no way. 

His hand is shuffling for the bottle beneath the bed, sweat slickened hair stuck to his forehead from the Montana heat slipping and falling before his face, letting the light droplets cascade down until they meet the amber bottle that holds only God knows what sort of cheap liquor. He had taken to spending his nights like this. Anxious, mind riddled with memories, and drinking away his sorrows until he was finally asleep. Just like him. He who locked him away. He who ruined what sense of sanity Pratt had held onto like a lifeline while in his company. He who still haunts his dreams, speaking to him within his mind until he's passed out and waiting for the next day to begin. 

The cap is unscrewed and thrown aside, mind-set already on finishing the contents of the bottle despite the amount left behind from the last go-round. His lips, chapped and trembling slip around the opening and the burn of whiskey stains his throat. He coughs, sputters, and feels the liquid run down his chin, dripping down onto a bare chest that heaved with each anxious breath. 

"Whiskey, a mans drink. Supposed to burn your throat and make ya strong. That's what my old man used to say before he'd take one down the hatch… Drink up, Peaches."

That voice that haunts him so, making him recall the first drink they shared, the first drink excluding what rainwater he could collect in his cupped hands. He takes another harsh swig of the bottle, growing accustomed to the sting and warming of his throat and belly knowing by the end of the bottle he'll be sleeping fine. But fine wasn't a word he'd use often. Fine was just the dull buzz in his head and numbness in his being. Fine was the days he spent flinching at gunshots and turning around at the faintest of voices that sounded like his captors own, as if he was taunting him from the grave. Fine was not fine, and in Staci Pratt's mind, fine would never be truly fine. 

The bottle rolled across the worn wooden floor, stopping against the dressers edge with the quiet slosh of a few sips that just couldn't be finished. He lays with fluttering vision to the ceiling, the rain beginning to fall into a dull Drum and lessen to a familiar song. 

"A man clings to the bottle like it's his only lifeline. What do you cling to?"

His voice sounds distant to Pratt, even as he begins to drift, even as his heart slows and his body lulls into the heavy slumber just outside the reaches of death. There was one thing Jacob fucking Seed could never take away from him, just one thing he couldn't own. 

"Hope."

FC5 Tag: @theoceanhathsolace​

[pheedraws]

FIAT JUSTITIA RUAT CAELUM | let justice be done though the heavens fall

So excited to share the piece I did for the Far Cry Fanzine! @fuckin-nancy wrote an incredible fic about John during his lawyer days (which, as you probably already know, is my ultimate weakness) and I had a whole heap of fun producing this piece to go alongside it. 

You can check out the full zine here! 

[red-nightskies]

My piece for the incredible Far Cry 5 Fanzine. Thank you @unclefungusthegoat for organising everything and creating this wonderful fanzine for everyone to enjoy 💖 And a massive thank you to @aghostfromtheages for writing an amazing piece to go along side this image. 

[chyrstis]

Far Cry Fanzine 2020

Written for the Far Cry 2020 Fanzine, which you should absolutely check out here!

This was a take on a moment leading up to the start of the game, namely one where Sharky's going about his daily business only for things to quickly go pear-shaped (which was why this was named ‘I’m sorry, Sharky’ for so long, b/c I feel like I owe him an apology). I was lucky enough to work with the amazing @farcrying here, and to also have @amistrio, @guileandgall , and @writerofblocks​ read through this for me to make sure it was coherent enough to post. You're all awesome, and I hope you never forget that. Oh, and this lovely title? It's entirely @writerofblocks​ fault, and I can't thank her enough for that stroke of pun-fueled genius.

I also can't thank @unclefungusthegoat​​ enough for putting so much time, effort, and love into making this happen, as well as @lucy-and-loki​​ for giving each entry some amazing details to help them stand out.

Title: A Mine-or Inconvenience Rating: T Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Drinking, dead animals (one very unlucky boar to be exact), explosions

Link to AO3!

___

Sharky’s day is off to a rough start, but it soon takes a turn even he wasn’t expecting. ...And that’s counting the smoking, boar-shaped spot on his front lawn.

______________

Sharky’s back hurt. Ached like he’d spent the night bending it into shapes no back should ever be bent into. Not to mention his mouth was dry, and full of the kind of awful that told him the batch of alcohol he’d brewed might’ve turned a bit. Just enough to taste off, but not enough to toss it, and last night he’d drained a good bottle and a half of it before passing out. Not even on his bed, but on the floor half-under it, wound up in a sweatshirt pretending to be a blanket.

He didn’t even remember ending up there, and that probably should’ve told him how the day was going to go.

Getting up took more effort than he liked, and in the middle of taking a leak he’d nearly nodded off right then and there. Felt his eyelids droop as he stood there in the bathroom, and that’s when the hangover started taking potshots at his senses.

Fuzzy-headed and floating, Sharky took a step only to have his foot catch on something and slip right out from under him. Jeans. The same pair he’d shucked off the night before, and he only realized it when his bare ass hit the floor right next to them. That fucking hurt, but it beat taking a header straight into the toilet.

Pulling his underwear back up, he flopped onto his back. At least now if anyone happened to stop by – usually Hurk, but those Peggie pamphlet pushers were coming by more and more often – he wouldn’t have his dick hanging out. Shit, company was company, but he’d at least try to be polite. Give them the option of wanting to see more of him instead of laying it all out there from the start. That’s what being a gentleman was all about, after all.

Groaning, he pushed himself up and smacked his lips.

That’s when he picked up on it. The squealing. He’d chalked it up to his mind fucking with him, but it kept on going. Didn’t stop even after he’d climbed to his feet and gave his hands a quick wash under the faucet.

Growing louder, and louder, and louder-

The house shook, and the sound that went off sent him straight to his knees. Scrambling, and glad he hadn’t headbutted the sink, Sharky double-timed it to the door.

That wasn’t normal. In fact, that sounded a hell of a lot like-

He stopped, and thought back to last night. How he’d gone outside, set to get a big ol’ fire going only to tear ass in the opposite direction. Small and quick, he’d nearly lost his face to the snarling shadow on his heels, and collapsed once he’d managed to barricade the door behind him. The minute it was clear again, however, he’d left a little something to deal with it. He’d left a lot of little somethings, digging up half of his lawn to place the mines, and wondered just what he’d caught as he followed the smoke straight to the source outside.

The scorched spot on the dirt below was pretty big. He could see where the mine had been tripped, and given it’d been roughly ten to fifteen feet from his house, he’d been lucky it hadn’t blown the wall in, or been any of his party crashers. Those were for special occasions only, and burning half of his shit down just ‘cause he was blindsided by a wolverine wasn’t one of them.

But it’d been more than enough to get the job done here. And judging from what was left of the boar, he’d better get to finding the other mines he’d buried fast, or he was looking to join it. Waving his hand in front of his face to try and cut through the smell, he tugged his hoodie up to cover his nose as he glanced down at the messy path below.

…Then further beyond that towards the pair of white trucks rolling up. Sharky took in the painted cross on their sides, and leaned over the rail to get a better look at them.

Usually the Peggies didn’t spare more than a single truck at most, the exception being the time when he had motherfucking John Seed out here on his doorstep. He at least had pants on then, but it’d hardly been worth dragging himself over to the door to answer. Even with some of the hottest chicks he’d seen in a while, John’s smug-ass face put the brakes on any fun faster than he would’ve liked.

But John wasn’t here, and the Peggies he eyed didn’t look like they’d try to buy the shirt off of his back only to sell it back at five times the price. The ones in the truck bed climbed out, guns in hand, and his heart started pounding in time to his head.

“Yo, what’s happening, amigos?” Sharky called out. “You need something?”

Another climbed out of the passenger seat of the truck, his long, dark coat brushing the dirt. Right on the front of his face was the top prize for the worst tattoo placement he’d ever seen, and the cross running from the side of his cheek all the way down to his chin was one he’d notice even from over a hundred paces out.

That had nothing on the strange look in his eyes, though. Or the way he started talking at him. “You have been chosen! By his word you’ve been given one final chance to see if the message of the Father is one you wish to welcome into your heart.”

“Chosen?” Sharky’s eyebrows rose as the man started to approach him, and figured it’d probably be better to have this talk while he wasn’t scratching his ass. “That’s uh, that’s news to me, man. ‘Cause you’re still banning a whole lot of things that make life worth living, and I’m not really digging the idea of going with Joe’s flow if he ain’t changing that.”

The Peggie took a step forward, then two.

Each brought him closer to the house, and Sharky’s hands started to itch for the shotgun laying across his kitchen table. Just something solid to place between them and himself, because this was far from friendly. Sure, he hadn’t given them the best welcome before, but this group was clearly on the verge of fucking his shit up. The guns were still there, out and angling towards him, and he felt his smile slip right into a grimace.

And when the guy kept on talking, he didn’t let up. Went straight for the kind of expression that would’ve had anyone running in the opposite direction, and raised his voice loud enough for Sharky to want to screw his eyes shut.

“This is not to be taken lightly or dismissed, because this is not an offer. No, this is an opportuni-“

Sharky saw his eyes widen as a click went off. The kind he’d been unable to hear himself above the sound of the faucet running and the squealing of the vaporized boar, and prepped himself to bolt.

‘Cause if this was going the way of any of his and Hurk’s top ten movie marathon classics – and all signs were pointing straight to ‘hell yes’ - every good chase always started off with a bang.

[englass]

Shadows Before Dawn

Pairing(s): Joseph Seed & The Deputy

Warning(s): Grief

Word Count: 1,149

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, those visions never came to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[unclefungusthegoat]

FC5/ND Quarantine Fanzine Creation Stage!

Good afternoon guys! So sign-ups are officially CLOSED, and I am over-the-moon to announce that there are a total of 61 participants! Thank you so much everyone for your overwhelming support and interest- I can already see from the range of ideas that have been submitted that this is going to be a really exciting collection of work once it’s finished!

So what happens now?

LONG POST INCOMING!

Well, I have already paired most of you together, however I am short three illustrators. Illustrators, I will be messaging a few of you to ask if you’re prepared to do more than one. I’ve already had a couple of volunteers, but I need three more! Please let me know if you’re willing!

TOMORROW - 10th April 2020

You will receive the name of your partner and your assigned character. 

Remember OCs and other characters are welcome in your work, but your assigned character must be the focus of your story and image.

10th April - 11th May 2020

This is the CREATION stage! You have a month to submit both your story and your image to me. You can submit any time in that window, so don’t feel you have to wait for the deadline!

You don’t have to submit together either! If you do submit seperately, please label clearly so I know what goes with what!

This is a collaborative project, and the extent to which you want that to be the case, is up to you! You can decide to work as a pair in one of two ways:

Seperately. Writers control the story content, and artists control the image content. To clarify, this means that while you jointly agree on a general concept and share your work with each other for reference, the writer doesn’t dictate what the artist does, and the artist doesn’t dictate what the writer does.

Together. You can work together, providing each other with ideas and feedback (although the writer still writes, and the artist still illustrates!)

Which way you work is your choice!

Please remember the rules:

Stories must be between 500-1000 words (no more than 2 A4 pages).

Writing MUST be beta-read. (I can help if you need me to!)

Artwork must be in colour! (If you have worries, please let me know!)

Stories and artwork must focus on your assigned character.

You can submit in languages other than English, but please send me an English translation also!

No graphic NSFW.

No non-con

No incest or pedophilia

You can submit your work to me via this blog (unclefungusthegoat)!

Formatting is not too important (although please make sure paragraphing is correct!). I will be sorting typeface and size, and saving all images as JPEG. If necessary, I may make small adjustments, like punctuation, just to get a consistent feel.

12th May 2020 onwards

I will be putting all of your work together in a PDF file, to be shared on here (free of charge!) as soon as I am able! At a later date, I will look at printing it properly, but for now, it’s just all about sharing your hard work, and getting some new, exciting content in these difficult times!

Problems

Fun as this is, we are in a troubling time for all of us. If, for any reason, you can’t get your work to me before the deadline- for example, if you become ill or someone in your family does, or for any other reason, please just let me know!

Biographies!

In the first fanzine, artists had their city/country listed beside their names, and I thought that was a lovely touch, so I’m thinking of doing the same! If you are comfortable in sharing this information, when submitting, please let me know where you’re from!

Cover Art

I’m still giving thought to what is happening with the cover art, and I’ll get back to you soon! 

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

Well, I think that’s everything! Sorry for the long, rambling post! Any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Chloe x

[lucy-and-loki]

Things I did in 2020 :D

Got my first car (and then had nowhere to drive to lmao)

Completed an online short course from my old film school

Won NaNoWriMo

Wrote and published a FC5 fic and helped my sister with her fanzine

Made some Christmas instructional videos for a local florist

Auditioned (badly) for a Domino’s advert

Wrote a haiku every day in December

Went on lots of walks in the forest and discovered my local beach

Got way too excited about RDR2, the Bleach anime returning, the Loki series, the Shadow and Bone series...I could go on

Braved going outside without make up on for the first time in years

Twice had socially distanced ice cream in the park with my college friends who I hadn’t seen in ages

Finally plucked up the courage to register with a doctor and actually go

Lived through that brief shining moment where it looked like I had to pick between a job on a Hollywood movie or a job on a Netflix series, boy that was a great day, too bad that ship sank

New Years Resolutions:

Try and finish the first drafts of my Nano project and my sci-fi screenplay

Take up photography again

Try to feel better about my appearance; lose some weight, try and clear up my skin, buy some new clothes

Actually get some work because damn that CV is looking horribly dusty

[the-mechanical-angel]

Heya! Wecome to the FC5/ND Fanzine Team! Thank you so much for wanting to be a part of this, happy to have you aboard! Your partner is BYBATS! Your assigned character is JOSEPH SEED.Your partner has agreed to being a part of more than one pair, and so you both have a deadline extension of two weeks- 25th May 2020. Please make sure to double check the rules on my blog! Very excited to see what you create! Good luck, stay safe, and my inbox is always open for questions!

Thanj you, i have never took part of a official fanzine (only minor events sone years ago) and i'm willing to give my best in this one-shot, i already have the plot, an outline and a chart of dialogue (it's a concept that i had already in my mind) Thank you for the opportunity

[unclefungusthegoat]

Hey there! Will you be releasing a physical version of the 2020 FC5/FC:ND zine? 😊

Hey friend! Hope you enjoy the fanzine and everyone’s amazing work in it! Ah, unfortunately I don’t have the funds to physically print and distribute the fanzine, as it is such a long document, it would cost a lot to get it printed and formatted nicely! But you are very very welcome to download it as many times as you like! Sorry! :D