#seedsplease

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday & OCs as "Patron Saints of..." Quiz

Tagged by the lovely @inafieldofdaisies @voidika and @cloudofbutterflies92

Tagging @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @hollywood-is-bleeding @derelictheretic @cassietrn @aceghosts @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @softtidesworld @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

Music Monday for The UnTitledverse, Wings And Horns WIP and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, and OC quiz results for OCs from The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters. You can find the Quiz here and enjoy listening/reading below the cut:

Remember how I said Lena would be uncovering skeletons from Fazbear Entertainment's closet in my Five Nights at Freddy's WIP More Than Bargained For?. Well, the corpses of children stuffed in animatronics after being murdered by a serial-killing co-founder isn't the only think she discovers; Lena, with the guidance of one "Mike Schmidt", she also uncovers a history of tragedies surrounding one family feud in a house full of nightmares and a forgotten rental service too. Unbeknownst to the young Elliot woman, she is inadvertently aiding Mike under the company's untold policy of "Paragraph 4", with the intent of bringing all Fazbear-related animatronics back to one ultimate pizzeria. What could possibly go wrong?:

"There is a legend A legend born long ago About a wicked A wicked man no one knows Went and unraveled Six innocent little souls

Those souls found bodies The bodies started to move Some say they still walk Walk the halls, staying from view

I got a secret that I am here to tell you That place is this very place And all the stories are true

This world's a scary place We're not monsters, just changed Bigger hands for grabbing ahold We were lost to foul play But we got an upgrade Lots more teeth for eating you whole

Here comes another chapter Your heart is beating faster Because you're the one we're after Five Nights at Freddy's 4 Thank you for bringing us home

We were just like you Like you, just playing a game That's when the wicked Wicked man lead us astray Without a warning Our lives have been rearranged

As for our story The story's not over yet There's still one secret One secret left to be said

Tonight when you are Safely tucked into your bed Close all the doors that you want We're already in your head

This world's a scary place We're not monsters, just changed Bigger hands for grabbing ahold We were lost to foul play But we got an upgrade Lots more teeth for eating you whole

Here comes another chapter Your heart is beating faster Because you're the one we're after Five Nights at Freddy's 4 Thank you for bringing us home

Thank you for bringing us home

Here comes another chapter Your heart is beating faster Because you're the one we're after Five Nights at Freddy's 4 Thank you for bringing us home

Thank you for bringing us home

Thank you for bringing us home

Thank you for bringing us home!"

Now on one hand, I don't initially believe this song actually fits my Wings And Horns WIP. However, on the other hand, in relation to Jezebel Ba'al's story (and maybe a bit of Cadet Azriel's too, being the implied soul of a particular bearded cult leader's dead daughter and all, plus committing to her service as an Angel of Death just so she can finally reach reincarnation), I think this can fit within the context of a story that's centered around the pros and cons of living in a world where a divine system like the Soulmate System exists, especially when you have two young characters like Azriel and Jezebel, the former hearing nothing but good things about having a Soulmate while the latter (and other's like her) have been directly harmed by the system's flawed structure, and how both are influenced by their well-meaning if extreme father/authority figures:

"Down the rabbit hole, we saw you come in Through the glass of our cages chained up where we live Where we live Please don't be afraid We're a little bent Broken souls looking for a way to start again Start again

How can we ever be free When our prison is skin deep Left to rot* underneath Buried us down below so no one sees Daddy's little monsters

Listen to the voice keeping you alive You need us, we need you, it'll be alright Yeah, it's alright We don't wanna stay under lock and key You can help break the curse, we all wanna live** Wanna live**

How can we ever be free When our prison is skin deep Left to rot* underneath Buried us down below so no one sees Daddy's little monsters!"

[*Given rust is more for metal, rot fits well enough for both physical flesh and the "soul flesh" that Cadet Azriel and Jezebel have both experienced. **I used "live" instead of "leave" because even... well... the latter doesn't really make much sense in this context, while the former can be interpreted as Jezebel saying "we all want to live our lives without being it being predestined for us" especially with out trapping being fated to a soulmate can be (especially for the likes of Jezebel whose experienced a bad fating, and Azriel wants to be reincarnated so she can live again, but not be stuck in a similar fate to Jezebel if she gets the chance of rebirth, so at this point, here is where Azriel's opinion on the Soulmate System begins to shift].

In the unnamed Fallout 2 WIP from my A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore series, Ore returns to California (where last time he was there, his father Arcane Urias had mutilated his face after Ore declined joining him on his quest of human destruction) after exploring the Wastelands a bit more and to say goodbye to a good friend. However, instead he not only meets his friend's granddaughter Finidy Mona, but also finds evidence that his father has returned in the area. He decides to partner up with Finidy to help him track down and kill his father to stop him and his nefarious deeds by retracing his steps from Shady Sands to New Reno. This also relates to how, chronologically timeline-wise, this WIP is the last prequel of sorts and closing the chapter on Ore's story in California plus Urias and Talos' origins before the focus goes onto Ress.

"You set the stage all by yourself You have a job, do it well And play your part to host their final farewell

An event Just like the first time Put to rest Their souls tonight

It's going back, back, back, back They've been through this before It's going back, back, back, back The final page of the lore The sound of cheer, the need for fear The souls of the kids are free Rewind the tears

It's going back, back, back, back Back, back, back, back, back Back, back, back, back, back Back, back, back, back, back It's going-!"

Now for the quiz results for OCs from my The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters series. Most of these will likely be unfamiliar to you guys:

HUNTRESS CAROLINE JÄGER (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [BLOODBORNE])

Pretty accurate given the ending she gets. Unafraid to face what others refused to see, and too stubborn to look away from it. If it's something she could fix, then the Horrors be damned. Is it a shame, though, if it meant she could no longer wake up from such a terrible, horrible dream, if just to get a glimpse of the rising sun?

HUNTER TOBIAS JÄGER (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [BLOODBORNE])

How different these two are; the sister transcends to something new and unfamiliar, but here, the brother holds onto what made sense and what was once precious to him, even if holding on stops him from moving forward. And all he has to show for it is a fragment of what he lost.

DARKBEAST CONSTANCE (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [BLOODBORNE])

No matter how much he boasts about being true to Yahar'gul's ideals, he is still a lesser man than he is a true beast.

LOGAN THE VAGABOND OF NO RENOWN (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [ELDEN RING])

Fucking poetic considering what he does and who comes crawling out of it. While Logan is an unpleasant and selfish person, he himself becomes a vessel for all the good things he'll pass on to his successor; someone that will succeed against the destined odds where he and everyone else failed.

RICO (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS [CYBERPUNK 2077])

Staying in Night City (whether it be for the guy you were always at the beck and call of, not just out of loyalty and idealism, but genuine love, even if he didn't necessarily share the same love you felt and eventually became a stranger to you, or for the mentored young woman you see so much life coursing through her veins within a city as horrid as NC, and also see so much of yourself and the other in, yet is cruelly destined for far less than she deserves and spends that little time with others that aren't you, knowing this goodbye is the last goodbye you'll ever make as she leaves behind everything for those final months of something better... or maybe you stay because it's all you've ever known and believe you'll be useful in) does not have much benefits.

LORA (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS [ARCANE: LEAGUE OF LEGENDS])

Ever wonder if, in spite of how much you try, you're just destined to be alone? Lora chases after something things that won't ever leave her fulfilled or satisfied. In the end it's this that dooms her to solitude.

[the-silver-chronicles]

2025 Year Of The OTP January Prompts: "Our Love" [Boa Lurking In The Bliss]

Tagging @voidika @raresvtm @josephseedismyfather @noodlecupcakes @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease

January Prompts based on this Year of the OTP fandom event. I've tackled the following prompts: First Kiss, "May I have this dance with you?" & Sharing Clothes.

Showing off my first completed January oneshot for this event, called Our Love, which can also be found on AO3 here.

This is one of the few lighter and fluffier oneshots for this event, so already starting off good. I am quite excited to do the rest, especially when it comes to the August Prompts.

Anyway, you can read the oneshot below the cut or on my AO3 above. Enjoy!:

Title: Our Love.

Series: The Silver Chronicles (Far Cry 5)

Pairing: Boa Lurking In The Bliss (Silva Omar/Faith Seed)

Prompts: January - First Kiss, “May I have this dance with you?” & Sharing Clothes.

Genre: Romantic Fluff. Light Angst (Silva tends to overthink).

Words: 3,095.

The snowstorm hadn’t let up. The flurry of white flakes relentlessly rained down on the roof of the lodge by the roaring winds, covering it in a deep powder.

Silva would have to shovel some of the snow that built up near the porch and balconies, but that would be a tomorrow problem.

At the moment she was busy pouring two mugs of chocolate caliente that she made from scratch, while Faith was getting changed into something cleaner. Silva managed to avoid most of the mess, thanks in part to the apron she wore.

The dark beige was accompanied by a steam that carried the sweet scent of the chocolate. Taking the apron off, she left it on the kitchen bench, opting to clean it up later as she carried the mugs over to the living space, placing the one on the small table in the middle while taking a seat on one side of the couch while awaiting the return of her housemate.

She could hear the jukebox inserting the next record, playing some jazz song she never cared to learn the name of. She remembered gifting it to Elsa when her younger hermana uncharacteristically complained about having to change each record personally once the song ended. Silva suspected Elsa only complained to get her to build something again, a little time for herself rather than all spent on her hermana and hija.

Not that Silva ever mentioned it. She rather enjoyed putting together that record player. She missed tinkering, especially now.

Silva blew on the steam leaving her mug, carefully bringing the chocolate caliente to her lips as she sipped on the burning, yet deliciously rich liquid.

They were near the end of the first month of being stuck in her late-hermana’s lodge, and the blizzard storming outside hadn’t let up. There were moments of calmness, sure, but that would never be enough time for either her or Faith to escape down the mountain without getting caught right back in the snowstorm once more. Again, she reminded herself.

She only hoped that the storm put a pause on the Reaping. Not that she didn’t trust her friends weren’t doing fine without her. Although, a small part of her wished she was there with them… just to make sure they were safe.

But another and more vocal part of herself was relieved by the sudden separation from the mass violence. There was guilt that gnawed at her for such a thought, but she pushed it away.

Especially when she heard the approaching steps of the only other occupant in the lodge.

When turning back to see Faith, she was immediately met with the sudden change in style from the other woman.

Instead of one of Elsa’s old dresses that better fitted the style she was used to seeing on the Seed sister, Faith instead wore a loose flannel shirt and culotte that belonged that previously belonged to Silva.

Not entirely an issue that she had in itself. It was just Faith looked good in her clothes.

Silva could not keep her gaze off of Faith, and she blamed the warmth in her cheeks on the caliente.

“Something on your mind, Silva?” Faith asked in her approach, rounding the red sofa to take her seat next to the deputy. Her green eyes lightened at the steaming chocolate caliente waiting for her on the small table.

Silva didn’t answer immediately, too busy gawking at Faith in her attire, before swallowing down her surprise and replying, “No, no, nothing much… you look good, by the way.”

Faith seemed to appreciate the compliment, her smile growing bigger as she replied, “Thanks. Just thought I’d try something else on while the dress gets washed.”

It didn’t explain why Faith went into her room for clothes, but she wasn’t complaining.

Faith turned her focus to the caliente awaiting her, and in curious anticipation, Silva observed as the light brunette lifted the mug to her lips, lightly blowing the steam like she herself had done, and sipped the scalding caliente with a pleased hum.

“This is delicious,” Faith replied with a smile, the woman’s words settling a feeling of relief on Silva’s mind, “We did a great job, wouldn’t you agree, Silva?”

Faith’s words evoked an eyebrow raise from Silva; sure, they had produced the caliente together, however Silva distinctly remembered Faith mucking about, at one point playfully attacking her with chocolate covered pastry brush.

Despite this in mind, Silva decided on agreeing with Faith, giving kudos where kudos were due, “For a first timer, you certainly did exceptionally well.”

Faith beamed at the praise, and Silva drank more of her caliente, before throwing Faith a mischievous glance in her grey eyes as she added, “Although, I don’t remember the process being so messy. Nor the part where the pastry brush would try covering my face in chocolate powder.”

Faith snickered at the memory, softly bumping against Silva’s shoulder as she pointed out, “You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’d go as far to say you enjoyed the trouble.”

Silva’s lips tugged into a bashful smile, feeling warmer. She remembered the surprise of the powdered pastry brush tapping her nose when she glanced over to check Faith’s progress, and the bubbling fun that resounded in her beating heart when dodging and batting away more attempts to dust her face in the delectable cocoa.

“I did,” she replied softly.

A comfortable silence filled the air, a contrast to the raging winds outside. No tension, no suspicion. Nothing but a calm trust between the two women.

Silva wanted to shift closer, close enough that her shoulder could barely brush against Faith’s, perhaps her knee leaning against the other woman’s own, too.

Though Silva held back such impulses. She couldn’t do that, not when things were… comfortable. She knew she shouldn’t overstep now. Yet, the urge remained. There was a small voice inside of her that told her that reasonably, it couldn’t hurt to try. Neither action would be anything big, and if Faith showed any sign of discomfort, then Silva would simply cease the action altogether.

However, if Faith did allow it… then how could that be interpreted? That Faith simply doesn’t mind her closeness? That she’d use it as a way to gain a better hold over her for Eden’s Gate goals?

Or… or perhaps most frightening of all, it could mean that Faith may reciprocate the same desire she does? The want to be closer, to be held, the awkward and yet not uncomfortable hot sensation that is always accompanied by the slight pace of speed in her heart. Was it implausible? Silva couldn’t be sure. While she certainly desired such an outcome under any other circumstances, it would be devastating here; the knowledge she found another who once more held a mutual feeling for a companionship no other could grant them, only for that person to be someone who’s her enemy; whom she is expected to bring down, in whatever means necessary.

Silva wanted to close the distance, to just see if there was a chance, but at the same time knew she shouldn’t, as not only would it hurt more if the time she was forced to confront Faith came, but it’d perhaps be better if she didn’t try, make it easier to do what would need to be done and avoid risking any further complications.

However, Silva doubted it could be that easy.

Silva was brought out of her storming thoughts when she and Faith heard a resounding click from across the room.

Both glanced over to the jukebox, Faith watching in interest as through the visible glass, the finished record was lifted from the spinner by the “arm clamp” and gently placed to the back of the stack. It travelled down to the next record, tenderly pulling it up and placing it flat onto the spinner, prompting the stylus to touch down on the spinning record.

Through the speakers of the jukebox, the next song began to play, starting with a sudden beat before a gentle string begins to play and the synchronized harmony of a woman vocalizing an “ooh”.

From there the lyrics began.

“There’s a girl in town/And word’s gone around she’s just fine.”

Faith tilted her head with intrigue, yet confusion. Silva couldn’t blame her lack of understanding, as the other woman wasn’t well attuned to the Spanish tongue. Silva herself was still unsure where Elsa got this particular song.

Regardless, she liked it. It brought a sense of… normalcy.

Although, she couldn’t deny that the song playing at this moment set a certain mood she wasn’t sure was appropriate… for herself and Faith that is. The timing couldn’t be any less impeccable to her earlier spiral of thoughts.

“So I don’t worry my head/’Cause I know her heart is tied to mine.”

Silva swallowed down the rest of her caliente, placing the mug on the table. Unexpectedly, Faith placed her unfinished mug down too.

Silva observed as Faith glanced to her and just as swiftly looked away, wringing her hands as she intensely narrowed her eyes down.

It was always fascinating to Silva to see the constant flux of change in the woman’s expression, especially when she was out of the Bliss.

Though Silva could tell Faith was somewhat nervous about something, thinking it over repeatedly. The deputy was ready to shift off the couch and had an excuse prepared on the tip of her tongue to give her housemate some space when Faith caught her off-guard by grasping her wrist.

“Would you like to dance?” Faith blurted out, the sudden volume making the dark-haired woman pause in her ascent from the couch.

Silva tilted her head, blinking at Faith, a little confused and a bit shocked. It was the furthest thing she’d expect of the other woman, and certainly not something Silva expected Faith to want to do with the likes of her.

There was beat of silence, and Faith looked down to her hand gripping on Silva’s wrist. She cringed, lightly letting go.

Silva flexed her hand, planting herself back onto the couch as she turned her full attention onto Faith, “Why would you want to? With me, I mean?”

Faith brushed a strand of light brown hair back behind her ear, her lips a thin line as she thought of something, anything.

“Well, it’s… it’s because it sounds like the kind of song you’d dance with a partner- or I mean someone else with, you know?” Faith played it off, rubbing at her arm, “You don’t have to, but I’d rather not dance alone…”

Silva chewed at the inside of her cheek. Faith’s excuse seemed too sloppy to be a total fabrication, so she was telling a bit more of the truth. Though Silva was hesitant to accept Faith’s request.

While a dance didn’t inherently hold a romantic inclination, it was still rather intimate. Silva knew she was growing more attached to Faith the longer they remained snowed in, a complication that would only prolong the inevitable pain or hinder the necessity of her mission entirely. She knew neither of them were willing to abandon their respective factions nor join the other’s; Silva was loyal to her friends and detested Joseph Seed and his cult’s methods, and Faith was happy within her family and thought she was doing what was necessary. Not to mention, the Resistance despised her and held no trust for the woman.

Silva sometimes wondered whether or not she should have even agreed to their temporary truce in the lodge. Faith had been vulnerable, without her Bliss and Angels to protect her, so easy to kill. And yet, Silva’s own moral compass held her back from ridding the county of Faith Seed, either because the other woman was in no position to fight back or because Silva desired to hear the other woman out now that she had come for her without any tricks open for use.

Whatever the case was, it led to them reaching a truce given their… snowy circumstances. Silva would have nothing to blame but her ironclad convictions to follow her part of her obligations to the letter when she eventually allowed Faith to return back to the Project’s awaiting arms.

She had all the reasons to say no. To decline and say goodnight and hope the storm ended tomorrow so she wouldn’t have to wake up to make breakfast for the both of them. To cut the bud in the nip so nothing could progress further than it should have.

And yet…

“The life that we live, and the love the I give to her.”

Silva stood up from the sofa, her grey eyes glancing to Faith’s enquiring green. Faith was a very beautiful woman; inside and outside the Bliss, but Silva preferred this… someone who looked and acted real, not some fantastical visage putting on a performance.

She was wary that this was another front, some elaborate attempt to futilely get her into Eden’s Gate. Her allies didn’t call the woman a “siren” without reason. However, Silva rationalized that Faith was clever enough to understand honey trapping held unlikely success. And besides…

For the first time in nearly a decade, a gorgeous woman has expressed a desire to dance with her.

And fuck it, Silva was foolishly going to indulge in this chance.

“Each day it grows more and more, I’m sure it shows.”

Silva held out her gloved hand to Faith, the latter’s brows shot up in surprise by the action, and Silva swallowed all her nerves to softly ask one simple question against the quickened beat of her heart.

“May I have this dance with you?”

For a short minute, Faith did nothing but gape in response to Silva’s question, faltering the deputy’s confidence, worry hidden underneath her soft gaze as she wondered if she missed her chance.

All worry was dashed away when Faith’s lips widened in a delighted grin and took Silva’s hand.

“Well/Our love/Is a bubbling fountain.”

Hands held on to each other, both manoeuvred their way to the spacious area near the jukebox, light smiles reflecting off each other.

“Our love/That flows into a sea.”

Awkwardly, they try to find where exactly they want to place their hands; Silva resolves to just steady her arms below Faith’s shoulders while the other woman wraps her arms at the back of Silva’s neck, pushing them a little bit closer.

“Our love/Deeper than any ocean.”

The movements were nothing complex or special. The beats of the song didn’t intend for that, as it held more of a relaxing tempo. Not that she minded; and from the looks of it, Faith seemed content with slowly swaying.

Being so close… Silva could feel heat of Faith’s breath on her lips, their noses separated by the smallest of gaps between them. Her grey eyes could gaze into Faith’s green, see all the specks in her lively irises that no one would ever get a chance to witness.

“Our love/For eternity.”

Neither woman stopped swaying as the song played on, entranced in the other’s gaze, eyes recording each other’s feature to memory.

Be it impulsive instinct or plain brave desire, Silva gradually inched closer to Faith’s lips.

“Like Sunday/I pray our love will always stay pure/While the world turns around/He holds me down for sure.”

Though Silva didn’t reach her destination, snapping out of whatever urge she was acting on. Pause midway, her intentions clear yet uncertain of Faith’s own feelings on the matter.

With doubt on her mind, Silva was about to inch back, when she felt Faith’s hands creep from the back of her neck to hold her face.

Giving her a smile, Faith went to close the gap.

“Our love/Is a bubbling fountain/Our love/That flows into a sea.”

Upon recognizing Faith’s intentions, Silva met her approaching lips in the middle, lightly pressing against the other woman’s more eager lips. This time Silva’s hands shifted from their position, crossing behind Faith’s neck.

“Our love/Deeper than any ocean/Our love/For eternity.”

Both separated briefly, Faith giggling from their different approaches with the kiss. Silva softly chuckled too, Faith’s eagerness unexpected though not unappreciated. Tasting her own lips, Silva returned a bashful smile to Faith.

It had been certainly a while since she last kissed someone; someone she felt a connection with. It may not have been her first kiss, but it most definitely the first passionate kiss she’s had in almost a decade… since Irene.

Looking back to Faith, she wondered if this had been her first kiss… or at least a kiss she’s had in a long time.

She didn’t think it was her place to ask; perhaps later, or not at all. It wasn’t her business, and ultimately it didn’t really matter. It was Silva’s first kiss with Faith, and this would be Faith’s first kiss with her. That’s what really made it special.

Parting her lips once more, Silva went in for a second, more even kiss, matching Faith’s eagerness from before, much to the delight of the other woman. Faith wasted no time in returning the same energy.

“And after all/The rain will fall on us too.”

A deep part of Silva knew this wasn’t right. Not wrong, but not the most sensible thing to be doing. She and Faith were supposed to be enemies. And yet here, they weren’t. Faith had innocent blood on her hands, like how Silva’s own was stained with the cult’s. Something Silva would need to confront later; she knew that, but not now.

Now she wanted to feel something- something good for once, other than the guilt and shame and just shittiness in general.

Perhaps though… Silva’s trail of thought paused as she separated from their second kiss, Faith gazing at her with an adoration she’d never seen before on the woman, not out during the Reaping, and not in the Bliss either.

Her hands went from Silva’s face to her back, gripping hard like she was afraid this was some dream. And honestly, Silva shared the same sentiment, even if she should wish this was just some self-indulgent fantasy.

She felt Faith’s nose brush against the crook of her neck, burrowing her head into the space. Silva didn’t mind.

“But I’ll keep moving on/Proud and strong with you.”

Silva found herself willing to continue the scandalous thought that she’d find herself pondering on for the rest of the month they’d be stuck in the lodge for.

…perhaps there’s a way for this war to end without more piles of bodies.

[deputyash]

I was tagged by @direwombat and @roses-n-rads to make one of these cute little holiday message trees! Thank you! <3

Tagging @harmonyowl @strafethesesinners @derelictheretic @teamhawkeye @purplehairsecretlair @rosecochonnetduprintemps @statichvm @glowwormsmith @fuckin-nancy @adelaidedrubman @blissfulalchemist @wrathfulrook @mel-eficent @i-am-the-balancing-point  @beemot @minilev @delicateweaponjpg @lulu2992 @wholelottagin @starsandskies @laindtt @chyrstis @seedsplease @ocheewa @shallow-gravy @miss-jennifer-cormier @bardic-inspo @radiojamming @lybelle-yule and anyone else who'd like to create their own tree and leave messages! <3

[chizups]

Patron Saint Quiz Thanks to @seedsplease for tagging me! <3 tagging @thepachy, @skoll-sun-eater and anyone who is interested in participating!

Salome Ann Clock - patron saint of heartbreak not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.

Indeed in the end Salome doesn't just open her heart, but tears it open for other people to gather whatever is inside for their needs, good or bad, kind or evil. This may not show her as a wise character, but this openness in itself does not make her stupid. Rather, she remains hopeful for the best until the very end and believes in redemption for everyone, except perhaps herself. John Seed broke her heart quite a few times, but it still opens to his call.

Dina "Carrot" Sommer - patron saint of obsession patron saint of devotion. of dedication. of passion. of everything you won't call it, in the spaces between. patron saint of holding tight to it until it bleeds. patron saint of pushing it too far. patron saint of staring into the sun until you're blind. patron saint of gazing onto beauty until you can't see anything anymore.

Dina is the quintessence of obsession, a shining example of it. She is obsessed with only one person, but is quantity the measure of her passion? Jacob Seed made her this way and thus created a talisman for himself against imminent death.

Blissed Wisp - patron saint of martyrs the patron saint of those who died to be like you. maybe you died to be like them too: but at the end of it, you weren't like them. patron saint of tragedy. saint of saints. it's you who holds the hands of the holy dead, and you who has to answer: what do they do if they regretted it?

The sufferer, who is no stranger to the suffering of others, creates martyrs and patronizes them, squeezing their cold hands with regret, no matter what side they were on. Hundreds of souls to the glory of Joseph Seed! And her own, with a heavy heart, is still at his feet.

[awful-roffle]

I hate the current tile my pawns live on, but caravanning with ~20 tribal pawns sounds like a nightmare. I don't have seeds for hay or cloth (seedsplease lite) which most of the neolithic level vehicles I got need. What am I supposed to do here? 😭

[hopecountygazette]

Author Spotlight: @seedsplease​

1. Why did you start writing fanfiction? Was Far Cry 5 the first fandom you wrote for? 

My first fanfiction that I actually got into and posted was actually for Naruto haha, and I started that because I really loved the heroine and just wanted to explore her character through writing.

2. Why Far Cry 5? What led you to it? 

The game, the universe, some particular character...I loved the game and thought the idea of Far Cry 5's story was really interesting, but it didn't quite get to go as deep as I would've liked to have seen, so I really liked the idea of trying to explore these characters and this world through fanfiction.

3. Of everything you have written so far, which one is your favorite?

Hmm, I think maybe one of my pre-game AUs, like this one where the Deputy first meets John. I think pre-game stuff is just so fun to write because there's so much tension; it can be a perfectly innocent interaction happening, but because the audience knows what's REALLY going on and the Deputy DOESN'T, there's such a tense undertone there that's just really fun to play around with.

4. Any tips for those who are starting - or considering starting - to write fan fiction?

I really recommend reading your writing out loud, not just for finding little mistakes, but because it's really good for helping you figure out whether dialogue sounds organic, and it also just helps you figure out the flow of sentences. Something can be grammatically correct, but still read a little awkwardly, so I've found that reading out loud can really help me pick up on these things.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

‘redemption’

Deputy Rook Gordon/John Seed

@seedsplease

“Here’s my gift to you Tia! I hope you enjoy it - Rook was a joy to write, and I hope you don’t mind if I write something else for her again someday! Happy holidays! <3”

'Deputy Rook Gordon x John Seed, sharing a bed, fluff, humor, very slight angst, a little hurt/comfort, very very vague description of minor injuries’

Rivulets of icy water drip from the damp ends of her hair and collect in the crease of her neck, soaking the collar of her coat. Rook’s lived in Montana her whole life, knows the cold as well as anyone else that calls Hope County home, but she doesn’t think she’s ever felt it quite like this. Her cheeks are chaffed and numb, she can’t feel the tops of her thighs any longer, and if the tips of her ears aren’t frostbitten, it’ll be a miracle. Cold leeches from her wet clothes into what feels like her bones, and Rook finds herself longing for her tiny apartment above the Spread Eagle and the electric heat that rattles from the radiators.

Still, she thinks, there’s a silver lining to be gleaned from all this — she’s so cold that she can no longer feel just how battered she is from the car accident. Black ice doesn’t care if you’re the leader of the Resistance, she’s learned.

Wind bites at her skin. Rook doesn’t know how long she’s been walking. It feels like hours, but it’s probably only been half of one. When she’d first left the car, her steps were steady and strong, despite the shin-high snow licking at the denim of her jeans. Now, she can barely lift her feet out of the divots they make. Instead, she shuffles forward, leaving behind trenches that lead straight to her.

Over her shoulder, the wreckage of her car looks like a black dot against a white canvas. Ahead of her, she can see the smoky-grey silhouette of what looks like a cabin. She stops in her tracks, snow freezing her feet through her cheap boots, and weighs her options.

Bunker? People in Hope County are paranoid enough that Rook’s been able to find an empty bunker on just about every property she’s stumbled upon. If she’s lucky, there’s one close by, fully stocked with food and blankets. Based on the way the rest of her day’s gone, it’s probably buried under six feet of snow, too.

Cabin? The place looks as empty as anything else in the county these days. The windows are dark and covered in a thin sheen of frost, and snow has started to pile up against the door. Rook hasn’t seen a car for miles; if people live here, they’re doing it off the grid, and they’re doing it very well. She wiggles her frozen fingers and wonders if she has a chance in hell at picking the lock.

Her only other option is trying to find her way back into town before dark. The threat of nightfall has already started to tinge the edges of the sky dark grey, and as much as Rook wishes she could proclaim to know this place like the back of her hand, everything looks the same in the snow. There’s no way she’ll get back to Fall’s End before sunset – especially not on foot.

A shiver forces its way through her body, and Rook clenches her teeth against it, wrapping her arms around herself in search of warmth. It doesn’t come, but it does help her make her decision – if she doesn’t find shelter, if she doesn’t get out of her damp clothes, she’ll freeze to death in the middle of the Montana wilderness.

Too many people are counting on her for her to give up that easily. Too many lives depend on her.

Rook trudges forward, slow but steady. One step becomes another, one foot after the other after the other. Snow tumbles down the crevice between her boot and her foot, soaking through her sock as she walks. It’s another stab of cold to her already frozen body, but it spurs her on. Somehow, she finds herself at the front of the cabin, the door less than a foot away from her. Salvation in the form of pressure-treated wood. 

She wiggles her fingers again, trying to get the feeling back, readying herself for a fight with the lock, when instinct tells her to try the knob. It’s unlikely, improbable, a last ditch effort.

It works. 

Rook turns the knob and finds no resistance. The hinges creak when she pushes the door open, but it still swings inward, offering her a way into the inviting shelter of the cabin. 

She steps inside, feet slippery wet against the wooden floor, and shuts the door against the winter nightmare behind her. Immediately, she feels warmer. A figment of her imagination, maybe, but with the wind off her cheeks and the snow out of her shoes, Rook finds she doesn’t particularly care.

“Looking a little worse for wear, aren’t we, Deputy?”

Fear jolts her into action. Instinctively, she spins in the direction of the voice, dragging her gun from the holster on her hip. The grip feels like ice between her palms as she aims toward her attacker’s head. 

“Oh, fuck.”

John Seed stands in the middle of what looks like the living room, his back to a fireplace that roars with a heat she can feel, even from six feet away. It’s newly lit, the logs dry and hardly singed, and the only conclusion Rook can come to is that John’s only just made it here himself. 

“Language,” he chastises, watching her weapon sway in his direction. 

“Get your hands up,” she demands, hoping her voice sounds steadier than it feels coming out of her mouth. “Up. Get them up.”

To her surprise, he does as she asks. John lifts his arms, palms facing outward and elbows bent. Rook follows the lines of his body. There are clean, dry clothes here, she learns, because John isn’t swathed in his usual getup.

He doesn’t fill the borrowed shirt and sweatpants the way she imagines his eldest brother might - he’s too slender, not as defined, and the baggy clothes make him look more like a confused frat boy than an accomplished lawyer, businessman, and cult leader.

“Now, now, Deputy,” John drawls, a self-satisfied smile plastered across a face that’s paler than Rook remembers. “There’s no need for violence.”

Against her better judgement, Rook snorts.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” she spits out, trying desperately to keep from shivering. Her damp clothes stick to her skin uncomfortably as she adjusts her stance. “Little Johnny have a change of heart? Or is your torture room not doing it for you anymore?”

“Wrath,” he sings quietly, seemingly unfazed. He points a single finger in her direction, the smile still settled in place. “Come now, darling. Surely we can resolve this peacefully. What can I do to make things copacetic between you and I?”

End this fucking holy war, she thinks. Leave Hope County and go back to whatever pit you came from.

Give me back my friends.

“You know, John,” Rook says, filtering the words out through teeth that scream for her to let them chatter, “I could just shoot you. End this now.”

“Oh, you could,” John agrees, his hands steady next to his head. “But I think I have something you want.”

Ice floods her already frozen chest. She has a hazy idea of what he means. 

“Joey Hudson,” he drawls, before she can ask him what he’s talking about. He must catch the flash of desperation that crosses her face, because he nods just once, just like he’s coaxing a frightened animal out of its hiding place. “Hm? An impromptu truce, just for the night, and I’ll let you have your little friend.”

Admitting it to him would be unwise, but she knows she won’t kill John, even if he weren’t agreeing to give up his bargaining chip. There’s blood on her hands, no matter how hard she’s tried to avoid it, and Rook would give her right arm if it meant an end to all the savagery committed across the county - her own acts included. No, she won’t put an end to John Seed in this tiny, barely habitable cabin, but he doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t want to die alone in the cold, either. If that means cozying up with the enemy in picturesque Bumfuck Nowhere until her clothes dry and the sun comes out, well - Rook thinks she’d be willing to have a slumber party with just about anyone at this point, just to get a reprieve from the cold.

It’s apparent that she’s been waiting too long to answer. John is watching her with sharp eyes, the gaze of a man who knows what he wants and knows how he’ll get it.

“Well, Deputy?” John taunts, wiggling his fingers. “Do we have a ceasefire? Benevolence in exchange for your precious Joey Hudson?”

She won’t kill him, but god, she wants to hit him. 

There’s a telltale twitch to her hands that says that if she weren’t gripping her gun, they’d be shaking. John picks up on it almost immediately, his eyes flashing, and before he can get a word in edgewise Rook cuts him off.

“Fine,” she agrees, lowering her weapon. “Fine. A ceasefire.”

It’s not a perfect deal, but it’s something. Satisfied, she sets her gun down on the kitchen counter and looks around the cabin. She can feel John’s gaze on her, and out of the corner of her eye, Rook sees that he hasn’t yet moved from his spot by the fireplace. 

“There’s no power,” he supplies helpfully, even as she flicks the light switch next to the kitchen doorway up and down. “No water, either, though the former occupants were kind enough to keep some bottled water in the fridge.”

As thirsty and as famished as she is, the only thing she can think about is getting warm. Her clothes are sticking to her skin, chaffing in places she didn’t think could chafe. Rook turns to John, her damp curls stuck to her neck, and gestures at him with her chin. 

“The dry clothes. Were there more?” 

John nods, eyeing her sodden jacket.

“In the back bedroom,” he says. “There are a few drawers. You may find something that fits.”

She’s halfway to the bedroom before he even finishes his sentence, shedding her layers as she goes - her coat first, which she splays across the floor in front of the fire, then her shoes. When she hears him snicker, Rook looks up.

“What?”

“Nice socks.”

She’d forgotten about those. Her favorite pair, shin height with cat ears and a little nose. The surefire way to brighten a bleary, grey day - that had been her thought process as she’d tugged them on that morning, smiling at the printed whiskers. 

Now they’re soaked, probably ruined, and the center of her enemy’s amusement.

Rook balls one up and chucks it at his head.

—

There’s only one bed. 

It’s the first thing she notices as she steps into the bedroom at the back of the cabin, 

She doesn’t find any pants, but she does find a shirt she could fit inside of three times over. It’s grey and ratty, with the words ‘Testicle Festival’ plastered on the front in faded writing. Beggars can’t be choosers; Rook shrugs it over her head and curls into it. The hem sits just past her knees - her very own oversized nightie - and despite the lack of power or electric heat in the cabin, it makes her feel warm. 

There’s a fur throw tossed over a rocking chair in the corner of the room, and Rook snatches it up before she leaves the room. 

“That bed?” she calls, wandering out into the living area to find John seated on the rickety old couch, “It’s mine. Part of the ceasefire terms.”

The look he fixes her with is toxic, and it makes her unreasonably pleased with herself. 

Rook can feel his eyes on her as she crouches in front of the fire, holding out her hands to leech the heat from the flames. It’s positively heavenly; this cabin may not have running water or functioning electricity, but the warmth of the raging fire mixed with the blessedly dry clothing makes her feel like she could take on the world.

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Hm?”

The warmth is so inviting that she barely hears him as he points out the splotch of blood on her shoulder. Rook twists, body aching, and peers at the bloodstain, tugging at the shirt to get a better look. She’s bleeding, alright, and she’s suddenly more aware of her injuries than she ever was as she trudged through the snow. 

“Shit,” she mutters. So I am. “Is there a first aid kit around here?”

Springs creak as John shifts himself off the couch, his feet gentle against the floor as he pads down the hallway towards what Rook assumes is the bathroom. While she waits, she presses a finger against the spot of blood. It’s wet, fresh, and the pain that follows her own touch makes the corners of her eyes burn with unshed tears. 

A hand on her shoulder brings her back to herself, and she ducks away from the touch. John stands over her, a medkit in one hand and the other clutching the empty spot where she once sat, looking at her curiously.

“What the hell?” Rook frowns, staring at the offending hand like he might just use it to strangle her. When he reaches out for her again, she smacks him away, a noise of discontent tumbling from between her lips. “Quit it!”

“Stay put.”

“What, and let you carve me up like a piece of meat? I’ll pass.”

“I think you’ve done a decent job of that on your own, my dear,” John says. Through the haze of pain, Rook is surprised to find that he sounds genuinely concerned. “Let me help you.”

It’s not a tough call to make - she can’t reach the wound on her back, and she’s pretty sure John isn’t going to make an example of her here. With nobody to show his handiwork to but her, Rook can’t imagine he’s interested in carving her sins into her skin.

Hesitantly, Rook lets him tug the shirt up over her head. His fingers nudge the still-wet band of her bra down a little, giving him better access to whatever cuts and scrapes litter her back. 

“It’s a wonder you’re not dead, yet,” John mutters. “How did you manage this?”

The first brush of an alcohol swab along an open wound rips a hiss from her lungs. Rook jerks from John’s grasp and whines at the pain. 

“Car accident,” she bites out, trying not to twist as he holds her in place. The warmth of his skin against her battered back is an odd mix of pleasant and disquieting. “Ruined my favorite one, too.”

“Better than ruining you,” John muses, though he seems more focused on dressing her wounds than the words that leave his mouth.

The comment makes her cheeks flame. Rook thinks she’ll have to catalogue that particular response for later, so she can work on never reacting quite that strongly again. 

It’s quiet as John works, but Rook’s thoughts swirl around in her head like a storm. Her parents, thousands of miles away and across an ocean - do they think of her as often as she thinks of them? She misses them ferociously, wishes she were there with them now in her homeland instead of sprawled in front of a fire with a man she’s considered a monster playing surgeon on her open wounds. 

That’s another thought that nags at the edges of her consciousness. Why is he helping her?

“Why are you doing this?”

For a while, he doesn’t speak. His hands are unexpectedly gentle as they work along her midsection, washing away spots of blood and tracing over battered skin. The image is oddly dissonant coming from him; Rook remembers being duct-taped to a swivel chair in a room that was tangy with the smell of blood. She remembers the eerie red lighting, the terror in Joey’s eyes as John had entered the room, the manic expression he’d held as he leaned over her with a tattoo gun clasped tightly between his fingers.

She didn’t think those same hands could be capable of kindness.

“You’re hurt,” he says eventually, eyes drifting to her face. He’s just finished taping a thin piece of gauze to the wound in her side, stark white against the bruising just starting to settle in beyond it. “Hardly fair to kick the enemy when she’s down, hm?”

“Fair?” Rook forces herself not to jerk away as John wipes at the gash in her shoulder with the damp cloth. “When have you ever been interested in being fair?”

For what feels like a lifetime, John is quiet. She feels him work at her wounds, hears the sounds of bandages crinkling as he unwraps them and his murmured apologies when she hisses as he presses them to her broken skin. 

“Your definition of ‘fair’ is different than the Project’s.” 

Understatement of the year, Rook thinks. John keeps speaking. 

“You deserve to be saved,” he says softly. Fingers brush against her jaw and tilt it up, until John has her chin clasped between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re strong, smart, capable - everything we’ll need when the Collapse comes. I’m trying to save you, Deputy. I can’t very well do that with you frozen in a ditch somewhere.”

Rook jolts as his fingers skitter over what must be a cut on her forehead. It stings, but it’s still more tolerable than being the recipient of the intensity of John’s stare. A feeling she can’t quite place starts in her chest, fluttering along to the beat of her heart and spreading out toward her fingertips.

His sentiment is skewed, Rook knows, but a far-off part of her thinks that as wrong as it is, it’s also kind of sweet. 

Without thinking about it, she reaches forward to grab John’s wrist. He’s been in the cabin longer than she has, moving around and getting his blood flowing, and his skin is warm where her fingers graze it.

“Thank you,” Rook murmurs, voice low and earnest. “I—thank you.”

John stares at her a moment. His gaze wanders from her eyes to where her fingers curl around his wrist and back again.

“Careful, Deputy,” he says eventually, twisting in her grip just enough so he can grab her hand. “If I didn’t know any better, I might think you’ve grown fond of me.”

The heat fades from her hand as John lets her go, turning toward the living room. 

Eden’s Gate is manipulative, wrong, dangerous. John, his brothers and his sister, their followers - at best, they’re disillusioned believers feeding on the tragedy they hear and see in the world. At worst, they know exactly what it is they’re doing. At worst, they’re hiding their horrors under the guise of a religion that claims to save.

Eventually, she relents.

“We can share the bed,” Rook says tentatively. John looks up at her curiously, one of the fur throws still clutched in his hands as he stands next to the sofa. “It’s probably better that way.” 

The grin he gives her is uncannily sharp. It’s predatory; all teeth and curled lips, compensation for his brief moment of vulnerability, and it makes her wonder if she’s just made a terrible misstep. He looks thrilled, like he’s never been offered a more lucrative deal in his life. Slowly, that awful, smug smile crawls back into place.

“Change of heart, darling?”

“Shut up,” she scowls, regretting every nice thing she’s ever said to him. “We can both use the body heat, that’s all.”

He follows her down the hall, past their still-burning fire and into the bedroom.

“This,” Rook says sternly, patting out a thin strip of space in the middle of the bed, “is the demilitarized zone. Stay out. Don’t get any ideas.”

When she looks up, John is standing at the edge of the bed, eyes dancing with what looks like amusement. A fluttering starts low in her stomach, and Rook has to swallow the feeling down. She tenses her shoulders and focuses on the stab of pain that radiates from her wound – a distraction from the nervous energy she feels as John stares at her.

“You have my word,” he agrees, placing his hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

Rook can’t help the way her eyes roll back into her head. She tugs the blankets down and slips into the bed, curling on her side. The covers offer a warmth she’s been missing since the minute she stepped out of her ruined car, and as she pulls them up to her ears, she feels safer than she has in hours. 

Next to her, the bed sinks as John slides in next to her. 

It’s a dark night. Rook has her back to the window, but she can tell the moon is only a sliver in the sky based on the depth of the shadows in the bedroom. Nights like this, she wishes she could be outside, staring up at the inky black sky and the stars that lie across it.

Their skin doesn’t touch, not with Rook’s mandated safe-space between them, but she can still feel the heat that John’s body generates as he lies next to her. Something about it is comforting - she doesn’t remember the last time she was this close to somebody. 

The bed shakes as John jostles around next to her. A curious part of Rook wonders if he’s always like this – always moving, always trying to settle himself, always looking for comfort.

“Tell me something, Deputy.”

John’s voice startles her. She rolls over to find him on his back, gazing up at the wooden boards that make up the ceiling. Talking to him as she lays next to him in bed seems too intimate, too close; it’s not something she’d planned to spend her evening doing.

“It’s late. We should sleep.”

A weak effort to shut him down, Rook learns. A smile quirks his face, and he huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. 

“Humour me,” he murmurs. “How did you end up in Montana?”

Rook settles on her back next to him, perplexed by the question. Is this a new game he’s playing? Is this another tactic to play with her emotions? She tugs the blankets higher, curling them just under her chin. The thought of looking John in the eyes has her skin itching, so she keeps her gaze firmly on the ceiling.

“My parents are from Fyvie, Scotland,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but it sounds loud and echoey as it travels through the room. “My mother got a job teaching, so she and my father moved here before I was born. I grew up in Helena.”

Silence settles over the room. Rook finds it deafening, almost unbearable, and the nervous energy settling in her chest implores her to speak to fill the void.

“What about you?”

The words come so suddenly, so unbidden, that Rook almost doesn’t realize she’s said them until John turns his head towards her. 

“I—” John starts, then cuts himself off suddenly. A few quiet seconds pass before he speaks again. “I followed Joseph.”

“I read his book.”

She knows her voice is tentative. She’s read the Book of Joseph – know thy enemy, and all that – and the stories of John’s childhood had all but gutted her. If it’s all true, then it explains a lot. If it’s a carefully crafted lie, well – the Seeds were never very trustworthy to begin with. 

“Then you know most of the story already,” John says easily, as if it isn’t a story filled with horrors. “Joseph found me in Atlanta, a shell of the boy he once knew, and rescued me. The life I was living before he found me…it was shameful. I was shameful. But Joseph, he looked past it. He saved me.”

The room is silent, save for the gentle noise of their mingled breathing. Outside, the wind has died down. The cabin no longer creaks under the pressure of snow squalls and ice pellets, doesn’t ache quite as much with the vestiges of the cold outdoors. Next to John, Rook is warm and comfortable despite the cuts and the bruises. 

“When my brothers and I found each other again, it was like all the broken pieces had finally settled into place. My sins, my addictions - they were my weaknesses, but they served a purpose. They helped put my family back together. After twenty years apart, we were suddenly back together, eating the wrong kind of soup in the dining room of my apartment, reminiscing about the night our biological father was arrested. All of those things brought me here.”

It’s not a story Rook expected. It makes the empath in her ache, makes her want to soothe this man who’s done nothing but torture her and her friends. It makes him a human, flesh and blood, for the very first time.

“You know, Deputy,” John muses, “I think you might be the first person I’ve ever told that story to.”

Rook’s heart stutters uneasily in her chest, an unexpected reaction to the vulnerability in his words, and she rolls her head to the side. John’s jaw is tight and tense, and she can almost feel the uncertainty that seems to roll off him.

Tentatively, she slides her arm toward him under the covers, past the safety net of space, and takes his hand. John freezes, like her touch borders on painful, then relaxes into her hold, squeezing her hand tightly. His skin is warm and soft where their fingers lace together.

Time seems to pass slowly the longer they lay there together. Dim light, just the light of those handfuls of stars, filters through the window. In the corner of her eye, Rook can map the profile of John’s face.

“You’re full of surprises, Baptist,” Rook murmurs sleepily. “Didn’t think you knew how to be kind.”

It’s so quiet that she thinks John may not have heard her, that he may have finally, mercifully fallen asleep. Waves of exhaustion lap at the edges of her consciousness, begging her to give in and rest. 

If he has anything else to say, Rook doesn’t hear it. Their hands still linked together, she lets herself drift away. 

—

Rook wakes, eyes heavy with the last dregs of sleep, and very nearly forgets where she is.

It takes longer than she’d like to realize that she’s not in her homey apartment above the Spread Eagle. There are no colourful pillows in this bed, no throw tossed over the back of the chair in the corner. The shadows don’t fall across the hardwood floor in quite the same way.

She’s warm in a way she didn’t think possible. It melts into her clothes from the body pressed against her, seeps into her bones at all the junctures where they touch, comforts in a way that’s unfamiliar but not at all wrong. 

Jagged lines of scarred lettering greet her as she blinks the sleep from her eyes. Sloth, it reads, a sin carved into flesh in a desperate attempt at absolution. The realization that this is John Seed she’s curled against, that he has his arms draped over her and her head tucked beneath his chin, doesn’t terrify her the way she thinks it should. 

He looks content. That’s the only word she can use to describe him as she follows the lines and scars of his body, the inky black marks of his tattoos that tell more of a story than any book ever could. John’s face is slack, relaxed, and for a moment Rook thinks she looks more like the boy she read about in the Book of Joseph than she ever thought possible. He’s soft, gentle; he’s not the monster the Valley has made him out to be. Not in this moment. 

Rook reaches out to drag the tip of a finger across each letter. She curls the pad of it around the ‘s’, scrapes the edge of her nail down the ‘l’, feels the bumpy surface of the ‘o’, the ‘t’, the ‘h’. 

Her mind is hazy, but she knows she has to get up. People will be looking for her, and if they find her wrecked car, the Resistance will send out the cavalry. This isn’t the place she wants to be when Sharky shows up wielding a flamethrower. 

Tentatively, hesitantly, she slides out from John’s embrace. His arm is loose around her, slack with sleep, and she knows he won’t wake as she slips out of bed and stands next to him. Rook can see into the hallway, sees her clothing spread out in front of the dying embers of the fire. With any luck, it’ll be more or less dry when she wanders out. With any luck, her socks won’t be destroyed. 

Sunlight filters in through the one window in the room. The warmth of John’s body is fading from her skin, but she thinks the worst of the cold is behind her. 

There’s a blue, fur throw crumpled into a ball on the floor next to the bed. Rook picks it up and shakes it out, then leans forward to drape it across John’s sleeping form. She gets close enough to brush her lips against his forehead.

Then, she’s gone. 

[naromoreau]

Snowed in

This one is for @seedsplease, you asked me for soft nsfw in front of the fire place at the Ranch. I hope you like how this turned up, because I don’t know where all the angst came from XD. Thank you! ________________________________________ Pairing: John Seed x Reader, John Seed x Deputy Raiting: NSFW You dragged the dead weight of the rifle slumping down your body, the muzzle carving a zigzag pattern on the fresh mud, and the strap digging a painful crease on the flesh of your shoulder. Maybe leaving everyone behind at Fall’s End wouldn’t be counted among your greatest decisions yet still you got what you wanted.

Striding under the heavy rain, your legs grumbled for the harsh treatment while the last rays of the winterly pale sun riddled through the foliage like through a sieve. The chill air seeped through your jacket, gnawing at your very bones, the freezing sensation magnified by your soaked clothes. If you could only find a fucking truck, before the drowsiness took over your brain, and even the voice in your head started to slur your panic.

The inclined path followed for a few yards carpeted by interspersed turfs. You lost your footing stepping into a divot, cursing between clicking teeth, until you spotted a wooden building greeting you in the distance. “Well, fuck me.” With no map and no GPS, you managed to land your ass at the front of Seed Ranch, the first place you wanted go, yet the last place it was good for you.

You hid a growl making your stealthy way around as much as your pained ankle allowed it, noticing that due to the unbearable cold all the guards had been removed. You dashed among crates and barrels while above you the now purple sky unleashed a cleansing fury, every drop of water drubbing in staccato over you, like under the direction of an overexcited conductor.

Your lungs fought to give you the air you needed, and well, perhaps it was time to actually rest for a bit. The flooded surface splashed under your boots as you sought an almost dry spot, and crouched in a secluded corner. Around you the rain turned into soft snow, delicate flakes carried by the wind, and you glanced at your nails. They were blue. It wasn’t that bad, you thought, as you forced your fingers to grip the flesh of your own arms and your teeth chattered uncontrollably, biting the tip of your tongue. The coppery flavor of your blood swamped in your mouth but the pain was almost nonexistent. The edges of your sight blurred into jagged black, before you catched faint, muffled footsteps approaching you. If you could only move your hand.

“My dear Deputy, what do I owe this honour?” John Seed ducked next to you before reaching a hand to touch your almost comatose body. “Shit, deputy, you’re freezing!” His voice tapped in your ear, the mocking tone completely gone and replaced by strained anguish as he got rid of his coat, putting it over you in a swift movement.

He lifted you from the ground, cradling you against his chest, protective hands grasping you hard. “It’s ok, my dear, everything is going to be alright,” he reassured you whispering into your ear, and the only thing you could do was shudder like a newborn pigeon.

Now he was almost running into the house, but his words still reached your words under a steady rhythm. “Hey, darling, hey!” he muttered as your conscience balanced at the edge of oblivion, “focus on my voice, don’t fall asleep Deputy, don’t!”

You tried, even if half your mind wanted to, just because it was him, and you’d go to great lengths to sour his life, but the desperation running on every word was a whiplash in your face. It must’ve been important.

“How do you get yourself in this kind of–” he trailed off, clutching you even tighter against him and you leaned into him. “It’s alright, sh, you’re safe now,” he said with a sense of finality.

You crossed the threshold of the house once you saw as an enemy fort, securely in his arms, and it irked you how good it felt. His spicy mint scent was one of the few things you were still able to recognize and it grounded you, every little wisp traveling to your haggard brain, reminding you who you were, who he was, even if you were still too weak to respond.

He placed you on the bearskin rug in front of the big fire at the center of the living room, tossing carelessly his soaked coat aside. Your entire body shuddered as he peeled the layers of sodden cloth out of your body.

“Listen to me, deputy, I’m not going to harm you,” he said taking off your boots and pulling down your jeans, “but you’ll die if I don’t get these off you,  you hear me?”

You locked eyes with him, and it striked you the deep concern etched in his brow, blue eyes surveying your face almost with pain. You lied naked on the rug in no time and he dashed off your side just to comeback ten seconds later carrying two magnificent wool blankets he placed over you. He was as soaked as you, and you lifted a dainty finger to point at him.

“John,” you finally said with a gruesome effort, “your clothes– wet–cold.”

He chuckled, grasping your hand. “My dear, you’re at the verge of dying yet you still worry about me, even though I haven’t treated you in the most gracious way.”

His hands made short work of his vest, and his shirt, and kneeled as he was next to you, you reached your fingers to trace the skein of tattoos and scars. The numbing cold was dissipating slowly, but now all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around him, to live again the fleeting moment when you were able to hear his heartbeat.

“Come,” you said, blinking slowly, “please, I’m cold.”

He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe your words, and quickly shuck off his trousers, sliding next to you under the blankets. He was warmer than you and between the strong fire at your back and the maddening heat in front of you, you finally felt a bit more alive.

You closed your arms around his body, pressing every inch of you to every inch of him, and he rubbed your arms and back, trying to diminish the shivers and goosebumps that flared on your skin. You tilted your head up, catching the blush on his cheeks, as your feet bumped against his shins and your muscles relaxed.

“Are you feeling better?,” he asked you with a wavering voice, and it only took you a roll of your hips to know why.

“Yes,” you said with the faintest of whispers, “but– I don’t– why are you doing this?”

He heaved a hard sigh, that mingled with yours, his arm possessively tugged around your waist. “I– don’t know, I don’t know really, maybe you’re waiting for this groundbreaking reason, but the truth is I don’t know.” He shifted in your arms, holding you even tighter. “Maybe is a sin, and it clouds my mind, but when I saw you there, dying out of cold, I told myself I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Because of Joseph?” you offered.

“No, no, no,” he said placing his chin on the crown of your head, “no, little bird, because of me. What if I told you, you changed something,” he grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, “in here? You unburdened me, but I know I’m a sinner, and you’d never say–”

“Yes.” You gave your hips another roll and trapped his hard cock between your legs, his chest heaving with hitching breaths.

“Are- are you sure?” he gruffed, blue eyes delving deep into yours.

You kissed him as a whole answer, his tongue warring for dominance and you let him, your hips rocking with his rock hard cock rubbing between your folds. His mouth trailed down your neck, teeth nipping at your skin hard enough to bruise. He flipped you on your back and pinned down your wrists to the rug, your thighs clasping at his hard on.

“You really have no idea what you do to me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He whispered with a sliver of something wicked in his voice, and god in heaven, a gush of liquid trickled down the apex of your thighs.

A moaned escaped you, as he palmed one breast, diving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, his other hand stealing down your abdomen, his fingers trickling at your entrance and curling over your clit. “A little excited are we not?”

You wanted to respond, but your words were dulled by your whimpers, his voice soaking into your skin. He thrust forward, the friction of his dick against your clit, dragging small hums of pleasure out of your throat.

“Please, John,” you begged, your fingernails raking as he moved, pressing against you in all the right ways.

Your legs fell open, circling around his waist and now it was his time to gasp and groan as you closed your hand around his dick, to align him to your entrance just so. He devoured your lips as he slid slowly inside you, giving you time to adjust to every inch intruding in you. And you were certainly thankful for it, because he was by far the biggest you’d ever take. Your rough exhalations fanned against his neck and a growl tore from his throat unbidden the second he was fully inside you.

“My dear, you feel like heaven,” he grunted against your lips, now rocking his hips and you realized this was going to be a very short trip to the end line. Every ridge and vein in his cock stroked in all the right angles, his tip hitting against your sweet spot making you writhe and cry out with every thrust of his hips.

You were bracketed between his arms, his body arching against yours, and your legs closed tighter around him. You wanted him closer, wanted to trip over the line of your orgasm, grazing at it with every pump, with every assault of his cock to your cunt.

“Don’t fight it,” he mumbled, and it didn’t surprised you when your walls clenched around him, your back arching as the spark of white flared up behind your eyelids.

He kneeled between your thighs, hoisting your hips up and slammed every inch of that delicious dick inside you. “God, you feel good, so wet, so tight,” he breathed to the empty living room, “and just for me, my Deputy, my little bird.”

With a feral growl he came inside you, his body shaking apart until he finally collapsed on top of you.

He propped on one elbow, kissing every free spot in your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t save you for you to be bound to me by an obligation,” he said with a neutral tone but a possessive hand curled around you, fastening you to him, and you suspected that pushing him away would swiftly bring back the Inquisitor from deep within him. “You can leave if you want.”

It was really lucky that what you felt, was solid enough to keep yourself steady under those hypnotic blue eyes. “I want to stay, John, because of you, not because I’m bound to,” you said, reveling in the sensation of his come now dripping down your thighs. “I’m yours.”

He smiled giving you a sloppy kiss, all fervor and yearning, as through the window the flakes eddied down in the freezing wind.

[lexieheron]

Happy birthday to our sweet goat baby @seedsplease! I hope this day would be sunny and amazing for you honey, that you’ll surround yourself with people who love you and take care of you and make you feel great! 💖💖 Have fun babey Tia! 

We made this piece together with @naromoreau! Your Rook deserves some good smooches under YES sign 😊😉

[farcry5positivity]

I'd like to give some love to @seedsplease - she's incredible and kind and one of the first people in the fandom to welcome me. Plus, her writing is stunning!            

[outranks]

I KNOW I'VE ALREADY SAID IT BUT AHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAD, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING SUCH AN AMAZING FRIEND AND AHH I'M SO GLAD I GOT TO KNOW YOU ♥ ♥ ♥ - tia

THANK YOU TIA!! for being the best person ive met in this fandom and making everything more enjoyable😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ idk if id still be here if we hadn’t started chatting every day and playing co op and sharing an entire braincell

[simplegenius042]

WIP Moodboard/Wednesday, Last Line and First Picrew

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn and @voidika

Tagging @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

WIP Wednesday for my Unnamed FC5 Omegaverse WIP, Moodboard for my Doki Doki Literature Club WIP You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club!, Last Lines for my Wednesday WIP Word Of Woe and a picrew of Silva during Christmas. Enjoy under the cut:

Another snippet for the FC5 Omegaverse WIP, with Silva trying to live her life in relative peace as a junior deputy and contributing member to society. And yet she can't even have that at a public barbecue when Eden's Gate crash it. Read below: [CW: Minor subtle discrimination in the context of Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, mostly towards Beta dynamics like Silva here (there's more in the full scene but here it's just like maybe once, or two if you count John ignoring Silva's obvious signs of 'leave me alone'. Also John harassing Silva, but what else is new]:

Silva really just wanted to fill up her plate with some nutritional food in peace and without an alpha poking his nose into her business for whatever reason.

She was unsure what his game was; could he be trying to determine if she was an omega? She understood that some omegas took a variation of suppressants that masked their scent as similar to betas, if only to deter certain alphas.

Although the suppressants were often effective, it didn't take much to discern the difference between an omega using suppressants and a regular beta. A beta's scent was far stronger than that of a suppressant's scent, though Silva guessed that wasn't common knowledge.

That or she had a better sense of smell than most betas. Which she didn't disqualify as an option.

"Invited by friends," Silva answered curtly, gesturing to where she saw her co-workers last, "Thought I'd socialize a bit."

His scent was throwing her off. Not because it was like an oregano herb, unlike the homely, comforting scent of basil and parsley that Paul had, but because he seemed familiar. Intrusive as well.

"Funny you should say that," the alpha, John, replied with a confident grin, "I've seen you avoiding more people than talking to them."

She glanced into his blue eyes; his smug glint irked her. She rolled her eyes as she replied, "That's because I'm done socializing."

She moved down, away from the alpha, and reached for the chicken ceasar salad to add to her plate; to compliment the chops that were already present. As she began topping it, her unwanted and persistent conversationalist filled the gap between them and asked, "So what is it you do around here?"

Silva's brows knitted together as she gave him an annoyed glance, stating, "I made it very clear I was done talking."

John chuckled, "No need to be so tart, my dear. Besides, I think you do want to talk."

Silva paused when she heard what he said; there was a tone within his words that rung sharply in her head, a growl that commanded obedience. To an omega, it'd be something to fear or respect; an effective deterrent towards refutes. To her though, it was something that grated at her nerves, like a man-child loudly demanding he get his way.

But it also sounded so damn familiar.

She looked at him with a burning glare that seemed to surprise him; like he hadn't prepared for his alpha voice to fail.

"I would be inclined to talk if I choose to," Silva asserted, adding, "And if you use that voice of yours on me again, you will regret it."

Despite the warning, John seemed more intrigued than anything else, putting on a friendly smile. Which bothered Silva immensely.

Her dissatisfaction only furthered when he replied, "My apologies. I wasn't too sure if you were actually a beta. I'm sure you're aware how omegas believe they have to hide themselves with your scents... a shame really."

Silva gazed at John with a stoic expression that contradicted with the bafflement she felt. One moment he was acting like a persistent sleaze and the next he's suddenly chummy with her after finding out that, yes, she is in fact, a beta.

She chose the last of her toppings for the chicken ceasar salad before walking away from him. Silva didn't grace him with a goodbye, just left him to fill up his plate.

However, in spite of this, he persisted in pestering her.

"Hold on now, you still haven't answered my question," he unhelpfully informed her as he followed after her.

Silva gripped the cutlery in her hand, repeating the mantra, It's illegal to kill a person without reasonable cause. It's illegal to kill a person without reasonable cause. It's illegal to kill-

It wasn't as helpful as she thought it would be.

[Silva to John, in some other AU probably: "In all timelines. In all possibilities. Only you... can show me how fucking annoying a person can be." If anyone understands this edited reference, I'll let you know I liked the season. Didn't love it, but it was still very good despite the high expectations]

Last Line for Word Of Woe, which is a WIP for Wednesday post-Season 1 set in the Life, Despair & Monsters series, where Wednesday Addams returns to Nevermore to unravel a new mystery; who the in the Nine Hells is bold enough to stalk her? Here she sees the introduction of Nevermore's new botany teacher:

When the teacher entered, Wednesday noted his appearance; he wore a dark blue suit that would have been better for a Gala than a school, with his dark hair and eyes, short stature, and the ridiculous Breton cap he adorned on his head didn't help her judgement of him. There was a skip in his step, with a jolly smile that sickened Wednesday.

He also held a cane in his hand, the handle like a bulbous doorknob. She wondered if he's ever caved in a skull with that.

However, her eyes narrowed when she realized something; she's seen him before. Earlier in the courtyard, playing what she presumed to be chess with a crowd of students around him and his opponent.

Moodboard for You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club! is a WIP for DDLC, where Monika and her friends find themselves in the real world, with only Monika able to remember the things she did while in the game, and as a result the guilt too. She also gets used to actually living and while she does want to do just that, she can't help but notice a few... contradictions to her new reality.

And below is the first ever picrew of Silva Omar. It... certainly is a close encapsulation of how I picture Silva (second to her faceclaim Mina El Hammani). Although she usually has her hair done up in one braid tail that stays behind her. But this is as close as I could get to her hair undone. Here she is attempting to commit to the Christmas joy. Could either be celebrating at Elsa's lodge (which would explain the undone hair (plus the sweater) as Silva didn't do up her hair until after Persephone's death...) or at a co-workers home or something akin to that for a party (which would explain the false joy and tired look as Silva is generally like that because of her insomnia and night terrors plus putting up a front to hide her grief for this particular month... though post-Persephone's death, Silva would be spending her time alone at her residence because, well, this is the month her sister die and Christmas is literally Elsa's birthday so...). Anyway image below:

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday, Couple Picrew, OC Picrew & Christmas Couple Meiker

Tagged by @voidika @raresvtm @josephseedismyfather and @noodlecupcakes

Tagging @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai @seedsplease and @titiagls + anyone else who'd like to join.

Snippets for three FC5 WIPs, that being The True Sinners, my Vengeful!Silva AU and Harbinger AU (or Elsa lives AU). This Couple picrew for the main/prominent couples of The Silver Chronicles, this OC picrew for one standalone OC and Holiday Meiker (m/f wlw mlm nb) for two of main the Elden Ring couples. You can read below the cut:

First snippet is for The True Sinners, a FC5 WIP where Silva doesn't become a deputy (instead a hermit in her residence in the Whitetail Mountains) but is still the Muse for the Collapse. After a chance encounter with Jacob in the woods, Joseph catches wind and realizes Silva is the Muse they need and Jacob keeps her captive in St Francis as the Seeds try to win her over (in... each of their own way) to mixed results. Since it was Christmas time when I wrote this, I thought I'd show the short "not Christmas" dinner between Silva and her captors:

Entering the lounge, Silva was greeted with two pairs of the other blue (in addition to a pair of an unfairly beautiful green) eyes bringing their attention on to her, their eyes on her turtle-neck sweater, jeans and her combat boots.

As she expected, Joseph definitely expressed mild disappointment at what Silva wore, though unlike Jacob, he decided not to say anything, probably at least satisfied she was wearing something that wasn't provocative.

Out of the brothers, John seemed the least surprised towards her wardrobe choice, though she suspected, and hated to admit, that it's because he's gotten to know her well enough to figure she wouldn't wear that atrocious dress for anyone, especially them.

And lastly, Faith had lightened up upon seeing Silva enter. Her eyes raked over the other woman's form up and down, a delighted smile spread across her lips. There was a familiar glint in her eyes, one that had Silva feeling hot again, just like in the Bliss.

One thing Silva could deduce, despite how her brain began to fry from that one glance alone, was that Faith didn't know about the dress Joseph had recommended for her.

It likely wasn't very useful information, considering how Faith has entrenched herself within the Project and is obviously favored by Joseph, but Silva filed her observations away just in case. It made her feel comfort, at least.

Everyone, with exception to Faith, seemed to be dressed casually, especially for the dinner. She wasn't sure if Jacob had been fucking with her about this gathering not being about "Christmas", but the interior set up sure wasn't convincing her otherwise.

Speaking of whom, Silva heard Jacob walking up from behind her, though Faith was already off the arm of the couch and attached herself on to Silva once more, linking their arms. Ready to whisk her away from Jacob.

Silva found herself relenting to Faith's clinging hold, especially with how fed up she's been with Jacob and his mind games, letting the shorter woman lead her towards the couch.

Though they were stopped by the ginger's voice.

"Ditching me so soon?" Jacob gruff voice is light and sounds amused, though Silva could see glancing back that he's displeased by how possessive Faith is of her.

That alone gratified Silva enough to shift a tad closer to Faith, enough to brush their shoulders together, visibly placing her other hand tenderly on his sister's bicep.

It had her heart pick up a pace, and Faith looked like she was trying hard to hide her triumphant shit-eating grin which probably wouldn't help the amount of displays of affection she'd give Silva (not that she minded), but it was irritating to Jacob, so she considered it an absolute win.

And here's a snippet for the Harbinger AU where Saint Matilda outfreaks Joseph after the helicopter got shot down crashed from natural causes:

Joseph felt himself begin to wake from the darkness of unconsciousness.

His chest ached as it heaved up and down. He tried to lift his lids up, but found it to be a difficult task; the weight of fatigue pushed them back down, leaving him blind to the sight.

He knew he was lying on his back, and had been injured from the crash; a rather violent and erratic affair than he could have expected.

He had trusted that the Lord would not let the locusts take him, and he had been right in that manner; although his children tried to release him from the locusts grasp, even when it appeared they were unsuccessful, God still kept His promise, if unconventionally to what he initially foresaw.

His nose tickled, the sharpness of smoke reaching his nostrils. Something was burning. He could hear the crackles of flames too.

But that wasn't the only thing he could hear.

"From Tuesday, to Wednesday. Wednesday, to Thursday. Thursday, to Friday," he heard the softness of a woman's voice singing close to him. His face twitched when he felt a small and dainty hand, yet rather cold and calloused, caress his cheek, and her other hand running through his undone hair.

His other cheek laid against a silky cloth, with something firm underneath. He assumed his head was laid on someone's lap.

"Friday, to Saturday. Saturday, to Sunday," his unknown angel continued to sing; an odd lullaby from the sounds of it, one he's never heard of before. There was a familiarity to her soft voice though, something he knows he's heard somewhere before.

Once more, Joseph attempted to open his eyes, stirring his head upwards.

"Sunday... Sunday, to Monday. M-Monday, to Tues...day," she began to stutter. Perhaps he had spooked her, but she was still caressing his face, if slowly.

She was stuck on a word. Tuesday. He could hear how she muttered it repeatedly, as if trying to remember what came after it. Whether that be the lyrical sentence or the next day afterwards, he didn't know.

Cracks of light and shadows forced his eyes shut, but Joseph would not be deterred, needing to see who this angel was above him.

She began humming the lullaby, perhaps the rest of it, as he forced his eyes open, squinting to painfully adjust to consciousness once more.

His eyes widened open when he saw exactly who he was laying in the lap of.

Half her features were visible, while the other half was obscured by what he could see was half a porcelain - or perhaps plastic - mask, like a mannequin or doll, that had clearly been broken in half to accommodate the only half of her face that she wanted to hide.

But he couldn't forget that face.

Matilda.

She seemed different now since her exile, like she'd grown; perhaps she was in her late twenties, maybe entering her thirties now. He couldn't tell.

He noted she wore a veiled hood over her head, though strands of straight strawberry blond hair broke through on the unveiled side of her face.

The dress and robes she wore were white, with a black apron that had dark spots splattered in some areas.

Her visible eye glanced down to him, and his breath hitched when he noticed something wrong; last he saw her, her eyes were a greenish hazel.

How did it become amber?

But he was pulled from his musing when Matilda cupped his face, leaning her face closer as she whispered, "Are you alive, Father?"

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but only vocalized the aching pain he was in.

He wasn't certain what to make of the excited smile that curled across her lips, nor the awestruck fascination that glinted in her eyes.

The couple picrews show the most consistent couples in this series, both main and minor. I'll label whose who and give a little tidbit on them:

BOA LURKING IN THE BLISS (SILVA OMAR x FAITH SEED [FAR CRY 5 & FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

Silva and Faith are pretty much the center of Silva's Hope and all of Silva's stories in general. They go through a rough start (given the whole Resistance vs Eden's Gate and the Reaping situation) but they do eventually move past that (and then straight into the slowest burn I've ever written). Silva and Faith end up healing each other and give one another what the other needs; Faith literally ends up giving Silva faith in herself, in others, in a brighter future that Silva originally didn't believe could be possible for me. Silva does give Faith her trust and kindness (and love), no conditions, no expectations to change for her, just this beautiful appreciation and warm companionship for the person she is; not as Rachel, not as the most recent of Joseph's sister(s) that embodies the ideal faith, or the hundreds of masks Faith dons on to hide, but simply as the person Silva knows her to be, and chooses to reach for in the sea of performances Faith could be.

THE BAPTIST AND THE QUOKKA (JOHN SEED x NADI SINCLAIR [FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

Ah yes... my favorite cringefail loser couple. These pining try-hards don't end up succeeding in doing anything productive during the Reaping... they lose the Revelator on its first day out after all. They can't keep Fall's End for even a week before Silva reclaims it again. They both get their asses handed to them by the same deputy (Silva) in majority of encounters with her. Somehow surprising that they survive against her at all. Majority of the county may hate them but the one thing John and Nadi can always count on is each other. Nothing will make them hate or turn against the other. They're the ride-or-die pairing in Silva's Hope and Old Dusk. They both may suck but at least they're suckers for each other... once they get past the pining phase. Somehow it'll be faster than Silva and Faith's slow burn.

THE FOX AND THE SOLDIER (ALEXANDER KHAOS x JACOB SEED [FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

AKA older guy struggling with showing emotions reluctantly finds himself in a situationship with his second in command whose loyalty is as dubious as his morality, someone send him help. Or where Jacob refuses to admit he's become a cougar. Anyway, I find Jacob and Alexander's relationship to be fascinating. Because it's all really dubious and ambiguous, especially in Silva's Hope. Because they both do have some things in common; they've dehumanized themselves in order to survive (notably cannibalism) and have locked away their emotions behind a mask that only shows to a select few. They also have their contrasts though; Jacob is in charge of training and protecting the family/cult despite only loyally following Joseph because he has faith in his brother, and Alexander is someone who follows the person who aligns with his ideals the strongest in spite of the fact he has very good leadership qualities that he only uses to gather his own loyal following for a coup in the circumstance the person he follows no longer aligns with his ideals (I like to say Alexander's a mix of Jafar from Aladdin and Phillip Graves from COD: MW2 (2019), but really Alexander is just a guy who likes to have influence over his chosen boss while remaining behind the scenes perceived as an underling so if something ever goes wrong, he won't receive the blame). A few other contrasts include Jacob's "strong survive while the weak are culled" whereas Alexander's is more "strength in unity and reworking the weak to become something better" (hence why Hannah McCalkin from Inside Eden's Gate is alive in my Silva's Hope WIP; Alexander personally prepared her for the Trials and passes it, unlike her canon fate where she didn't last long according to a note written by Jacob) as a sort of "nature vs nurture" dynamic though overlapping in some aspects because you can't separate one without the other. They also contrast John and Nadi's relationship; whereas those two are ride or die, Alexander and Jacob would drop one another should either display a weakness that neither can ideologically let pass, either ending with Alexander being culled or Jacob being usurped and replaced by Alexander until he finds someone else ideologically more compatible to influence and take the leadership role instead of himself. Also Jacob co-runs the cult to aid Joseph while Alexander follows Jacob while remaining uninfluenced by the cult's predatory manipulations cause he's been in one before, only this time he's not ignorant enough to blindly follow them, only doing so because "the world's ending" is actually something he believes in.

Overall to end this large quantity of words with a summary: Jacob and Alexander are toxic yaoi worse than the beginning stages of Silva and Faith's yuri.

With the holy trinity of Seedfuckers out the way, let's move on to the star couple of Old Dusk. Last one for this picrew:

MERCY OMAR-SEED x CARMINA RYE (FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

My best attempt to make a picrew for both Carmina and Mercy. Apart of the next generation of both the Ryes and the Seeds (Mercy specifically being the daughter of Silva and Faith), I thought these two deserved a more wholesome experience during the post-apocalyptic world that they were raised in, after everything their parents went through to give them something brighter. Both have been dating in secret for a long while now unbeknownst to their families (with exception to Mercy's older adopted sister Azriel, who knows but hasn't dobbed Mercy in because her younger sister also knows Azriel's been sneaking out to go see Schrödinger and so they've collectively agreed not to tell their moms until they're ready unless either want to engage in mutually guaranteed destruction). These two are best friends with Ethan by the way... he's gained himself a bit of a rebellious streak since interacting with them in Old Dusk (because it's fun to have Joseph's hair grow greyer <3).

Below is the picrews for one OC and how I'd imagine she'd likely look like and info on her:

HUNTRESS CAROLINE JÄGER (BLOODBORNE)

So straight up, usually Caroline would have golden glasses rather than these red, due to being a noble scion with wealth from old family name. Anyway, Caroline is one of three of the main protagonists in my Bloodborne WIP, and she's basically doing the side/optional/DLC quests while her brother speedruns through the main plot, though she occasionally helps him along the way, especially when they reunite in Yahar'gul. She... goes through a rough patch, especially with her journeys into all three of the Nightmares (while being haunted by Micolash), Yahar'gul as well as Castle Cainhurst, the Upper Cathedral Ward and the Chalice Dungeons. That's not even going into facing her own brother in the Hunter's Dream.

Lastly we have two couples from Elden Ring for the Holiday Meiker:

CHIWA x SELKE THE ALL-SEEING MAGE (ELDEN RING)

Pretty much the closest I could get to their canon stories. Chiwa's on the left and Selke's on the right. Chiwa is one of Queen Marika's demigod children and she pretty much awoke into existence after a combination ritual that involved the Frenzy Flame and the Rune of Rebirth, as well as a contract with the Formless Mother. She has no idea what she's been pushed into. She has Marika's Grace coursing within her so she can revive from death, which is odd since only the Tarnished are capable of such a thing... speaking of which, Selke is a Tarnished, a former astrologer graduate of the Raya Lucaria Academy and joined the Golden Order along with her mentor, a Tarnished who was a Seer, if an uncanny one. They were exiled along with the rest of the Tarnished and joined the First Elden Lord, Godfrey, where they died in battle. When Grace awoke them, her mentor was with her, and he pointed her towards the Land of Shadows, as based on a vision he had, her destiny lied there instead of the Elden Throne. There she'd have an encounter with Metyr, the Mother of Fingers, who'd defeat the young Tarnished but inadvertently leave Selke blind, not by physical wounds, but by the ability to see the future always and forever when she opened her eyes. Selke knows Chiwa is apart of that future, and seeks out the lost demigod to change the fates of the Lands Between together by not playing Marika's game. Meanwhile Chiwa gains an awakening upon seeing Selke and panics.

LOGAN THE VAGABOND OF NO RENOWN x MELINA (ELDEN RING)

Or who I like to better refer to them as: the doomed straights of Elden Ring. Logan is a vagabond knight who joined up with the Golden Order some time before they (and First Elden Lord Godfrey) were exiled. Marika's Grace revived him once more and brings him back to the Lands Between... only to realize he's one of the first few Tarnished awoken a tad bit early. Melina just wants to accomplish her mother's wishes, and makes due with the only Tarnished awake who's determined to become Elden Lord, even if she finds him unbearable (though her steed Torrent seems to find Logan to be the right guy). Though bond closer along their journey, until time and war in the Lands Between fundamentally change their relationship, pushing them away from each other especially as Logan grows older and stacks up more and more regrets, especially when he steals a bit of the Frenzy Flame for what Melina could only assume to be for the worst reasons. After their departure due to that, she never sees him again, though takes upon herself to guide another, even stranger Tarnished. If only she knew...

[solesurvivorkat]

tumblr crushes challenge: where you post your own favorite blogs to spread positivity and get your amazing blogger-friends some more followers!

I was mentioned in a tag by @ton-of-bryks...

...which was surprising, b/c I know I'd liked your posts more than once, but I didn't know I'd caught your eye! Thank you - it definitely gave me a little lift! :-D <3

There's MANY blogs I follow, and many I enjoy... so if I don't mention you, please don't be offended and/or think you weren't good enough for a mention! I've been very busy this weekend and want to get some writing & FC5 gameplay in tonight (and I'm already very tired), so I'm gonna make this as quick as I can.

- @scorpio-skies = I would be very remiss to not mention you - not ONLY b/c you've been beyond amazing beta-ing my FO4 fanfic (and I would've been so lost w/o you thus far), but also b/c I always really enjoy the things you post! ❤

- @seedsplease = Started following you more recently, but I looooove reading the different FC5 stuff you post! The fics/ficlets are always awesome and I always really enjoy them!

- @teamhawkeye = No surprise here I'm sure, but your writing is some of my absolute FAVORITE to read, but I also love your drawings and your gameplay clips! Seriously - if you're into Far Cry 5, do NOT miss this blog!!!

- @the-dubstep-strawberry = Your FO4 fic is seriously so amazing, and I love talking with you! I always greatly enjoy our chats and you're such a sweetie! So glad you're my Tumblr buddy!

There are seriously many more people worth mentioning, but I'd be here all night! Just know that if I follow you or like your posts then I think you're awesome - and even if I don't, hit me up and I'd love to make more online buddies! And if any of you are ever on XBox Live & want to chat or anything: Katies XBoxName (...seriously, that's what it is, LOL). Feel free to say hi! :)

[martymcgee]

A variety of assortments.. Seeds please.. #mcgeehomegarden #seeds #seedsplease #donatedseeds #fortbraggca #fortbragglibrary #fortbraggbranchlibrary #fortbraggseedlibrary #seedlibrary (at Inglenook, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzFFb9ZFFgu/?igshid=1aizfw43kdl8y

[they-are-not-just-stories]

The part with the mother hen and John's rejected IKEA crib!! Ajksnshejd!! 😂😂😂😂

I loved this! Thank you!! ❤❤❤

Jacob headcanons for when the dep is having pregnancy symptoms? Love your writing bb!!! 😍😘💕

ahhh thank you so much

Warnings: Pregnancy

- Jacob will have noticed that something is off, even if he hasn’t quite connected the dots by the time Dep tells him. 

- Protective to a point. Of course he is naturally feeling protective and worried about the Deputy and all the things that could happen, but he’s well aware that they can take of themselves. Still, he is still classed as the protector of the Project, and will likely extend that to the Deputy; insisting that they stay with him at the Vet’s Centre, at least when they sleep. 

-The closer it gets to the Collapse, the more antsy he’s going to get. Every time there’s a storm or it’s cold night and the Deputy’s not with him, then he’s going to be pacing all around his office until it’s over; wondering whether they found shelter, wondering if they’re safe. 

- Is basically a mother hen when they leave him. Gives them a bag with supplies (oh, Dep already has supplies? No no, these are better supplies asdfghjkl), and gives them a carefully organised packed lunch, because he worries about them getting enough to eat. 

- Will insist that the Deputy should consider staying in his bunker, especially as the Collapse gets closer. He’s worried about them, and he knows he can offer the protection they’ll need during their pregnancy. When they finally agree, he’ll breathe a sigh of relief and sleep a little easier, knowing that it’s going to be okay. 

- Visits the Deputy during the day and tries to take them for a small walk - nothing too strenuous, but just enough to keep them getting some sunlight and away from the busy crowds in the Project. 

- If the Deputy tells him to back off - to stop being a mother hen - he will, even if it doesn’t stop his worrying. Again, he knows Dep is strong and capable of knowing themselves and their limits. 

- Will have a proper nursery being set up in his bunker, so his kids will have enough to help them learn and grow during the seven years following the Collapse. 

-Discusses baby names with the Deputy one evening when they’re curled up together in his bed. He’s not too keen on anything biblical - too many of those in the Project already - but he wouldn’t have any strong ‘no-go’ names aside from his parents’. 

- Probably builds the crib himself - despite John pouting in the corner with his rejected IKEA crib - and Jacob even lets Joseph come by and paint some flowers on the sides. John - despite still being a bit miffed over HIS crib being unneeded - begrudgingly joins in and helps paint some stars and clouds. 

- Jacob might be a bit worried, but he knows his baby is going to have a whole family to help look after them. Plus, it’s the kid of Jacob Seed and the Deputy. Jacob knows they’re going to be just fine.