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direwombat · 1 year

Note

“Stop fucking teasing me and get to it already.” + Augustine & Joseph 🙈

edited the line slightly to make it just a bit more in character, but here's the filth!

tags/warnings: power imbalances, daddy/father kink, bit of a religious kink, oral sex, coming untouched, look it’s a cult-member having sex with a cult leader, and joe has a bit of a god complex. nothing here is healthy. enjoy! :)

a mouth full of praise | explicit | 2.4k | on ao3

For some reason, the Father likes keeping Augustine nearby. At first, he thought it strange. Surely there are far many other members of the Project more worthy of his company. Not that Augustine had minded, of course, taking any opportunity he could to ask if there had been any news of his sister, the Junior Deputy. But as time wore on and the answer kept being a resounding “No,” he stops asking. Sybille must be dead, he assumes, and with no other family, he throws himself into serving the Project that took him in as if he was always one of their own.

Then, he comes to regard the Father’s company as an honor. He chose Augustine, and while he may not understand why, he accepts his blessings where he can. And when his leg finally heals from the injury he sustained up in the Whitetails, the Father asks him to take up a rifle and accompany him away from the compound and into other parts of the county.

He’s proud to serve the Father in such a way. Blessed to hold his trust so close.

And then the dreams start. Dreams that leave him breathless, sweating, and needing to sneak away to do his laundry in private. He can’t let the others know of his shame. Of his sin. He’s already endured the Atonement once and has zero wishes to go through it again. But the images…the desires are burned into his memory, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees himself engaging in acts of Holy hedonism.

He sees himself on his knees, pious and supplicant to the Father most Holy. He tastes the Father’s flesh, sweet and salty on his tongue, and not at all like the communion wafers he grew up on. The body of his Lord and Savior is something solid and warm, and he longs to know how he really tastes.

The thought alone makes him flush whenever the Father is near him, and short of shirking his duties, he does all he can to avoid him. His sin is his own burden to bear.

He busies himself with a broom, sweeping the church after morning service. He collects the dirt into neat little piles, making sure to reach under each pew. The Father has been working so hard recently, he deserves to return to a clean church when he finishes his rest in his office. They’ve been losing so many people recently. Augustine doesn’t know much about what’s happening outside the compound, but from what he gathers, someone hateful and violent has inspired rabid hatred against the Father.

It makes his heart ache. Who could hate such a kind and reverent man?

He brushes his little dirt piles into the dustpan and discards them out the window he had opened to air out the building. The air may be getting crisper as the season changes, but get enough bodies packed into a tight space, and it inevitably smells like sweat and musk. His Lord the Father deserves fresh, clean air to help clear his head.

Tapping the dustpan against the windowsill, he knocks the last of the dirt and grime loose, and as he moves to return the broom to its closet, he finds the Father standing in the door frame leaning to his office. He stands with his arms crossed, his shoulder resting on the door jamb.

“Father,” Augustine startles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you. Is there something you need? Water? A meal?”

The Father cocks his head to the side, brows pinching together. “Are you in such a hurry to rid yourself of my presence, Augustine?”

Augustine’s heart gallops in his chest. His palms go sweaty and his grip around the neck of the broom tightens and starts trembling. Strangely enough, it isn’t the idea that the Father may know of his sin that frightens him, but rather the notion that he’s disappointed that Augustine does not trust in him enough to confess it. “No, of course not! I just —”

But then the Father lifts his hand, cutting Augustine off, and he smiles. It’s so soft, so beautiful and ethereal, that Augustine can’t help but be enraptured by it. “I joke,” the Father says, and the yawning pit in Augustine’s gut closes. But only slightly.

The Father removes his glasses, gently folding the arms and hooking them into the breast pocket of his vest. Those beautiful blue eyes of his pin Augustine in place as he studies him. Like a knife made of ice, he cuts through to Augustine’s soul, peeling away his flesh and bones until his soul is bared, along with all the secrets he keeps closely guarded. “Something has been weighing heavy on your mind these past few days, Augustine. What troubles you?”

“Oh, um,” he stammers. “It’s..It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Father.” But the words feel bitter falling off his tongue. Who is he to say what the Father should and shouldn’t be concerned with?

The Father frowns, but it isn’t one of anger, and he waves Augustine towards him. The broom drops to the ground with a clatter and he follows him as he disappears back into his office. Once Augustine enters, the Father shuts the door behind them, and he motions for him to sit as he takes a seat at his own desk. Augustine perches himself on the only other surface available, resting nervously on the edge of the cot tucked in the corner.

“You think that with such a large flock, I wouldn’t notice you acting strangely,” the Father says, leaning forward, not crowding, but close enough that Augustine can smell the Bliss tea on his breath and it makes him feel a little lightheaded. “But I do notice, and I worry. Have I done something to offend you, Augustine?”

Augustine’s eyes go wide. “No! No, not at all.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” he asks, and it’s so gentle and so pained that guilt gnaws like a swarm of rats in Augustine’s gut. He’s hurt him. He doesn’t understand why Augustine wouldn’t trust him to tell him what plagues his every waking thought. “What is on your mind, my child. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”

Augustine’s fingers dig into the coarse denim of his jeans and he draws his lower lip between his teeth. The Devil whispering in the back of his mind tells him to lie. To fabricate some concern about his sister. But somehow, he thinks the Father would see through that. No, it’s better to confess. It will be painful, but then again, as he learned from John, confession is meaningless without pain. He swallows thickly and, averting his gaze to stare at the Father’s boots rather than his face, he says, “I want to worship you, Father. I want to worship you in ways that are almost certainly sinful and unholy.”

“By its nature, the act of worship cannot be unholy,” the Father says gently. “Unless, of course, the object of worship itself is. Do you consider me unholy, Augustine?”

This gets Augustine’s head to snap back up, his eyes wide. “No. Never. Of course not!” Augustine exclaims. He’d never meant to imply such a thing!

The Father hums and nods thoughtfully. “And is your desire to worship motivated by sin?”

Augustine pauses, his brows pinching together. “No,” he says slowly. He never touched himself thinking back on these dreams. The thought to do so never even occurred to him. It was always about giving to the Father, not taking his own pleasure. And then it dawns on him, and for the first time in nearly a week, he looks the Father in the eye. “Reverence,” he breathes.

The smile the Father gives him is just as warm as the hands that come to cradle his face. Butterflies flutter in his stomach. “Then there is nothing sinful or unholy about your desires to worship.”

Augustine sighs a breath of relief, the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying in his shoulders finally lifting. His eyes fall shut and he leans into the Father’s comforting touch. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Father.”

And then the Father pulls away, and the warmth of his touch fades. When Augustine opens his eyes, he sees the Father sitting in front of him, but something about his demeanor has changed. His legs are spread in a way that tempts Augustine’s lust, and he looks unto him with a peculiar hunger in his eyes. One of his hands curls loosely, fingers beckoning Augustine towards him. “Come closer.”

Augustine is powerless to resist. He falls from where he sits on the cot straight to his knees and crawls towards him. He settles between the Father’s legs, but he doesn’t dare touch him. Not without permission. So, he places his hands in his own lap, locking his fingers together as if in prayer and firmly squeezing them between his own thighs so that they may not act sinfully of their own accord. That beckoning hand comes to rest atop Augustine’s head, fingers threading through his long auburn locks.

“Show me,” the Father murmurs, quiet but no less of a command. “Show me how you wish to worship me.”

Augustine’s lips part, his mouth going dry. His gaze darts from the face of the Father, to the space between his legs, and back again. He licks his lips, feeling the way the flush crawls up his neck and burning his ears and cheeks. His fingers twitch, as he’s overwhelmed by lust. “Father, I…”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my child,” the Father says. “Go on.”

The words are enough to get Augustine moving. Tentatively, his hands rise up to touch the Father’s thighs, rubbing in a way that’s more exploratory than anything else. They then slide up towards his belt, gingerly unbuckling it and pulling the leather from his hips. Encouraged by a Holy sigh from above, Augustine pops the button to his pants and pulls down the zipper of his fly. The Father graciously lifts his hips to help him drag down both his pants and underwear, allowing his cock to spring free.

It’s semi-erect, and Augustine’s mouth waters at the sight, blessed to be the object of the Father’s arousal, and eager to see him in all his Glory. He licks his lips and leans in, mouthing wetly along its length. He breathes in the musk and sweat, and as he drags his tongue up and takes the head into his mouth, it tastes ever so faintly of Bliss oil. His head swims, eyes fluttering shut, and he moans quietly. His tongue laps lazily, savoring the Father’s Holy Seed.

The Father’s grip tightens almost painfully in Augustine’s hair. “Enough teasing, my child. Get to it already,” he hisses, his voice hoarse and rough.

Augustine pulls off just long enough to breathe out an apology. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t apologize, child, just —” he tapers off in a shuddering moan as Augustine takes him in his mouth.

It’s only part way. Augustine has never taken another man’s cock in his mouth before, and the intrusion, while not unwelcome, is more than he anticipated. The Father is warm and heavy against his tongue, and he fills his mouth in a way that sends Hellfire coursing through his veins.

“That’s it,” the Father breathes, and he slowly forces Augustine’s head further down his shaft. “Just relax.”

Tears prick at Augustine’s eyes as he sputters and chokes, but the Father groans above him, so he must be doing something right. He feels the Father’s thighs tense beneath his hands as his own throat struggles and constricts around the uncomfortable size being forced down it. “Hush,” the Father shushes as he guides Augustine’s head down until his nose is pressed against his pubic bone. “Relax your throat. That’s it. Good boy.”

It’s a struggle, but the combined taste of Bliss and his own willpower, Augustine manages to relax his throat. When he does, the Father’s grip in his hair relaxes, allowing him to lift up, but never off. His lips remain wrapped around his cock, drool pooling in his mouth and leaking out the sides, wet and obscene. The Father’s hand is a warm weight against his skull, almost cradling, as he begins to bob his head. His tongue works the underside of the Father’s cock, and he slides down to the base, and comes to swirl at the head as he rises.

Just as soon as he finds a comfortable rhythm, the Father’s grip in his hair tightens again, guiding him faster, as he bucks into Augustine’s mouth. “That’s it, my child, worship me,” he moans. “Give praise with your mouth and tongue so it may be filled with Glory.”

Augustine moans around him, his eyes fluttering shut at the sheer power in the Father’s voice, and as he does, the Father’s hips stutter. He forces Augustine’s head down one last time, holding him as his Glory spills down his throat, giving him no choice but to swallow.

With a final shudder, the Father’s fingers slip from his hair and he goes limp in his seat. Augustine pulls off his softening cock and leans his head against one of his thighs, dizzy and breathless, and with his throat sore and aching. The Father’s fingers dance over his face, gifting him with light caresses, and when the Father opens his eyes, he drinks in the sight of Augustine on his knees before him like wine.

His gaze then travels down to the space between Augustine’s legs and he clicks his tongue. “Look at you, my child,” he says, running a thumb over Augustine’s cum stained lip. “So pious. Moved to ecstasy through worship.”

Augustine whimpers, his brow furrowing in confusion, but then he looks down only to realize that he’s soiled his jeans as if he were a teenager. He looks back to the Father with dumb, glassy eyes, but says nothing.

Giving one last soft caress to his cheek, the Father smiles at him. “Go get cleaned up,” he says.

“Yes, Father,” Augustine answers, and when he speaks, his voice is hollow and ruined. With the legs of a newborn fawn, he stands and stumbles towards the church’s small washroom. His pants chafe uncomfortably as he moves.

He’s halfway out the door to the office when the Father calls to him once again. “Oh, and Augustine? Should you ever wish to worship like that again, do let me know.”

Augustine blinks slowly as the words wash over him. Then, he smiles. “Yes, Father,” he nods. “I most certainly will.”

#joseph seed x oc #joseph seed x male oc #r: the father and the confessor #my fic #yo wtf is up with the copy/paste function and why is it messing up my text?#had to copy/paste this paragraph by paragraph to keep it from fucking up #oc: augustine la roux

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killyourrdarlingss · 1 year

Text

Character Interview - Dennis Dustin Monroe

tysm to @henbased for tagging me in this !! did it take forever ? absolutely! but, it was so, so worth it. and of course I chose Jacob because he can actually get info out of Dennis lol.

This is written in a much simpler style, very just one line, action, etc, or else this would have been 10k and honestly i just dont have the energy-- so script style ? kinda.

(formatting broke please look at this work on my actual blog/desktop site for proper format, no idea how to fix this but it looks BAD on mobile, if anyone does lmk)

TW for extremely negative views, past mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, blood.

Dennis is called in by Jacob for a chat and definitely isn’t an intimidation technique of any kind since Joseph's taken a liking to Dennis.

Nah, definitely not.

“State your name.”

He falters, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, looks anywhere but Jacob’s eyes.

“It’s Dennis.”

“Full name.”

“Dennis Dustin Monroe.” a pause,

“I really hate it though, if i’m honest… and seems like if I’m staying down here, I should be.”

A scoff, or a laugh, a chuckle? Dennis doesn’t think too much into it.

“Relationship status.” not asked like a question, Dennis observes.

“Single..? I…”

“Really?”

Dennis has to bite back a comment.

“And you're happy with that, I’m guessing?” he doesn't look amused, he just leans back a bit, exhales like Dennis is boring him.

“Being single or just in general? because it’s complicated.”

a pause, “for both.”

“Do you have a smoke, or something–”

He feels like he’s choking.

“Are you happy?”

Dennis bites at a hangnail,

“I don’t think so.”

Jacob nods, the chair creaks under him.

“You’re angry?”

“Yeah.”

“At what, what are you mad at?”

He rips the hangnail from his finger, spits it away from Jacob on the floor and sucks at the blood forming.

“Who knows.”

Jacob’s foot taps on the floor, Dennis’ eyes shoot up,

“Myself–” Dennis doesn’t feel like talking but he does, his eyes are watering and Jacob’s unmoving like a stone,

He blinks once,

“I wish it was me.”

Jacob doesn't prod, hums under his breath.

“Let's move on.”

Dennis looks away.

“Your family, parents, are they married?”

“Technically? No.”

“Explain.”

“N-” Dennis chokes, coughs, his eyes water more, tears down his cheeks– he feels vulnerable.

More than before.

“No.” he picks at the bloody nail and moves his eyes down to the floor,

“I don't want to do this.”

“You will.”

“You scare me.”

Jacob laughs.

“Where were you born?”

Dennis wipes the now cold tear from his face.

“I was born in Montana actually.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yeah.”

Dennis smiles, emotionless.

“Next.”

“I’m assuming your hair isn’t naturally green.”

“You’re pretty smart.”

Jacob clears his throat, Dennis jolts,

“Brown.”

“Your eyes are…” Jacob leans in, Dennis swallows,

“Hm,” there’s a smirk on his face,

“Weird I know, I get it a lot”

Jacob stares, grabs his chin and looks closer.

Dennis stays stiff as a board,

“Brown on the left, blue on the right.”

Dennis pulls his face away, it's his turn to clear his throat,

“Next.”

“You can't be older than John.”

“I think I know what the next question is,”

“When you were born.”

Dennis nods,

“September twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty four.”

“Hm.” Jacob relaxes only a bit, “You're turning forty soon.”

“Don't remind me.”

“Current mood?”

“Worse now that you’ve reminded me.”

“Nothing wrong with it.”

“I think I wasted my life.”

“You still have time.”

“Next.”

“You're a man, I’m assuming.”

Dennis laughs.

“John wrote these.” Jacob looks over at a paper on a small table beside them,

“Summer or winter, morning or afternoon.”

“Summer, and night.”

They both nod.

A laugh, it should break the tension, it doesn’t.

“Are you in love, Mr. Monroe?”

“Hah–”

Dennis feels the air break up a little bit, he still wishes he had a smoke,

“Would it make it all easier if I was?”

Jacob looks like he’s actually thinking but says nothing.

“So, single, not in love, angry at the world?”

“Just your type then?”

Jacob laughs a bit louder,

“Did you end your last relationship?”

“I've ended all of them.”

“Don't feel bad- breaking their hearts like that?”

Dennis sounds proud,

“Nah.”

“Nobody good enough?”

“Could say that.” Dennis smirks, “only ever liked this one guy so I thought about it.”

“Thought about?”

“Something longer, love maybe. Maybe I just liked his face.”

It’s Jacob’s turn to say it,

“Alright, next.”

Dennis nods,

“Can I smoke now?”

“Bad habit.” but Jacob hands one to him regardless,

“A light?”

“Not yet.”

Dennis puts it between his lips regardless.

“Big on physical contact?” Jacob leans his head in his hand, “Don’t seem like the type.”

“Depends.”

“Hugged anyone recently?”

Dennis goes quiet,

“Maybe.” he smiles.

“John has stupid questions.” Jacob bites as he reads the paper, throwing the blame.

“‘Do you have a secret admirer–’ really.”

“Yeah you–” Dennis looks up and sees the annoyance burning in his eyes and shuts his mouth,

“Next question.”

The tension is back,

“Broke many hearts, how about your own?”

Dennis has to think about it, bites around the filter,

“Next question.”

“You need to answer,”

“Light this if I answer?”

Jacob nods, “Go on.”

Dennis holds out the cig,

“The answer’s no.”

Jacob flashes his teeth as the tip of the smoke begins to burn.

They both settle.

“The next questions are quick.”

“Good.”

“Lemonade or iced tea?”

“Really?”

Jacobs foot taps, Dennis breathes smoke in,

“Okay, lemonade.”

“Cats or dogs.”

“Dogs”

Exhales the smoke,

“That makes sense.”

“Really- What if I lied?”

Takes another drag, Jacob digs in his pocket for his own smoke,

“No, you didn’t.”

Dennis grins, all teeth,

“You’re right.”

“Many friends or just one good one?”

“Neither.”

He hears a lighter click,

“I agree.”

The tensions replaced by nicotine, Dennis feels looser,

Jacob scoffs,

“A Romantic night doesn't suit you.”

“And, you know me so well, what's the question?” he can't help but laugh,

“-Or a wild night out.”

“Ah.”

Jacob hums.

“Maybe I just need to try it– romance.”

Jacob breathes out, takes another drag,

“Maybe.”

Dennis doesn’t pursue the thought.

“Day or night?”

“For romance?”

“No.” Jacob’s over the subject, Dennis can't help but tease.

“Night.”

Jacob exhales slow, right at Dennis before asking the next question,

“Love or Lust.”

“Oh.” it slips out, Dennis feels heat on his cheeks.

Jacob stands from his chair and boxes Dennis into his own chair, hands on each armrest, leans in,

“ I know, Dennis.” his eyes don't move, he gasps out and tries to move his head away, suffocated, tar in his lungs.

“You’re scaring me again.” easy to default to, Dennis braces.

Jacob brings a hand to his face, tilting his head back to look at him,

“If you know, why do I need to answer?

Jacob smiles,

“-Love.” he shuts his eyes as he says it, voice raised, Jacobs fingers press firm into his cheek,

“fuck– You– how do you…”

He lets him go, sated.

Dennis immediately takes a drag and pulls himself together,

“He seemed happier, last I saw him.”

Dennis shakes his head, “You don’t–”

“I know my own brother.”

He doesn't say it loud, but the small change in tone makes his blood freeze and he backs down,

“Right. Sorry.”

“Next question.”

Dennis nods.

“Have you ever?” Jacob walks closer to the table and nods,

“Got caught sneaking out?”

Dennis looks to his surroundings, bleak, gray, hospital room,

“Could say that.”

“Fell up or down the stairs.”

“Sure.”

Dennis stubs his cigarette out,

“About Joseph, how did you know, we were uh– I mean, I just- I don't believe you entirely either.”

He watches Jacob, eyes sharpening as he shakes his head,

“Have you ever wanted something so bad it hurt?”

Dennis nods,

“Yeah, you?”

Another nod.

“Ever wanted to disappear?”

Dennis leans his arm against the rest,

“That would be nice.”

“Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you how I know.”

Dennis wagers, looks at Jacob’s expression, unreadable.

“Any more questions?”

“Preferences.”

“Could use a smoke.”

Jacob lights one with the tip of his own, hands it over,

“Smile or eyes.”

“Eyes.”

“Taller?”

“Mhm.”

“Intelligence or attraction?”

Dennis breathes in,

“A bit of both, I prefer smart men though.”

Jacob raises an eyebrow,

“Why?”

Dennis smiles, shrugs, “I think it's cute.”

“Relationship or one night stand?”

“You know the answer.”

A chuckle.

A beat passes, a silence, Dennis wonders what’s coming next.

Jacob reads the stack of papers, lights a new cigarette,

“Your Family.”

“No–.”

“How was your relationship with them?”

Dennis looks away, shuts his eyes, takes in a long breath,

“Standard.” he smiles, albeit shadowed by something more. “My sister Becky, Mom an’ Dad… big happy family.”

“Have a messed up life?”

“Hah–!” Dennis picks the smoke from his lips,

“My Mom and Sister are dead, so, yeah.”

“How?”

Dennis just looks away.

“Run away from home?”

Dennis nods, “I’m here, so yeah, I did. Ran away from everything.”

The recorder clicks, Jacob flips the tape inside it.

“After your mom died?”

“After my sister did.”

Jacob looks perplexed, Dennis feels he has an edge over him with it. He goes back to smoking and the next question is asked,

“Gotten kicked out?”

“Technically. Dad said to make something of myself or leave. I left.”

“So, your Mom and Sister die, and he,” Jacob pauses, exhales, “proposes that?”

“Yep. ‘Big happy family’.” Dennis mocks.

“Or, well, it was just us. Not much of a family at that point.”

Jacob grimaces,

“Consider yourself pessimistic?”

Dennis shrugs,

“Next question.”

Jacob flips the page, sits back in his chair and looks at Dennis, then the page, Reminds him of his old therapist –

“Friends?”

“Didn’t you already ask this?”

“No, do you have a friend you hate?”

“No.”

“Do you have any friends?”

Dennis flicks the ash of his cigarette,

“Are we friends?”

Jacob doesn't respond,

“Then no.”

He flips to the next section, prematurely.

“Best friends?” He looks tired.

“Well,”

Jacob looks up, goes to flip the page back over,

“It was Becky.”

A pause, Jacob flips the page.

“So, no friends then.”

Dennis laughs. What else is there to do besides laugh.

He can see through the page in Jacob’s hand, there's one line written stark on the paper and it has Dennis eager. Unsure how long they’d both been asking mindless questions, he clears his throat.

“So?” He taps the ash once more, to the damp floor, “Are we done?”

“Who knows everything about you?” Jacob looks expectantly at him, says nothing besides the question.

Dennis opens his mouth, scoffs, “What am I supposed to say–”

Jacob doesn't budge.

“Am I supposed to say me?”

Jacob seems amused by it all, Dennis’ slight confusion growing as he tries to stare him down.

“It's just,” Dennis deescalates,

“You're acting like I should know?”

Dennis, after minutes, gives up. The other doesn’t prod.

“Don’t worry, you will.”

The interview, or conversation, is finished.

The recorder is clicked off.

Dennis stands up.

Jacob mirrors, speaks,

“Wait.”

He does, as Jacob walks over to a white cabinet and opens the doors.

“You left your sweater on Joseph's couch.”

The color drains from his face, and he almost drops his cigarette to the floor,

“I–.” it's the only word he can say as he tries to stutter out an excuse.

The shirt is pressed to his chest and Dennis grabs it with his free hand. It seems cleaner than it had been originally. He tries not to think too much into it.

Jacob brings a hand down firm to Dennis’ shoulder.

“Now, let’s try this again.”

Pressed down into his chair once more,

Dennis simply nods.

#far cry 5 #gothiewrites #dennis dustin monroe #male deputy oc #joseph x male deputy #at it's core lmao #gothies fic tag #jacob seed #joseph seed #jacob smokes in this. personal hc

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gxmergurl · 1 year

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I also honestly love how the peak Lucas and Joseph dynamic is "Don't you dare threaten my husband even though he is more than capable of handling himself in any danger" and I think that's beautiful

#x: when the dust settles #They are both very capable #But also very protective #These men can handle themselves but like protecting each other #joseph seed #far cry 5 #oc: lucas taylor #oc: deputy lucas taylor #far cry 5 deputy #joseph seed/male deputy

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simplegenius042 · 19 days

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Late OCs as Horror Themes/Tropes, Ships as Tarot Cards, and 15 Lines or Less Tag

Tagged by @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @direwombat and @g0dspeeed

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @softtidesworld @strafethesesinners @strangefable @adelaidedrubman @wrathfulrook @corvosattano @cassietrn @derelictheretic @shellibisshe @florbelles @cloudofbutterflies92 @starsandskies @onehornedbeast @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @afarcryfrommymain @megraen @turbo-virgins @minilev @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @titiagls @thewanderer-000 @snake-in-the-garden @purplehairsecretlair @chazz-anova @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @skoll-sun-eater @yokobai @bitchofedensgate @deputyash @ec-10 @foofygoldfish @gaeadene @henbased @vampireninjabunnies-blog and @trashcatsnark

You can find the OCs as Horror Themes/Tropes quiz here and the Ships as Tarot Cards quiz here. One OC for the first quiz, Two Ships for the second quiz, and three OCs for five lines each for the 15. The results and lines are below the cut:

DISCORD, THE MAD KIN OF CARNAGE (A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and the Unnamed Original Works Trilogy)

Discord was a second-generation reality bender (or more commonly known as "Kin"), and one of the most devastatingly powerful as well. His very presence was capable of reverting anything and everything around him back to its basic essential form/s (until it became rusted, rotten, and/or dust and eventually nothing at all). Had technically been killed during the Extermination Purge War, however, Arcane Urias' Chapter of the Occult, a group of warlocks, liches and dark magic users that aimed to preserve ancient magic (regardless if it was forbidden or destructive) and bring back the Old Kin (which mostly consist of the extinct first, second and third generations, as well as some fourth) to rule over the Multiverse once again, had found a way to bring back Discord, in a universe where Earth had been ravaged by nuclear war. NOTE: This result kind of describes how Discord's second death more-or-less is like.

THE BAPTIST AND THE QUOKKA [JOHN SEED X NADI SINCLAIR] (Far Cry The Silver Chronicles)

While Nadi and John have this "loyally serving the other while yearning for each others love but beating around the bush due to bad timings and stuff and still caring and possessive of the other to an obsessively unhealthy degree"... I will have to say that Nadi's affection isn't John's only priority; Joseph and his family plus the project is John's focus and is probably what he would choose over Nadi. Nadi though views John as the person who gave her something to believe in again, to put her skill and faith in (especially after losing faith in the military and governments after the events of Call To Arms), so to her, Eden's Gate' faith is personified by John. But if either lose each one another, it will greatly impact the other's life.

HAOYU ANABUKI X ICARUS GALATOS (Life, Despair & Monsters)

Ah yes, another main LGBTQ+ couple I made to add to my collection alongside Sonya and Jennifer. Haoyu (Non-Binary, 25) and Icarus (Male, 23) fit each other well. At first both thought the other was a jerk. However, both got to know each other, related about their experiences with distant, long-lost and/or found family (Haoyu with their father, mother and Monika plus the Literature Club, and Icarus with his parents, siblings, alters and the Dupain-Cheng Family), coming to terms with their personal lives (Haoyu with their ability to open portals and travel through reality breaches, and Icarus plus his alters with the ability to switch dimensions with this magic fungus dude named Hatter whom one of the alters had eaten inadvertently on a dare), as well as near-death experiences (Haoyu with the Ruins of the Midnight Rise, and Icarus with Evermond Scowlzka trying to dissect him and his alters to get Hatter) plus their encounters with Sir Enigma Malvolio (Haoyu is Malvolio's foil and therefore targeted as a rival, and Icarus, while never meeting Malvolio until much later, had seen the aftereffects of Malvolio putting the essence of the Court King into a close friend of his, Marinette Dupain-Cheng). They also manage to work through each other's flaws; Icarus was reserved and arrogant but self-sacrificing (hence the requirement for his alters, Hatsukami Hinode and Xavier Tulip), and Haoyu was bold and selfish yet unambitious. Icarus teaches Haoyu how to be driven, pointing them towards a goal beneficial to not only them, but everyone, while Haoyu taught Icarus how to listen and take care of himself more, as well as be open-minded. Wherever they end up after the fight with the Ruins of the Midnight Rise, know that they're both at least together.

15 LINES, 5 EACH FOR 3 OCS IN THE UNTITLEDVERSE

Calvin Darling (The Perfect Storm saga)

"Ah, back in this shit again?" He grumbles, getting up.

"Haven't you learned by now? "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before the fall"," Calvin quoted, "Try to checkmate that, you pompous dick."

"I need a drink," Calvin pauses, reminding himself of another task, "But first I shall pray."

"Mario! I'm a cartoonist, not a mechanic."

"...I'm simultaneously impressed by how smart you can be but also disappointed in how stupid you are."

Rick Thompson (The Omniscience Rule saga and The Ender saga)

6. "I don't remember hunting down clowns to be part of the initiative...?" 7. "My dream came true Ma... I am IN a Musical." 8. "Ms Darling, if I may compliment outside of regulations, you're stunning beauty is increased tenfold by the stellar addition of grime and demons blood." 9. "I may be an agent, but I'm no where near professional." 10. "Ian Graveheart is the kind of man Pa described as the worst combination you can give a loaded weapon without safety on... legs and batshit insanity."

Urijah Calaghan (The UnTitled Stories (from The Omniscience Rule saga) and The UnTitled Ventures saga)

11. "You don't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing except this mission." 12. "How cruel are our lives where we must live out a path hostile to our treading feet as the unknown entities above and beyond mock and degrade us? And what fate awaits us then? Release? Freedom? Death? A second round for your soul to enter the world again and go right back into the cosmic mechanism that grinds us down again and again and again like a broken carousel? Or a decrepit record stuck spinning on the same tune? But that's only if you're lucky enough to die." 13. "My mission is to release us, painlessly and mercifully, from the one who holds onto us; the Hand at Fate's Table, one abhorrently callous and cruel enough to take pleasure in the suffering he puts us through." 14. "You must find this tiring. For a man to commit himself against an endless stream of challenges for what is ultimately a short speck of time in our universes must come at a great unnecessary cost to your body. Do you not wish to rest, Joaquin? Wouldn't it be best to live the final minutes of your life resting? Taking a moment to hold your family one last time before our Peace?" Urijah softly questioned. 15. "That doesn't matter," Urijah softly breathes out with a smile, hot air colliding against the cold breeze as the countdown reaches its conclusion.

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lovingwanda · 8 months

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So I've seen the positive reception for my "cult mother!Wanda" post and I have some ideas brewing. I've decided that I might turn it into a kind of Wandavision au trilogy. I will still have Wanda x vision content but I will also be shipping wanda with a male OC of mine based off of Geto Suguru / Kenjaku from JJK. There will be some canon divergency and inspiration taken from Joseph Seed from Far Cry 3 and a scp oc of mine named Miranda.

Do you guys have any ideas you want to share or even fanfic title ideas? I'm open to anything for my first fanfic

#cult mother wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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johnseedfanclub · 3 years

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Angel: You know John..I gotta say. You have been staring at me a lot lately

John: What?

Angel: I just curious...You like what you see *slaps his thigh* y’kno~ ;)

John: W- You- I WOULD NE- ABSOLUTELY NOT

Angel: And I’m the one that’s g a y here

John: I SAID N O.

#Angel definitely not one for being shy hahaaa #oc: angel sanchez #john seed x oc #john seed x deputy #john seed x male deputy #far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry deputy #deputy oc #deputy oc headcanons #far cry #john seed #joseph seed #farcry 5 #jacob seed

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jackiesarch · 4 years

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believe

A piece for the lovely @masastiy, who (too long ago) requested a scene with their deputy, Kutha, and Joseph, with Joseph preaching something fervently and Kutha being mesmerized by his devotion, his passion, his body language.

I’m so sorry this took so long to get out to you! Thank you for being patient with me as I recovered from both physical and mental illnesses the last few months. I hope it’s everything you imagined!

-------

On nights like these, Joseph often preaches.

At least, Kutha thinks it may be nighttime. Without windows, without the sun or the moon, it’s hard to tell whether it’s morning or night. All things considered, Kutha thinks that’s one of the things he misses most about the outside world – the sky. Some days, it’s the memories of wispy white clouds painted over red-orange sunrises that haunt him; other times it’s hazy thoughts of the inky black darkness scattered with constellations.

Whether it’s night or day doesn’t matter in the bunker, though, and as he lounges on the sofa in the living area, Kutha finds he’s more interested in the sound of Joseph’s voice anyway.

“Then the kings of the earth, the princes, the generals, the rich, the mighty, and everyone else, both slave and free, hid in caves and among the rocks of the mountains.”

He recognizes the verse. The Book of Revelation has always been a favorite of Joseph’s. He reads from it often, sometimes carrying Dutch’s beat-up copy of the Bible, sometimes reciting from memory. The Book of Joseph doesn’t exist down here, but he does just fine without.

He carries no Bible in hand today, speaking easily from his own recollection. Joseph walks the same path back and forth from the kitchen to the glowing blue fish tank, his left hand clutching his rosary tight, the beads jolting and flying as he gestures fervently through his sermon.

Kutha watches him pace, always fascinated by the fluidity of Joseph’s movements. He’s taller than the preacher could ever dream of being, but Joseph is still lanky, still thin and lean and moving like rushing water. There is something about him that begs Kutha to stare, that begs him to follow the lines of Joseph’s body the same way a painter eyes the angles of his subject.

“They called to the mountains and the rocks, ’Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb!’”

There’s a lilt of something fiery to his voice now, a hint of that southern accent Kutha finds so enthralling slipping through into his words as he speaks of wrath.

“‘For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can withstand it?’”

Wrath.

There was a time when that word would light its own fire in the pit of Kutha’s stomach. He remembers the explosiveness of his own anger in the days after the bombs fell, his bitterness that he hadn’t stopped it. Those were dark days, he thinks, and his memories are hazy. All he has are bits and pieces, but he remembers the way Joseph’s voice would calm him, the way it would smother the fire and set it to embers.

He’s less angry now, but the effect is still the same. Watching Joseph speak so eloquently, so passionately, so surely – Kutha finds it mesmerizing.

Without much thought, Kutha reaches forward and curls his fingers around Joseph’s wrist as he steps toward the couch. It’s a gentle action, nothing like the first few months after the bombs fell when everything he did was full of rage and hate and anger.

Joseph goes silent, his words dropping off like they’ve been stolen straight out of his mouth. For a few seconds, the only thing Kutha hears is the ambient noise of the living area – their easy, mingled breathing, the bubbling of the fish tank, the quiet hum of the generator.

The beads of the rosary are hard, digging into Kutha’s palm as he runs his fingers along the lines of Joseph’s hands. The pads of his fingertips are work-worn and calloused, and they make Kutha think of a time long in the past, when they were both younger and when Joseph was living out of his car in Rome. He traces the edge of his fingernail, the bump of his knuckle, the line of a scar well-healed on his ring finger. His hands are beautiful. All parts of him are, Kutha knows, but Joseph’s hands have always made the breath stutter in his chest. It’s the duality of what they’re capable, he thinks – gentleness and harshness, all in the same man.

A single tug has Joseph moving forward, closing the distance between them in two easy steps. Kutha lets go of Joseph’s wrist in favor of his waist, reaching up his hands to paw at his tattooed sides.

He lets his hands wander. Goosebumps prickle under his touch as his fingertips trail down Joseph’s sides, feather-light strokes over his ribs and down to the divots of his hipbones. Kutha leans forward, tilting his head down to press his forehead against Joseph’s middle. His skin is warm where they touch, soft and smooth and radiating like a heater as Kutha inhales deeply.

“‘Never again will they hunger, never again will they thirst’,” Joseph murmurs, reaching up a hand to stroke the side of Kutha’s head. The sensation makes him shiver, and he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss just above the scar that brands him with ‘lust’. “‘For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water’.”

Joseph’s other hand comes up to cup Kutha’s cheek, and Kutha tightens his already vice-like grip around the preacher’s hips.

When he speaks, he finishes Joseph’s sentence. Calmness seeps through him in that same way it always does.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

#my writing #far cry 5 #fc5 fic #joseph seed #joseph seed x male deputy #friends ocs

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heroofpenamstan · 3 years

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—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy, @shellibisshe, @belorage, @honeysides, @strafethesesinners, @faithchel, @blissfulalchemist! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

#tag game #deputy joanne burton #michael s. hughes #oc: get to know jo #oc: build a bicycle #my stuff #far cry 5 oc

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direwombat · 1 year

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direwombat's fic masterlist

decided to go ahead and pull together a quick masterlist of my fic since not everything is in the same spot. will do my best to keep this up to date lol

far cry 5

jacob seed x female rook [nonspecific deputy]

fragile creatures (on collision with our judgment day) | M | currently on haitus (rip)

claim me, oh claim me | E 🔞🔞🔞| a/b/o au smut

oc: deputy sybille la roux

a room with a view | E 🔞🔞🔞| AO3, tumblr | sybille enjoys her view from jacob's room at the veterans center

the howling | M | AO3, tumblr | witch syb x werewolf jacob supernatural au

wrapped (not in linen or lace, but leather) | E | AO3, tumblr | syb gets railed while wearing a collar.

until it takes | E 🔞🔞🔞 | AO3 , tumblr | jakesyb + breeding kink

paperwork | E 🔞🔞🔞 | AO3, tumblr | jacob catches sybille snooping through his files. he punishes her accordingly.

prompt fill | T | jacob and sybille share a moment after their battle

prompt fill | M 🔞🔞 | jacob and sybille have a little wrestle in the woods

prompt fill | M 🔞🔞 | Caress to the cheek after a moment together + jakesyb

prompt fill | M | Chin lift to make you look directly at their eyes that just make you follow aimlessly and without much force really. (bonus if they kiss afterward) + jakesyb

prompt fill | E 🔞🔞🔞 | sybille surrenders herself to jacob

prompt fill | T | ⛑ - Some tender first-aid + sybjoey

prompt fill | T | 💤 A few extra hours of sleep and ✋ A hand carding gently through their hair + jakesyb

fc 5 polycule au

run rabbit, run | M 🔞🔞 | jacob seed and kit cross hunt their prey through the woods

oc: augustine la roux

a mouth full of praise | E 🔞🔞🔞 | AO3, tumblr | joseph seed x cultist!original male character

general

confiteor | T | AO3, tumblr | in the wake of john's death, sybille goes to joseph to confess.

uncharted

oc: paola orsini

wine drunk | T |

prompt fill | Gen | paola has dinner with rafe

party favor | Gen | done for oc kiss week

#my fic

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the-alligator-queen-blog · 6 years

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Seek and Find - Joseph Seed/male!OC - Soulmate AU

Ayyyyyy I finished one. Here’s the soulmate AU for Wyatt (a mechanic in Fall’s End, the roommate of the main character in the long fic I’m writing) and Joseph. I’ve got an OC for each Seed sibling because why fucking not? Once those are done I’m thinking I’ll open up requests for your OCs!

Wyatt doesn’t even realize he’s doing it these days. It’s such a force of habit that if it weren’t for the sympathetic glances from the people around him he’d forget about the mark altogether. But here he is, walking through Fall’s End with his hands behind his back, the fingers of his right arm circled around the wrist of his left as his thumb strokes the words marked into his flesh. Touching the strange scars that have grown with him throughout his life, appearing in his youth and forming into sharp lines that twisted and connected until they formed a phrase:

we’re just having a conversation friend i promise

It sounds cryptic. Like he’s going to walk into the middle of a brawl involving the person he’s supposed to be linked with on a deep, cosmic level. He supposed he’s lucky, though. Most people get a word, an exclamation, something simple that anyone could say. Wyatt has something unique; a full sentence that will make it that much easier to know his Person when they speak it.

He walks through town with his head in the clouds, barely paying attention to the world around him as he wanders towards the Spread Eagle. He’s felt...heavy all day. Off. At first he’d attributed it to the oppressive July heat, but even under the industrial fans of the garage he’d been suspiciously out of sorts. It was sort of like the feeling you got one you could feel someone watching you - a prickling at the back of his neck, wide green eyes shifting from place to place as if searching for the intruder. It had gotten so bad that Carl had sent him home early to sleep it off. He’ll get home at some point, but first he needs a stiff drink.

“No one will die if they don’t get their oil changed today,” his boss had chuckled in that loud, booming voice of his. Carl is a big man, tall and round with pink skin and a white beard that flutters as he speaks. He’s known his soulmate since he was twelve. He has no idea how it feels to make it this far without them, to wonder if they’re really out there. When he clapped his hand to Wyatt’s shoulder it had sent the Wyatt stumbling forward to catch his balance. “Probably got some sort of bug. You’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

So here he is, walking through town with his head so low his messy brown curls are falling into his face. While he knows thirty-five isn’t exactly old he certainly fucking feels that way. The raised words under his thumb only drive that point further home, reminding him that he’s adrift in the world. Anchorless.

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Now get the hell out of my bar before I force you out.”

Wyatt stops at Mary May’s voice, frantic and high from within the Eagle. It sets his heart racing in his chest. He knows she’s been struggling lately, waves of those cultists coming down on her in an attempt to close the bar. He can hear the shouts through town when he’s working late nights, the occasional gunshot as she chases them off with her daddy’s rifle. Mary May Fairgrave certainly knows how to hold her own, but she shouldn’t have to.

Picking up speed to clear the last few yards to the bar, Wyatt pushes past the rickety wooden door to step inside. Mary May is on her guard behind the bar, two men standing before her with wildly different body language. The first (seeingly the younger of the two) stands with his arms folded, rocking his weight from hip to hip. He seems erratic. Agitated. Underneath his sharp navy blue suit is a man ready to strike, slowly coming undone no matter how precise his hairstyle or how expensive his shoes. Wyatt immediately knows that he’s the one to watch out for.

The other...gives off a vibe that Wyatt can’t place, but to be completely honest he feels important. Singular. Like everything in the world is leading him to this man, to this moment. And then the man looks at him and speaks.

“We’re just having a conversation, friend. I promise.”

Wyatt’s world narrows. Spins. Everything is the man standing before him, a curious and vaguely worried expression on his face as he watches Wyatt sway on the spot. “Are you alright?” he asks, expression soft and concerned behind his eerie yellow sunglasses.

He’d planned his entire life what he would say. Thought of quirky responses, code words, a way for his soulmate to know for sure. But here, in the moment, all he can choke out is, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The man stops. His eyes, whatever colour they are behind the amber glasses, go wide as his hand flies over to touch his wrist. The other man in the nice suit stops as well, looking surprised. “Joseph? Isn’t that...”

Amber glasses - Joseph - steps close, reaching out. Wyatt feels like he’s moving through a thick fog as he exposes his wrist, shows the words etched into his skin. They seem angry, livid red slashes across his skin as if they’d just been carved into his flesh. They burn and ache, hot red pain that he can barely be bothered to notice.

“You’re Joseph Seed,” Wyatt murmurs. Of all the fucking people in the world. “It’s you. I can’t...I’ve been looking for so long.”

Joseph is stepping closer. Reaching for him. As his hands reach up to touch Wyatt’s face there’s an odd sensation that feels suspiciously like coming home, like he’s finally figured everything out. His own hands fly up to hold tight to Joseph’s wrists, clinging as if something might take him away. His Person. His Soulmate.

And he knows he should be scared. Knows that this is the man responsible for all of the pain and suffering that’s taken root in his home, for all the blood and broken families. But in this moment, as Joseph pulls him close and presses their foreheads together, he’s saddled with the sick realization that he would do anything - anything - for this man.

#far cry 5 #joseph seed #joseph seed x male oc #wyatt conroy #my writing #my ocs #wyatts fc is jackson rathbone #short and solid and chill but if he's pissed HOO BOY he's got a mean right hook

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