#seedsplease

[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:

[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.

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @imogenkol

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @cloudofbutterflies92 @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @cassietrn @aceghosts @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 @softtidesworld @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

Three new WIPs for The Silver Chronicles. Guess what? They're another set of AUs. Because I have too many ideas to explore that just can't fit in the main story of Silva's Hope and Old Dusk (aka canon Deputy Silva's story). The first two also introduce two new OCs that can't appear in the main story, while the last one is my take on the Omegaverse. You can read below the cut:

First AU is what I've abridged as "Vengeful!Silva AU"; essentially, the gist of it is that Paul becomes doubtful of his own ability as a parental figure after the Enforcer's first assault on the Minas, and worried for Sylvester's safety, decides she needs to leave the Archipiélagos, out of Adam's reach (as opposed to the main story where the attack resulted in Paul only doubling down in his role as a father to Sylvester and training her to defend herself should the worst come to pass). Sylvester is less than pleased as Elsa is still under Adam's grasp, in addition to the fact the young teenager just got accustomed to the Tumultite community, but Paul promises to save Elsa and reunite with Sylvester once the revolt is over. A coven of witches sail to the Archipiélagos, Paul gives them Sylvester, and they sail to regroup with their fellow sisters in Montana (eventually leading Sylvester and the coven to Hope County). Sylvester is a fellow coven member for many of her adolescence, and though she deeply misses her former community and family, she becomes accustomed to the witches strange practices, especially when she attempts to fill the absence of a parental figure (that both Adam and Paul left) with the Head Coven Priestess, Lillith. However, as Sylvester grows up, Lillith becomes distant to her for undisclosed reasons before ultimately sending Sylvester away to Eden's Gate in a form of a treaty between the Project and Coven. Sylvester does not handle this well, but she accepts it as she doesn't really have a choice in the matter. Almost a woman now, Sylvester joins Eden's Gate. The reason Joseph takes her in is because the Voice lied about how "she was a gift to him, a second chance to be a father to a daughter" (in truth the Voice would rather have Silva dead, but it wasn't going to fumble the opportunity to have Sylvester under its surveillance and likely manipulation), and well, for Joseph whatever the Voice says must be passed. While Sylvester isn't a fan of Eden's Gate' strict rules and doesn't necessarily feel like she belongs, she gives it a chance, and quickly attaches herself to Joseph when he offered parental affection (thanks to Adam, Paul and now Lillith all giving her up, Sylvester developed abandonment issues here). She likely doesn't develop a strong bond nor interact with John and Jacob (nor Faith!Lana) as much (especially while they're busy establishing the Project). Note that timeline-wise, this is the early years of the Project; likely year one, so Bliss and Faith!Rachel aren't around yet and likely Joseph here would have Sylvester be an unofficial and not yet renamed, "Faith", even if there is a current Faith in the form of Lana. Until Lana is killed to vacate the role for Sylvester... which doesn't end up happening as Sylvester unfortunately witnessed the murder scene happen. Sylvester takes whatever she can and leaves; the Project, the county, the state, everything. Until she gets to a state and county far, far, FAR away from Joseph in a new city with a new life and a new name; that being, Silva.

Joseph is... heartbroken over Sylvester's disappearance, while Jacob and John are worried that wherever she is, she'll report them. The Voice, however, tells Joseph it'll handle this... by influencing the world to coordinate a domino effect that results in an abandoned military mill to activate one ICBM under the city Silva is residing in, resulting in the city to collapse and a lot of casualties and destruction. When news reaches Montana, the Voice confirms that Silva's been dealt with and plays it off as "a sign" the Collapse is coming and uses it to urge Joseph to urge his followers "to prep faster for the Reaping". Years later, Joseph and his family await for his fated arrest, and the "Hell that Follows the Whitehorse". What a shock it is that it turns out to be Silva, who survived the Voice's most heinous assassination attempt yet. Although scarred from the experience of surviving a disaster and crawling her way through the physical representation of hell, she's never been more motivated to go after Joseph, under the (reasonable) belief that it was Joseph who set up her demise, and she is really determined in ensuring Joseph suffers. Anyway, that's the gist of the story. The snippet below is a wounded Silva being cornered by Terry and some other of John's men who recognize who she is. They're about to transport Silva, when two unlikely saviors appear out of nowhere (one being the introduction of Margarett, former kickass Prophet Hunter, and now a very cranky physically-augmented one-armed old woman, while the other is Azriel, who Silva bumped into earlier). Enjoy: [CW: Minor description of graphic violence/gore and nameless Peggie death]

Terry sneered down at her, almost repulsed by her words, even if their newest drug slurred her words strangely.

Silva could not blame his reaction; all he knew was that she, a traitor, had returned to unjustly take Joseph away from them and bring about the Garden's destruction without cause.

For all he knew, she was saying nothing more than baseless accusations, especially with how their drug disallowed her from speaking deceptions. She could not fault him for that.

She could only critique him for his blindness to perpetuating another's misdeeds and other's suffering.

"Call in an envoy so we can take this Sinner back to John," Terry ordered one of his fellow Peggies, "I'm sure he'll be ecstatic about marking our misguided sister with her sins."

Silva observed as one Peggie called into his radio while another passed Terry what seemed to be some kind of dart.

He replaced his revolved with a different type of pistol, and inserted the dart into it. Cocking the hammer back, Terry aimed it at Silva's leg, towards the exposed wound.

And now they'll take me to John. Although it wasn't part of her plan, she had anticipated she'd require to meet the region's herald sooner or later. She wondered if these captures will let her come face-to-face with Joseph again, but she couldn't be certain.

The heralds had their own methods of conversions, it seemed unlikely Joseph would be overseeing everything she'd be in, even with their history.

Huffing, knowing there was only one way to find out, the woman slackened her shoulders as she relaxed, closing her eyes as she awaited for Terry to sedate her.

She heard an unexpectedly loud bang, which immediately alarmed Silva. Opening her eyes, she noted Terry clutching his red-stained hand that had blood profusely bleeding from the hole in his palm. His dart gun had clattered off somewhere else.

The Peggies turned their attention towards the direction where the shot came from. Silva followed their gazes toward the greenhouse they had chased her through, the canister of their peculiar drug still knocked over and releasing the green mist in front of the entrance.

Although obscured, there clearly was a large figure making their way through the mist.

The peggies took aim with their rifles, shouting out to the approaching figure, until four more bullets were fired, hitting their weapons or limbs, disarming them.

Holding a strangely designed pistol, or perhaps a revolver, the figure stepped through the mist unaffected, revealing herself to be an aged woman, if freakishly tall and broad. She had to be at least a head-and-a-half taller than Silva's own biological father. Her grey auburn hair was wrapped into a messy bun, with strands of locks loosened near the forefront of her face.

Her skin was grey and wrinkled, but it was odd, almost unnatural in a way. She narrowed her only eye at the Peggies, lifting her upper chapped lip to compliment her scowl.

Scars adorned her face, large slashes across where her other eye used to be, the skin already healed over the socket. Unlike Silva's dysfunctional eye; although she could barely see through it, the blindspot was obvious, and burn scars similar to Jacob's own adorned that area.

The older woman wore a large ragged cloak over her broad form; concealing what she wore underneath, and most obvious to Silva was how it hid her other arm, to her blissed out confusion. She noted the woman wore dirt covered boots, and that a large staff-like weapon was strapped behind her back.

Her unexpected savior cocked the hammer back as she proceeded to throw it in the air to Silva's direction.

"For your quarter-to-six," her savior gruffly stated, reaching for the staff behind her as a Peggie brought out a bat and ran towards her. She effortlessly dodged the swing, and gave a swift kick to the Peggie's side as she removed the staff from her back and adjusted her grip when another Peggie ran up to her.

Silva's brows furrowed from her strange words, until she heard the resounding footsteps of three other guards of Eden's Gate Greenhouse somewhere behind her.

If we're going by the analogy of a clock, she's twelve, which makes me six, and that means... Silva swiftly spun to her right, and fired the pistol. It hit it's mark in a shocked Peggie's chest, stumbling back with his heart blown out, momentarily stunning his companions from the shock.

She cocked the hammer back to fire again, but only an empty click greeted her when pulling the trigger.

Huffing in annoyance, she took advantage of the Peggies stillness, and ran up to the closest one, despite the pain in her leg. One of the Peggie's, a woman, shook from her shock too late when her forehead met the large barrel, knocking her out cold.

Silva swung for her other companion, but the Peggie had enough senses to dodge the attack, and proceeded to kick her wounded leg.

A flash of pain erupted from her leg and she soon felt the butt of his rifle hit the back of her shoulder.

Crumbling down to the dirt floor, she turned over just for the Peggie's foot to pin her chest down, rifle aimed threateningly at her.

Not risking sudden movements, both Silva and the Peggie turned their attention towards the crowd once they heard an undignified scream.

Her ally had snapped the arm of one of Terry's guards in the wrong angle with an effective kick from her knee, before shoving him aside. Around her was one guard retching and groaning as he cradled his stomach, another whose face was against the wall with smears of red trailing down to her still, kneeling position, and her first attacker with the bat was steadily returning up.

Silva noted the pained groaning of the woman she dispatched earlier, much to her own chagrin at the fact.

Worse yet, the Peggie above her was aiming his rifle as his bigger target began effortlessly blocking the swinging hits of his companion's bat with her staff, waiting for an opening.

Silva tried to struggle underneath him but it didn't deter the Peggie.

Until-

"Hey!" a young voice shouted, breaking both Silva and the Peggie's concentration as they searched for it's owner, "Catch!"

A familiar weapon slid towards Silva; her retractable dagger, the one she lost earlier.

Swiftly swiping it, she stabbed it into the Peggie's Achilles tendon, earning a shout of pain above her before she sliced out of it, causing the Peggie to stumble off her. She didn't let him fall though, not yet, as she lunged forwards, embedding the blade into his stomach, and slashing outwards.

Leaving the Peggie to marvel at his own river of blood and entrails, Silva made her way over to his awaking companion. Just as the woman lifted her head, the last thing she witnessed was Silva's thrusting the blade down onto her forehead.

Silva retracted the blade, letting the corpse fall over. Glancing around, she spotted a familiar face; the child, or rather, the girl she had saved from Eden's Gate grasp, watching her in awe from the side of the admin building. Attaching the retracted dagger onto her belt where it belonged, she gave the girl a quizzical head tilt before a small smile tugged up, a giving the child a nod in gratitude.

The girl's blue eyes shined from the apparent praise and approval.

Silva turned to see how her ally was doing, and saw the older woman had kneed the bat-wielding Peggie in the shin, then the face; once, twice, a third relented his grip of his bat, before finishing him off with a knee to his neck, which left a crunch that made Silva's expression twitch and the Peggie's head in an odd angle.

The Peggie that had been hit in the stomach had gotten over his pain, and made his way to run a sneak attack from behind her ally with a knife.

Silva opened her mouth to warn her, but the Peggie gave himself away when he tried to stab into her heavily cloaked arm; or rather, the blade pierced through the rags and only hit her, which was likely covered in a tough garb underneath the shaggy cloak.

Her ally scrunched how face as she glanced back at whatever force failed to knock into her, only to harden her face with an unimpressed frown upon noting the Peggie.

"Nothing of importance there, I'm afraid," she informed the Peggie as she turned fully around to him.

With a good grip on her staff, she twirled it with one hand and hit him once more in the stomach, which he cradled. Then the knee, sending him to his knees. As he looked up, her ally thwacked him upwards with a spinning hit to the chin, before catching his throat with hooked end of the staff, sending him down to the ground as she pushed her staff further against his Adam's apple, compressing the cartilage.

Silva watched in fascination at the brutality of this woman; the strength she wield, the cunning she used, and the durability she had. Ensuring with all certainty that her enemies were dead. Though, Silva still didn't understand why she had saved her, nor any motives she had...

As the woman choked the life out of the gurgling Peggie, she apparently noticed something worth catching her attention.

"Bleeding Palm's getting away," the woman informed Silva. Cocking her head, she glanced around until she spotted Terry trying to start a van as quietly and quickly as possible, door wide open as he desperately tried to get the engine to sputter to life.

She hummed as the engine revved to life, and she made her way to her ally as she asked, "May I?"

Gesturing to the knife stuck in her protective grab, the woman shrugged as the Peggie below her slackened as he let out a weak noise and replied, "Not mine, so sure. He's not going to be using it."

Nodding she ripped the knife out of her ally just as Terry shut the van's driver door, and hit the peddle.

Silva walked to a spot that gave her clear sight of Terry's booking van, brought two fingers together to pinpoint a target, took aim and threw the blade at one of the van's back wheel's just as it turned, causing it to swerve into a small shed in-between the trees.

With Terry going nowhere, she turned her attention back to her approaching ally, done with the Peggie. Silva had half a mind to have her hand near the handle of her blade, just in case her ally had ulterior motives.

Looking up to the older woman, who she noted could be eight feet tall, maybe with a few inches too. Which made her less than three heads taller than Silva herself.

"Gracias. For the help," Silva stated first, and her ally made a short nod in return, until Silva asked, "Though I do have several queries for you."

Her savior snorted, and grunted, "Name's Margarett."

Straightforward, Silva noted, and responded, "I'm Silva."

"Oh, I know," Margarett informed the younger woman, "Saw your little rally at that little town nearby. Your whole speech of unity and freedom against that family of twats spilling blood in this county. Quite impressive, how you managed to lift the morale of the small folk there."

Silva raised a brow, retaining everything Margarett was saying, suspecting something more.

"You've certainly got talent of a leader," Margarett commented, "They believed every single word. Though if I may inquire; did you? Or is it just a convenient step closer to your actual goal?"

Silva stared into the taller woman's amber eyes, and gave a small smirk as a reply.

The second AU that diverges from the canon and plots of Far Cry 5 and Silva's Hope is what I like to call the Harbinger AU. The story here is that, instead of Ezekiel staying behind to fight off Enforcers while Silva, Elsa and Persephone manage to escape together (and then breaking out of jail to search for the trio of Omars around the world before reuniting with Silva 17 years after the Collapse of society in Old Dusk), Ezekiel escapes with the trio to America. Elsa doesn't die in her accident as Ezekiel is present to do the things she can't; like trying to figure out what's up with Eden's Gate while Silva and Persephone are none the wiser. Also Persephone is alive in this timeline because... well. You see, the divergence doesn't stop with Elsa's death, as during the year Elsa's accident does happen at the Horned Serpent Cave (in the main story at least), instead the incident is Silva going missing while making a grocery trip to Holland Valley, which she'd apparently never reached according to townsfolk Fall's End. Elsa and Ezekiel become the main caretakers of Persephone, and Silva is presumed dead. Paul never visit Hope because he doesn't discover that Silva is present there (therefore not leading him to go there to convince her to join his cult, get rebuked, kidnap her daughter to lure her on a global travel around corners of the globe, leading to Silva reuniting with Kamski, and then eventually leads to Paul, his Apostles and Persephone's deaths in the process). A couple of years later, on the night of Joseph's arrest, there is no deputy to fill the Hell role, despite the Voice promising there should be, leading to Whitehorse and Burke to cuff Joseph while Hudson waits outside and Pratt in the helicopter. Joseph is a little lost on how to consider this but improvises with what he has, interpreting it as either the Sheriff or the Marshal being the Muse. Surprisingly, they manage to lift off without the Peggies getting into the rotor... only for the tail to be blown off and leading to the crash; and Joseph meeting an old face in the form of Saint Matilda, a former Peggie he had exiled from the Project for doing inhumane experiments that even made Jacob cringe. She is one of this AUs primary antagonists (along with her monstrous creation known as the "Harbinger") in addition to the Prophet Hunters (five unique individuals physically augmented by Saint Matilda herself) sent by the Apostles to (a) retrieve the rogue Saint and her newest creation back into their waiting arms and (b) kill two birds with one stone by killing the local rival prophet in the area. Though that's not to say that Eden's Gate won't still be an obstacle in everyone's path, as they're the ones who have Matilda in custody. Elsa and Ezekiel prepare to help the Resistance fight any foe that as to protect Persephone. In the snippet below, you'll see her exile from Eden's Gate through dear beloved John's perspective, as he hears what will be her first of many crimes against nature. Enjoy below:

John joined Jacob and Faith upon the podium as Joseph began the sermon.

"My children, my family... I am pleased that you've gathered together for this morning," Joseph peered across the pews of the awestruck faces of their people, an admiration John also shared for his brother, "Though I wish this was under better circumstances."

That got their faithful's attention, as well as the attention of John and the rest of Joseph's siblings. John briefly wondered if Joseph had received another vision, and waited with bated breath with on the podium behind Joseph.

He found the reason to be more surprising than pressing.

"One of our own had strayed from the Project's mission," Joseph explains, looking solemnly, "She had abused her position and the trust we gave her. To desecrate the bodies of our own people, defile our Judges, and to taint the purity of our Angels."

John raised a brow, and his blue eyes briefly lingered on Faith; wondering if it was finally her time. He certainly wouldn't mind this one going, given how overstayed her welcome was.

Though she didn't look alarmed with worry, and Jacob didn't pay her any mind. To John's disappointment, Joseph unveiled a different name of the culprit.

"You may bring forth Sister Matilda," Joseph commanded in the room, and the doors opened to reveal Alexander and some of his Chosen dragging the white dressed woman to the front of the chapel.

They dropped her in front of Joseph, doing little to be gentle or considerate of their roughness.

The woman in question had been amongst the first members of the flock; not someone John interacted with on a daily notice, but a face he's seen pop up once or twice. He did note how she recently had been working under this iteration of Faith and a short while with Jacob... before his older brother requested, practically ordered, that she stay in Faith's region for reasons John wasn't privy to.

She was young, though not as young as their current Faith; John would say this Matilda was around her twenties. She had lengthy strawberry blonde hair, and greenish hazel in her eyes. Small nose, youthful cheeks, and a small frame to boot. She could have been a candidate to become a "Faith", though given current circumstances, perhaps it was a good thing she wasn't.

She gave small fleeting glances up to Joseph's face, her whole body shaking on her knees. Clearly afraid. Maybe ashamed, John pondered to himself, knowing how it felt to be under the Father's disappointed gaze.

He shook his head though; he made mistakes that he'd made up for. Whatever she has done, seems to be worse; perhaps even unforgivable.

He glanced to Jacob and Faith. His oldest brother seemed cautious while staring at Matilda, almost on edge. His eyes did not stray from Matilda, observing any and all movement. Faith, unsurprisingly, looked shocked at Matilda's presence, though she seemed more curious, like John himself.

Bringing his attention back to Joseph and their stray lamb, Joseph spoke, "Sister Matilda. Do you know why you've been brought here?"

Matilda visibly gulped, the woman petrified where she sat on the floor, giving a shaky and swift nod as her answer.

"F-for going against your-your authority... Father," she stuttered out through quivering lips, surprisingly audible for them all to hear.

"That is one cause for your presence here," Joseph acknowledged, calmly, and proceeded to reveal, "But it is also for your... acts of cruelty against God's creations, and those of whom gave up their doubt and fear to serve the Project. I have been informed you've also developed blueprints on changes to the Bliss' formula to make it more... hostile, towards any who seek solace in it."

Jacob sneered at the woman while Faith let slip an undignified expression before it hardened into a calm disappointment. Though John wanted to feel some satisfaction from Faith's slip of her mask, he was more focused on the fact their most efficient tool thus far had nearly been tampered with by the woman before them.

Staring down at the woman herself made it harder to belief she could have done those; the pitiful girl barely held herself together under Joseph's gaze.

"I... I just," Matilda softly sobbed out once more, trying to speak her words before they were lost to her forever, "I only... wanted to help."

John watched as Joseph tilted his head, quizzical of Matilda's words. Though John found himself uncertain by what Matilda said, he could not deny the pang to his own heart. He noted how Faith's expression softened at her words, and how Jacob stiffened with a frown. Not even the faithful could keep their scowls from faltering.

He couldn't help but feel pity for the woman, and found it terrifying by how easy it was for her to elicit such a reaction on them all. Although...

"And how, dear child, were your actions intended to help us?" Joseph asked, patient.

...her next words swiftly replaced that pity with disgust.

And lastly an Omergaverse AU centered around my Boa Lurking In The Bliss OTP (aka Silva x Faith). Enjoy this flash-forward snippet of Silva and Faith stuck in a bunker together at an inconvenient time:

She should have expected this. It was only inevitable that it would happen.

Being stuck in the same bunker as her was already displeasing enough for Silva. Being stuck in the same bunker while her disgruntled roommate's suffering cries and whimpers reverberate around their underground home?

Well, Silva couldn't deny how bad of an effect it was having on her own composure. She was usually stronger than this...

Once again breathing in slowly, she found herself not rejecting, like she should, the pleasant citrus scent of pineapples and lemons that escaped through the crack of the master bedroom door.

Though the guilt rumbled as she exhaled, knowing she shouldn't be anywhere near the other woman.

And yet, she thought as she placed an unoccupied gloved hand on the door, widening the opening more to glimpse inside, Here I am.

She remembered how neat the master bedroom had looked before it had been claimed by her impromptu bunk-mate. The sheets and blankets had held no wrinkles, the only number of pillows being two, and the floor was spotless, in addition to two nightstands; the right with a lamp, the left empty for anyone's use.

Now the two layer blankets were crumpled, along with extra blankets that her guest had stolen from Silva's bedroom and the linen cupboard, pillows from the lounge scattered around in a circle on the mattress, the lamp on the right nightstand was switched off, the blankets layered on top with a bunch of clothes strewn around the makeshift nest, and the floor from the looks of it.

A desperate attempt to find comfort in an alpha's smell, Silva figured. Or a beta's, intruded the thought, but Silva shook it away. Omegas don't seek out betas during heat, she reminded herself. Only alphas.

Regardless, though, either the light-brunette woman didn't find the scent she was searching for or whatever surviving scents of spice that lingered on those dresses were too faded from time to be a content substitute for the omega.

Overall, a very comfortable looking nest in her opinion, especially given their circumstances. Though the omega's scent was more enticing and stronger now that she entered the room.

Gripping on the handle, Silva stepped deeper inside the room. She needed to be quick about this, she didn't want to overstay.

She made her way to the left side of the nest, being careful to not step on any of the clothes; for her? Sentimentality? Silva didn't know, but it wasn't the point; she needed to reach the nightstand without disturbing the other woman. A quick glance over and she saw her omega "friend" was curled up in the blankets, still in that white dress, groaning in pain while mumbling prayers between hot breathes.

Why am I even trying to be considerate of her? she had to ask herself, Am I forgetting WHO this even is?

No, she hadn't. She knew exactly who the omega woman was. She had spent several months being forced to be acquainted to the woman, her brothers and their Project. She watched as she manipulated the Mariscal to murder Virgil. After all the harm and fallout she's caused, one would think Silva would have learned by now that Faith fucking Seed wasn't worth an ounce of her pity.

Then why am I doing this?

She placed down the kit full of essential first aid, cleaning supplies, a canteen of water, plus containers of foods she hoped Faith liked as much as Irene did. She couldn't find an answer to her question, and honestly didn't know where she could start.

With her task complete, and despite how nice it was in here, she turned to make a swift exit.

But she was stopped by a hand grip on her wrist, forcing Silva to stop.

"What are you doing here?" Faith grunted out, exhausted green eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion of Silva's presence.

Mierda, she internally cursed. She closed her eyes to collect herself in the sweet aroma filled room, before taking a half glance back at Faith and answering, "I dropped off things you might need. Including some foods and water. To make your heat... bearable."

Faith had glanced to the kit on the nightstand before looking back at her, stunned by Silva's action.

Silva looked away from Faith, the fruitful scent emanating from the Seed sister stronger, and kept her grey eyes back to the open door. She needed to leave.

"I'll leave you to your privacy now-"

"No!" Faith rebuked, her other hand joining the iron grip on Silva's captured wrist, keeping the taller woman in place.

Silva peered back to Faith, a mistake once she was trapped by the desperate green eyes of the omega, "P-please don't go."

Silva felt a pang in her heart by Faith's soft murmur. She shook her ahead, attempting to refute the omega's request, "I can't stay Faith-"

The former deputy could feel how Faith's hands trembled on her arm, a sob croaking out as the young woman asked, "Don't go. Please... Your scent... it's calming. Please stay... don't leave me."

Silva could feel the very moment her self-restraint crumbled to pieces from Faith's words.

She was silent when she turned to face Faith. She was silent when she saw Faith's teary eyes and the desperateness written on her face. And she was silent when let out a soundless huff.

She gave a slow nod. "Okay," she affirmed.

She followed Faith's guidance as the latter pulled the former into her nest, and Silva was quick to accommodate to the nest and Faith's shorter size while the other woman nestled against Silva's body, taking in Silva's calming vanilla scent.

Silva cautiously embraced the other woman, feeling how the heat emanated from her body, and strong her pleasant scent was now that their bodies were so close.

Silva would have preferred if Faith snuggled into her from behind, but even the idea of that didn't sit well for her.

She sighed at her current predicament, bringing a comforting hand to gently run her gloved fingers through the herald's hair, while her other hand rubbed smoothing circles on Faith's back.

God, I'm comforting Faith Seed. She fucking dreaded the idea of Tracey ever hearing of this, or worse, the Sheriff. They'd surely blow a fuse.

She couldn't help but acknowledge a certain irony here. Not only had Joseph correctly predicted a "great fire that would cleanse the surface", but he'd been correct about her. Despite how hard she tried to prove him wrong.

Whether it was an alpha or an omega, with the Resistance or with the Seed's sister here and now, the only use she'd ever have is acting as their confidant, their mediator, their support. Nothing else.

"As is intended of a beta," Silva recalled his words, spoken many months prior. Before the Reaping and before the night of his arrest.

I really shouldn't have gone to that barbecue.

[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]

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.

[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.  

[chyrstis]

Fanfic Author’s Appreciation Day

If there’s one thing I’ll never be able to stop indulging in and enjoying, it’s fic. It’s a love letter to a series/game/show, and in other cases a much needed giant middle finger, and over the years I’ve been fortunate enough to read work by an almost staggering number of brilliant people.

Last year I was new to this little corner, and lucky enough to catch this day in time to send some love out. This year, I’d like to do the same, because there’s so many of you that I admire. So many that write, and write, and write about a variety of subjects, and in a variety of fandoms, and I hope you never stop creating, no matter what.

@writerofblocks​ @autumnyte​ @guileandgall @twistedsinews @siribear @kakumei​ @ofmanynames​ @thedivinemissema @joasakura @sharky-broshaw @amistrio​ @tommymillers @softmillers @foofygoldfish @redroci @shallow-gravy​ @ma-sulevin​ @narcis-the-monk @seedsplease @sneaky-apostate​ @finefeatheredgamer @outranks​ @painterofhorizons @geronimo-11​ @jackalopestride​ @solesurvivorkat @teamhawkeye @shellibisshe @somehow-saving-you​ @naromoreau @risenlucifer @tomexraider @raisinghellinotherworlds @ofravensandgenesis @starsandskies @marymay-fairgrave @faithchel @unclefungusthegoat @smithandrogers @chazz-anova @ja-crispea @gracethornwood @hawkfurze @words-and-seeds​ @weekend-writer​ @englass @shelliechen @strafethesesinners @mackie-hattwie @pd3​ @nightwingshero @spicevalleys @celesteennui @scarlettkat86​ @zacklover24​ @fuckin-nancy @fluttyseed @theoriginalladya @thessalian @pagerunner-j and a ton of other authors that I know don’t frequent here as much as they used to, but your work’ll always have a special place in my heart. I mean that 100%.

You all are the reason why I’ll burn through an entire fic at 1-2 AM with no regrets. Seriously, so many of you churn out fic after fic of incredible quality, whether it’s a drabble, a one-shot, or a long-fic (along with extensive headcanons that would be beautiful fics in their own right), and I can’t thank you enough for putting yourselves out there and sharing each and every one with us. <3,