#far cry 5 fanfiction
Text
A Heart Deceived
Title: A Heart Deceived
Fandom: Far Cry 5
Characters: Jacob Seed x Reader (female)
Summary: AU where soulmates share the same marking and Jacob doesn't have to brand you any further.
Word count: 2900+
Notes: soulmates, yandere!Jacob Seed, Reader is not the Deputy, captivity, violence, emotional manipulation, dub-con kissing, scars and injuries description: Reader has a mutilated ear and facial scars from a wolf attack and is not happy about it, a mild form of Stockholm Syndrome.
His fingers are surprisingly gentle. You don't expect it from him, the gentleness, Jacob is not kind or caring. Jacob is not warm, not nurturing, not indulgent. Yet his thumb skims across your jaw with quiet focus. Down the side of your neck, up your chin to follow the slanted line there, then it repeats the whole procedure on a different scar. They had long healed by now and turned into uneven ridges of mismatched tissue.
It hurt when the damned wolf bit you, the next day, and for many following days; the effective and precise killing machine aimed for the throat, and if you didn't twist the last moment, would have succeeded.
Jacob never punished the wolf, it was serving its purpose, while you, you were supposed to think before acting and understand the possible consequences.
The pain could be endured and later forgotten, what could not was the humiliation of lying on the dirty ground and the shiny view of Jacob's boots growing larger until they stopped in the line of your vision. A moment of painful awareness: the escape attempt which failed so abruptly and so brutally had become laughable. Jacob grabbed your hair and shook you like a disobedient puppy. "That's on you, sweetheart. Be wary of the quiet ones, they say."
Those last words sounded as if he were talking to himself, rather than anyone else.
"I warned you."
He did.
Jacob is right, not in everything, but in many things. One can try and deny it, another can scoff, but the bottom line is the same: Jacob is right in many things, and at times it's better to listen. Even despite an involuntary gagging reaction.
Your heart hammered and every single beat of it brought to the surface what you already knew — there would be no other attempts. The paleness from fear or perhaps blood loss must've shown on your face, because he let go of you and crouched down. "Pathetic."
It lacked genuine heat, disappointment, or any emotion. Being disappointed would mean that Jacob expected something in the first place. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it to your face, stemming the bleeding. The ground seemed more interesting than ever, dry soil dotted with rocks and grass blades scattered everywhere, trampled by people's feet.
You don't want to look at him or acknowledge the touch to a small sword on your wrist, identical to the one above his left elbow. The mark is a clean reminder and a binding claim for life. You don't want to see it or remember how Jacob's face twisted when he realized just who you were.
Like someone had slapped him.
A lot has happened; Montana turned different from what you saw on TV and the world suddenly shifted under your feet, rearranged from a little road trip across the states into his territory, his commands, his people. A part of you — a foolish, soft part — wished you could've met under different circumstances, in a different place and you told him once about it in a moment of weakness. Jacob stilled at first, but then kept cleaning his gun. "We're here, sweetheart. Nothing we can do 'bout it."
Could've beens and never happeneds weren't worth wasting thoughts on.
Now Jacob is tracing your scars. He's not handsome, not really, there's too much roughness to the lines of his face, dark circles and untrimmed beard, but... you frown. You don't know how to describe Jacob Seed or why you even bother trying. It's odd to think about him this way. Weird.
Jacob catches your eyes. "What?"
You close them. "Nothing."
He makes a noncommittal sound, then leans in. The kiss to your forehead is unexpected and brief. A lot of them are — quick kisses on your temple when Jacob thinks you're asleep, on your nape when he leaves the bed before dawn. They make you wonder just what he wants from you.
He never expects affection back.
Doesn't try anything further, and you both are suspended in this limbo, neither being the first to break it, nor acknowledge its growing significance with every passing day. One part of you craves it, to yield in a different way, not because it is required, but because you want, yet Jacob doesn't ask, so perhaps it's for the better.
Another gets nauseous. He breaks people. Like dry twigs, discarding the pieces when they have no more use. You've seen his Chosen training until they begged, cried and crawled, their pride crushed along with the body.
There are days you can't bear looking at him.
***
Sometimes, sometimes, you wish him dead and gone from the world, then the mark on your wrist aches like a fresh wound.
"When will you take off the chain?" You ask and wiggle your foot a bit. It's long enough to reach the bathroom, to wander around the quarters, but not to walk outside. Jacob doesn't look up from his book. The cover is worn out and you suspect he read it many times already, military stuff. Strategy. Survival tactics, you have no idea.
"When I know you've learned your lesson."
So, not today.
You sigh and roll onto your stomach. "It's stupid."
He doesn't respond.
It's annoying more than anything. Reason — you're his soulmate, not some runaway cow ready to get lost in Montana wilderness — didn't help and only gained you a blank stare followed by a lock click. The chain rattles with each movement, loud and distracting; Jacob just keeps reading as if nothing happens.
Sometimes, sometimes, you catch yourself thinking that this isn't so bad after all. He treats you well for a cult leader: fed, clothed, clean, sheltered. Compared to the cages his future Chosen sleep in, you don't get to complain. You have a comfortable bed instead of cold dirty floor, normal meals rather than a chunk of raw meat, privacy and silence without old school music 24/7.
You frown. No, it's not nice. It's Stockholm Syndrome, plain and simple. You should be free, away from this place.
"Are you angry?"
Jacob turns another page. "No."
His room smells of pine wood and gun oil, with an undertone of metal. The furniture is scarce and practical. A wardrobe, a desk with a radio placed on top, one bookshelf. Bare walls except for a giant map pinned opposite the bed; you've memorized all the markings on it during your stay. The areas which got liberated by Deputy are red, his outposts are circled in blue. Jacob doesn't talk about Deputy much, but the way he clenches his jaw over the radio frequency makes you think they must be a real pain in the ass.
Secretly you hope they blow Eden's Gate HQ to pieces soon.
What would it mean for you?
These are questions, vague and inappropriately timed, coming to mind. What if Deputy happens to eventually tear the Project apart? They escaped John, escaped Jacob and you were to personally witness his foul mood for two days straight. You overhear bits and pieces of conversations, the Chosen talk if they think no one listens — Deputy is strong and clever. Persistent and cunning. Maybe that's the reason Jacob's so obsessed with them.
What if...
You glance at him from under your eyelashes and rub the mark. They say there's a connection between soulmates. If one dies, another experiences it on a physical level. Jacob said that was bullshit. His brother didn't confirm or deny when you asked him after a sermon.
Joseph Seed unnerves you. Not just because he believes himself to be God's vessel. There is something in his voice, quiet and soothing like the distant rolls of thunder, it raises goosebumps when he starts preaching and you're forced to sit through it. Something in his eyes behind yellow-tinted glasses sends shivers down your spine, very little to do with his religious fanaticism.
What would you feel if Jacob died?
The thought creates an unpleasant twist in your stomach, unwanted bond or not, it leaves you queasy. You curl on the bed. Jacob has reading glasses, you barely held back a snort the first time you saw them propped up his nose. He shoots a flat look from above the pages but doesn't comment on your inquisitive stare.
By now you know when to speak and to remain silent (mostly). He dislikes unruly ones and finds satisfaction showing them just how insignificant they are, how mistaken in every single sense. Weak. That's why you annoy him mildly when feeling particularly brave or in need of interaction, but never play soldier or power. It triggers something which is best avoided, gets people punished, then shot in front of others. Or sent for trials, you're not sure which is worse.
Jacob marks a page and sets the book aside. "What?"
"What 'what'?" You ask back, fiddling with the hem of a grey camouflage shirt. It's way too big on your frame, Jacob likes the look of it, judging by how much of your wardrobe consists of his stuff now that you don't leave the room.
"I can hear the wheels in your head turning, spit it out."
"What would happen to me if something... happened to you?"
You're afraid of saying 'if you die' because it's final, even though Jacob seems invincible most of the times. A mountain against hurricanes. Yet everyone dies eventually and the Deputy keeps winning against all odds set before them.
"Nothing. Joseph takes care of you."
This is news, and frankly not the answer you hoped for.
('You'd go free' was. He didn't say 'I won't die' either.)
Tension seeps into your shoulders without a conscious thought. "Why? I am nobody to him."
"You are my soulmate," Jacob replies, simple as that, like it explains everything. Perhaps in their cult world it does, but not yours.
"So?"
He pats his thigh.
It's a gesture without much interpretation required, but you stay rooted on the bed. Cautious. You've grown familiar with each other after living together for months — sharing a space tends to do this to people — still tonight is different, full with awkwardness you haven't felt since that time he walked in on you changing.
Jacob's stare is intense. Heavy, cold blue eyes linger on your wrist where the sword surrounded by flames peeks from under the long sleeve. You swallow a lump in your throat and get up on unsteady legs.
"So he will do it out of memory. You're family, pup, whether you wish it or not."
With the same caution you sit on his lap, war memories written in pink-red skin decorate his face. Just like yours, you think, the only difference is the place and origin. There's something intimate about being like this. Jacob holds you in place once you settle down, not comfortable, but not exactly uncomfortable either.
"Never took you for a cuddly type," you say to shield yourself from growing unease. "Why the change?"
Jacob's thumb presses to the corner of your lips. "Got tired of those puppy eyes staring at me the whole evening, sweetheart. You can have a closer look."
"I don't have puppy eyes. And maybe I like looking from afar."
"Yeah?"
His beard has a prickly feeling to it.
You know your face will never be the same after what happened. From his point of view, Jacob can probably see where the scars begin in the hairline, then continue downwards only an inch away from your eye; small miracles and such. Half of your ear is missing, a good solid chunk. It's not a nice look.
"Don't touch them," you mutter.
You don't mean to share your thoughts in such an abrupt manner, but these intimate moments become a source of discomfort, like a sharp, twisting knife. Jacob doesn't flinch at the sight, he probably saw worse things, still it feels humiliating being reminded of your shortcomings and the fact that this is your face — permanently marked.
Jacob doesn't stop.
"Beauty dies fast, darlin'," he says slowly. "This here... this'll stay."
He never sugarcoats anything. Never lies to spare feelings, ruthless and pragmatic with a clear understanding of what matters and what doesn't. Only the weak need empty reassurances; his words. You hate this side of Jacob just as much as admire it on occasion, right now you wish he said something else. Beauty dies fast.
"Thank you Jacob, very comforting. Top ten phrases you should tell someone who got mauled by a Judge." You cross your arms, wondering why the hell are you talking about this. With Jacob. The worst choice possible to bring up sensitive topics, or maybe the only one, since there's not a lot of people around anyway.
"I ain't here to stroke your ego, sweetheart. This," he traces a scar, "is a lesson to remember. Next time when thinking 'bout running — think again and think good."
There will be no next time regardless of how he phrases it. The chain rattles every night when you shift under the blankets and falls down with an annoying bang as soon as you get up. There's nowhere to run too, the Whitetail Mountains belong to Jacob, he rules them like a king would rule his kingdom, with iron fist and strict order, and who knows what the local Resistance will do to you if they catch you first.
If they figure out whose soulmate you are.
You're trapped between the Deputy destroying outposts and Jacob hunting them across the region, like a mouse stuck in a corner while cats keep prowling around.
The sky outside has an orange-pink hue, casting Jacob's face into soft light and deep shadows. He takes off his glasses, setting them on the book's cover, then wipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. "You gonna cry over looks?"
You sniffle. "Yes. I wish I never met you."
He stiffens. For a second you worry it might have pushed a wrong button. Jacob never hurt you physically, still there's a healthy dose of fear, not necessarily born out of past experiences. At times his presence just radiates off in silent waves so thick you can feel them crashing into yourself before he walks away and doesn't return for days, leaving you alone with the Chosen stationed behind the doors to watch over and report back to their Herald.
Jacob leans closer until your foreheads almost press into each other.
He doesn't initiate touch often. Once in a while he lets you sleep on his arm instead of a pillow or allows you to sit closer than usual during meals, but that's it. There are boundaries set, most of them are unspoken rules which you picked up along the way: you can ask questions and be generally yourself within reason — as long as it doesn't border on disrespect, Jacob will tolerate occasional attitude in very small doses; you can request certain items provided he approves; he prefers silence during breakfast.
Never challenge him publicly and don't talk bad about his siblings.
This confession can't be taken back, nor do you wish to, because it's true. You regret meeting him, and it was much better to wonder and guess, create images of a faceless man somewhere in the depths of your mind and fantasize about possibilities. How does one even go back to normal life after this?
(Not that any chance of doing so exists in the foreseeable future.)
"I figured, darlin'," Jacob says finally. His voice lacks anger, as if he expected those words one day or another, Jacob isn't naive or stupid and is surprisingly aware of himself in a lot of matters, of the fact that very little would want to end up where he dragged you and being imprisoned under the heavy metal chain doesn't add to fond memories either. "Fair enough."
In all months you two lived together, sharing food and space, in all months, he never kissed you.
Now he does.
His lips are chapped, dry and slightly rough.
You find yourself going rigid at first, unsure what to make out of it. It's different from what you imagined, the fantasy version seemed more... violent and harsh, less intimate and private. He breaks the kiss briefly and then resumes it again.
Slow-slow-quick, Jacob steals your breath away bit by bit until your head spins, until your hands feel clammy and then, when you think you can't take it any longer, he pulls back.
"Won't apologize 'bout the scars, pup. You deserved a lesson."
Your throat feels parched.
"But not of this kind. Never wanted it for you."
It doesn't sound apologetic, neither regretful, but it is what it is, probably the closest to it Jacob will ever be capable of. His hand strokes the back of your neck in slow and repetitive circles, and in an odd way, it does seem soothing.
He takes you to bed minutes later, maneuvers you closer under the sheets and turns off the light. The window is open letting in the sounds of evening wildlife: crickets chirp loudly nearby, some owl hoots in the distance; Montana smells different than other states. Sharper, wilder. You lie like this for a bit, curled against his side and he's always so fucking warm, a human furnace incarnate.
"The moment I saw the marking — I wished you never met me too."
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silent despair
pairing : john seed x reader (i wrote it as f!deputy!reader but it turned out to be gn too)
warnings : blood and injury | implied sex but not detailed | love hate | possessiveness
word count: 2,497
summary: What would happen if John was the one to survive the collapse?
➤ AO3 link | masterlist
In the first moments of coming back to your senses, the mix of strong cologne and smoke hit your nose. The air seemed heavy, almost hard to breathe and you felt like suffocating. Taking a deep breath, a sharp pain shot through your ribs and made you yelp out in surprise.
"Finally," a familiar voice filled the silence and ringed inside your aching head.
Stars danced at the edges of your vision as you tried to sit up. As if a restless swarm of bees was inside your skull, causing it to vibrate uncomfortably. Arms and legs numb you had to look down at your limbs to make sure they were really moving when you told them to. They weren't. Your hands handcuffed to the metal leg of the bunk bed, you tried to wrestle against them with no luck.
"Still eager to fight despite your situation, I see. Some things about you never change, deputy."
You felt venom in his voice, anger, hidden behind his kind and peaceful mask he called a face. He smiled widely as he walked towards you, squatting down to your level.
"Where-"
"Shhh sh sh."
His eyes piercing through you, fingers trailing the handcuffs, the stupid smile on his face. The time stopped and your eyes gazed down to his shirt which used to be blue. Just like his eyes. Now it was almost completely covered in dried blood. Pushing away the thoughts of kicking your knee into his stomach for tying you up, you wondered what had happened, looking around the room you were in for any clues.
He noticed how you calmed down, how your eyes jumped across his chest and the walls behind him. Looking for his bunker key at his now bruised chest. Pulling out another key from his pocket, he freed your hands but grabbed your wrists immediately, squeezing them painfully. You hissed in reaction, but got the message - don't do anything stupid. You didn’t even plan to. You just wanted to know what happened as your own memory was failing you due to its fogginess. Checking your ribs for any wounds or source of the pain you felt after waking up, a loud explosion deafened you and the whole room started to vibrate, dust falling down from the ceiling. There was your answer to what happened. The pictures of mushroom cloud, fire and death blinked through your head. All the screaming, pain… your friends…
"The collapse," John looked up, the same smile on his face still. "Joseph was right, you know? He knew the whole time… my brother…"
The mask of the baptist started to fade away - he didn't have to pretend anymore. The smile slowly disappeared as his whole expression hardened, jaws clenched. His eyes glowing with rage, but there was something else.
Sadness. Softness.
Cursing through gritted teeth, he grabbed you by the edge of your shirt and forced you up against the wall, hand squeezing your throat right after.
"You killed them. If only you listened to them! We could’ve been - “
The pressure built up in your head from the lack of air and vision started to blur, yet you didn't try to fight his hand.
"Doesn’t matter. Tell me one reason I shouldn't do the same to you!"
His voice was calm but still sounded like a yell to you. You started to half laugh half cough, making his eyebrows furrow even more in fury. He was killing you with his gaze, not his hands. In his mind his hands squeezed your throat hard. Knuckles on his hand white, he’d release the grasp so you could catch a single breath just to cut your wind pipe again.
Oh, he would do so many things to you.
"Why didn't you? Before?" You coughed. "You had so many chances."
He sighed and let go of you by throwing you further into the wall, though not so aggressively as before to kick air out of your lungs. You knew he had the reply, knew why he didn't kill you when he had the chance. But he wouldn't admit it.
Would you? Would you admit why you didn’t kill him when you had so many chances?
John knew well you chose to hunt his siblings down rather than him. Playing cat and mouse, but both of you were the cat. Lots of unfulfilled threats that led only to one thing - the collapse. You being stuck with him in a bunker underground.
The longer you tried to keep standing against the wall, the more your muscles burned. The desire to lay down, close your eyes again and forget about everything again was overwhelming but you were determined to not show any kind of weakness. Your coughing and laughing filled the room. Have you lost your mind? Are you really gonna be down here with John? It wasn’t like you could change it.
You didn’t want to.
The shirt started to stick to your skin where you felt the sharp pain before. Your fingers felt the wetness when touching it and you didn't have to look down to know what it was.
"Come."
Following John to the table across the room, you were sure your legs would fail you any step you took. He was watching you - was it a concerned look you saw on his face? Your blurry vision playing tricks on you?
He was in fact concerned, watching every step of yours ready to grab your arm for support whenever you were about to fall. He didn't want you to know, he didn't want you to see his soft side. Not yet. He liked to believe he had none except for his brothers - he was lying to himself the whole life. He always had a soft side, buried deep inside him. Abandoned by his choice. Softness had no place in the life he lived before Eden’s Gate. No place in Eden’s Gate. It was a weakness and he locked everything making him weak deep inside.
Till you showed up and made him weak. Vulnerable. He hated you for it, but at the same time admired you. You were untamed, wild fire that could make him both weak and strong and he realized rather quickly that capturing you like the others would not help him get stronger, no. You required a different approach. Approach that he thought he would never be able to do - to have feelings for someone, to feel vulnerable.
The mutual feelings of you two, the connection of your souls and leadership - that’s what he visioned in his dreams. How perfect you two would be for Eden’s gate. At first, it seemed like a great plan, but the further John tried to make you join him, the more he started to care about you. Did he care about you more than about the project? No, he would never… He doubted himself in that question. Nevertheless he’d make everything work in the end. And he did, without even trying to.
Grabbing bandages out of the emergency box, he waited for you to raise your shirt enough to expose the cut. Starting at your ribcage going down your belly, it wasn't deep but it was bleeding a lot.
"Just do it quick."
Swallowing your pride, you let him circle you, touch you, wrapping the bandage all around your torso. Feeling his warm touch on your bare skin, you never realized how soft his hands could be. You believed all they could inflict was pain and torture.
"Want it harder?"
The stupid smile on his face.
"Fuck you, John."
~~~
"You'll get us both killed!" John hissed and caught your hand that tried to steal the bunker key from his neck. He started to wear it with him at all times since you found the spot where he hid it. And he was way more alert during sleeping than you thought.
Saving your life and you still tried to get away from him, still fought him. Still… after all the days you two spent in close proximity. Or was it weeks? He liked it at times though. It spiced things a bit here under the ground, but he'd still rather receive obedience from you. Just like his followers in Hope County… but you weren't one of them. The knuckles whitened on his hand and you squinted as his grip became painful. The harder he held your wrist, the more you squeezed the key in your hand being as stubborn as you were usually, refusing to let go of it.
"Go then, do as you want."
You almost lost balance and fell down at his chest when he released your hand. The tone of his voice was vile but the sparkle of hope that shined in your eye overcame everything else. You looked down at the key and hope was quickly replaced with a darker feeling - reality. John scoffed and murmured something to himself as the key landed back on his chest.
You didn't want to die. Not today at least.
~~~
Warm breeze locked the naked skin of your upper body. The blanket must've slid down while you were sleeping.
A breeze of fresh air… in a bunker?
John's fingertips trailed up and down your arm softly, thinking he was gentle enough to not wake you up. His movements were slow, lazy. Your heartbeat raised a little and you hoped it wouldn't reveal you were awake. Your back turned to him, you laid still and your breath was shallow. His breath was warm against your skin. He seemed to be murmuring something to himself but you couldn't make a single word out. He was humming some kind of melody.
All kinds of scenarios rushed through your head when he pulled the edge of your shirt down your shoulder. Pretend to be asleep no matter what? Then you'd be allowing whatever he planned on doing. Jump up and slap the soul out of him? Maybe, but you wouldn't know what he wanted to do… and mainly, why.
Did you want him to stop?
Did you want him to know you were awake?
The adrenaline rushed through your body as your mind was filling up with certain scenarios, making you change position in an attempt to hide it. John's hand retrieved and his murmuring stopped. You felt his gaze boring into the side of your head. Leaning closer to your face, his hot breath tickled your ear. If you turned around, you could taste his lips easily. Before you could do something you might regret later, the weight on the bed behind you disappeared as John walked away, silent like a cat.
You were left alone with your cheek and ear burning, the gentle touch of his fingers still printed on your skin. It's been so long since you experienced any kind of intimacy, kindness in general. Past few months were nothing but an exhausting fight for your life and the lives of the other members of resistance. The few joyful moments that occurred? You were too tired to appreciate and enjoy them fully. Cursing yourself you didn't do anything when John was creeping above you, you played with the scenarios in your head for as long as sleep didn't take your consciousness away.
~~~
"What did you do to Hudson?!" Blood was coming out of your mouth from John's punch, but the rage you felt numbed all possible pain. "You bastard!"
Him and his typical maniac smile.
Everytime you two met before the collapse and fought each other, he had this smile on his face whenever you could've ended him. Laughing. Not really fighting you back. Almost like he wanted to die… or he didn't care if he did at least. Or he knew you couldn't kill him. He knew it and laughed at the absurd power he had over you. You hated him for it, you hated him because he was right.
"Hudson's gone now anyway, isn't she? What's all this about, then?"
Clenching your fists around the edge of his coat, half choking him with the fabric cutting into his throat, you stopped in your rage for long enough to think about what he said. You hated to admit it but he was right.
He seemed to always be right.
Things that happened before the collapse? They were all meaningless now. What really mattered was this bunker, you, him and the danger levels outside. Were you truly angry about what he did to Hudson or did you just want a reason to start a fight with him? Did he want to start a fight when he told you, out of nowhere?
Taunting, teasing, getting expected reactions from others just to remind himself he has power over them. Power to manipulate through emotions. Maybe he truly believed he was emotionless and nothing bothered him except his family - he lied to himself the whole time. He cared too much about you. He could've had you at any time before. Yet he didn't take you, no. He didn't want to take you, he wanted you to need him. To desire him. Give up to him.
John grabbed your wrists to make you let go of his coat, his face unchanged. The smile… he won. He had all the reasons to smile - you were here with him, craving him, needing to feel the warmth of his body. The burst of emotions. There was no need to say it out loud. Letting your arms go limp in his hands, you leaned closer to his face.
"Fuck you, John."
Raising one of his eyebrows, the smile only grew bigger.
"That's exactly what I was thinking," he let your hands go and pulled you closer by the back of your neck.
You let yourself fall into the kiss - like a boat going down the river you didn't try to go against the stream at all. You still hated him but what you felt for him was growing stronger. Something you could not define with simple words. The iron taste of your blood filled your mouth and your tongue found his. The taste was somewhat hypnotizing, driving you further into the kiss.
The satisfied grunt from John didn't surprise you a bit. You had an idea he'd like the taste of blood. That it'd turn him on. Violence in general. You heard the stories about Hudson and other Falls End people that managed to escape his bunker. You were there yourself after all, you spent more time with him than you'd like to imagine.
It was all your choice - to let him live every time, let him get close to you. Let yourself fall for him. Let your lust win.
As the clothes on you both fell down to the ground piece by piece, you weren't bothered by the chilling air. You were on fire, you both were. Fire that needed to be put down and only one way of doing so. Everything about it was rough. Maybe you were still trying to kill each other but then decided not to, over and over again.
Hate and anger being overcome by love and lust and it made you want to get lost in the moment forever. Get lost in John.
Your fingertips copied the edges of his scars, his skin still rough on touch from all the bruises that didn’t heal yet. The moans resonating within the thick concrete walls sounded like they were miles away from you - silenced by you replaying all your past choices that led you to this moment.
Your nails clawed into one of his fresh scars causing John to whimper in both pain and pleasure. You didn’t do it on purpose. He knew. He felt the same joy, the same pleasure as you causing him to twitch and grasp onto you uncontrollably. It was like an out of body experience - like a bottle being constantly filled with water for years before finally overflowing and exploding. Exploding and being free.
You both were finally naked in front of each other - no more lying about your feelings, no more hiding of your thoughts. No secrets.
Bruises forming on the soft skin of your neck where John buried his head into, the sweat of your bodies becoming one. The jolts of pleasure shooting through your body, heavy panting, trembling.
"I haven't forgiven you, John."
"I know."
#far cry 5#far cry#john seed#john seed x deputy#john seed x reader#john seed x female deputy#x reader#fanfiction#far cry 5 fanfiction
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You Ruin Me
Faith Seed x Gender Neutral Reader/Deputy
AO3: You Ruin Me
Summary: As you flee for your life through the forests of Montana, relentlessly pursued by a group of Peggies, a sudden accident halts your desperate escape.
Fear grips your heart as you brace for capture, but instead, it's Faith who finds you first.
Word Count: 1.8K
Warnings: Dub-con, emotional manipulation
As you dashed through the dense forest of Montana, the towering pine trees seemed to close in around you.
Branches reached out like grasping fingers, threatening to snag your clothing and slow your escape from the Peggies. Sweat beaded on your brow, mixing with the earthy scent of damp soil and the sweet perfume of wildflowers as you pushed deeper into the heart of the wilderness.
Your heart hammered in your chest, its erratic rhythm reverberating in your ears, drowning out the sounds of your own frantic footsteps. Each thud seemed to synchronize with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, urging you to push harder, run faster.
The cold night air enveloped you like a shroud, its icy tendrils seeping into your bones. As you inhaled, fear and desperation mingled on your tongue, their bitter taste intensifying the chill that gnawed at your insides.
The distant shouts of Peggies echoed around you, drawing closer to your location. Desperation clawed at your senses, imploring you to put even more distance between yourself and the looming threat behind you.
With your firearm cradled in your grip, its weight was oddly comforting amidst the chaos. The familiar metal frame against your palms served as a grounding force, a tangible reminder of your training.
"Running won’t save you.” Faith’s voice, tinged with a hint of mockery, broke through the air, sending a shiver down your spine.
You quickened your pace. Each breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving with effort and your muscles burned with the strain of exertion. But still, you pushed forward, driven by the primal instinct to survive.
Faith's voice, a haunting melody that seemed to linger in the air, followed you through the dense canopy of trees, its echoes twisting and distorting with each passing moment. You couldn't escape her, couldn't shake the feeling of her eyes boring into your very being, even though you weren't able to see her in the darkness.
No matter how far you wander, you cannot escape her grasp.
Just then, the sole of your shoe got caught on an unseen root, causing you to lurch forward with a startled gasp. The ground, seemingly solid just moments ago, crumbled away beneath your weight, and before you could react, you found yourself tumbling over the edge of a small, steep cliff.
The world spun around you in a dizzying whirlwind of motion as you plummeted downward, the air rushing past your ears.
There was a sharp jolt to your body as you careened into one of the protruding rocks. The impact tore at your flesh, leaving behind a trail of spattered blood that marred the surface of the stone. Each collision left its mark until finally, with a final thud, your body came to a stop on even ground, battered and bruised.
For a moment, everything was a blur of agony and disorientation. Your senses reeled as you struggled to regain your bearings. The acrid metallic tang of blood clung stubbornly to your parched tongue as you cautiously attempted to move your jaw. With a trembling effort to push yourself upright, a sharp, searing pang of pain ripped through your body like a jagged lightning bolt, sending shockwaves of anguish through every nerve and sinew.
The situation couldn't have possibly gotten worse until you heard the distant sound of footsteps approaching near the top of the cliff. Just as it seemed the Peggies were about to reach you, they abruptly changed course, their footsteps fading into the distance as they moved away, leaving you momentarily relieved yet still on edge.
You lay there, feeling the warm blood seep from the gash on the side of your right thigh. It wasn't a fatal wound, thankfully, but it was enough to slow you down. You knew you'd need to tend to it soon before an infection could set in. But for now, all you could do was lay there.
The world around you appeared hazy and detached. Through the swirling fog, a figure emerged, moving toward you with deliberate steps.
Your muscles tensed as you recognized the approaching silhouette – it was her. With each step, her light brown hair swayed gently in the cool breeze. As she knelt beside you, her features showed a mixture of compassion and reproach.
"You poor thing," Faith cooed. “You struggle so valiantly against the Father’s plan, and for what? To play at being a hero?” Her hand caressed the side of your face, a gesture both tender and chastising.
“Come with me and I’ll show you the path.” She said, her voice a seductive whisper promising salvation through submission. But you knew better than to trust her words, to fall under her spell.
“N-No, I won’t join you.” You stammered, your voice wavering but resolute.
Faith's expression softened into one of pity as she gazed down at you. “Oh, deputy. You lash out at things you don’t understand.”
You gave her a choked, humorless laugh, the bitterness evident in the hollow sound that escaped your throat. "I understand more than you think.”
Faith's gaze lingered on you, her eyes scanning every contour of your face with an intensity that seemed to penetrate deep into your soul. At that moment, under the weight of her scrutiny, you felt exposed. It was an unsettling sensation, as if the very essence of your being had been laid bare before her.
“I can see the loneliness in your eyes,” Faith murmured, her thumb brushing against your bruised cheekbone. "But you don't have to be alone anymore. Let me be the one to remind you how it feels to have someone by your side, to share your joys and your sorrows with."
You stiffened in response, feeling the conflict rise within you like a storm brewing on the horizon. Faith’s presence, her warmth, beckoned to something deep inside of you, a longing for connection and solace. Yet, simultaneously, the instinct to protect yourself kicked in, urging you to retreat behind the fortified walls you had constructed over time.
Though, all of that crumbled away in an instant, disintegrating like sand slipping through fingers, the moment Faith's lips, warm and inviting, pressed against your own, soft yet possessive.
Her fingers traced a delicate pattern along your skin, awakening every nerve ending with a fervent hunger. The sensation of her touch was electrifying, setting your senses ablaze with a raw, primal need that demanded to be sated. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrendered to her completely, allowing yourself to be consumed by the irresistible pull of her embrace.
Faith's hand, with its light touch, explored the contours of your chest through your uniform shirt, admiring the lines of your muscles beneath the fabric. Her fingertips then danced along the buttons of your shirt before they dared to venture lower, teasing the edge of your belt buckle.
With practiced ease, Faith's fingers deftly worked at the clasp of your belt. As the leather strap loosened, your breath caught in your throat, anticipation building with every passing moment.
Faith pulled back from the kiss, her lips parting from yours with a soft, lingering reluctance. As she gazed down at you, her eyes dark with desire, a faint smile played upon her lips.
"You're even more beautiful like this." Faith breathed, her voice a husky whisper.
In a slow, deliberate motion, Faith slipped her right hand underneath the band of your underwear, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You let out a small moan as her fingers found their mark, teasing and tantalizing with each stroke. She applied just the right amount of pressure, her movements calculated to drive you wild.
"I've been where you are, deputy," Faith began, her voice low but filled with conviction. "I know what it's like to carry the weight of loneliness for so long that it feels like it’s a part of you. But here, with us, you'll find solace. You'll find a family who understands your pain.”
Tears welled up in the corner of your eyes, glistening under the moonlight.
"I know you've suffered silently, believing that no one could possibly understand," Faith continued, her gaze unwavering as she held yours, her hand stroking you faster between your thighs. "But you don't have to carry that burden alone anymore. And the Father,” Faith’s voice changed, taking on a reverent tone as she spoke of him. “He understands your suffering better than anyone. He has a gift, a way of connecting with those who have suffered and who have felt lost in this world. He can guide you through your pain and lead you to a place of peace and belonging.”
You were fighting for Hope County, for its people, for its future. But her words… they chipped away at your conviction. Was it all worth it in the end?
Your vision blurred as the tears finally streamed down your face. The salty taste on your lips only amplified the ache in your chest and you found yourself unable to contain the flood of anguish pouring from your eyes.
A soft 'aw' escaped her lips at the sight of you. Faith reached out, her left thumb wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks. “We’re here now and we want to help you shoulder it. Together, we can face whatever challenges come our way. Never lose Faith."
The tension between you and Faith reached its peak as her touch intensified, her hand moving with purpose between your thighs.
A guttural moan escaped your lips as you tumbled over the edge, your body on fire with pleasure. Your essence spilled onto Faith's hand, warm and sticky, and every touch, every kiss from her sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through you.
For a moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you locked in a state of blissful abandon.
***
As the first light of dawn filtered through the trees, you stirred from your uneasy slumber. Blinking against the brightness, you slowly sat up onto your elbows, wincing as the pain in your limbs intensified with each small movement.
Then, as your senses fully returned, you felt something amiss – a strange looseness around your waist. Glancing down, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed your belt buckle was undone, the leather strap hanging loosely by your side. Confusion gave way to a rising sense of realization as you recalled the events of the previous night.
And then you felt it – the telltale stickiness in your pants. A flush of heat spread across your cheeks as the memory flooded back – the intense intimacy shared with Faith, her touch igniting a passion you had long denied.
Despite the ache in your body, a different kind of ache now pulsed between your legs – a craving for more of Faith's touch, for the closeness and connection she had offered, even if it came at the cost of your pride.
#faith seed x reader#faith seed#far cry 5#far cry 5 fanfiction#faith seed x deputy#far cry 5 x reader#faith seed x you#far cry 5 fandom
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Forgotten Sins Series
Summary: You get in a car accident on your way through Montana with your family. You wake up in a bunker with amnesia, not even remembering your own name.
Now, you have a choice, join The Resistance or Eden's Gate.
Tags: Amnesia, Stockholm Syndrome, Drug Use (Bliss), Religious Cults, Fluff and Angst, Car Accidents, Family Member Death, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation
Let me know if I missed one.
This story is also being posted on Ao3.
Parts:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15 (currently writing)
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Headcanon John Seed's skin/hair routine
It comes as a surprise to you, one that screams 'run', when you wake in the ranch house to find John sauntering around the kitchen with a gel bead mask over his eyes. This isn't out of the ordinary for someone such as him; someone who takes great pride in his appearance, but it reminds you of something. Throughout the morning, it gets worse.
After breakfast, which consists of the usual with lots of water - for John - he insists you brush your teeth. Going to the bathroom you watch him take a mouthwash, brush his teeth, then rinse with mouthwash again. You make a note not to mention how odd his routine is, though you are certain you know now what routine he's following.
Once the mask is gone, he uses facial cleansing milk to moisturize his face, followed by a foaming cleanser. You watch as he washes the cleanser away, grabbing a comb from the counter to brush his hair with.
"I think you skipped some steps," you point out.
John raises a brow in curiosity.
"Did I?"
Once his hair is neat and to his liking, ignoring the suggestion you had made for him to leave his bangs down, he combs through his beard until he's content. All the while you are in disbelief at how long it takes him to start the day. This man needs to tattoo pride on himself; he honestly does.
"Okay Bateman, you look handsome enough," you state.
John glares at you.
"Be thankful that I like you, dear."
You snort.
You should tread carefully, or better yet run while you have the chance.
(Let's face it, he'd copy Patrick Bateman's routine to the letter. Thank for for the suggestion, hun).
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Pairing: John Seed/Original Female Deputy.
Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact).
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: Burning flesh smell. Descriptions of wounds and medical procedures. Angst. Author suddenly switching to present-tense.
Read it on Ao3 Here! | Support me on ko-fi
Under arrest.
Delayed rage wakes him from his stupor.
Under arrest.
John Seed, you're under arrest.
That phrase shouldn’t shake him as much as it does. How many times has he heard it before, without giving a shit? Now, his adversary sways on the spot, wiping the bile from her chin, out-of-uniform and almost definitely no longer employed, and hearing her say it — hearing it said with such little ceremony and care —
They might as well be strangers, and she doesn’t even have the decency to end his life with the same theatre she’d given his sister? He deserved to be a fucking martyr. Instead, he gets humiliation.
“You’re kidding.” John spits, biting his cheek to keep his tone level. Anger won’t help him here. Not while there are witnesses. Not while he’s on record.
There’s a disdain in the way she looks at him now, like he’s just another stranger. As if she’d not bordered on swearing herself to him hours prior. As if they hadn’t almost forsaken their allegiances for each other.
How dare she make him do that. How dare she be so ignorant to the foundations she’d shaken.
The fucking arrogance. The nerve.
“You people do know she’s not a deputy anymore, right?” Blood flicks between his teeth at the last consonant while John surveys the pack of bumpkins. “Your leader tried to sell you all for a place in the New Eden.”
“I’m not fired until after you’re in custody.” Cora comments, inspecting the drenched dressing around her forearm.
He smiles bitterly. “Fuck you.”
He has to keep his cool. If he survives this, he has to fight his way back to Joseph.
“Noted.” Cora hums. Not even looking at him now. “You have the right to remain silent-“
“Fuck you. How fucking dare you—“
“Anything you say can be used against you in c—“
“I know my rights. You can’t do this.”
She finally looks at him, then, and he immediately regrets having wanted her to.
“Anything you say can be—“
“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” John shrieks, lunging at her despite his restraints and the disdained looks from her insignificant companions. “You can’t pretend this isn’t all your fault! What, you wanna go back to the book now that you’re in control, huh?! Fat fucking chance! As soon as Joseph finds out what you’ve done, he’ll come for me. He’ll kill all of you. You’ll pay for this!”
The Deputy leaves the Mirandas by the wayside, nodding thoughtfully. “That reminds me. Take off your clothes.”
…
Of all the-
John endures a fresh swell of pain in his head to shoot his enemy a particularly scathing look.
”Excuse me?”
“Your clothes. Take them off. Quickly.”
“You’re sick.” An empty smile plasters itself over disbelief.
What for? Surely not just for the purpose of humiliation. It has to be a means to an end, but what end? He’d listened to the Sheriff’s ultimatum on the radio; Cora Stammos had disobeyed orders and gone rogue. There’s no way she could still be employed after such a betrayal.
“You’re lucky I got somethin’ extra for you, bud.” Sharky speaks up, slinging his pack down to start yanking out clothes. His clothes. Sharky Boshaw’s stained, nasty, much too big clothes that he rotated through on a daily basis like a cartoon character.
“Otherwise you’d be walkin’ outta here bare-ass naked.”
That’s it. It’s a decoy. They’re shoving him in disguise.
The watchful eyes of whatever remaining flock in Holland Valley need to be depended on right now. After Nancy’s treachery, the odds of her telling his brothers what’s happened are low. He needs his people to see him. He needs them to know where he’s going, so he can be extracted. So he can be saved.
Either that, or they need to know the he died fighting these people tooth and fucking claw.
John has the freedom to resist for all but a few seconds before the guns are trained back on him. Then, with as much indignation as he can summon, the Baptist shrugs off his coat into the grabbing, snatching hands of Adelaide Drubman, who right away squeals her delight over the new trophy.
Everyone else in the group maintains mild enough decency to at least put him in their periphery while he gingerly sorts through the reeking bag.
He has to stall. He has to keep talking, making certain he’s easier to identify.
“So this is the Resistance’s clever plan: a botched capture and a weak attempt at concealment. You realise as soon as the Father gets word that I’m not in that bunker, there won’t be a stone unturned in this valley. You’re making an easy target for him.” The Baptist muses comfortably enough to mask the difficulty he has pulling that nasty sweater over his head. The shock is starting to recede, and the pain is beginning to bloom. “So kind of you to bring a spare pair of underwear just for me, Boshaw.”
There's a snort. “Fuck you mean spare?”
Boshaw’s clothes smell just as awful as one would expect, heavy with stale sweat, old pot, and all manner of wet and dry stains. The intimates are no exception. At least the man’s gigantic hoodie is long enough to shield him from Adelaide’s prying eyes while he changes.
Not that he checked — nor that he continues to, but he does find some exasperation in the Deputy’s sudden, pointed inability to look at him. How sweet it would be, to have the court throw out any charges laid against him for the simple fact that his arresting officer was involved in misconduct. To recount in detail all the things they said and did until she was reduced to nothing but a corrupt, inept, liar.
He can make it out of this.
The Father wouldn’t let it end this way.
“Be careful with those.” John orders when Boshaw bends down to pick up his neatly folded clothes.
“Yessir, they sure are.” The man shoots him a crooked grin.
“They’re evidence. Tamper with them and you won’t even get to see the inside of a courtroom.”
Once he's fully dressed, the Deputy approaches him. A cable tie slips around his wrist, and were he in better shape, he'd follow through on the instinct to grab her. Curl his fingers around her throat. Tear at her wounds with his nails until he found bone. He chooses the wiser approach and lets her guide his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, where she cuffs the other wrist, hidden from view. A snarl gurgles in his increasingly swollen larynx at the warmth of her finger brushing his. Again, he chooses the wiser option.
“Clever.” John muses, “But if you think my people won’t recognise me-”
“Won’t be trouble for much longer.” Cora interjects. “In the meantime…” She reaches over his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head. The cords are yanked straight down, pulling a sharp yowl out of the Baptist when the cotton drags over his snapped nose and through the barely covered remnants of his ear. The hood is tightened to the max, until barely a fist-sized gap remains for him to peer out of.
She gives him a moment to hiss and curse through the pain before she returns to applying pressure to her arm.
“Can you walk? Xander can assist you.”
“If I refuse?” John seethes.
“Then you roll.”
They both glower, long and hard.
“Walking’s fine.”
______________________________________________________________
By the time they've made it through the woods and the around the crossfire on the roads, the colourful words of protest begin to wane. Once the truck pulls onto Seed Ranch property, it seems the fight as left their prisoner entirely.
Reality and finality have since settled in, and silence has taken the place of adrenaline. Exhaustion. Tired apprehension of things to come. The log-cabin exterior of the ranch creeps into view through the trees, and for a second, Cora almost feels compelled to savour the unchanged appearance. Familiar and untouched, home to an old enemy who'd welcomed her scorn so readily that at some point she stopped being able to tell what was hatred and what was fondness anymore. The hangar wall flashes through the leaves, and she recalls somewhere around this time having watched him peacefully work away on his machines. She remembers the quiet. The whistled tune. Combing stray locks out of his eyes. The way he looked so utterly harmless that evening, and how, perhaps a few times, he might find his way out of quiet reverence and complete malice — and look at her the way he looks when he feels safe.
Reclaimed vehicles litter the airstrip. Piles of Project memorabilia dot the front garden. The Resistance and the Cougars have already begun to gut the property.
It'll never be the same as it was.
This place will never be the haven she'd wanted it to be.
Everything he had promised her — the hate, the friendship, the recognition — it was never personal. It was all for his brother. He was never a rare, fellow person trying to carve out a place of solitude in the world. All he wanted from her was the commodity. The win of breaking her and offering her to someone else. For that, she knows she has to teach herself that this isn't something to mourn.
She will find relief in marching him to his doom.
She can to go back to her own solitude, and forget ever having entertained the idea of someone sharing that with her.
She has to find joy in taking back her Valley.
The Baptist can barely find his footing once they remove him from the Sheriff’s truck. Oversized sneakers crunch and slide on gravel driveway. Knees give way over his twisted ankle, and he nearly crumples into her side. This is the second time in the past 24 hours that they’ve made this walk together, beat to shit and bleeding out.
Tracey is the first to emerge from the building, climbing halfway down the porch steps with a motion to hurry up, silently hooking an arm under the Baptist's and sharing the burden of his weight with a look that suggests she might as well be dousing herself in gasoline. Sheriff Whitehorse isn’t far behind, not as concerned with quiet in the way he shoves himself into John’s other side, muscling Cora out of the way.
His head lolls amidst an attempt to look back over his shoulder, and then he repeats.
Then, they disappear into the ranch with him, leaving Cora to linger on the porch.
The Deputy. The one who's been prodded and shoved and begged to lead all this despite her better judgement and her protests. Not even a thanks.
She shouldn’t feel as dumbfounded as she does. But still. It feels, unceremonious. Left outside while the people who were once too busy to do anything about John Seed beyond tasking her to take him down claimed her catch like she didn’t even exist.
Watching them disappear into the South wing — to where she’d been taken for medical treatment earlier — Cora can’t help but feel an ache in her stomach that surely can’t just be forced-up bile.
“Hey, didn’t they do the same shit with-“
“Yeah.” She interrupts the muffled man inside the cartoonish dragon suit over her shoulder. Several glances of pity are cast at her. She can feel it. Better not to give it any gas, as much as she’d like to agree with them.
“I’m sorry, Shorty.” Sharky mumbles. “When I wished on that star I’d see a cop get cuckolded, this weren’t what I’d meant.”
“Don’t.” Stern doesn’t quite reach her voice the way she wants it to. It sounds too much like a plea.
It’s bullshit. This is bullshit.
She’s not any less important just because she wasn’t the one to carry the Baptist over the threshold as a prisoner, and with that thought, she makes for the sick bay.
______________________________________________________________
Tracey and Whitehorse have got him on one of the cots when she enters. The man is out cold, and neither of them look pleased about that, nor the impatient ushering from a vaguely familiar face. The veterinarian. She can’t remember his name.
The moment he spots her, the colour drains from his face.
“Jesus, Deputy, your arm.”
Cora glances down. Stitches in both holes snapped open, courtesy of the work that'd also fucked up her knuckles. There's a searing pain in her elbow, but honestly, she can't feel the older puncture wound in her hand.
The Sheriff’s face contorts at both of them. “Don’t you dare call her that. That’s no fuckin’ Deputy of mine.”
The veterinarian ignores him, too preoccupied juggling checking the Baptist’s vitals and looking Cora over. “Sit down. I’ll stitch you up. Sheriff, Ms. Lader, I need you both to leave the room and give me some space to work-“
“That’s not happening-“
”Sheriff.” Tracey overrides the old man’s flaring temper with a hostile look of her own. “Forget about her job and do yours.”
“Deputy, uh —“
It occurs to Cora that the veterinarian has forgotten her name. Kind of rude of him, she thinks.
“Take a seat. Mrs. Drubman, if you could get some fresh towels from the cupboard and apply pressure to her wound until I’m finished here…”
Adelaide’s already shaking her head. “No can do. Hate to get my nice new coat dirty.” She lifts his coat, proudly.
“Just — someone do it.” He clips, far too busy trying to clean the blood off His face to inspect the damage Cora had inflicted. “Anyone else who isn’t a patient, get the hell out of my workspace.”
Ultimately, it’s the Sheriff that steps up to the plate, pressing his weight down on Cora’s torn stitches while her team reluctantly leaves. He doesn’t look happy to be doing it. “You went against direct orders, Rook.” He growls.
Cora’s too busy observing what’s happening on the other side of the room.
A syringe of assumed pain medication is delivered with a series of irritated tuts, and he tries to fight it, unconscious and weak, shifting tiredly against restraints that now have his wrists shackled to his cot. Tracey, all too familiar with the Bliss rehabilitation facility, hooks him up to an IV. Disdain twinges in her face whenever her fingers touch his skin.
“How long’s he been in your head?” The Sheriff asks. In Cora’s periphery, his lip is curling. Barely-restrained rage. When she fails to respond yet again, he presses down a little harder, catching her gaze with a pained hiss.
“I did what you told me to do. I brought him down. Alive.”
Maybe she might not have, had the others not intervened. That, Whitehorse didn’t need to know.
“You went fucking rogue, Cora Stammos.” He grits. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing down here, but I do know that you were on the brink of somethin’ royally fuckin’ stupid before we showed up—“
“Are you trying to be my boss, or my father? Because you’re neither.” Cora finally bites back. The man half-flinches. “You made me come back here. You made all of these people my responsibility — and fuck you for doing that — and you wanna tell me I did it wrong?”
Whitehorse’s pupils shift minutely. Catching the angry, welted tattoo He’d left on her sternum. Guilt colours his face.
“We shouldn’t have sent you.” Tracey says, taking a seat on the next cot over. Her arms cross. Hands cupping her elbows.
“Like anyone else would have chased him up there?”
“Here's the issue, Dep: no one really knows whether you were gonna kill him for reasons that have nothing to do with the rest of us, or if you were going to lock yourself in that bunker with him. Either way, you nearly fucked up a plan that you agreed to. You think everyone bordering the Valley hasn’t heard the shit you two’ve been talking to each other?”
“You’ve gotten too close to this.” Whitehorse sighs. “You had us worried you were startin’ to come ‘round to the Peggies’ side of things.”
Tracey offers the older man something close to a sympathetic look. They've both been through that before. "Neither of us wanna think that you were doing anything beyond your job. You just...fuck, Stammos, you gotta communicate with us if you're gonna go off like that."
"Why, so you can take the credit?" Cora's jaw rolls. "Seemed happy enough to pull down half the Henbane when everyone thought it was your idea."
"Because we looked united when everyone thought it was our idea." Tracey bites back, leaning forward, pressing her weight to her knees like she might need to attack.
“I brought him in.” Cora grunts, turning her attention forward. “It’s done. Everything else doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you do with him now. It’s not my concern. What about the fires?”
“Getting under control.” Tracey replies.
Some of the tension that’s been building in Cora’s shoulders subsides a little. One less very important matter to worry less about.
Tracey seems to feel it too, posture slackening as she follows the other woman's gaze to the Baptist. “Who’s got his clothes?”
“They’re in Sharky’s bag.”
“Good. Won’t be hard to find.” Tracey doesn’t linger. She stands just as quickly as she’d sat down. “Sheriff. Gonna need your help.”
Whitehorse shifts. Reluctant.
Cora turns her attention back to him, no less hostile. “I’d give you my badge if they hadn’t torn my uniform off my back.”
His bottom lip trembles. “Hudson’s uniform.”
That makes Cora’s stomach drop. Suddenly, she can’t bear to keep looking at the man.
His shadow moves, then, leaving altogether. “We’ll talk later. Dr. Lindsey? Don’t leave them alone together.”
The door closes behind the two, and the veterinarian — Dr. Lindsey — snaps his gloves off, tossing them onto a tray before he approaches Cora.
“Did a number on him.” He comments, pulling up a stool and wheeling in to examine the torn stitches on her forearm. No time is wasted on threading a needle. “Payback for this?”
“This was Mary May.” She replies, drily. Dr. Lindsey's gaze shifts to the hole-punch between the bones in her hand, and she relents. "That one I already got payback for." Then, after a pause: “Did I hurt him?”
“You blew his ear to pieces, but they tend to bleed a lot. Once it heals it’ll look almost new.”
“Did I hurt him?”
The needle point slides through her skin. Tugs out through the other side of the wound. Twice. Thrice. Not long before he's starting on the other.
“I can imagine it would’ve been pretty fucking painful.”
“Hm. What else?”
“His nose is broken. Fractured eye socket, too — not going to ask how you got those, by the way." He nods at her skinned knuckles. "Some lesions. Mostly bruising. No missing teeth, but his gums are bleeding.”
“Good.”
Dr. Lindsey goes quiet for a moment. A final tug and tie-off of thread, and he’s dropping the needle back onto his tray. “When was your last tetanus shot?”
“I’m up to date.”
“Well, keep an eye on that tattoo. It already looks infected. All that blood can’t be helping, so, you know…consider a shower when you can. If it’s still angry in a couple of days, come find me.”
Cora acknowledges him with a nod, but her attention has settled on the opposite side of the room. “Is he awake?”
“If he is, he’s doped up to his eyeballs.” Dr. Lindsey stands, taking a cue Cora hadn’t realised she’d given. “I’m going to be across the street paying Mr. Rye a visit, so please don’t kill my patient while I’m gone.”
That ship has sailed by now. Whatever rage was keeping her going on her venture to end His life, all that’s left now is a bitter emptiness.
Confusion? Betrayal? She doesn’t want to think about it.
“Oh, Deputy, that reminds me.” Dr. Lindsey pipes up, already at the door. “Congratulations on killing John Seed.”
She offers up a tight smile. “Yeah. Well.”
Once he’s gone, she waits a minute. No one’s watching. No one cares. Just her own pride. She slips out of the cot and heads over to where he’s been left. No motion to startle her barring the slow, if laboured, breathes between his teeth.
Must have done a more damage to his windpipe than what it felt like in the moment. He'd been screaming himself hoarse at the beginning of the car ride; one might not have assumed she'd strangled him at all.
Cora examines him, carefully mapping a nearly familiar face through dabbed-at blood, cuts and swelling. Dr. Lindsey’s quick work has left his face dotted with little tape bandages, and a splint covers the bridge of his nose. His ear is entirely covered with gauze, hidden from her.
His eyes, already beginning to turn purple, crack open.
“You got in trouble, Wrath.” He croaks. There’s a woozy attempt at a smile as he tries and fails, more than once, to make sense of his surroundings. “Did we come home?”
Cora shakes her head. After a moment, it’s clear that he can’t quite to witness it, nor is he of fit enough mind to register. “No. The Resistance is here.”
“Oh. Do we run?”
“No. You’re our prisoner.”
“Oh. But you…” A cough interjects. The corners of his mouth tug downward. “But you were s’posed to be with me.”
Unfiltered sweetness. And there's that look. That safe little look. She has no idea what to say. Maybe she’d feel bad if he hadn’t done everything he did. Now, after it all, even this harmless, battered version of him still knows that he’d lied to her, doesn’t it? It has no care for her wishes, just like all the other versions of him she’s met.
He only ever wanted her as a trophy, and at some point, she knows, she’s going to have to feel disgusted with herself for humouring that want, even in its purest form.
She should have never been so fooled by the idea that he understood her.
She’s glad that this is over.
That she’ll be rid of him.
“Cora?” John asks, quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Would you kill me?”
It’s a strange hypothetical, especially after her very clear attempts to do so over the past couple of days. But then the muscles under his eyes twitch.
“Please?”
Wet lines pass through cracks in the mud on his temples. John doesn’t look at her; he keeps his unsteady gaze on the ceiling. It’s the slightest emotional distance to keep, but it seems his pride is still intact enough to need it.
Cora, meanwhile, finds herself frozen. She’s seen him cry before — mostly when he’s screaming, cursing at her, nursing a fresh wound she’s inflicted. This is new. This stirs a whole new discomfort nestled beneath her ribs.
He’s doped, she has to remind herself. He’s not aware of what he’s saying. Chances are he won’t remember this.
The pleas come in sporadic whispers as she breaks away from him. Cut-off mentions of his brothers get choked back to shaken breaths, soothing only when she returns with a rag to dab at his face with. Not the muck. Just the tears.
“Wish I had.” She admits.
"Wish I'd killed you, too." He smiles tightly. "So what happens if the world ends before my trial?"
Cora doesn't answer that. She doesn't know how to. There's too many variables, and he doesn't catch on until she looks away.
"Y'know, even if you're fired, you're still my Deputy."
She tilts her head back to avoid a sudden sting in her eyes. From the cot, the Baptist watches.
"I really hope I'm fired." Cora admits through a sharp breath, blinking the blur away.
"Why's that?"
"Because then I don't ever need to see you again, Mr. Seed."
______________________________________________________________
Tracey and Sheriff Whitehorse have resumed custody of the Baptist come nightfall. Their part of the arrangement comes and goes with the darkest tint the Cougars could find on a vehicle. There’s no more discussion over Cora’s job, but Sheriff Whitehorse goes to such a pointed length not to associate with her up until taking his leave that it’s safe to assume she’s no longer employed by the county.
The chilly night air is quiet. Gunfire has dwindled with the diminishing presence of the Project. Those who didn’t manage to get to the bunker ahead of their Herald were left without a leader, demoralised and abandoned. The chances of a counter-attack are slim, and Joseph has proven himself unwilling to step into emptied shoes once before. Whoever's left likely has little confidence in remaining.
It doesn’t mean there’s been an exodus from the valley, though. Cora’s sure to hope for it while she sits on the rocks of Seed Ranch’s front garden bed with Jess and Sharky. The trees surrounding the property’s North approach are dense and dark. Occasionally, the green laser of Grace’s sight will catch on a branch while she scans from the roof, but any remaining foes in the brush don’t make themselves known.
If they’re out there, they’re too scattered to fight. Whoever lingers is bound to carry word back to the Father, and that’s just what tonight is for.
Just a little of that ceremony she's been looking for.
“That watch woulda sold for a pretty penny.” Sharky huffs, gaze following what looks a whole lot like John Seed’s body — wrists bound above his head and eyes wrapped in gauze, beard trimmed into that sharp, defined shape — hoist higher and higher on the totem poll in the front yard. “Think about it. Cult leader’s personal watch. I could retire with that kinda money, never have to work again.”
Jess squints at him. “You’ve never even had a job.”
“Not true, not true. If recreational use was legal here, I’d be gettin’ called the number one dispensary in the county.”
“And since it’s not, you’re just some asshole who steals pot from his grandma. Dep, would you tell him to take that fucking suit off? It’s embarrassing.”
“Don’t make me put the head back on, Jess.”
“Dep—!”
“They took my gear when they carted Seed off, okay? Until I go back to my place, this is all I got. And before you ask: no, I’m not wearin’ any of the Peggie shit around here. Been there, done that. Got the rash to show for it.”
“Could you two—“ Cora interjects sharply. Then, after a moment, she exhales the frustration. “Just — sit quietly.”
What’s the point in asking, she reflects. Not once has it ever worked.
A flint is struck, once. Twice. Three times. Baby flames lick at cotton balls and shredded timber, too young yet to try their luck at the totem pole.
“You, uh —“ Jess shifts beside Cora, exchanging a look with Sharky past the woman’s opposite shoulder. “You…good?”
“Yeah,” Sharky encourages, “Lotta stock to put into, makin’ some dude obsessed with you and then ruining his life like that. Speakin’ of — did you get him to be that weird just since you came back? Or has he been that freaky for you for longer?”
Cora considers lying. She considers silence.
“There’s no weird.” She replies. “Taking me down was always gonna be a win for him.”
“Yeah, bullshit. From what I heard, that dude’s had a hard-on for you from the start.”
“Had.” Jess hisses. “He’s fuckin’ history now.”
“Jess is right.” Cora nods. “It doesn’t matter. We took him down.”
The flames climb higher, hot enough to find their way up John Seed’s bloodied clothes without being discouraged by the cold and the damp.
Sharky shrugs a shoulder. “I’unno. S’just…if you wanna gasbag or whatever, you don’t needa do it over the radio. I won’t even try to make it weird like the other guy did.”
Jess say’s nothing. She’d never venture that far out of her way. Instead, the tip of her pinky finger smushes a blade of grass into the canvas of Cora’s boot. Contact without being contact. Presence without acknowledgement.
Neither of them are graceful, nor clever about offering support. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to stomach. Less processing power when each of them feels similarly weird about getting too soft.
“It’s done.” Cora assures her two most important people. “We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”
The body strung up before them is finally enveloped, and the Hope County residents who have stayed behind clap and cheer for the official official demise of the Baptist. Some raise glasses and cups in Cora's direction in congratulations and thanks that her employers never gave, but on this side of the fire, it's getting hard to see them all through the haze.
If the sticky, stinging aroma of pine smoke and gunpowder is strong, then the stench of burning flesh and hair cuts through space and time.
It’s terribly familiar; a stench that had lingered thickly over the roads cut into the Whitetail Mountains during their brief, if confronting stay. It probably hasn’t changed much. Probably only gotten more populated with strung-up bodies as the weeks have worn on. Not to say that the Henbane and Holland Valley territories didn’t have their fair share of gruesome cadaver displays on the roadsides. Faith during her time had an affinity for pairing prisoners up with Angels and simply letting the mindless drones live out their unconscious starvation beating what would become the unrecognisable pile of mush that was their partner. John, meanwhile, took it upon himself to desecrate the corpses of his failed converts; humiliated their shells by showcasing their anatomy to the world. Suggesting their true, less-than-human nature by fitting antlers into their flesh. Replacing skulls with that of cattle. One could usually assume how well the subject had resisted Confession by the degree of creativity lent to their death.
Cora had seemed to be the exception to this, and maybe, she supposes, she can be grateful for that. Nick managed to get out with his life, but John still managed to mark an art piece of him.
No matter.
Jacob’s displays were less personal. Erected timber walls riddled with bullet holes. Entire families laying in smouldering heaps, left out in the sun without ceremony or care. Jess had once told Cora that the Project insisted anyone under eighteen was treated well, physically speaking. Priestesses filled the spaces parents once occupied. Children were pure. Their souls yet unmarked by the sins of their carers, and no harm would come to them.
Faith and John seemed to uphold this rule. At least, Cora had yet to see any kids strung up in the regions their oversaw.
Jacob, however, took little part in the business of execution. According to Jess, this was left up to the discretion of his foot-soldiers, and as a result, there was rarely a distinction drawn between body sizes.
She hoped — she still does — that the coming winter might make it a tidier affair.
Maybe the snow might be thick enough that she won’t have to wonder who she’s walking over.
“So, two down, two to go, huh?” Sharky mutters, irises glinting orange with the life of the young flames. Maybe he’s thinking about the same thing she is.
She doesn’t dare look at Jess.
“Guess so.” She replies, pulling the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Jacob is an intimidating thought. Joseph? Her throat tightens at the very concept of having to see him again. “If I’m not out of a job.”
“Yeah, who the fuck else is gonna do it though.” Jess scoffs.
Anyone else.
“We’ll wait out the snow. Set up shop down here in the meantime. Re-establish the settlement.” Cora says. “Beats living at the county jail.”
“You wanna help get the community back on its feet instead of minding your own shit?” The Huntress cocks her head to the side. Then, when there’s no answer to fill the silence, she arrives at the right conclusion: The only real Resistance outpost is the jail. Minding one’s own shit meant living under the same roof as their newest prisoner.
Cora can feel the girl’s eyes on her. Reflecting. Recognition.
“Hey.” Jess leans forward, capturing a glance from her for just over a second. “It’s over. Take it from someone who’s been there — don’t lock yourself in your head about it.”
She’s right. Finality is hard when it’s not true closure, but she can’t afford to dwell on this. It is over, and in no time she’d have to renew another cycle with another Seed. And that’s all this one was anyway.
Just another Seed.
Cora inclines her head. A curt nod. Lips pressed together. “Yeah.” She affirms, shortly. “I just — I just need to watch this.”
All the catharsis she can hope for right now is this sight: someone who could very possibly be — and with each layer of skin burned away, it feels a little more believable — the silhouette of John Seed hanging dead in the flames. Defeated. Gone from the foreground of her life, and by her doing.
Even…even if this one’s hair is half an inch too short, and the cartilage in his nose isn’t quite the right angle of crooked, it won’t matter come morning. By then, all identifying features barring the clothes that melt into his charred flesh will be gone, and Cora can make that enough, she’s sure.
She can cast everything he’s spoiled her peaceful existence with into the fire with this pretend, and be done with it. She can reclaim herself. Rebuild. It’s far from the first time, and by time the sun rises she won’t even be able to make the distinction between this restart and the last.
Yeah. Come morning, she won’t feel a fucking thing.
Two down, two to go.
…
“You guys wanna take a photo with the burning guy?”
Cora and Jess look at each other, considering Sharky’s suggestion.
“Yeah. Why not.”
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Oh, The Reckoning Begins Chapter 6
Series Summary: Five years ago, Junior Deputy Blue Murphy disappeared with Joseph Seed at the final standoff, only to be found a year later in Dutch's bunker. Now, five years later from that final standoff, Blue Murphy and Hope County have moved on with their lives. However, new sinister forces threaten Blue's life, and they will have to rely on the man who started this all to survive: Joseph Seed.
Ch. 1| Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Guilt, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic Depictions of Unrealistic nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Death, Explicitly talking about Someone's dead sibling, Blue having a Breakdown, and I think that should cover everything. Please let me know if I should tag for anything else.
Words: 4,269 words.
Author's Note: I did not mean for this chapter to take so long, lol. Hopefully, the next one will be quicker.
AO3
A few days after speaking with Joseph, Blue’s cell phone vibrates softly on their desk, dread washing over them. They look down at the caller ID, recognizing the number: Special Agent Hawthorne. Damnit, Blue hoped he might leave them alone. Blue would not talk to Joseph again; they had to, for their own sanity, which felt like it was starting to slip away like leaves being carried off by a strong breeze. Eventually, their cell phone quiets, Special Agent Hawthorne going to voicemail. They wait a few minutes, wondering if he would call again. Mercifully, their phone is silent as Blue lets out a relieved sigh.
Later that night, when Blue is the only one in the station, they finally gather the courage to listen to the voicemail. Special Agent Hawthorne is calm and empathetic in his message, once again tugging on their heartstrings:
“Thank you for helping us, Blue. Joseph was very cooperative with us after you left; your words gave him a lot to think about. I would like to request that you come speak to him again before our next session. We think it would help keep Joseph invested in working with us. I’m happy to drive you or provide reimbursement for gas.” Special Agent Hawthorne pauses, letting out a deep sigh. “Blue, I understand that after everything Joseph Seed did to you, that you would never want to see him again. Think of the people you can help; do it for them. Do it for Philip Santiago. Do it for Arthur Wilson. Do it for Abigail Carter. Do it for your friends. Do it for those who were killed by Eden’s Gate the first time. You have the power to make things right, Blue.”
They hang up the cell phone, tears burning in their eyes. Boomer huffs and Blue looks over to find him watching them expectantly. “I’m not going. I can’t….” They hesitate, shoulders dropping, “I’m not a hero. I can’t do this, not again.” Looking away from Boomer, they hear him huff again, and Blue wonders if everyone expects them to go. “Shit.” They murmur, grief clouding their mind.
The nightmares are relentless.
Blue stumbles through the Bliss, gagging as nausea overwhelms them. The smell is overpowering, acid rising in their throat. Their eyes water, burning as they try to blink away the tears. Someone grabs them by the their jacket collar, yanking Blue back. They stumble backward, their eyes meeting Marshal Burke’s. He sneers at them, disappointment written across his face. “Saved your life, Rookie, and this how you repay us?” He snarls, hauling them towards the water. Bliss rises from the water in a cloud of thick smoke, the water a sparkly putrid green. They howl with fear, scratching at the Marshal uselessly, trying to wriggle out of their jacket. Yet, Marshal Burke succeeds, overpowering Blue as he dunks them under the water. They thrash in a desperate scramble for survival, fear coursing through their body. He yanks them out of the water after what feels like an eternity, only to submerge them barely a few seconds later. Over and over. Blue’s lungs burn as they desperately suck in air, only to choke down more water. “When will you learn, Rookie? When will you learn that you can never escape us?” Out of the corner of their eye, in a haze of sparkly green mist, Faith appears, smiling coldly as the Marshal shoves their head under the water once more.
CRACK! Pain radiates across Blue’s face as someone punches them. Their aviators crack, breaking into pieces as they fly off their face. Stumbling back a few steps, Blue refocuses, Eli Palmer pulling his fist back for another punch, face full of murderous rage. He sucker punches them in the gut, Blue doubling over as they let out a gasp of pain. Their brain panics momentarily, trying to get their lungs to suck in air. Blue feels Eli’s calloused fingers in their hair, harshly pulling them up to face him. An involuntary pained whimper escapes them as tears well in their eyes. Behind Eli, Blue catches sight of a figure, hidden in the shadows of the Wolf’s Den. Jacob Seed is grinning, a sick, predatory grin that sends a shiver straight up their spine. “I took you in, Rook, and what did I get for it? A rabid wolf in my den.” It wasn’t me; It was that damn music box. Yet, Blue finds they can’t say anything. Or maybe, they won’t. After all, they deserve this, right? Eli was their friend, and Blue fucking murdered him. “PATHETIC!” Eli roars, sending Blue crashing toward the ground. Blue hits the ground, dazed, before Eli’s boot connects with their rib, a sharp crack following. They bite down on their bottom lip, tasting the blood a second later as another kick connects.
“Hey Deputy,” Blue scrambles back towards the wall, away from Dutch. They’re stopped by the handcuffs, painfully connecting them to the small bed. His hands reach out as Blue kicks out. He narrowly dodges their kicks, hands wrapping around their throat. His fingers are thick, squeezing painfully down on their neck. They gasp for air, kicking more wildly now as they try to escape Dutch’s grasp. “I hauled your ass out of that burning wreckage, Deputy. I gave you shelter. I gave you a fucking army,” He snarls, flecks of spit hitting their face. Blue looks around, desperate for help, any help. Joseph Seed, leaning against the wall with a serene fucking look on his face, watches on as Blue’s struggles become weaker. “And, what did you do? Bring fucking Joseph Seed right fucking here? Let him strangle me to death?” A black fuzziness creeps in at the edge of their vision, limbs feeling like lead.
Another figure enters their fading vision, smiling cruelly at Blue. “Did you ever really think we could be free from this? We belong here, Wrath. There is no escape,” the other Blue taunts, their cruel grin widening.
Blue shoots up in their bed, soaked in sweat and tears. Boomer comes to them, licking the salty tears from their cheeks. Taking in a shaky breath, Blue mulls over their dreams. Did they deserve this? Were they destined to be there with Joseph at the end of the world? No, that was stupid. Blue belongs here in Hope County, with friends who love them and gorgeous nature.
They belong here, right?
Blue sighs, helping Boomer up into the truck. Once he was safely sitting shotgun, Boomer licks Blue’s face, making a shitty day slightly better. They laugh, scratching him fondly behind his left ear as Boomer grumbles in happiness. Thank whatever god existed for Boomer; He was their lifeline, the one constant comfort in all the shit they had been through in Hope County. Blue closes the door of the truck, looking out towards the setting sky. It was late, the pink nearly extinguished into the navy. Yet, they felt lucky to be alive, especially after last night. It was the small moments, like Boomer licking them joyfully or seeing the beauty of a sunset that kept Blue alive.
The sound of a car pulling into the Ranger Station parking lot jolts Blue from their thoughts. They look over, finding the very last two people they wanted to see. The maroon sedan stops shortly behind their truck, trying to block Blue into their space. Their fists clench, anxiety settling deep into their chest. Blue would not be intimidated by these two. If they had to, they would ram the sedan with their truck. Wouldn’t be the first time Blue rammed a truck through a blockade of cars.
“Ranger Murphy!” Ethel calls, getting out of the passenger side of the sedan. Peter parks the sedan, turning it off before joining his wife. He nods at Blue, a coldness in his eyes. “I wanted to make sure that you didn’t lose our number. You never gave us a call.” She walks towards Blue, focused intently on them.
Boomer lets out a sharp bark, deep growls emanating from him as his ears lay flat against his head. Ethel nervously glances towards Boomer, stepping back towards Peter. He wraps an arm around Ethel, who leans into him for comfort, as he shoots a nasty look towards Boomer. “Your dog isn’t going to bite us, is he?” Peter asks, distaste clear in his voice.
“Not unless you are a Peggie.” Their eyes narrow, glaring at Peter and Ethel.
Ethel laughs nervously. “Peggies, that’s what the Hope County Resistance called members of Eden’s Gate, correct?” Blue doesn’t speak, only nodding in response. “We’re not with Eden’s Gate, Ranger Murphy. We are just doing a story on them. Peter and I are not your enemies; we want to help you, Ranger Murphy. Telling your story can be cathartic.”
“The Ranger Station is closed for the day. If you have any urgent questions, you should call Emergency Services. If it is a nonemergency, you can call the number of the Ranger Station, and a Ranger will return your call,” They reply, using their best customer service voice, crossing their arms over their chest. What would it take for Ethel and Peter to fucking leave?
Ethel smiles a strained smile, her polite mask cracking slightly. “As you know, Ranger Murphy, we’re not interested in talking about the National Parks. We want to talk to you about Eden’s Gate.”
“I think I made it damn clear that I don’t want to talk about Eden’s Gate. If you continue to harass me about this, I will seek legal measures against you.” After Eden’s Gate, Blue only had to seek legal remedy once to get someone off their back as most people were either scared off or realized they weren’t going to get anywhere. The man, clearly going through something, believed that Joseph was some sort of alien with Eden’s Gate as a front for experimentation, and Blue, a witness to this horror show, was covering for him. Blue wishes it had been something that wild rather than common human cruelty. Maybe, they wouldn’t feel so awful about what they had done.
Peter sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “You know, all this avoidance would make one wonder what you have to hide, Ranger Murphy. Makes me wonder if you might not be so innocent.”
Blue’s blood runs cold, eyes widening at his statement. “Is that a threat?” They ask anxiously, nails digging into the cotton fabric of their forest green ranger shirt.
He shakes his head again. “No, Ranger Murphy. The truth will always come out. Ethel and I are going to make sure of that.” Peter pauses, a small smirk on his face. “Ranger Murphy, what was your relationship with Joseph Seed? The files aren’t clear on that.”
No way. Blue was not going to have this conversation with Ethel or Peter. “I’m sorry, but if you want information on Eden’s Gate, please speak with Sheriff Whitehorse. I will not speak with you.” Blue turns their back to the couple, uncrossing their arms. Their steps are shaky, adrenaline and anxiety coursing through their body. Their left hand reaches out, steadying them against the cold metal of the truck. All they have to do is make it to the driver’s seat. Just make it to the driver’s seat…
“If you don’t have a relationship with Joseph Seed, why did you visit him in prison this weekend?” Ethel’s tone is smug. Their breath catches in their throat as they stop. A moment passes before Blue sucks in a deep breath, their heart pounding loudly in their ears. How the fuck did Ethel and Peter know about that visit with Joseph? Anyone Blue had told knew to keep it a secret. Hell, the whole County knew what hell Joseph had put Blue through, especially with stealing a year of their life in that bunker. A whole year they’ll never get back. A whole year less with loved ones. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Ethel explains matter of fact, “Besides, I doubt you know anyone in that penitentiary but Joseph Seed. It makes sense that you would be there to visit him.”
Blue whirls around, wrath burning within them. “Have you been stalking me?”
Ethel and Peter exchange uneasy glances with each other. “Stalking is a harsh word,” Peter answers, “We were watching your home, trying to decide when we might talk to you again. And well…,” He shrugs, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Ethel and I just happened to find a bigger scoop, but you haven’t denied it. What is your relationship like with Joseph Seed? Strange that a ‘victim’ of his would go to visit him.”
They swallow, trying to get their wrath under control. Blue wouldn’t let Peter or Ethel get the best of them. Trying to play the question off, Blue rolls their eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what weird narrative you’ve cooked up in your heads, but I did not visit Joseph Seed. I don’t want anything to do with him or Eden’s Gate for the rest of my life. So, fuck off.” They could no longer be nice or polite about any of this. Underneath their shirt, the WRATH scar starts to burn, a stark reminder of the anger simmering within them. Without thinking, Blue reaches up to scratch their WRATH scar.
Ethel tilts her head, stepping forward as she shrugs Peter’s arm off her shoulder. “Are we making you angry, Ranger Murphy? After all, that’s where the WRATH tattoo lays right? I saw an examination photo of it; looks rather nasty.”
Shame courses through them as Blue looks away. The examination photos were supposed to be private, but photos of the WRATH and PRIDE scar had leaked on the internet. And now the cat was out of the bag. No matter how many take-down notices anyone sent, they just seemed to pop up again and again. Eventually, Blue gave up, resigned to having some of their worst physical scars out there on the internet. Looking back, Blue glares at Peter and Ethel. “Yeah, I’m angry. You keep bringing up Eden’s Gate, which contains some of the worst memories of my life, and then you can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to talk about it,” They let out a hysterical laugh, before they raise their voice, “By the way, a tattoo is something you want! What John Seed gave me was a fucking scar! It wasn’t a fucking tattoo!”
“I’m sorry, Ranger Murphy. I’ll refer to it correctly next time,” She steps closer, “You still haven’t answered our questions on your relationship with Joseph Seed.”
“Are you romantically involved with him?” Peter asks, following Ethel.
Blue snorts, shaking their head. The fucking nerve of these two! “Fuck no.” They turn away from the pair again, determined to get in their truck and drive away.
“Ranger Murphy, wait-.”
BARK!
Boomer barks loudly, ramping up his behavior as he slams against the window. His barks are interspersed with deep and throaty growls, malice in his normally warm brown eyes. His teeth glint in the window, ready to rip apart anyone who would threaten his owner. Blue knew he had lost one owner, and that Boomer wouldn’t let that happen again. Ethel screams, scrambling backward only to fall on her ass. As Boomer barks, Ethel crawls away, Peter helping her up seconds later. Coming to the passenger side window, Blue lays their hand on the glass. Boomer stops, a low whine coming from him as he licks the window. His tail wags ferociously, practically a blur.
Glaring at Blue, Peter snidely comments, “You should control that dog of yours.”
“Good boy!” Blue praises Boomer, winking at him. He barks joyously, only to start growling menacingly again at Peter and Ethel. “As I said, Boomer only acts this way if you’re a Peggie.”
“My sister…,” Ethel starts, a soft sob escaping her as Peter rubs her back, “My sister was a part of Eden’s Gate. She is the reason we’re doing this.”
“Oh.” Guilt washes over them as Blue awkwardly looks away. No matter how many times it happened, Blue was never good at dealing with the family members of those who had lost a Peggie. So many wanted to know what happened to their parents, partners, children, and others. Blue didn’t have a good answer for them then, and they sure as hell didn’t have a good answer now. “Is she….um?”
Ethel nods, Peter taking her hand as he interlaces his fingers with hers. “She died. She almost survived it, but then she had to help Joseph in your final fight with him. And that’s the one she didn’t make it back from.”
Blue frowns, the memory hitting them.
“I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE YOU!” Joseph screams as Blue hauls Grace up to her feet. The Bliss is thick around them in a sparkly greenish-white mist, stuck in their throat as Blue lets out a nasty cough. Their stomach twists, a wave of nausea rolling over them.
“You okay, Dep?” Grace asks, letting out a cough of her own as soon as she is steady on her feet.
Blue nods. “I’m fine. We need to stop him!”
Grace readies her gun, giving them a decisive nod. “On it.”
The two split as Blue heads after Nick, determined to free him from Joseph’s control. A Peggie steps into their way, assault rifle pointed at Blue. They stop in their tracks, raising their shotgun. Blue remembers the way her pale blonde hair glinted in the misty sunlight, her piercing green eyes. The moment doesn’t last long as Sharky body checks the Peggie, slamming her out of the way. “I got ya, shorty!”
“Thanks,” Blue yells, moving into action once again. They’re not going to let Joseph win.
“Oh.” Oh shit, that was-.
“Do you remember her now?” Ethel asks, her eyes glassy with tears.
“I do,” Blue admits quietly. “Ethel, I’m so sor-.”
“Save it. I don’t want your sympathy,” She snarls before another sob escapes her, Peter squeezing her hand, “I just want my sister back, but that’s impossible. Now, I just want to understand why.”
If Blue could, they would give Ethel her sister back. They would give so many people their families back. But they can’t, and now they have to live with all that blood on their hands. And they’ll never know why Joseph chose them for all of this, why they were the one chosen to be the devil. Except for their time in the Bunker, Blue never believed in the Voice. Clenching their left hand into a fist, their fingernails dig into their palm painfully, drawing blood. “I don’t know why he chose me, why he had to make me the harbinger of the apocalypse. If I knew why, I would have done everything in my power to not be that person!” They uncurl their fist, wiping tears in their eyes. Fuck, how desperately they would wish to not be that person.
“Would you have walked away?” Ethel asks.
“What?”
“Would you have walked away?” She asks, enunciating every word as she narrows her eyes coldly. “I know Joseph Seed gave you a choice to walk away. So, if you had the chance again, would you have walked away?”
Blue knows what the answer should be: Yes. They should say ‘Yes, I would have walked away that night’. But…they can’t say yes; they can’t say the words everyone wants to hear. Even with the knowledge of what happens, Blue wouldn’t be able to walk away, doomed to repeat the cycle of violence over and over again. Walking away would be leaving the people of Hope County to die, to be tortured at the hands of Eden’s Gate. And they couldn’t do that. Blue wasn’t one to ignore what they saw as a clear injustice, and Hope County was an injustice if Blue ever saw one. Maybe if Blue were a better person, even a good one, they might have been able to solve it peacefully, talk Joseph out of this madness. But they would never leave Hope County to suffer.
Taking a deep breath, Blue looks Ethel directly in the eyes, squaring their shoulders. “No, I wouldn’t have walked away. Not even if I knew what was going to happen.”
Ethel’s eyes widen, tears running down her cheeks as she stares at Blue in abject horror. “You’re a monster,” She snarls desperately, “You and Joseph Seed. You two deserve each other.”
“We should leave.” Peter pulls Ethel away as she leans into him, sobbing into his chest. He doesn’t spare Blue a glance as they stand there shocked, only able to watch as Peter leads Ethel to the sedan. “She isn’t wrong, Ranger Murphy. You’re just as much a monster as he is. You could have stopped this; you always could have.”
They watch Peter and Ethel get into the car, driving away a few moments later. Once Ethel and Peter are gone, Blue slumps to their knees, throwing out their hands to catch themself. Parking lot gravel digs into their hands as body-wracking sobs consume them. The Williams were right. Blue could have stopped this; they always had the choice. And they never did. Instead, they fought, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake, just like monsters always do.
“FUCK!” They scream, raw and angry, slamming their hands against the ground. Inside the truck, Boomer lets out a high-pitched whine, terrified for his human. Their sobs only continue as grief and rage consume them, leaving Blue unable to move.
Eventually, (they don’t know how much later, but all the pink is gone from the sky), Blue gets up to their feet, feeling hollow and tired. Their vision isn’t blurry from the tears, sobs no longer shaking their body so hard that they couldn’t stand. Shakily, they make their way to the driver’s seat, leaning against the truck for support.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, Blue barely closes the door before Boomer starts licking them. His tail wags, happy to see them again. “Thanks Boomer. I’m okay.” Their voice is hoarse from all the crying. Boomer pulls away, but he still looks concerned as he patiently waited in shotgun.
Pulling their seatbelt on, a thought crosses their mind. They might not be able to make up for the loss of Ethel’s sister, but they had to do something to make things right, and there was only one clear path in front of them. Grabbing their cell phone, Blue dials a number.
His phone only ring’s once before picking up. “Blue?” Special Agent Hawthorne sounds surprised, yet hopeful on the other end.
Cutting straight to the chase, Blue tiredly says, “I’ll speak with Joseph again.”
“What changed your mind?” He pauses for a second, before adding hastily, “Not that I’m refusing your help. If anything, I’m relieved that you changed your mind.”
They won’t tell Special Agent Hawthorne about Ethel’s sister; it isn’t their story to tell. Instead, Blue opts for a simple half-truth. “It’s like you said in your voicemail. I can make things right; I want to make things right.”
“I…I understand. Would you like me to pick you up? Or will your friends, Sharky and Hurk, take you to the prison again?”
No one needs to know that they’re visiting Joseph a second time. Blue’s friends will worry, and Blue has scared them enough. “I think it would be best if I came alone this time.”
“Send me your address, and I can pick you up at 10:30 AM on Saturday. Thank you for doing this, Blue. You don’t know how much this means to us.”
“Yeah,” Blue says, having a distinct feeling about what this might mean, I’ll send you a text with my address. See you on Saturday.”
“Have a good night, Blue. Look out for yourself.”
“You too.” Hanging up, a shadow of darkness weighs over them in the dark truck, bearing down heavily on their shoulders.
Peter glances over at Ethel, worried for his wife. She shouldn’t have had to do this, and Peter wishes he could have taken the burden off her. Ethel sits in the passenger seat silently, passively watching Hope County scenery. Breaking the silence, Peter says, “You didn’t have to tell Ranger Murphy about your sister.”
“I did,” She turns to look at him, eyes red and puffy, “It was a gamble, but in the end, I think it will pay off. He was right, Ranger Murphy and Joseph Seed are really alike.”
He grips the steering wheel tightly, indignant anger on Ethel’s behalf coursing through him. “He shouldn’t have assigned you to this. He should have-.”
Ethel’s cell phone rings, cutting Peter off. She quickly pulls the phone from her purse, a brief flicker of panic crossing her face as she scans the caller ID. “It’s him.”
Peter stays silent as Ethel answers the phone. He hears the harsh tone of the caller, unable to make out the conversation. Every minute or so, Ethel says “Yes”, or “Of course”, occasionally wincing as the volume ramps up. By the end of the call, Ethel is visibly stressed, running a hand through her blonde hair. “He’s moving the timetable up.”
“What does that mean?”
Ethel sighs. “We’re going to talk to Joseph. He managed to get us a visit, one that won’t be reported to the FBI. As for Ranger Murphy….”
“He thinks it’s time for them to play their role?”
She nods. “I just hope he knows what he is doing.”
“Me too.”
Tag list: @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @marivenah, @vampireninjabunnies-blog (If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!)
#Far Cry 5#FC5#Joseph Seed#Joseph Seed x Deputy#Joseph Seed/deputy#FC5 OC#fc5 fanfiction#far cry 5 fanfiction#Blue Murphy#fic: oh the reckoning begins#OTP: I had all and then most of you some and now none of you#the blue fic tag#kate writes#Joseph will appear again in the next chapter#and I think Chapter 8 is going to have action...idk I need to rewrite#anyway I hope you like this one#feeling a little so so on this chapter#death tw#choking tw#violence tw
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FAR CRY 5 EDIT
Joseph being the father figure John and Jacob always needed. <3
@alewesker
#far cry 5#fc5#far cry 5 edit#fc5 jacob seed#Jacob seed#John seed#fc5 john seed#joseph seed#fc5 joseph seed#the father#fc5 the father#fc5 faith seed#faith seed#far cry 5 fanart#far cry 5 screenshots#far cry 5 oc#far cry 5 fanfiction#far cry five#far cry five deputy#far cry 5 deputy#fc5 oc#fc5 fanart#fc5 fic#fc5edit#fc5 screenshots#fc5 fandom#fc5 meme#fc5 fan art#fc5 photomode#fc5 fanfic
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A River Runs Through It
In the dismal monotony of bunker life, John Seed was open to surprises, anything to break up the horrid routine he found himself in after the Collapse.
John Seed was not, however, ready for three year old River Palmer.
One would think that having an entire underground mecca of loyal followers who hung on his every word would bring the ever charismatic John Seed a never ending bounty of entertainment and indulgence.
But alas, there he was, some years later after the bombs dropped, growing dismal and insane from boredom with each passing, sunless day. He had his reasons. John couldn't tell if it was the monotony of everyday bunker life, of listless routine, or the lack of feisty Resistance to rebuke and cleanse that soured his mood, that dissolved his resolve to carry out his Baptist duties with as much zealousness and vigor as he did before the sky caught on fire and crashed down on the County. A moot point, in the end. A lot of arguments dissolved with such a conclusion: It didn't matter.
The time was well into the dark hours of the morning. At least, the large clock on the wall of the radio room said so anyway. John lounged on a tufted chair by the main radio while the rest of his Gate slept, a weathered tool from his Confession box balanced between his lithe fingers. Even sleep was too peaceful, dull and unappealing as his restless mind ran rampant with creative ways to hurt and feel something akin to newness, to scratch that existential itch.
When the radio system buzzed to life, he thought it was imaginary. It clicked a few times, before static blew harshly on the line, as if someone was breathing heavy into the receiver.
A wave of agitation washed over John, the excitement of radio contact fizzled out by Day Two. His ears smarted by the loud, abrupt noise.
But what came next, clear and undeniable across the radio, brightened the tired eyes of John Seed, more than they had in months.
"H-Hello?"
Small.
"Hel-lo!" it sing-songed.
Undeniable.
"Who's out there, huh?"
The voice of a child.
John picked up his own receiver and clicked it on.
"Hello there," he greeted, tone soft and slow.
The line buzzed again, grating on his patience until it went silent with a sharp click .
For a moment, John half-wondered if it happened at all, if he was mistaken or if finally, finally he lost his mind, that the last of his sanity slipped through like sand through the fingers.
The receiver was shut off after a long silence.
Then-
"Hi!"
John cursed and jumped at the sudden burst of salutation, the word so cheery that it forced a smile to his lips.
The receiver was picked up again.
"Hello, you," chided John. "Who is it that I'm speaking with?"
There was movement of some sort, a rustling.
"You, you have to push down on the button," John tried. "In your hand–"
"Like this?" replied the small voice.
"Sure, I can hear you. Who are you?"
A tongue clicked, followed by a giggle, musical and sweet.
"River," answered the small voice shyly. "I'm River. I'm a boy!"
"You're a boy," validated John. "You sound like it. And how old are you River?"
A thoughtful hum carried over.
"This many!"
John sighed.
"I, well, I can't see that–"
"I'm three!" River exclaimed. "My birthday is tomorrow! Are you goin'?"
His voice died in his throat as John didn't quite know how to respond. He tried again.
"Am I going to your birthday?" he parroted. "Is that what you're asking me?"
The boy breathed heavy into the receiver. John imagined that the child had it pressed right up to his mouth, covering it with spittle and germs.
"Yup!" chirped the child, an emphasis on the 'p'. "My Momma said, she said, um, she said that, that…"
John exhaled again. John steeled himself, dug deep for whatever crumb of patience was left inside his body as the child struggled to form a coherent sentence.
"Mhm?" urged the Herald. "Your Mom said what?"
"My Momma, said that I could, I could call my aunts and uncles tomorrow for my birthday. I'm gonna be four! Are you my uncle?"
John frowned.
"Am I your uncle?"
"Yeah! Who the heck are you?"
A laugh barked from his mouth as John couldn't believe that the child was so blatantly curious. So innocent. Then again, what did John know of children? True, the bunker was littered with them, but this was the longest conversation John ever had with a child, let alone via radio.
"My name is John," he shared. "Nice to meet you, River—"
"How old are you? Are you tall? My Daddy's tall."
"Mm, interesting. I'm thirty-eight–"
"Wow. That's fuckin' old."
His jaw dropped.
"I, I don't think you should be talking that way, sir—"
"You a narc?"
"Am I…Am I–Did you just ask if I'm a narc?"
Musical like a song, the boy giggled across the radio line, the sound drawing a smile across John's lips and filling him with joy like sunlight in an abandoned room.
"No, no," answered John upon finding the right words. "I promise that I'm not a narc, River. But you really shouldn't be playing with the radio. There are strangers on here. Where are your parents?"
The radio clicked and clacked. John counted down from ten.
Then, in a raspy whisper, the child shared, "Sleepin'. 'M'not supposed to be up."
"Ah," whispered John back despite himself. "Well, then you probably should go back to sleep, little one. It's late."
"I don't wanna–"
"Mm, such is life," drawled John. "Go to bed."
A whine, long and tired, ached in John's ear.
"But what if," stammered the child. "What if you miss me?"
John blinked at such a question, at how it dripped wet with sadness in only how a child could feel in the throes of big feelings. His brow furrowed, both at how the small voice pleaded and how John felt a bit of regret in his heart.
"What if I miss you?" he repeated softly back to the boy.
"Yeah, what if you, you miss me? Won't you miss me?"
His lips parted to speak, but then shut at the sudden responsibility of facilitating the child's feelings, at how John felt responsible at all. Which was odd, the uncertainty that plagued him at such a task for he was the arbiter of words for years, at the helm for the Valley's message as Baptist, as Inquisitor.
But there he was: Unmoored and scrounging for words thanks to the innocence of a three year old.
"I," chanced John. "I will miss you, River. And I hope that you have a great birthday. From your Uncle, Uncle John."
Silence followed, heavy and leaving John in the wake of his own response and how ridiculous he felt that he felt anything at all, that a few words with a child was so off-putting and at the very least entertaining.
Sensing that the conversation, as riveting as it was with little River, had drawn to a close, John moved to shut off the radio for the night.
Until, that is, it crackled again.
But rather than hear the small, bright voice of his de facto nephew, a new, sleepy one spoke in his stead.
"You know, that was actually really, really sweet."
Blue eyes widened in the low light of the radio room, the waves of his ocean eyes teeming with shock. John couldn't believe what he heard, even as she continued in a tired sigh.
"He's raving. So happy, I can't even be mad at you," shared Cappie De La Costa, voice low from sleepiness, sensual even after all those years. "You made a little boy happy, John Seed."
A second later and John was grinning.
"Are you so surprised?" he countered.
"Um, yeah?" replied Cappie. "Aren't you?"
John nodded in his bunker.
"No. Not really. I find that I'm rather charming. More surprised that the little tadpole is yours, truth be told. Didn't take long for you and the Neanderthal to get bored, hm?"
She laughed, hearty and true. John hated how much he missed the sound.
"Yeah, that's it. Eli and me were bored and thought 'Know what would be so fun? Raising a child during the Apocalypse!'. What a stupid question."
"Well, you were never great at planning."
"Mm," she hummed. "Well, shit. Got me there."
A new quiet settled in. It didn't feel as heavy as before, but like before, John was disgusted that he felt any way about it.
"He sounds awful," he blurted. Then, John added, "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"That. You're smiling. Quit it."
"Never. You never change, do you? You're still doing it–"
"Doing what?" hissed the Herald.
"That. You say mean things when you feel vulnerable."
John laughed something empty.
"I feel nothing for that child, Cappie. Your mind is the first to go when in the underground."
"Whatever you say, loser," she sighed. "But, if Eli is fine with it, would you like to speak to him on his birthday?"
John shoved down his delight.
"And why in the world what that paranoid redneck let me talk to your son?"
"Because I did. And you can't hurt us now. And because he's having to retell a bedtime story at four AM because his son won't shut up about 'Uncle John in the radio'. But it's whatever. You sounded like you were enjoying yourself."
John peered into the shadows around him. What a strange conundrum he found himself in. A moot point, in the end. A lot of arguments dissolved with such a conclusion: It didn't matter.
"I don't care," he answered. "I probably won't be around."
"Cool," replied Cappie, unaffected by his sour response. "G'night."
John didn't need to test the line to know that Cappie left him. She always was one who enjoyed getting the last word in. Petty thing. He doubted that would ever change.
He stared at the radio with bloodshot eyes, though the mind behind them was awake and processing what had just happened. A ghost, he heard one. It laughed and read him like a billboard. A poltergeist of a dead relationship made a mess of him in a few tired words and a tease.
The following day John fell into his dismal routine. He awoke, preached the Good News of the Father, carried out Cleansings, Confessions, and Atonements. The Flock hung on his sweet words, danced in the sparkle of his eyes as they had for years.
But, unlike all those other days, one of the followers approached John with a perplexed expression.
"Sir?" the man prompted. "Brother John? There's, um, someone asking for you?"
"Who?"
"Um, a little boy. On the radio, sir."
If ever asked, John reacted fine to such news. Just fine. He did not drop everything he was doing at that moment. He certainly did not cancel his sermon. He did not run to the radio room. He did not take a steadying breath to ease his racing pulse, to quell the excitement that rang in his heart like a bell as he settled in the comfy chair.
And he definitely, did not say the first thing that came to his mind upon pressing on the receiver.
"Happy Birthday, River."
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Yandere!Joseph Seed Headcanons
Type: General Headcanons
Characters: Joseph Seed x Reader (afab)
Word count: 700+
Notes: Manipulation, coercion, isolation, captivity, emotional abuse, forced proximity, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamics, brief mention of suicide possibility, implied possibility of pregnancy.
- Joseph is calm, patient, and calculating with you. He won't rush into things or make impulsive decisions. As someone who is skilled at manipulation, he understands the necessity of waiting (and patience is a virtue). He is persistent and determined, but in a very quiet and measured way, like a rock steadily going down the hill.
- Joseph sees you as his ultimate test of faith and a reward shall he pass it. The Voice told him, he saw it in his dreams, every little sign points to you being the one he was meant to find. And once Joseph decides on something, he won't change his mind. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try to run or hide, Joseph will find you and bring you home.
- He wins your affection through misplaced empathy, touch (because there's no shame in closeness), and by simply being there whenever you need it - even if sometimes you wish he wasn't.
- Joseph views your reluctance as the result of Pride speaking in you and a part of his own trial. And trials exist to be overcome.
- Joseph knows people. He can read them, hopes and fears, weaknesses and strengths, virtues and vices, what they love and hate. He utilizes it with you, observes your habits and behavioral patterns. Joseph doesn't force - he nudges and encourages, planting the seeds and hints in your head and letting them grow; he manipulates you by making you come to desired conclusions on your own.
- If you're stubborn, Joseph will deprive you of sleep, but in a way that seems natural (there's suddenly a lot of work he needs your help with or he keeps you awake longer and wakes you up earlier, because this and that). He will increase the time of his lectures or restrict access to certain areas until you waver. The book you're reading will disappear and he has no idea where it is, etc.
- However, don't think Joseph is passive. Yes, he prefers a gentler approach with you, but understands the necessity of harsher methods too. Even God has to punish his children, after all, and it's always for their sake. If you push him too much (and it takes a lot to achieve that), he will "teach you humility" and his methods are often connected to the feeling of shame. He may restrain you and make you ask for basic needs like food, toilet or water; lock you up in an empty room without sustenance for a few days and sit by your door, reading the Bible aloud; wash you/feed you himself, denying you autonomy. If looks is something you value about yourself, he might cut your hair short. Making you watch as he burns something you cherish is also not off the table. He will not beat you, but if having your buttocks smacked will get the point across and make you feel ashamed, then Joseph will do it.
- Hurting you, however, doesn't give him pleasure and he will later spend the hours in prayer asking God for forgiveness for his temper, even if that was necessary. He won't be apologetic towards you, but later when you've both calmed down he will console you and provide whatever comfort you need: a hug, a touch (which feels increasingly familiar), stroking your hair and telling you a biblical story as an analogy for your behavior.
- It's Joseph's responsibility to protect you from yourself and guide you on the right path, because you're lost and confused in his mind. There's only one truth - Eden's Gate - and he will do his best to save your soul before it's too late.
- If it's the Bunker, you're sharing a bed, period. Joseph isn't letting you out of his sight and will be sleeping next to you. He can't risk you offing yourself and leaving him alone.
- If it's somewhere else, like the compound or wherever he keeps you, you will have your own room if he trusts you enough. Your room will have its own bathroom and Joseph won't be intruding, unless you give him a reason to. He'll grant you permission to move freely within the compound, but two faithful will always follow behind.
- Joseph doesn't force himself on you, though he'll take any opportunity to initiate physical contact. Taking your hands in his, kissing your forehead, loosely putting an arm around your waist. He watches how you react, whether you're leaning in or pulling away. If the latter is the case, he'll be more subtle, but won't stop.
- Joseph wants a family with you. A future together after the Collapse.
#shalott headcanon#yandere#far cry 5#yandere joseph seed#joseph seed x reader#joseph seed#far cry 5 headcanons#far cry 5 fanfiction
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Sinful Melodies
John Seed x Reader
Warnings: Smut, slight Praise Kink
Summary: John wants to draw out every single sinful noise from your lips.
A/N: This was from a prompt sent to me! It took me a while, but it is finally done! @clicheantagonist (tagging you since you commented on the WIP 👀)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While sharp breaths and whimpers were music to John’s ears, they were just the beginning of what he wanted to hear. He wanted desperate moans and cries. He wanted loud and delectable sounds coming from deep within your lungs. He was determined to pull every inch of desire from your lips.
He pushes you back against the mattress, keeping your legs pinned wide open as he grinds down against you. He keeps watchful eyes on your face as he carefully rests a hand across your neck. He rubs small, teasing circles against your pulse before he leans down to bite at the opposite side. He runs his tongue across the forming mark, pulling another whimper from your mouth.
“That’s it. Let those pretty noises out.”
He lets out a hum, tucking his nose into the underside of your jaw. He presses a deep, open-mouthed kiss against the column of your neck. You let out a quiet whine as your head presses back into the plush pillow. You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as you squirm under his weight.
“Please fuck me, John.”
He lets out a rumbling chuckle against your skin. “As you wish, my dear.”
He gives you a final grazing bite before pulling away. He smooths his hands down your sides until he reaches your hips. He digs his fingertips into your soft flesh as he pulls you towards him. He moves one hand down between your legs, caressing the sensitive area. You were more than ready, but he wanted to hear you sing your pleasures.
He watches as you let out a gasp and clutch at the blankets beneath you. His eyes meet yours in a desire-stricken stare as he finally moves to bring his length against your entrance. He drags the tip up and down your core before sliding in slowly, dragging out the sensations.
John lets out a moan of his own as he seats himself fully inside of you. One hand wraps around your hip while the other comes to grip at your chest, his fingertips idly playing with your nipple. He only gives you a moment before he’s pulling out and pushing back in again, a deep groan joining the motion.
You suck in a sharp breath of air as his cock drags across your sensitive walls. Your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open as he thrusts again, the pace still slow and deliberate. You reach down and grab onto his arm, tugging him towards you.
“Kiss me.” You demand softly.
He obeys as he curves his body over yours. He moves his hands up to cup your face. He presses a deep kiss against your lips as he continues to move inside of you. The new angle has your body beginning to quiver. You let out another gasp as you break free from the kiss.
“That’s it. That’s it.” He murmurs against your skin.
Your hands instantly wrap around his body as pleasure rolls over you. He thrusts in again and this time a loud moan escapes your throat and your body arches up against his torso.
John instantly lights up at the noise. It was the reaction he had been waiting to hear. Pride surges through his chest as he looks down at you caged between his arms. He leans down nestling the bridge of his nose against yours.
“Did that feel good, baby?”
“Mhm…” You whimper, nodding your head furiously.
“Want me to do it again?”
“Yes!” You gasp breathlessly.
He rolls his hips down against you once again, mindful to hit that same spot. His attention pays off as you let out another drawn out moan. Your arms clutch around his shoulders and dig into the taut muscles on his back, sending a shudder down his spine.
“You feel so fucking good.” He growls as he snaps his hips forward once more.
He picks up speed now that he can work that spot and have you a moaning mess underneath him. His eyes clamp shut as your walls clench around his cock. He lets out a deep groan and praises spill from his lips.
“Yes. Yes! Just like that. Keep making pretty sounds like that.”
“John, I’m so close! Keep going!” You moan.
“Come for me. You can do it.”
With a final thrust, you're seeing stars. Your head falls back against the pillow as you let out another long-winded moan. Your legs tense up around John’s hips and your nails draw lines up his back as your orgasm rushes through you.
Through the haze of your mind, you hear John’s breaths come out more and more ragged. He presses his face against yours, recapturing your lips in a rough kiss. You let out a whine as you squirm under him. He bites down on your bottom lip, only releasing it to let out another groan.
“Oh fuck—”
His voice cuts off as he cums with a pitched moan. His hips press against yours as he stills inside of you. His cheek presses up against yours, sliding around from the sweat beading across your bodies. His heated breath fans across your ear as you both come down from the high.
You slowly drag your palm up from his shoulders to the back of his neck. You tangle your fingers into the mussed hair. He lets out a satisfied sigh before pressing a feather-light kiss to your skin.
Just before the two of you drift off, John makes a mental note of every time you had released such delightful noises. This wasn’t going to be the last time he heard such a beautiful melody. No, he would make sure he hears a symphony every time he has you underneath him.
#john seed x reader#john seed#far cry 5 fanfiction#john seed fanfiction#far cry 5#fc5#nsft#smut#my writing
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WIP WEDNESDAY (and on a Wednesday, too!)
Thank you to @socially-awkward-skeleton and @inafieldofdaisies for the tag! 🥰
A little snippet from Afflicted. Completely unedited and nowhere near ready to go.
Afflicted.
“Is this what it’s always gonna be, girl? You gettin’ into trouble, and me gettin’ you out of it?” Jacob grabbed her by the shirt collar, and hauled her face close to his. “Because the way I see it, this ain’t the first time I’ve saved your ass since we met.” He straightened up and looked at her through narrowed eyes.
Her breath was caught in her throat, and she couldn’t look away from those damn eyes. “I don’t need you to save me.” The words tumbled out without her thinking.
“Is that so?” Jacob backed her up against the brick, positioning both of his hands against the wall on either side of her head. “Then tell me, girl, you don’t need me around? You got this shit handled?”
Harley felt heat rise to her cheeks, shame and embarrassment biting at her. She knew full well what could have happened if he hadn’t been there. “What do you want me to say, Jacob?” She knew he probably heard the quiver in her voice. “Do you need to hear me say that I need you?” Harley thought she saw Jacob’s eyes widen slightly. “Do you need to hear me say that I’m lucky you were here, that you always somehow manage to be here when I need you, that you did save me yet again from some bullshit disaster that probably would have ended horribly? Do you need to hear how terrified I was, Jacob? How I thought maybe this shit was happening again, just like last time, just like I deserve, just like it always. Fucking. Happens?!” panic was seeping into her voice, breathing fire and ice into her words. She knew she should shut up, but she just, couldn’t. She stood up a little straighter, her panic making her angry, which made her brave. “I need you, Jacob. I fucking need you!”
Tagging, with no pressure and apologies for doubles: @wrathfulrook, @trench-rot, @jacobsneed, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @cassietrn, @redreart, @hotmessteaparty, @insanityofvaas, @v0idbuggy 🥰
#harley x jacob#afflicted: harley & jacob#oc: harley jane#jacob seed#far cry 5 fanfiction#wip wednesday#far cry 5 wip#jacob seed x oc#snippets#my writing
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Forgotten Sins Chapter 12
Tags: Amnesia, Stockholm Syndrome, Drug Use (Bliss), Religious Cults, Fluff and Angst, Car Accidents, Family Member Death, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation
Series Masterlist
John opened the doors to the church and gestured for you to walk in first. Joseph was sitting on a pew in the front talking to Jacob while Faith was rearranging the flowers decorating the wall.
“We were just going to come to you,” Joseph said, standing up as John shut the door behind us. “Were you able to take care of everything?”
“Yeah, but that’s not why we’re here,” said John, gaining odd looks from the rest of his family. “Dawn heard something when she was taken.”
“What did you hear?” Joseph turned his eyes to you; it was like he was devouring your soul.
“People were talking, the Resistance is about to get outside help, some police officers. I don’t know when, they didn’t say. They just said they were coming and that it’d be soon.”
Faith looked bored; Jacob shared a look with John before they both turned their attention to Joseph who looked very calm at hearing the news before finally nodding his head. The only evidence that he had even heard what you had said.
“I knew this time would come; I didn’t know it would be so soon but…We are prepared.” He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Thank you.”
He took a deep breath and excused himself, he needed to prepare for his sermon, needed to change his speech due to this new knowledge. Faith smiled at you, glared at John then left with Joseph, saying she wanted to discuss if the flowers needed changing as well.
“Someone’s waiting to confess,” Jacob told John. “I need to get back to training those soldiers so they’re ready for what’s coming.”
Jacob left you both and John took you to where he held his confessions. There was a man waiting there with his head down, looking at the ground in shame.
“Stay here,” John said and went to take the man’s confession. You were pacing outside the door, you could hear the man crying, you weren’t sure if it was from shame or whatever John was doing to him. You prayed it was from shame.
You almost started biting your nails again but shook your head, that wasn’t a habit you needed to start. You needed to think about what you would do. Would you stay and fight with Eden’s Gate? They’d done so much for you after the accident, Faith and Jacob seemed like friends now, John too or at least something close to friends. Joseph still scared you though.
But now with the Resistance getting help to stop, possibly kill all these people, you couldn’t leave them. You had to stay, which meant you’d have to confess and be baptised. All you could do was hope John wouldn’t hold you under the water too long like he seemed to have a tendency to do sometimes.
You had to think back, had you done something to make John that mad? Or would he just dip you and it would be over quickly and nicely? You were still wearing his clothes, so he couldn’t be too mad at you, right? You didn’t think you’d share your clothes with someone you were mad at.
The door swung open which pulled you from your thoughts, the man stumbled out, holding some cloth to his stomach and thanking John. You were sure the cloth was turning red as they said goodbye. Hopefully, there were doctors around he could see.
“I want to confess,” you said. John looked at you in surprise.
“Think you remember that much?” You nodded, not entirely sure but you had to do this. You remembered enough. He smiled softly, tilting his head. “Ready to commit to the family?”
That made you pause for a second, were you ready to commit to the family? Were you rushing into this? But the way he was looking at you, you felt yourself nodding, you were ready. If it were Joseph, you weren’t sure your answer would have been yes, but John’s gaze was very different from Joseph’s. John’s seemed to calm you and pull you back into yourself when you wanted to flee.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
He nodded once and held the door open wider for you to enter the room. It wasn’t pleasant. It made you want to run away; it looked like nothing good could come from this room. But then he placed his hand on your arm and guided you to the chair near a desk. The chair wasn’t comfortable, just a plain wooden chair. John kept his eyes on yours, not saying a word, letting you start when you were ready.
You took a deep breath; you weren’t sure what your sins were. You had taken lives, but it was in duty, you weren’t sure if that counted as wrath or any other sin but that wasn’t your job, that was John’s. So, you’d let him figure it out, you’d just confess.
You started off by telling him some of the other war stories you had shared with Jacob, the ones that were bloodier and more violent, less pleasant. The ones that made you wish you could forget them again. You kept your eyes on your hands that were clenched into fists on your lap as you told your confessions, tears forming in your eyes, but you kept going until you felt a hand gently brush against your cheek. You looked up and John smiled softly at you, letting you go on.
Once you were finished with your stories, he asked if you had confessed everything, and you shook your head. You started to tell him about the jealousy you had felt seeing families around the ranch or when you visited Faith’s or the church. You missed yours so much even if you couldn’t remember then still, you missed family, you saw what family was and you wanted it back. You were mad at the one who took your family away from you, you were mad at God for taking them away from you so quickly, so easily. You wanted a family; you wanted your family.
“Now, I’m done,” you said, looking at him, scared, of what you weren’t sure. Scared of what he thought of you now? Scared of what he was going to do to you now that the confessions were done? A mix of both?
“There are three sins I sense in you, princess,” he said, picking something up from the table. “But for today, let’s just focus on one and we’ll see if you can control the other two.”
He got on his knees in front of you, lifting the shirt covering your hip and asked you to hold it up for him, which you did. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see whatever was in his hand or what he was going to do. You jumped slightly when you felt a stabbing pain above your hip. He shushed you gently, trying to get you to be still as he finished.
“All done,” he said, and you looked down at the word envy bleeding above your hip. You felt a wave of shame and guilt wash over you. How dare you be jealous of families? Was everyone meant to lose theirs just because you did? No, this wasn’t fair to them and certainly not to you. Now that you’ve confessed and gotten branded by your sin, you could learn to move on.
John held his hand out, you placed yours in his and he helped you up to your feet before straightening your shirt, so you were properly covered. “You did good,” he said gently.
His words turned your cheeks a shade of pink and filled your body with a warmth that fought back the shame and guilt that had surfaced earlier. “Thank you,” you said, unable to hold eye contact.
“Let’s go home,” he said, placing your arm in his, leading you to the door.
***
Back at the ranch, there was a box waiting inside by the couch. John told you to go upstairs, and he carried the box, walking behind you to the bedroom. Once inside, you were unsure what to do so you just sat on the bed and watched John.
“These should all fit,” he said, placing the box on the floor near you and crouching down, pulling out dresses in various colours and cuts and placing them besides you on the bed. Your eyes grew wider with each item he pulled out, it was almost never-ending. It didn’t seem that big of a box at all.
“Try them on and we’ll see if we need to replace any,” he said, helping you back to your feet even though you were more than capable to do that by yourself. You hadn’t injured your legs.
You looked around and there wasn’t another room to sneak off to so I could change and he didn’t move, he just kept his eyes on you and sat on the bed.
“Aren’t you going to…I don’t know, leave? Or something?” you asked, causing him to chuckle and shake his head.
“Once again, this is my room princess, you can’t kick me out and don’t worry, I’m just here to make sure everything fits well, if it’ll make you feel better, I can cover my eyes,” he suggested while covering his eyes with his hands.
You tilted your head and watched him before waving your hand in front of his face, when he didn’t react you decided to just trust him. After all, he did think you were abducted by the Resistance from the safety of the ranch while under his care, this was probably just fear it might happen again considering Joseph most likely wouldn’t be pleased to hear a repeat of the incident. John would probably be stuck to you even more now.
You winced a bit as you lifted your shirt off, the motion causing your envy mark to stretch. You noticed John peeking through his fingers at the sound of you wincing but didn’t say anything, he was unbearable enough without trying to defend or deny his actions. You slipped on dress after dress. John praised you in each one, letting you know how beautiful you looked in them or how well they suited you. All of them fit, and all of them covered you well, not making you feel too exposed or vulnerable. The only issue was, how were you meant to help fight what was coming in dresses? Though, you supposed if Faith could, so could you with the military training you had forgotten you had.
Once all the dresses had been tried on, John hung them in his wardrobe. It was hitting you that he really wasn’t letting you move out of the ranch, or into another room, you passed a few doors on your way to this one. At least one had to be another bedroom, but it seemed like you were staying here.
#far cry 5 fanfiction#john seed x reader#far cry 5#far cry 5 x reader#joseph seed#forgotten sins#faith seed#jacob seed#john seed
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Summary: local girl's overload anxiety attack goes down in history as major cunt behavior
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fuck!” Brit sobs.
Her dad, a cult leader.
Her dad, a fucking cult leader.
read chapter 2 here!
im back with another horrendous banner and a 23k chapter. sorry about that btw. i tried to keep it a reasonable length. i failed. will probably happen again. cest la vie. the sisters adventures in hope county continue to be a nightmare and brit’s coping about as well as anyone would. well. maybe a little worse. probably a lot worse. she’s fine<3
trigger warnings for self harm, references to child abuse, drug use (marijuana; extensive), nausea, mentions of vomiting, food continues to be an issue
#📌#far cry 5 fanfiction#fic: of a feather#oaf chapter 2#oc: brit seed#[redacted]#my writing#shoutout to liz for picking the summary#true summary of all time
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A Confession to Make Chapter 2
Sorry that this chapter is so short. I wanted to get another chapter out quickly and this is all I could come up with. Chapter 3 is already in the works. This chapter is essentially the same as chapter 1 just from John's point of view. Hopefully chapter 3 will be out soon. Until then, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Far Cry 5. They are the sole property of Ubisoft.
Warnings: none yet
~John’s POV~
Today had been just an all around bad day. The deputy was causing all kinds of chaos in the valley by destroying my silos and she destroyed my ‘Yes’ sign. That deputy was more trouble than she was worth.
I had just pulled up to the ranch when I saw my head of security approach in a hurry.
“Sir, the resistance has launched an attack on your gate, the deputy has not been spotted yet.”
I could feel frustration just ready to burst forward but I couldn't let my wrath take over.
“Send as many men as you can up to the gate but leave a few here in case the deputy is using this as a distraction.”
We parted ways as I entered the ranch and headed up to my bedroom. I stripped off my trench coat and vest. It was late summer and while the evenings were cool, the days were still significantly hot. Rolling my sleeves up I stepped into the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face. The crackle of my radio made me roll my eyes and step back into the room.
“Johnnn.”
“Oh Johnnn bold and brave.”
It was the deputy. I rolled my eyes before grabbing the radio. I knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to get a rise out of me, well I wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Ah, Deputy. Calling to serenade me or do you have another reason for calling? Maybe to confess your sins?”
The line was silent for a moment and I took a moment to relax. Laying on the bed, stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t going to answer. This is how things usually went with the deputy. She always went radio silent after I asked that question. Joseph was adamant that this was what the voice said. She would join us in Eden. Joseph was so optimistic but when I look at what the deputy has done, all the destruction to my—
“Yes.”
Did she just–
I shot up off the bed and my hair fell into my eyes temporarily blocking out the light. She did it. She said yes. I laughed in disbelief
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that. What changed your mind, deputy?”
Silence followed then a deep sigh.
“A lot can change when you are slowly bleeding out.”
I was confused why would she call me if she was bleeding out. Wait, bleeding out?
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, that I am currently leaning against a tree in the forest somewhere bleeding out. I made a mistake and now I’m paying for it. Guess I’m not as stealthy as I thought I was.”
I could hear a slight rasp in her voice and I grew concerned. I stood up off the bed, put my jacket on and began pacing.
“Where are you, Deputy?”
“What does it matter John? Don’t you and your family want me dead? You should be celebrating. The Deputy is dying. I won’t be your problem anymore.”
She thinks we want her dead? Does she not understand? Why isn’t she fighting?
I slammed my hands down on the table and yelled into the radio. My fear and anger are taking over.
“For once in your life deputy, don’t let your pride get in the way. Where. Are. You?”
Silence filled the air and I held my breath, praying that the radio would just make a small sound. As the silence stretched on, I could feel fear begin to fill my body. What if she-
“Deputy? Are you there?”
The radio made a clicking noise indicating that the button was pressed but no noise came out of it. Then…
“Look out your window John.”
I instantly spun around and glanced out the window. At first I saw nothing but darkness, then a small light emerged through the trees and it was flashing. Had she been there this entire time? I yelled for my men and took off running down the hall. Maybe I could get to her in time, maybe I could save her. As I made my way down the stairs and into the main dining area my radio cracked again.
“ I have a confession for you John.”
“I’m scared.”
I have to keep her talking. Her breathing is getting worse. My men and I just made it across the compound and were jumping the fence now. She was only a few yards away.
“What else, deputy. Keep talking.”
“John….I’m so tired.”
“Don’t you dare fall asleep Deputy! You have to stay awake.”
I could hear her crying into the radio and I gritted my teeth. We were so close, I could hear her now, not through the radio.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry John. I never wanted any of this to happen. I was only here as a part of my job and all I wanted was to go home. Then I became some fucking glorified hero to these people. I just want it all the stop.”
Her voice was filled with such fear and sadness. Maybe Joseph was right, she was just a lost lamb who needed guidance.
“Deputy!?”
I could see her leaning against the tree and I ran even faster. When I reached her, she was already unconscious and blood was flowing quickly.
“Here, call Joseph and have him and Faith come. Find the Doctor and get him here immediately.”
I scooped the Deputy up and ran back to the house. Hopefully we weren’t too late. I just hoped Joseph could save her.
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