#anyway. ramblings of a crazed man here lmao

[asvidema]

i have this feeling that if we do get a wedding dlc (biggest proof i have of it outside of dialogues is the fact that jitka got her own portrait in the codex alongside the other characters) we'll get to find out that hans was wrong, and jitka is actually one of the fairest maidens of the realm

[hte-archived]

   lmao. we don’t use betas here, we post things immediately after writing them. like men.

   The Scorpion & The Frog    Fandom: Far Cry 5    Characters: Reader!Deputy, John Seed    Summary: You ever hear the fable of the scorpion & the frog?

  Nights in Hope County, Montana are different than what you have known all your life, though, that probably could be said for anyone. It’s a strange mixture of gunfire and explosions, of the creeping sounds of insects in the night and low growls and shuffling of bears. It’s not an environment for everyone, certainly not for most people you’ve met. But somehow, between the dangers of man and nature, you live, you thrive.

  There’s something appealing about the danger of it all, the way you are a step away from painful death no matter which path you take. It’s the ultimate high, an adrenaline rush that never seems to run dry, and you’re living on the edge of actual bliss, not the crap Faith is dosing people with, but something that’s true happiness for you, something pure and untouched and natural.

  And it’s not in your nature not to let the rush go. If there is a sin you have, a sin you could brand yourself with, it probably would be greed. Because you want it all.

  And this alone is the sole reason for your actions, the reason why when John calls you over the walkie, on a night that’s been otherwise dull, more sneaking than death defying acts, more silence than gunfire and screams of rage, you pick up your radio, and interrupt his obsessive babbling, carelessly testing his patience and will.

  “John,” You stretch leisurely, listening to the stunned silence on the other end of the radio, the rush of static as he breathes out a quiet noise. You’ve never acknowledged his calls before, never bothered to respond to his mad ramblings, and you can feel the tension over the walkie.

  You smile and tip your head back over the back of the couch you were lounging on, currently ‘hiding’ away in the former home of someone who had fallen victim to the reaping.

  “Yes, deputy?” He’s trying to fight his excitement, but you still read it anyway, in the way he draws out your title, slow and careful, with just a touch of sudden accent.

  If things were different, if he were not a crazed member of an equally crazed doomsday prepping cult currently trying to capture and torture you… You stifle a wistful sigh.

  “Have you ever heard the tale of the Scorpion and the Frog?” You shift your weight, still partially hanging off the couch, but getting comfortable. The furniture here was old, clearly family heirlooms that were meant more for decoration than function. You grumble at the thought, toe off your stolen boots and rub your sore feet on the furniture’s arm on the other side, almost in protest at the idea.

  There’s a confused pause. You imagine John Seed, huddled up in his room on his ranch, the pinch of a frown between his brows, lips twisted in firm confusion. ( It’s not as unappealing an image as you initially thought it might be. )

  “No, I have not.”

  “Mm.” You close your eyes, listening to Boomer as he rustles around in another room, playing with something he’s found. You hope it’s not a rat, or a rabbit, if only for your own sake.

  Your smile is lazy and sly when you reply, and you know it translates over the radio. “Would you like to hear a story, my dear baptist? I promise you, it is not as dull a tale as you would think. You might even… enjoy it some, find some parallels with real life.”

  You like to imagine John has shivered then, at the slow roll of your words, the softness that comes into your tone. He certainly is quiet for a solid ten seconds, and your boldness only grows.

  ( If only you were not caught at opposite ends of this fight. If only, if only… )

  “Enlighten me.”

  He sounds curious, and a little breathy. You bite your tongue to prevent from laughing.

  “There was once a scorpion on a river bank, and on this river bank, he met a frog. She was beautiful, as frogs tend to be. Soft and sweet, with a reputation for wanting to help. A good soul, someone who only wanted to better the world. The scorpion asked the frog to help him, see, he wanted to cross the river to the other side, but scorpions cannot swim, and there was not a bridge for a great distance. So he asked the young frog, gently and sweetly as he could, if she could help.

  “Suspicious, the frog asked him, ‘How do I know you won’t sting me?’ The scorpion, clever as he was, replied, ‘Because if I sting you, I will die too.’ The frog, satisfied with his answer, turned and offered her back to the scorpion, and, together, they went into the river…

  “Midswim, the scorpion’s stinger went wild, and he pricked the dear frog, again and again, with a viciousness that was unnecessary. With her last breath, the frog asked the scorpion why, why he would betray her, why he would kill them both. And do you know what he answered with, Jonathan Seed?”

  John doesn’t answer you at first, and you fear you’ve lost him in the story, you fear that maybe he’s stopped playing along. But then, an answer. 

   “No.”

  You twist and brush your mouth against the speaker, eyes dark, a gleam of wickedness about you suddenly. “The scorpion replied, ‘It’s not my fault, it’s in my nature.’”

  Silence falls over you, and you allow it to come. One minute stretches into two, then three, but you know John is still there, still thinking over your tale, turning it this way and that, trying to determine what the point of it all had been.

  At the five minute mark comes the familiar sound of your radio crackling to life. “And which creature are you, deputy? The frog… or the scorpion.”

  You smile into the darkness, and twist off the power to your radio.

  -

  Weeks later, you’re escaping his bunker, and though the story seems to have been forgotten by him, the tale is still fresh in your mind. And, when you find him, when you find John Seed and your former companion in a locked room on your way out, you are unable to resist yourself, unable to stop from stirring the pot further.

  Leaning towards the window, you smile, all teeth and sharpness, like something unhinged, maddened by the trials he and his have been putting you through. He falters, for once, his babbling about sin and wrath and you drifting off, and you watch with interested eyes as his confidence flounders.

  “Ribbit.” You smirk at him through the glass. “Ribbit goes my little frog.”

  And then you are gone.