#hope county au

[josephslittledeputy]

POV: You’re Eden’s Gate and the two camp counselors you recently hired just showed up.... :/

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday and Last Line

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @g0dspeeed @nightbloodbix @cassietrn (for WIP Wednesday) and @deputyash (for last line)

Tagging @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @carlosoliveiraa @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @bitchofedensgate @trashcatsnark @minilev @onehornedbeast @voidika @afarcryfrommymain @corvosattano @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @dephellseed @skoll-sun-eater @florbelles @fourlittleseedlings @henbased @titiagls @vampireninjabunnies-blog @wrathfulrook @inafieldofdaisies @la-grosse-patate @ladyoriza @shallow-gravy @snake-in-the-garden @softtidesworld @starsandskies @thewanderer-000 and @megraen

FC5 WIPs for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, a new fic Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles) and last line for You’re Almost Like Family. Also the first official introduction for Silva's (disowned) adopted father, Paul Yellowjack!

TW: First WIP involves mentions of bullying and abuse. Second WIP involves... IDK body mutilation? Self-body multilation? Screw it, a wasp comes out of a character's hand, then it takes off its hard shells, and proceeds to enter a different character's mouth in semi-disturbing detail. Probably inaccurate anatomy on both humans and supernatural yellowjackets too. Last line involves a main character getting shot dead (not for long though) so there's that too. There! Enjoy.

Here's the moment in No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden that the Voice realizes its Muse is in the wrong occupation and Joseph unfortunately suffers from its temper tantrum. I hope I was able to do Joseph and the Voice justice here. Snippet below:

The distrustful gazes of the deputies nearby did not go unnoticed by Joseph, their eyes held onto barely hidden wrath towards him and his brother. It felt like an additional weight of the burden he carried, even after John successfully bailed three of his formerly detained flock.

The Sheriff and his department saw him as crazy. They looked at him like a madman. Their fear of the unknown, it prevented them from seeing the signs of the Collapse.

The sins that blinded them from this truth were the same sins that the government pushed them to indulge in, indoctrinating the consumerist lifestyle upon them, turning them away from God's warm embrace.

Joseph mumbled a silent prayer, a blessing for these misguided souls, holding onto faith that his Lord will guide the deputies, the supposed protectors of the county, to his flock, where he and his siblings would guide them on the right path.

Perhaps Jacob could train them to be true protectors...

But only time will tell if the deputies would accept his truth, if the Sheriff would. For the meantime, Joseph would focus on his children, those who have accepted him as their Father.

Turning his attention back to the conversing John and Sheriff Whitehorse, he felt warmth on the back of his head, and recognized a soft humming above him.

He was more alert, closely listened as the words exchanged between John and the Sheriff became mute, the persistent hum above him canceling out the hum of the building's air conditioner. The warmth of His glow consumed the cool air, and Joseph felt expectant eyes upon him, from beyond his own perception.

The Voice. His Lord, his God. Have you a message for me, Lord?

No, the Voice spoke, its tone even and still, lacking emotion yet always familiar, always reassuring to Joseph, I have need of your eyes, Joseph. The Hell that will follow the Whitehorse is here... nearby.

Joseph's blue eye widened in shock. The pace of his beating heart quickened. The very reminder of this... figure, quickened the steady pace of his heart. This figure whom the Voice had said embodied "Hell" itself, was one that haunted him. This lost soul was one he never truly got a glimpse of in his visions, both the good and the terrifying. Always obscured by the environment, whether it be the sun that shined between him and them, in the Garden that will become their New Eden, or the shadows and flames that consumed him and the corpses of his family, their back turned to the destruction they made, the paradise he tried to preserve.

The Voice had told him that it was up to him, His prophet, to bring this Great Sinner to the correct path, for they were his family's salvation, or face the destruction they will wrought. He had asked once, at the pews of his chapel, "How will I know to help them if I don't even know who this Sinner is? What do they look like?"

The Voice hadn't answered him right away, but when it did, he was unable to stop the dreadful weight sink on his soul, "You will know on the day the locusts come for you. You will know when Hell stands in front of you in this house of Mine. You will know on the morning the First Seal breaks and the Reaping finally begins."

He wondered, briefly, if it was time. If the day of reckoning that he had been tasked with preparing for had finally come upon him, at a moment where he wasn't with the rest of his flock, and in the heart of the locusts' nest.

Though Joseph put the thought to rest with the knowledge the Voice had passed to him. The day the First Seal broke would be in the morning, on compound grounds where his Flock and Family resided, and the locusts' attitude was more that of frustration than being on the offensive.

As if sensing his confusion, Joseph heard his Lord's voice once more, Calm yourself, my child. It is not time yet. This is merely an observation. An introduction if you will. You had asked me, "Who is the Sinner whom heralds Hell?" I had not thought you ready, but now, I deem it so. You will see the shape this harbinger of destruction takes form in.

Joseph's eyes shifted from the locusts, the green deputy uniforms coiling the uneasy nausea that settles on his dread. And what form is that, Lord?

The anticipation of finally seeing the one constant figure in his visions, his flock's savior or destroyer, all depending on the choice he makes, how far he can go to reach their soul and bring them into the light.

He felt God's presence above him, a constant reassurance to the Father, waiting with him as they scoured the moving bodies for the one person that will change the fate of his family at a moments notice.

That of a deputy, my prophet, the Voice revealed, Focus your eyes down the left hall.

Joseph did as instructed, his gaze locked on the corridor, catching the sight of two large double sided doors.

Can you feel their presence yet? Overwhelming, isn't it? He chuckled as Joseph's breathe hitched at a presence he swore he could just touch with his fingertips, despite no movement from his own hand and the lack of physical presence, Not something the majority of humanity is skilled enough to do. Unless you have the privilege of being my chosen prophet, of course.

Is... is this how you touch us? How you see us? Joseph questioned, gaze locked on the doors as the presence that was not there yet continued its pace towards the doors.

The Voice only chuckled, like a parent amused by a child's question. God did not answer him, again, and Joseph realized he had already answered his own question, again. Through this new sense the Lord had blessed him with, Joseph tried to close the gap between him and the approaching presence of the deputy that will doom his garden, or be another addition to it. With just his hand at his leg, he closed his palm.

But it did not last long, and swiftly opened his hand, hissing as if he had been bitten, only silently as to not alert his younger brother nor draw attention to himself. The sense the Lord gave him ceased, and Joseph could not feel the presence that had stung him, no, burned him upon touch.

He could, however, hear the echo of bellowing laughter of his Lord, his God. It was familiar, in a way, reminding him of how Old Man Seed had once bellowed at his expense, rather than roar with wrath, once word of Joseph getting battered and beaten by a group of older teens who he had come across while walking home from school. Jacob hadn't been there at the time, forced to stay at the house to do chores for their father after another suspension.

Joseph shook his head. He would not compare God to that wretched monster of a man, over a bellow of laughter no less. He should feel honored to have heard such a rare moment of laughter from God himself.

Careful now, Joseph, the Voice silenced further thought, Touching affinity that high will damage you. Thankfully your soul knew exactly what to do.

Joseph could still feel the sting on his palm, even though he was uncertain on how exactly that happened, I don't understand...?

It's not important. Humans weren't meant to have such senses. We have more pressing matters. Keep your eyes on those doors Joseph. I want to see.

Joseph kept watch on the doors, and though he could not feel their presence like before, but he could feel the Lord's grow warmer and warmer as the moment continued on.

Finally, it was at last that he saw the handle jiggle, and the door begin to creak open.

Finally, the Voice spoke once more, the humming drowning all other noises as its warm protected Joseph from the cold embrace of the building, everything except for the corridor and the opening doors darkening as God and his prophet watched a figure emerge from the end of the hall.

She reveals herself-

The Voice didn't finish, hushing itself as Joseph stared at the woman from down the hall.

Files tucked under her arm, the woman who emerged from the doors made her down the hall, her path leading towards Joseph.

The Father remained still as he observed the approaching woman, who seemed none the wiser of Joseph's presence, nor that interested in John's debate with the Sheriff. Hair dark hair flowed smoothly behind her, not tied up, not braided, simply free. Slim, rimless blue rectangular cat eye glasses rested on her slender nose.

As her figure became more discernible the closer she came, Joseph noticed the slivers of silver running down her hair, likely dyed. He was almost shocked to see the small faded scars that littered across her face. The scarring was notably darker than that of her tawny brown skin.

Now merely a meter or two apart, almost face-to-face, he noticed more details. Thick eyebrows, high cheek bones, the indifferent frown she wore on her pouty lips, and more concerning to the Father, the dark bags under her eyes.

Her eyes.

As she crossed paths with him, Joseph caught a glimpse of her grey eyes, dull but determined, focused on some deputy or another further behind him, her attention neither on him nor his brother. They appeared to be irrelevant to her apparent mission of delivering the files.

His brows scrunched as he squinted from behind his yellow-tinted aviators, mouthing the words plastered on the file. Office of the Sheriff-Coroner?

Then his eyes widened, as he took in the clothes she wore.

Instead of the telltale green jackets and the deputy's badge, she wore a white coat over a dark blue button-up and a black turtleneck shirt, with an ID badge that he couldn't get a steady look on as it shifted and turned as she walked.

She also had dark grey jeans, black combat boots and gloves. Joseph had to wonder why so much of her skin was covered, aside from her face. What was she hiding from everyone else?

She passed him, no indication nor acknowledgement of his presence. He watched her move from desk to desk until she found the right deputies, Hudson and Pratt he recalled, catching their full attention as she spoke, for what he could only assume was about the contents in the files.

He observed in silence, the humming above him growing louder, the Lord's presence no longer warm and welcoming as it always has been, but uncomfortably hot and erratic.

Lord?

This... this can't be right- No, it's impossible! She can't have- Why? How?!

Joseph froze, confused and lost on the tone of the Voice. He'd never heard such strength of emotion from Him. When God chose to speak with him, it was with a monotone neutrality, well-spoken and well-versed with an air of seriousness. Rarely He showed amusement. Even rarer to show disappointment.

But he'd never heard God's voice hold frustration before. It even bordered on rage.

He felt a sharp pain pound in his head, the heat becoming unbearable, his shirt itching against his skin.

Lord, I don't understand... is this not part of your Plan?

He looked to the woman who was supposed to represent Hell, the woman who conversed with the two deputies out of ear-shot. The Voice spoke once more, almost hissing, Does she look like a deputy, Joseph?

Joseph swallowed emptily, swiping at his damp forehead, the heat almost unbearable. He took another glance at her once more, the woman unaware of what she had done, however baffling it is for Joseph to believe that this supposed Sinner had managed to spit in God's plan.

Joseph tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swiftly turn to face John.

"We're all done here brother. No trouble will be coming from the Sheriff's Department for a while," John informed him, grin wide as he looked into Joseph's eyes, searching for any pride.

Joseph could only nod, the heat dying down as the sensation of the cold air rested against his skin once more, the aches pounding in his head still present though.

John furrowed his brow in worry, his concern overpowering his need for his older brother's approval, "Joseph, are you alright?"

Reconvene your heralds back at the Compound, Joseph, the Voice spoke, His warmth and light retracting away from Joseph's head, There is much to discuss about this new course of events.

As you wish, Lord, Joseph almost mumbled, but the light and warmth God shined on him left, already knowing Joseph's answer.

Turning to John, he was weary of the audience around them, though giving one last glance to Hell's enigmatic vessel, he saw her eyes were not amongst the deputies and Sheriff who watched their every move.

Gesturing to the door where their released flock members were waiting outside, John understood immediately and walked alongside Joseph towards the department's entrance.

"We must gather brother and sister," Joseph whispered to his faithful brother, "The Voice has spoken once more. New developments have occurred. Some I fear have threatened all that we have worked for."

He had faith in the Lord's ability, but the shock that even the Voice could not have predicted the Great Sinner's change in occupation had deeply shook him, making him ponder what else this sinner was capable of.

"What do you mean brother?" John asked, his confusion evident. Once out of the building, Joseph decided that he will not answer his younger brother just yet. Better to have the whole family together.

"I will explain when we gather Jacob and Faith at the Compound, but for now, we should return our missing flock back to the rest of the family," Joseph gestured to the three men who piqued up at the sight of both the Father and the Baptist, in awe of the brothers as they were lead into the car.

Here's a WIP for a new FC5 fic, Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles), a scenario where I pondered the question of what would have happened if Paul Yellowjack, in all his wasp-y glory, had been at the events of the Reaping (or FC5 in general) where Silva was busting her ass to fight the Seeds... the answer? He would win. He... would have won. I mean... there's really not much you can do with someone who, in their current supernatural incarnation, can pull off a Kenjaku move (Jujutsu Kaisen reference... and spoilers for the manga and season 2) amongst other things and is an experienced, cunning strategist to boot. Case-in-point... Paul's first victim; the Father himself, Joseph Seed. The post giving a summary of this scenario idea + a summary of who Paul is and his relationship with Silva can be found here and the WIP snippet I have is below:

When lamplight disappeared from the window, Paul rasped a whisper to himself, "Go time."

He looked down to his glove-less hand, opening his palm far and wide. The vespe that watched from his shoulders flapped their wings, snapping at the air, chattering encouragement as the runt of the alveare crawled its way into the body's right palm.

Paul could only describe the sensation of a vespa maneuvering under the skin, especially in a fresh body, as a numb tickle at best and the numbed pain of popping a pimple at worst. The bump the runt made under his skin finally made it to the palm, and without further instruction, broke through the flesh.

The runt, unlike its kin that were irregularly bigger for the kind of wasp they were, was as small as the average vespa should be, and perfect for the task he needed it for.

It used its forelegs to clean itself off, while devouring as much of the nutritious meat and blood as it could before it begun its journey to the cabin. Two of its bigger kin flew down to the gaping hole in the hand, mandibles snapping before widening, a yellowish pale substance slowly spewing out, their forelegs pulling a stream of it out, and then working together to cover the breach in the sticky spew, swiftly hardening as they worked.

He brought the hand up to his clean-shaven face, the runt looking back up at him with beady red eyes. It knew what it needed to do. He knew what he needed to do. So without further prompting, the runt flapped its wings and made its way towards the sleeping cabin, the lights at the Profeta's compound glowing brightly in the distance.

Though if things went to plan, Paul smiled to himself as he hummed out an old tune he heard, walking back towards the cover of the trees, They won't be much of an eye sore for much longer.

Though he rarely allowed his hive to separate, he was confident that the runt would ensure that Profeta's body was under his thumb. Seeing through its vision now, he was already impressed how far it made it without being eaten by a bat.

The runt flew towards the small wooden cabin, landing at the window sill. Looking inside, the darkness held no disadvantage over his vision, and he could see clearly that the Profeta was laying down on his bed, sleep having finally caught up to him.

The runt clamped its mandibles together, its body convulsing and buzzing erratically. He had quite enjoyed keeping the Profeta awake over the course of the month.

Crawling through the cracked and broken glass he made during a another nighttime visit, the runt had successfully entered the cabin.

It looked to its target, growling out softly at the sight of the shirtless man.

The Profeta was a man in his early forties, reaching his mid, facial hair grown into a small beard, the hair on his head usually tied in a bun, but locks left to flow naturally as he laid asleep on his back.

The man was shirtless, a proof of arrogance and ignorance towards the vulnerability that can be exploited. Not to mention his doors and windows were all unlocked as Paul had discovered.

The visible tattoos that strewn across the younger man's chest held little meaning to the runt nor Paul, though the self-inflicted scars littered across, some with the labels of the seven deadly sins, did gain attention. How mocking it was to Paul, seeing the Profeta display such scars in public, when he had done nothing to earn them.

They weren't reminders of what he survived. They weren't lessons that shaped his core being, nor were they stories that told a tale of hurt and despair, of someone in pain, and yet through persistence alone, they continue on, to breathe, to live. No, the scars of this profeta held no merit, no truth, no reason to exist beyond glamorization.

A point of glorification to impress the gullible sheep he had entrapped with his charm, to show that suffering is a choice, giving them no chance to naturally experience what it means to fight and crawl and survive. Telling a lie to keep them subservient, slaves who never question the question of what is right and what is wrong, only what the Profeta wants. Individuality and potential talent squandered and crushed over trusting the wrong words.

The truth, the universal truth Paul knew, was that suffering was apart of life. Pain is unavoidable, and the only choice one can have in it is either enduring it or die trying.

To endure pain is to prove you're alive. To endure suffering is to prove your strength. To endure and overcome both, though, is to show your worthiness as a survivor.

The Profeta has only proven how low he will bend to the whims of his cruel master. While Paul's own existence was less than satisfactory, yet he at least had enough freedom to choose how to serve his own Master.

The runt looked to the black pants the man wore, a potential landing spot. But Paul opted against the idea, directing its gaze to the Profeta's jugular. The runt's faint red eyes locked on to its target, wings spread out for flight.

This chance was now or never. There wouldn't be another opportunity, not with the sceriffo's department so restless. The fate of Paul's precious Boa hanged in the balance.

Without further hesitation, the runt leaped in the air, its wings propelling it faster as it brought out its stinger. In mere seconds, the stinger stabbed through the neck, injecting the venom into his bloodstream.

The runt swiftly dropped off his neck, avoiding hand that slapped against the stung area on instinct, the pain rousing the Profeta from his slumber.

The runt's wings saved it from hitting the floor, allowing it to hover up to see the Profeta try to lift himself up, the drowsiness of interrupted sleep becoming heavier than usual.

His hand rubbed his neck, sucking a breath in at the sting, though his arm numbly slouched over the bed. He attempted to lift it, only to find he couldn't. The Profeta tried to sit up, but found himself barely being able to lift his head.

The runt watched the Profeta's face twitch, then it listened as he groaned, moaned and grunted nonsensically, no words forming. His voice failing him.

Through the runt's eyes, Paul couldn't help but smile at the sight of the broken down instrument of a God. One of many tools used to keep the cogs of the wheel going.

Paul urged the runt to go for a closer look.

The runt complied, buzzing and chattering excitedly as it landed on the man's nose, right in his view.

It stared into the Profeta's blue eyes, allowing Paul to see the still gaze of a man helpless and trapped, but more deserving of it.

Paul wondered what this man saw when he slept. What he hears?

The laughter of those long gong, whom he'll never see again except in the depths of buried memories, to bring himself a moment of joy to the grim purpose he existed for now? Did he fantasize of a life he'll never get, one where everything went right?

The runt turned to glance at the arm that had the woman's face etched on his skin.

Does he wish as I do? That he could have made a different choice than the one he did?

The runt faced the Profeta's gaze once more, taking notice of the tears that matched his watery eyes, the body reflexively trying to wet the dry eyes, the venom keeping him from doing something as simple as blink.

Or does he believe he has done no wrong?

The runt turned its back to the Profeta's frozen eyes, looking over the tip of his nose to the half-open entrance that awaited it.

Has the lies he's been told and never doubted become truth, despite how ludicrous they are?

The runt gently hopped down to the man's upper lip, gentleness no longer a necessity as the vespa's legs dug into the soft flesh.

Does he sleep soundlessly despite the terror he's wrought? The lives he's ruined?

The runt's middle legs steadied on the man's upper teeth, its hind legs pushing the upper lip back, while its forelegs pushed the forward the Profeta's bottom teeth, the venom's sluggish effects combined with the vespa's unnatural strength widening his mouth open. With the entrance now large enough to fit it inside, the runt flew over to the chin, its head looking down the interior of the mouth.

Does he hear their damning screams?

Slowly, the runt turned its middle legs to latch onto the slim outline of the shell Paul had attached to it, hooking underneath casing before loosening the thorax and abdomen shells, letting both fall to the sides.

The writhing small tendrils pulsed out, dripping small yellow-ish pale spew, like what most of the alveare produced. The liquid substance hardened as it dripped further down. The Profeta's breath quickened, panicked and confused, unaware of the plans Paul had in store for him. The runt shuddered as the heated air washed over it, before beginning its descent.

Though I'm not overly upset of never knowing the answer.

The runt crawled through the heated wetness of the Profeta's mouth, passing the tongue until it reached his throat. Beady red eyes looked down the path that descended into the esophagus. Unless it wanted to trigger the Profeta's gag reflex, it would avoid the path. Growling, it looked up, and found the breach point.

Crawling to the roof of the mouth, it ascended upwards, the writhing tendrils on its back lubricating in preparation, as its mandible jaws opened wide for the breach.

And last line paragraph(s) for You're Almost Like Family, the time loop fic where the Seeds realize just how easy it is for Silva to just wound up dead, and much they miss the luck she had in the first three months she fought against them. Anyway, paragraphs below:

A shift in movement from one of the Chosen stepping out of his peripheral momentarily caught John's attention, and he almost glanced to see where the Chosen was moving to, but noticed that Alexander raised a brow at the movement from the other end of the circle they surrounded the Deputy in, giving Jacob a signal with his head.

John heard his big brother huff out an annoyed sigh, glancing a quick glare over to the Chosen's new spot. Seeing nothing to worry about, John returned his attention to Joseph's pleas to the wayward sinner who had caused everyone trouble.

"Child, this wrath... this violence that you have escalated for the sinners who only use you as a weapon is no longer necessary," Joseph spoke with a soft, even voice filled with paternal gentleness, "This unnecessary rebellion needs to end. The Collapse closes in on us ever closer, just as I showed you in the Henbane, and the only salvation... are the Gates my family has prepared for. I see you, the person you are. And that is not as the tool of destruction your so called friends view you as. We see your compassion. Your bravery. The virtues you only think you don't have. And we welcome it, in our Garden. You seek someplace to belong... God has shown me you belong with us."

John watched as Joseph outstretched his hand to the Deputy, the Baptist sucking in a breath as she, of all people, eyed it, even as Joseph continued, "Please, child. Put aside the wrath. Put to peace the suffering. This doesn't have to end in blood. We can help each other. With your help, we can save more souls, more lives... and together we can bask in the new world God promised us."

John watched in bated breath as the Deputy glanced down, putting together her options.

When the Deputy finally found an answer, John saw Alexander's eyes widen at something ahead of him, and was shocked to see the Chosen Leader reach for his sidearm.

"Tch, you li-"

A loud crack shot through the air as it did the Deputy, her lips glistened with blood instead of the rest of her words. John watched, frozen on the spot, as the Deputy's body slowly fell back, following after the cartilage and blood that the bullet blast clean through. The bullet of which glinted at his eyes.

And the bullet continued to glint at him, just as the Deputy's corpse stopped in its descent, not even touching the ground. From what John could see, Joseph midway from stepping back, and hadn't planted his foot down, just as Alexander hadn't even been able to fully aim his sidearm at the culprit.

He tried to glance to Jacob and Faith, but found his eyes refused, locked on Joseph and the fresh corpse of his family's most determined rebel, who defied gravity just as she defied them.

What is going on?! Though he couldn't move, John was relieved he could still think to himself.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Comedic Barnaby ask here again! I'm sorry, I meant your Modern Human au thingy, my bad lmao.

ohhh ok - was just informed that you probably mean comedian, which makes a lot more sense than what my mind was interpreting!

he does actually do little side gigs around comedy! he even got a degree in clowning, but his main job (at the "present day" part of the timeline) is bartending at the same queer club that Eddie does drag performances in! sometimes Barns will open a show etc with a lil' stand-up act, and when he can, he'll do other comedy-based stuff at local venues

[inafieldofdaisies]

Last Line Paragraph Tag | Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton

Dropping by with a little treat from John's AU where Oliver is grilling the shite out of Leslie. I couldn't bring myself to cut out any of his jokes, so you're getting an extended last line. ❤️

"Coffee run, boys. Anyone want something?", Oliver hollered, stiring up the rest of the detectives that were in at the early hour, "No? Byyyyeee." He sing-songed the rest as he threw on his jacket and Leslie did the same, rushing to leave before both could get wrapped up in actual orders. "Aye, you fuck, I wanted-", Ross' yell was cut off as McKenzie slammed the door to their division shut, whistling to himself on their way to the stairs. "Graham will retaliate, you know that, right?" "I promised Maxie I'd get him a coffee, there's only so much I can carry.", he explained while Leslie followed closely, "Plus, Ross has legs and cheated me out of my poker win last week. So… he can suck it." Parish chuckled, but it felt more forced than anything with his mind still racing with questions, "Weren't you also cheating?" "Beside the point." "Mhm.", he hummed as they hit the ground floor and made their way out the precinct. "You know, my jokes are only good if people are paying attention to them…", Oliver began while the two set on their usual route to a small bakery nearby. "I was listening, it just wasn't funny." The deadpan answer did little to convince him of the lie based on the snort he replied with, "Sure. Repeat it back to me, will ya? Then I can decide if it sounded funny or not."

"Fuck off.", Leslie remarked, pulling his coat closed against the sudden gust of wind that blew in. "That's what I thought.", McKenzie sent him a cocky smirk over his shoulder as they navigated the crowd moving down the street, "What did Rina do this time?" "Nothing." "And you've been looking like I kicked you in the nuts the whole morning over nothing. How long have we known each other to think this would work with me? Hell, I think even Vaughn would pick up on your lie, and he is as oblivious as they come." A groan left Leslie, but deep down he was thankful someone cared enough to notice the mood he was in and try to get him out of it, "I have no idea how we're still friends, you don't ever let up." "Why my ma said I'd make a great detective, and how right she was…" In ways Oliver truly was like a K9 that had caught a perp's scent, refusing to let go until getting an answer, on top of it all he was competitive as hell. The bakery's sign finally came into view, making him wonder if he could actually get away with not providing any details for once. Doubtful. "Well?", McKenzie asked again, swinging the door open and entering the shop first with Leslie close on his heels. "Coffee first." "Fine, but you try to dodge my questions, I'm locking you in the interrogation room until you start singing like a canary. I have all the time and patience in the world." "Buchanan will have your balls." He rolled his eyes as they took their place in line, "Think I care about what old Jerry will do?" Doubtful again.

Parish occupied his time by mindlessly watching the people seated at the tables in the back of the bakery, wishing his heart would skip a beat the same way it did for Sabrina when his gaze was met on accident by a woman sitting on her own. The little smile she gave him only darkened his mood as he forced his eyes back ahead and Oliver's hand landed on his back in silent support. "Jesus. It's bad." "I'm absolutely fine." "Sure, Sabrina. You're picking up all her sad habits.", Oliver grumbled, "Lying you're okay, going through life deep sighing over somebody you can't have for some stupid ass reason." He rattled out an order when their turn came and paid for everything, giving Leslie a much needed break from arguing over the ugly truth. "Just ask her out. You have to start somewhere.", his fellow detective insisted as they set on waiting to the side, "Who cares if she went on a date yesterday? Like, fuck, you sure won't be sending 100 roses to her and panic-calling her over a little bat paying you a friendly visit. You already have an advantage - you know what she likes and what she wants before she even figures it out." "60." "Huh?", McKenzie gave him a dumbfounded look. "60 roses is what Bruce sent." A snort left him at the choice of nickname, "Batman ain't cheap, I'd give him that. Though, I'd argue blowing your hotshot lawyer money on a bouquet is kinda idiotic." "Hotshot?" "Oh, yeah.", Oliver nodded at his raised eyebrow, "I looked him up myself, too. Fucker's a new partner in Atlanta. Has his name on the plaque and everything. I wanted to barf at his fancy photoshoot on their website, haven't seen anyone looking so sure of themselves while holding scales. Lady Justice is shakin'."

"Not making me feel any better about this." "I wasn't trying to.", a playful slap landed on his shoulder, "I'm trying to kick your ass into action. Get your girl. Getting laid will fix you both, I promise." "We've been over this." Thanfully, the woman out front waved Oliver over to pick up his bag, stopping the conversation they've had plenty of times before in its tracks. Or so Leslie thought until he was dragged back into it the moment they were back outside. "Spill, Parish and I don't mean my coffee.", McKenzie instructed him with narrowed eyes as they set towards the precinct and he passed him the takeaway to light up a cigarette, "You can even tell Rina you bought her the croissant. My treat." "We talked like we do every night yesterday…", the storm clouds above them certainly matched his mood, "and she let it slip that she's invited him over because his neighbors were annoying the shit out of him with loud sex." Oliver laughed way too loudly at that, startling a woman walking ahead of them and getting a dark look from her he met with a wink, "Batman wishes he was gettin' some." "I asked her to keep me posted, so I know she and Sav are safe." "Reasonable.", he agreed, "Considering they just met." Leslie sighed, "I expected a text, you know, 'We're all good, he left. Goodnight.' She called me instead… sounded completely off, mind you, I was close to jumping on my bike and driving there." "Don't tell me-" "No! Nothing of sorts."

"Good, because it would suck to get arrested for murdering one of Maxie's case victims." "After dancing around the subject, Rina announced that Bruce is stayin' over." "Uh-oh.", Oliver let out a whistle, "She actually went for it. Damn, I-" "In the guest bedroom.", Parish interjected before he could go on a tangent about Sabrina getting laid. He suspected he'd get an extra detailed version of possible events as punishment. The detective's eyes shone with a devilish gleam at the news, "Poor Batman. But… wait… why the fuck did she call you?" "She wanted me to convince her sleeping with him was a bad idea." The two came to a halt in front of their building, not exactly rushing to go back inside despite the subject. Oliver took a long drag from his cigarette, gaze running over his face before he exhaled some of the smoke and muttered, "And you did just that. Cockblocked him, six ways from Sunday." "No." The rest of the vapor left him at once, making him choke at the confession. "God-fucking-damn.", McKenzie croaked out between coughs as he hit his chest dramatically, "This ain't how I want to die. Especially before seeing you get laid for good." Leslie said nothing and tightened his grip on the bag in his hands, focusing his attention on the street, watching each passing car, instead of meeting what he knew would be his fellow detective's disapproving gaze. "You're an idiot, you know that?" "Thanks."

"It's accepted you look a person in the eye when they speak…", he gritted out, taking another pull of nicotine. "What do you want me to say?" "That you didn't actually encourage her to sleep with him and are now in this shit mood because of it? I'd start with that." "I told her the truth.", Leslie replied flatly, "You saw how she was after their lunch. I don't even want to ask how close they were at it…" "I didn't give them the chance to. For you." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, skipping over the part where he had mentioned protection, because Oliver wouldn't let him live that one down, "I reminded her it's rare she ever feels so strongly about anyone, that she shouldn't worry about the rules of dating or how soon it is." McKenzie dropped his cigarette on the ground, stomping on it with way too much force before throwing it in the nearest trashcan, "You basically shoved her in his bed, gotcha. How the fuck aren't you day-drinking? I'd be spiking my coffee right now." "Rina didn't say she would. In fact she made it a point to say how he's probably already asleep." Just shut up, Parish. His reply received a humorless laugh, "Oh, definitely. You hearin' yourself?" "Sadly, yes." "Good, because currently I feel like walking into traffic to put myself out of this misery…", Oliver pointed ahead of him and clicked his tongue, "but knowing my luck, the closest I'd get is getting run over by a kid biking to school, scarring us both in the process." "Dramatic." McKenzie blinked slowly, "I'm dead serious. And your phone?"

"My phone?", Parish felt his pockets with his free hand, wondering if he had managed to swipe it with another 'magic trick'. Certainly wasn't uncommon for him to pickpocket for kicks, even their Chief, Buchanan. "Yes. Why were you staring at it like it held the solution to all of our cases, and then some?" He produced the device to Oliver, his screen still on Sabrina's open message that he had reread an embarassing amount of times and tried to convince himself it had nothing to do with her late night guest. "I will be in a little bit later today.", McKenzie read her text that wasn't anything unusual to receive from any of the other detectives in Missing Persons, for Sabrina though, it felt out of character, monumental. Both of them were aware of that. "Leslie 'God-how-much-I-wish-you-had-a-middle-name-right-now-so-I-can-scold-you-like-a-mother-would' Parish.", the first part flew past his lips in record speed, "You got this from her and are still thinking she hadn't followed your advice to grab the handsome egomaniac by his horns?" Leslie hoped his shrug was nonchalant enough, "There could be another explanation. Many, in fact." Based on the 'Are you kidding me' look he received, his partner in crime wasn't buying it, "You sweet summer child."

Tagging, @jillvalentinesday @cassietrn @thesingularityseries @josephseedismyfather @unholymilf @madparadoxum @shellibisshe @shegetsburned @purplehairsecretlair @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @onehornedbeast @voidika @direwombat @florbelles @corvosattano @theelderhazelnut @harmonyowl @simplegenius042 @clicheantagonist @euryalex @aceghosts @josephslittledeputy @trench-rot @dumbassdep @wrathfulrook @nightbloodbix @quantum-lover and anyone that would like to share a line or a couple ❤️

[simplegenius042]

oooh i know i'm late, but if you haven't already talked about it (or have more to share on it), can I please hear more about No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden (FC5)? (--direwombat)

You know funny thing! I had completely forgotten I had this WIP up until last week.

So, from what I could guess from my earliest notes and what I wrote so far then, No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden was a FC5 fic that focused on Silva, Joseph, Faith, the Sheriffs Department, Eden's Gate, Adam Omar and his Congregation in Silva's past, an in-depth look at/possible deconstruction and reconstruction of the religious Adam and Eve themes (your original sin, shame, curiosity, ignorance and knowledge, (unfair) punishment, the acknowledgement of pain and death, mistrust and disobedience towards God and other deities or figures of worship, etc) and possibly set in a time pre-Reaping or where the Collapse just doesn't (or rather can't) occur at all. It would flashback more between Silva's past and present, focused on her relationship with her father Adam, her first love Irene and her adoptive father Paul and the Tumultite community. The focus of the past would be less Persephone and the Apostles and more her time spent on the Archipelagoes from what I could gather.

I had no idea where to even continue on from this, so I decided since past me wasn't going to travel forward in time and tell me what she was thinking, I decided to add on this story with another divergence from the canon of Silva's Hope and Far Cry The Silver Chronicles... and made Silva a coroner instead of a deputy (with a unique interest and perspective on corpses), because I like to make the Voice cry in a cosmic corner.

The Voice attempts to retaliate by telling Joseph that Silva is perfect to be "the Mother of Eden's Gate" but fortunately Faith's already got her hands on this strange cryptic coroner version of Silva and she isn't willing to share. John & Jacob, Alexander & Nadi, the Sheriff's Department, the GFH/FFH, Hope County residents, the rest of Eden's Gate, Kamski and Azriel just try and live regular-ish lives while this all goes on. This is the closest thing to a "no Collapse" AU that I have so... enjoy?

That's what I've got so far and what I've recently added (because I forgot to write notes last time, silly me).

[nyandela-catalogue]

What do all your voices sound like compared to the Mandela Catalogue ones? (Counterparts.)

gonna do more recordings of everyone's voices at some point, but for now here is what we have :) i have a headache now but it was worth it to get this done! we included False in this for all the False fans out there jfaksdds please note: we only have one set of vocal cords. we used voicemod, but it can only do so much lol. also sorry about the slight buzzing. we need to get a new cord for our good mic, so we've been using our headphones mic lol

transcript under the cut

False (a soft voice): "My name is False. It is a pleasure to meet you." Brutus (a modulated, deepened voice that sounds like it comes from the speaker of an old telephone): "I am Brutus. I am sure we'll have so much fun together." Adamned (a gruff, gravely voice): "I am Adamned. I promise I'm trying. I'm.. I'm doing my best here." the Actor (a modulated mid-pitch voice with a little reverb): "I... am the Actor. Please... don't... look at me..." False Friend (a slightly-rough voice, using a teasing tone): "It's ya boy~ False Friend~ [chuckles]"

[direwombat]

the wolf, the wildcat, and the hare [jacob seed x kit cross ( @socially-awkward-skeleton​) x sybille la roux]

Earl, 

I don’t know how it happened, but both your Deputies fell prey to Jacob’s conditioning. Kit wasn’t very surprising, if I’m being honest, but Sybille? Shit. They just wore her down, I guess. I hate to say it, but shit’s gonna get real bad real fast. What’s left of the Militia is digging in for a hard and bloody fight. I suggest you and everyone in Falls End do the same. God have mercy on us all.

Tammy

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[xx-crunchycavities-xx]

Donating my brain to science because this is so far removed from canon it stings

[josephslittledeputy]

Willa Rook (She doesn’t know much about saving people, but animals? That’s something she’ll happily do) || Valerie Morgan (In an AU verse where V took the deal with Arasaka instead of trying to do things herself. It didn’t go well!)

Sidra Navros (in her Hope County AU) || Sel Blackmore (POV: You interrupted them while they were having a cigarette, now they’ll probably put it out on you. Let’s hope that’s all they do...)

Tagged by @marivenah to do this cute picrew, thank you! I haven’t done this one yet, so it was pretty fun to make the ocs :)

Tagging @clicheantagonist @detectivelokis @inafieldofdaisies and anyone else who wants to do it! :)

[deputy-morgan-malone]

Other OCs (part 1)

I’ve been wanting to talk about other OCs that may or may not be a part of Morgan’s story - I haven’t decided yet, and there’s always aus - but I felt like I wanted to make at least something for them rather than just ramble, and I could never quite get up the motivation.  But today I have, using this picrew, for a few at least.  So:

Connor Lannon

His hair should really be silver/grey rather than white - as should Morgan’s grandparents in this post - but the picrew only had white (purple and blue, but not grey) and I’d already started making some characters in it and I kind of wanted to have a bit of a ‘uniform’ representation for them, so - I did what I could.

Connor is probably the most fanciful idea I came up with.  Essentially, he is a career criminal, a contract killer/enforcer for the most part - with a lot of Liam Neeson in Taken vibes, but more evil and I only vaguely think of Liam as a faceclaim for him.  About 20 years before the start of the game, he was on a job in Montana.  Things went south, he had to run, and ended up getting hunted down by a rival gang.  His car stalled on a road around Great Falls, and Morgan’s father happened to pass by.  He helped fix the car for free, and when people looking for Connor showed up - he let Connor hide and covered for him, sent them on their way.  Without asking any questions or demanding anything in return, despite a decent implication he might get hurt for it.  Connor got out of the job safe and sound, but he kept thinking back on that incident a lot as the years went by.  20 years later, now in his middle age, he has something of an existential crisis - he decides one thing he really wants to do is find that guy who saved him, thank him, and see if he can pay the debt back in any way.

He tracks down Morgan’s father, but finds out he died years earlier.  He still visits Morgan’s mother, being very vague about his connection to Morgan’s dad, and finds out about Morgan.  Morgan who has just started a career in law enforcement, away from her family.  And he decides to go find her and see if he can ‘repay’ the debt by helping her in some way.  I figure that getting in to Hope County during the Reaping wouldn’t be quite as difficult as getting out - the Cult wants to ‘save every soul they can’ - so whether it’s during the Reaping or in a no-warrant AU, he manages to get to Morgan and - helping her out with the immediate problems in her life in either situation brings him rather sharply into conflict with Eden’s Gate.

He basically just came out of an idea I had for a) Morgan deserves a psychotic badass on her side, and b) how would she deal with a psycho, given her morals, outside of the specific culture of Eden’s Gate and ‘we’re saving people really’.  Connor is a psychopath in my general conception of him - but not a pure one, not incapable of empathy, just having had it crushed out of him by a lifetime of organised crime and trying to survive it.  He has some feeling - hence his getting stuck on Morgan’s dad’s act of selflessness, and wanting to ‘repay’ that in some way.  But he is not a nice man, and he will do horrible things, despite having the ‘honourable’ goal of helping Morgan.  How that will mesh with her morals, and the situation she’s in, will likely be very messy.

Carl

Carl is a member of Eden’s Gate - not a Chosen, but one of those high-level ‘security’ dudes with the cool black coats.  During the Reaping, and maybe in some aus, Joseph specifically wants him to try to talk with Morgan about her situation and why she should join Eden’s Gate, because Carl has a unique insight into her position - he used to be a Deputy at the Sheriff’s Department too.  He joined up, very optimistic and with the best of intentions - but became disillusioned with law enforcement in the County and in America.  Largely related to the treatment of black and POC people, and poor people.  He does do his best to make a connection with Morgan and talk to her - but very often at the end of a shotgun, or after she’s been woken up from being knocked-out, tied up, again.  She is a slippery one.

I don’t have a specific last name for Carl - I was thinking Teller, but I also quite like the headcanon that everyone in the Cult takes on the last name Seed, because they’re all a ‘family’ - except for Feeney, to whom no rules apply.  Teller may be his pre-Cult surname, but I also might change it.  I don’t have a lot of backstory decided for Carl, but I really like the idea of him and Cold Little Heart by Michael Kiwanuka always makes me think of him.

[aceghosts]

"You'll hear me howl by the light of the moon/That's how you'll know that I'm coming for you/Gonna find you alone in the dark of night/When the World Ender comes, better run for your life"-The World Ender by Lord Huron

TEMPLATE CREDIT AND ICON CREDIT

[deputy-sennaviste]

@i-am-the-balancing-point this is your fault

"Oh shi-!"

The scream cut off into a strangled yelp, causing everyone in the yard to swing their head to watch the commotion. In the arena, newly built with wood and sand, was John and Flourish, the latter of the two decked out in expensive and beautiful new tack. Flourish, a nearly 17hh Warmblood stallion, had decided the air was just cold enough that it warranted a frolic. Unfortunately for John Seed, who happened to be astride said stallion, this meant that his horse was bucking.

The horse threw up his hind legs, arching his back and leaping into the air before crashing back down and repeating the move. John's gloves hands yanked the reins up and to the side, trying to force the horse's head up and halt the bucking fit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He kept saying through gritted teeth as he wrestled with the animal. Flourish was now bucking AND loping, every few bucks causing him to fart excitedly. Most undignified.

"You okay, Johnny?" Came a voice. John did not bother to look at who spoke, knowing instantly that it was his brother, Jacob. The tall man stood leaning against the rails of the arena, with Joseph and Faith no less, and watched.

"It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine. He just needs to QUIT!"

With one last mighty buck, Flourish, now sweaty, managed to unbalance John. He started to tip off the left side of the saddle and he leaned forward to try and grab the horse's mane, his neck, anything to correct himself before he-

"You're falling, John!" Jacob laughed.

And fall he did. He slid off the horse and hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of his lungs with a grunt. The lawyer groaned for a split second before he realized that his boot was still in the stirrup. He panicked just a second too late. Flourish stepped away from where he had fallen and, noticing his rider dragging behind him, remembered that he was a prey animal and bolted. The chestnut beast of an animal shot off and John slid through the sand behind him, cursing.

"Jacob, get in there! He'll get hurt!" Joseph pleaded. The soldier obliged, jumping over the rails and entering the pen. Flourish flew past him and he tried to snag the reins, but failed. John spat and tried to work his boot free, but found it difficult to do with eyes full of sand. Some of John's men had gathered to watch and were now also climbing in to help.

After a minute, the horse started to lose steam, slowing to a trot and blowing air from his nostrils that billowed in large clouds before his muzzle. Jacob, 'whoaing' him all the while, managed to grab the horse and slow him to a stop. He popped John's foot out of the stirrups and handed the reins off to a nearby cultist. Kneeling beside his brother, he scanned him for injuries.

John laid there in the sand, breathing heavily and staring straight up.

"You good, Johnny?" Jacob asked, snapping his fingers before his face.

"The ground is shaking." Was the small reply. The blue eyes tracked over to where Flourish was now tied to the rail, licking his lips and resting one leg at an angle. "Fucking horse."

"Language!" Joseph called out.

"You getting back on?" Jacob asked, helping him sit up.

"Damn right I am. Just after I change my clothes. I'm filthy now."

(Ahhh, the terror of being dragged behind a horse. Happened to me with my first horse, actually. An Arab, silly thing.)

[inafieldofdaisies]

Parents Profile: deputy Sabrina Donovan | Edits and background information

I got inspired by @socially-awkward-skeleton discussion on Kit's parents FCs and hearing that some of you are curious to see more on Sabrina's parents. So I ended up making moodboards for each of them.

Scott Donovan (1971-2002) - an absolutely happy belated father's day to him (he was one of the good ones). Scott is (was) the one that always believed in Sabrina, tried to help her figure out her visions, how cope with them and gave her a way to help people through the ressources he had as a Detective. He believed in the best in people, that change is always possible, that there's light in any darkness, no matter how dim or hard to find.

Candice "Candy" Donovan (1973-) - now her faceclaim is a bit younger than she would be in 2018 (so don't be confused on that), it's mostly a representation of how she looks in the story's Prologue since this is where she appears in person. She's a complicated character for sure, decided she wasn't really cut out for motherhood once Scott died (not even Savannah's birth had the power to change that), a gifted lawyer that later on in life started to dabble in cons for kicks. She's one of the first people to encounter the Project as it settled in HC and Joseph in particular, and actually managed to not get involved (which is fortunate as hell for Sabrina, imagine if she tried to scam the Seeds...).

[the-silver-chronicles]

Far Cry El Industrial's Reign Post #3

The Yellowjacks and Tumultites are pretty much the inverse to the Seeds and Eden's Gate.

Joseph and his brothers are biological, while Faith is the adopted one. Their followers act as Joseph's spiritual children, but are more often than not seen as guards, soldiers, or labour workers by the rest of the siblings, even with Joseph he didn't bat an eye when those followers gave the name of the vehicle "chopper" a whole new and grimmer meaning. The Seeds obviously care about their followers (to an extent), but they're not fussed about continually sending them out to die in Far Cry 5 to capture Rook, when, like Jacob and Faith have clearly demonstrated, they themselves are skilled and capable enough of capturing/luring Rook without much effort. While this method does keep Joseph and his family (mostly) out of danger in order to strategize and lead their followers from afar, Joseph and his siblings are also sending their underequipped and unskilled believers (especially the regular Peggies, the Chosen and Angels get a minor pass for being only mildly able to handle themselves and stand their ground) against not only the Resistance but also the likes of the Nation of Tumult Movement. Who have an alliance with each other.

Meanwhile Paul adopted Silva, Nashira, Adaro, Fýredel, Gaius and Tiri, who all aren't biologically related, with only Elsa being Silva's half-sister and Persephone being Silva's only biological daughter (until Mercy comes along later, becoming Persephone's half-sister) and Azriel being Silva's only adopted daughter and Persephone's (as well as Mercy's) adopted sister. Not to mention, Paul and Kamski have a strong brother-in-arms connection, just like Silva and Ezekiel do, with Ezekiel becoming Kamski's and Irene's unofficial son/brother. Special mention goes to the fact Gemini Teal is Obadiah Teal's nibling, his sister's mite, which technically makes Paul also their uncle, due to his relationship with Obadiah. Schrödinger is Gavin Turquoise's adopted mite. Gemini Teal and Isiah Popov are the bestest of friends, with Nadi Sinclair and Alexander Khaos being a part of Silva's close-knit social circle, with the Tumultite Idealist often referring to the former two as her hermana and hermano respectively. Silva, much like Joseph, cares deeply about her people, however, she's not one to put them in immediate danger, so the most dangerous and risky tasks go to herself and to those she knows are skilled enough and capable enough to handle it, as she views her fellow Tumultites as the future. While this means less death on the Tumultite side, there's also the fact Silva and her closest friends/family are risking their own lives, which would bring down morale on the rest of the Tumultites if they lost them (though if Silva or any of the others lost their lives to the cult, that would grant the rest of the Tumultites permission to stop holding back and bring in all fighters, and even risk a war with the Underworld itself, as Silva hasn't made her people dependent on her to bring about Tumult, which may not be the case for Joseph, his family and Eden's Gate. In other words, killing Silva wouldn't stop the Tumultites as she has given them enough independence and power for themselves to continue the plans for Tumult that she herself shared with them without her, while killing Joseph would likely cause one final retaliation but would inevitably stop Eden's Gate, even Joseph's siblings, in their progress since Joseph was the only one who knew what could and would happen after the Collapse and in New Eden, which is one of the downsides to being a prophet... no one knows God's plan but you. Causing the Flock to be dependent entirely on Joseph's visions. With Joseph lost, they likely wouldn't know what to do with themselves).

The only bridge that connects both groups with each other is Azriel (Joseph's biological daughter and Silva's adopted hija), Holly Pepper (a former Eden's Gate cultist now newly recruited Tumultite convert), Mercy (Silva and Faith's daughter) and both groups mutual (for Eden's Gate, newly acquired) hatred and disgust towards the Enforcement Guards of Adam (aka Father Omar and his Enforcers).

So yeah.

[simplegenius042]

Just so people know, I’m just gonna be info-dumping character and story information on my little Far Cry 5 fanfic universe in the next 3 to 6 hours.

What I have so far is:

- Paul’s and Silva’s twisted and toxic father-daughter relationship.

- Judge!Silva and Reverend!Silva’s relationship with the Voice/Philip.

- The biographies on the various versions of Silva.

- How Father Omar and Joseph Seed are foils.

- Reverend!Silva’s Curse.

- The unorthodox partnership between John “the Baptist” Seed and Kamski “the Good Doctor” Neon and how it is more plot relevant than it initially seems.

- The unexpected yet interesting romance between Silva and Faith.

- Azriel and the dilemma of wanting to get answers from her father, Joseph Seed, but afraid she’ll lose her (adoptive) Mamá, Industrial!Silva in the process (since the Tumultite ideology conflicts with Eden’s Gate).

- The conflict between Eden’s Gate and Tumult’s values, beliefs and attitudes.

- And the overall main story that takes place in Far Cry 5 and Far Cry New Dawn.

Additionally will include a post describing the Guards of Omar as well as the Apostles of Zachariah, and how both the Resistance and Eden’s Gate would (in your opinion, canonically and realistically) react to accidentally bringing both of these faction’s attention to the county (not really either of their fault, as no one could have predicted, respectively, a mass murdering death cult and a militaristic religious extremist group (whose dubious morality put Eden’s Gate to shame) would have been passing by at the time Hope County was in the early midst of their conflict), maybe some things surrounding my deputy OC Silva, and whether or not both Eden’s Gate would come to an agreement for temporary truce/team up in order to survive these two third parties before they kill everyone or stall long enough for the Collapse to finally make an appearance.

Please do not reply to the above UNTIL the post is made (I’ll reblog this post with the link once it has been made)

Anyway, I look forward to sharing this world with you.

[direwombat]

wait hang on. i'm piecing together the logic of syb's herald au and i'm realizing. she isn't the herald of the whitetails. she's the herald of the henbane.