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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter ten: the kind of love we gather

word count: 7.5k

rating: m for mature

warnings: there is an interaction with an abusive ex-husband that eludes to physical/domestic violence. also, i think it's fair to warn against joseph himself--whatever argument there is to be had about the sincerity of his feelings, there's a few times where it feels like there's definitely some emotional manipulation happening.

notes: this is an interlude chapter, a little flashback/prelude going through isolde and joseph's relationship--or, at least, a significant part of it (still some secrets to be discovered!). i've had this chapter drawn up for a while and i thought this would be a great cliffhanger/changing point in the story to give their relationship and their dynamic a little more context, so i hope that's alright with y'all!

some of you folks who follow me here on tumblr may recognize a part of this chapter as a smut oneshot i wrote for them; that was the alternate universe to this instance in time, which is firmly rooted in their canon. lmao

it should go without saying that i have yeeted canon out the window for all of ancient names and witching hour, and the way that the seed brothers were pre-reaping and hope county is subject to much the same.

—Before—

The first time that Isolde saw Joseph, she knew she was in for it.

If he had been any other man, she thought, it wouldn’t have been so clearly a disaster waiting to happen. She would have been able to crash and burn with him as she pleased: but he wasn’t just any other man. He was John’s man, his older brother, the one that he tried so hard to live up to and impress. She had only heard of him in passing, but that was all it had taken. Isolde knew exactly how John felt about him.

“Who is that?” she asked, when she spotted the cleanly dressed man across the room. The office was dimly lit with the lights lowered; people mingled and chatted, drinks in hand, as everyone celebrated that they’d been able to move into a nice, new office downtown, with a whole floor to themselves.

John’s gaze followed hers. His expression flattened. “Stop it.”

No fun. Isolde feigned innocence. “Stop what?”

“That’s my brother Joseph, Sol,” he hissed. “Do not try to fuck my brother.”

“You have a couple, don’t you?” she asked. “What’s the one?”

“Fuck off.”

She sighed, taking a sip of her drink. Just her luck. A Seed boy, and yet, so fine. What a waste. “Fine, Johnny,” she said, patting his shoulder. Across the room, she saw Joseph’s gaze land on hers as he politely smiled at one of the other partygoers, and then stay locked, right on her. “I won’t fuck your very hot brother, who is very plainly making eyes at me from across the room.”

“He’s never had great taste in women.” John grimaced. “Off-limits, Isolde, I mean it.”

“Scout’s honor.”

So much for that, anyway, she thought later, when Joseph crossed the party and made his way up to her. He was even more handsome up close, and though long hair wasn’t typically her type, it looked good on him, pulled back and slick. Just enough to look polished.

“You’re Isolde?” Joseph asked, and his eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Are you the authority on Isoldes?” she replied. She arched a brow loftily at him. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.”

“Well, it’s just that John rarely complains about beautiful women,” he countered easily, the flirtation slipping so seamlessly from his mouth that she might have missed it. “They’re his greatest vice. Yet, he complains incessantly about you.” He paused. “I’m Joseph, his brother.”

That did sound like John. Isolde wrangled a smile, leaned comfortably back against the wall as Joseph sidled over to her. With him in front of her, he almost completely eclipsed out the rest of the party, like he’d suddenly bubbled her and it was just the two of them in the entire room. He was so very good at that—with his eyes on her, it felt as though nobody else in the entire world existed.

“I’m flattered,” she murmured, “that I’ve managed to break John of his greatest vice.”

“I did come to thank you for that.” Joseph’s mouth ticked up into a smile, almost playful, if the rich timbre of his voice wasn’t so soothing. “And for taking good care of John. He’s a...”

Isolde watched Joseph through her lashes. He had no alcohol in his hands, but kept them tucked easily into the pockets of his slacks; he held himself without the easy arrogance that John carried himself. It was more like Joseph knew, exactly, his place in the world, and so didn’t feel the need to assert it. It simply was.

“Handful,” Isolde supplied.

“That’s a good way to put that,” he agreed. A quiet moment stretched between them—an easy silence, and she got the impression that it was going to be like this with him; no pressure to fill the silences—before she shifted on her feet.

“So, how are you going to do it?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. Joseph’s gaze, which had drifted to where John was chatting with Jacob and another guest, flickered back to her. The inquisitive tilt of his head followed after, and when she didn’t supply further questioning, he didn’t bother smothering the amused little smile on his face.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Thank me.”

The smile didn’t quite leave his face yet. “Didn’t John give you the same speech about how off-limits we are to each other?”

“Well,” Isolde relented, “whatever is he going to complain about if his brother doesn’t take me out for dinner? I’d be failing him as his vice breaker if I didn’t keep my game fresh.”

“Is that what I’m doing to thank you, then?”

Joseph’s voice was a low, rich sound, rumbling straight through her, vibrating in the cavity of her chest. She thought, instantly, that she’d like to know what it felt like to have him say her name into her skin. Isolde’s lashes fluttered; she hummed thoughtfully and polished off the last of her wine.

Dinner isn’t sex, she reasoned. So technically, I’m not really breaking John’s little agreement.

“It’s an option,” she offered after a moment. And then, in an act of what John would surely describe later as pure spite for his well-being and mental health: “Though you’re welcome to do more, if you feel inclined.”

This finally (finally, a part of her said) elicited a laugh out of Joseph. His eyes slipped from hers, lingering on her mouth before pulling away to the rest of the party, almost reluctantly.

“Tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Are you free?”

“Technically I’m working,” Isolde drawled, “but lucky for you, I’m the boss and I can make my own hours.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Joseph replied amusedly. “Six, then.”

“And don’t tell John,” Isolde said, as though making a pact. The man inclined his head a little, reaching up and sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and made a low noise of agreement.

“And don’t tell John,” he reiterated. “Yet.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I asked you for one thing, Isolde!”

John was, as to be expected, upset.

“That’s not true,” Isolde defended, busying her hands with gathering up a few files and tucking them into her bag. “You ask me for a million things, every day. Namely, tolerating your ego. Not to mention keeping your head from exploding every time someone pays you a compliment, and—”

“You know what I mean.” John exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temples as though Isolde had inspired in him the greatest of headaches. She hoped that she had. It would be the least he could suffer, after all of the brainpower she had to expend on the daily to keep him in check.

Leaning back in her chair, Isolde said, “It was just dinner, John.”

“Do not pretend to be stupid all of a sudden,” John snapped. “Joseph does not date around. He doesn’t ever do something that’s just dinner."

"Funny," she mused, "it feels like that's exactly what it was. Eating food together, at a restaurant, during the evening."

John’s head cocked to the side. He leveled her with a singular pointed look and said, “Oh, yeah?”

She squinted at him. “Yeah.”

“Is that so? Then what did you do after dinner, Isolde?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall as he waited for her answer. She kept her face wiped clear of emotions even though John’s question instantly inspired in her a flurry of memories; Joseph, snagging her hand on their way out of the restaurant, leaning in and kissing her; and kissing her, and kissing her, keeping her pulled close against him until she thought she was going to go dizzy from it all.

And then, well—

“We’re two consenting adults, John,” she said at last, and he threw up his hands.

“I explicitly said not to!”

“Yeah, well!” There was no good excuse; she knew that. The excuse was that Joseph was incredibly attractive, and Isolde had wanted him, and so that had been the beginning and the end of it. Still, she kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. “I made that agreement before I got a good look at him. John, I’m actually trying to get some work done, so if you could—”

John scoffed. “One, Joseph is related to me, so of course he’s hot, and two—you’ve got the impulse control of a toddler. I hope you know that.”

He pushed off from the wall and started collecting his things to leave her office; a blissful departure, to be sure, but there was something sitting and stinging in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t let her leave it to rest.

“Rich,” Isolde said demurely, “coming from the man who can’t stop an endless chain of making-up-breaking-up.”

His movements paused. He stared at her for a long moment, before he said. “Hey, Isolde?”

“Yes, John?”

“Fuck you.” John’s movements resumed to the door. “Fuck you, and see you in the conference room in twenty.” Another pause, and then thrown over his shoulder: “If you’re not too busy letting my brother—”

“Alright, point made!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “It’s really not anything serious. Okay? It was just dinner and a date, that’s all.”

This had him stopping again, paused in the doorway with a bit of frustration welling up in his voice when he said, “You don’t know my brother, Isolde.”

“But I know me. Alright?”

He sighed. “Yes, alright. Twenty minutes, then.”

For a moment, it felt like things had been settled between them. John was still young, she thought; younger than her, and the baby of his brothers, which she knew meant he held on tighter to things that maybe he needed to all the time. Too tight, or too loose, to make it hurt less when something didn’t work out.

But the peace only lasted for a moment, because a few minutes after John had settled back in behind his desk across the hall from her, their secretary came around the corner, her arms filled with a fragrant bouquet of lilies.

“Ms. Khan, you have an admirer!” she exclaimed delightedly. Isolde met John’s eyes across the hall, staring at her with an expression that could only have been described with the phrase I told you so. “It looks like they’re from a gentleman named Joseph S—”

“Thank you, Laura,” Isolde interrupted, clearing her throat. “You can set them on the table there, I’ll find them a vase.”

Laura nodded and smiled, laying the bouquet delicately on the coffee table and then making her way out of the office. Isolde left the flowers untouched for about an hour, unable to stand the thought of John catching her keeping them alive (because she would never hear an end to it), but it was killing her a little bit. She had mentioned once, in an off-hand comment, that she didn’t like the typical flower bouquets like red roses or carnations; lilies were her favorite. One tiny comment, and this was the result?

There was only a note with the flowers. It said, Hoping John isn’t giving you too much trouble. Be by at six for you.

It felt a little treacherous; just enough to make it a bit harder to look at John with a serious face and not burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Thankfully, close to the end of the day John made the dramatic announcement that he thought he was going to kill himself if he had to spend even another second sitting across from the elaborate bouquet.

“I’m going to go home,” he said, shrugging into his coat, “and try to retain at least half of my brain cells.”

Isolde hmm’d. “So just the one, then?

“Ha-ha. Goodnight, Sol.”

“Have a good night.”

It seemed like there were only a few moments of quiet between John’s departure and Joseph’s arrival, though in reality it had been a few hours; focusing felt like a chore, like it took a little extra work to get through the depositions she had to prepare and the emails she had to answer.

Just dinner, she thought. Just dinner and a date, and whatever happened after. And just one more date tonight. Not a big deal; adults go on dates all the time. I’m an adult. It’s fine.

But it wasn’t just that, because she was sure her heart rate had plateaued at a solid one hundred and ten since Joseph’s I’ll pick you up from work text. Because Isolde wasn’t the kind of woman who took a man back to her place on the first date, and yet.

By the time Joseph did swing by to pick her up, John had been gone for a few hours and she’d gotten almost no work done, instead completely consumed by the predicament she’d planted herself in. It did break the rules to date Joseph. No business and pleasure, first and foremost. Normally, Isolde would have considered herself a woman of incredible discipline, able to turn down temptations of varying degrees—but when Joseph rolled through her office door with those stupid, hot yellow aviators on his face, she thought maybe she had overestimated herself.

“You look tired,” Joseph said lightly, brushing some snow out of his hair. Isolde’s expression flattened.

“Thanks, Romeo. ‘Hi, Isolde, how was your day?’ ‘Oh, just fine, except for your brother throwing a baby temper tantrum every five minutes’. ‘You poor thing, Isolde, but you have to tell me how you manage to be so exceptionally beautiful still’.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t look beautiful still,” he replied. His eyes followed her as she walked around her desk, having slid her coat on and collected her purse; they stayed trained on her all the way up to when there was no space left between them, until he was gazing at her with amusement dragging his mouth into a smile.

She said, lightly, “You didn’t say I was beautiful at all, actually.”

Joseph reached up. Though the room was empty of everyone except the two of them, somehow it still felt special when he looked at her—it still felt like nothing else in the entire world mattered to Joseph in that moment except for her. The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip, his gaze drinking her in, admiring and hungry in equal amounts.

“You are,” he said, his voice low, the timbre of it rattling something animal inside of her. “Beautiful.”

Kiss me, she wanted to say, because he was so close and yet seemed to refuse to actually finish the job. She didn’t think she could have mustered the words even if she wanted to; Joseph was a wildfire, eating up all the oxygen around her, sucking it right out of the air until there was nothing left but for her to feel swallowed by it.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, the other night,” Joseph continued, dragging his thumb from her lip down to her jawline, “when I said that John’s greatest vice was beautiful women.” He paused, his head tilting. “They’re mine.”

Isolde’s lashes fluttered. She glanced up at him, and she said, “Well, that’s not the greatest sales pitch for yourself. How many red flags should I be looking for?”

He laughed and brushed his lips against her temple. “I get the feeling you won’t miss a single one.”

It shouldn’t have been quite so endearing, his casual reference to any red flags that he might have. Even his confidence that she’d pick them out (she would; if finding red flags was an Olympic sport, Isolde would have been a gold medalist) didn’t inspire the greatest feeling in her, though if she was playing devil’s advocate she knew that there were things about herself that didn’t make her so very well acquainted with healthy relationships.

“I’m glad I was able to come and pick you up today,” Joseph continued casually as they left her office and headed down the stairs. “It’s been snowing all afternoon. I’d hate for you to have to drive in this weather.”

And then he did things like that—uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, to not want her to drive herself home in adverse weather. “I think I would have been fine,” Isolde replied. His fingers brushed hers at her side, snagging them and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss.

“Undoubtedly.”

It hadn’t been a lie, his remark about the snow. By the time they were pushing the doors to the lobby open, bidding the security officer goodnight, at least a solid foot of snow had collected and was pushed up against the lip of the sidewalk.

She grimaced. Winter was her least favorite season. Holiday cheer and Isolde Khan were not two concepts that melded well—not that she was a scrooge, per se, but with her only family halfway across the world and, on top, a tenuous relationship at best, it didn’t make Christmas very fun.

As they walked down the sidewalk, passing Joseph’s car in favor of pursuing a nearby restaurant, the blonde kept their fingers tangled together. The gesture was light, and didn’t demand anything, but it was enough to say something: I want you close to me.

“Does your family come here for the holidays?” Joseph asked lightly, disentangling their hands in favor of giving her hip a squeeze, keeping his hand there as they drifted into a warmly-lit wine bar. “I remember you saying they live in Turkey.”

So Joseph did just have that good of a memory. She’d have to be more careful about the things she said to him. “No,” Isolde replied, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. “It’s too far. And I don’t go there.”

“Then what do you do on Christmas?” he prompted. He tugged a seat out for her at a spot farthest away from the door and then planted himself across from her, absently reading over the list of wines.

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely. And then, in an effort to redirect, again: “You, if you’re around.”

Joseph’s gaze flickered up to hers from across the table. She could tell he was trying to stifle a smile. “You’d have to come all the way to Hope County if you had that penciled into your planner, Miss Khan.”

“Oh, Miss Khan, am I? We’re suddenly very formal with each other.” Isolde grinned. “And what does Joseph Seed, in Hope County, do on Christmas?”

“We haven’t spent many holidays together, but this year I’d like have a big family dinner on Christmas Eve, the handful of us.” He settled back in his chair a little, like he was getting ready to be there for a while. “Since John’s moved out here for work, Jacob’s been out of the country, and we only recently found each other again, we don’t get a lot of time together.” He shrugged. “And you, of course. If you’re around.”

Before she had an opportunity to respond, caught off guard by how easily he wielded her own flirtation against her, she felt a few bodies brush past their table and then pause, only to be followed by a dreadfully familiar voice: “Isolde?”

Something sharp and hot brought her pulse to a grinding stop—or it felt like it, anyway, like all of the breath had been sucked right out of her and she had ceased to be alive anymore, a cadaver sat up to play pretend like in those old photos. No, she thought when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, nausea welling up inside of her. No, I don’t want this, not right now.

“It is you,” Alec said, his voice blooming with warmth. “I thought I recognized you. I know you like this spot.” His hand slid from her shoulder and she felt, without even looking at him, the way he turned his eyes to Joseph. “Who’s your friend?”

“Date,” Isolde bit out. “He’s my date.”

Her ex-husband let out what she could only describe as a comical exhale of breath. Joseph was watching her, inquisitive but ever-so-composed, before he turned his gaze politely to Alec and offered his hand.

“Joseph,” the blonde said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The sight of the two men shaking hands made her want to puke. Everything Alec touched in her life was rotten, putrid—brimming with bile and spoiled, forever. She didn’t want it to be like that with Joseph, too.

Alec began, “I’m—”

“Alec is my ex-husband,” Isolde interrupted, her voice hard, punctuating each consonant of the words that came out of her mouth with violent intent.

Joseph settled back in his seat. Suddenly, Isolde was reminded that he had a penchant for remembering even the smallest throwaway details, and that she’d probably let him in on more than she would have liked about how her relationship had been with Alec without even saying anything. Yes, Isolde thought absently, her brain careening like a plane on fire as she watched Joseph fix his eyes on Alec, yes, he can tell.

“Fresh on the dating scene, and only six months divorced,” Alec remarked lightly, his infuriatingly handsome face the only thing filling up her peripheral. “I’m happy for you, Isolde.”

“So leave,” Isolde snapped. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and naturally he looked perfect; dark curls, stubble neatly trimmed, eyes bright and amused. There were a few thin, gossamer scars on his face from the last time they were together— but he must have paid quite a bit of money to smooth those out.

He lifted his hands in a show of surrender, his gaze sweeping over her. Just that one gesture felt like a violation—she wanted to smash his face into the table and tell him he didn’t get to even look at her anymore.

“Good luck with this one, Joe,” Alec said, his overly-familiar use of a nickname that Isolde had never heard anyone use with Joseph sticking to her ribs like a heavy dinner. “She’s a wicked little thing.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Joseph replied serenely.

Alec paused; his gaze lingered on her neck and suddenly he was grinning. Isolde knew what it was he was looking at—a bruise, a remnant of the night before, left by Joseph.

“Yeah,” Alec agreed, “it looks like you’ve already figured out how to handle her.”

Who’s going to pity you? If you were me, you would have seen that you were begging for it. You fucking asked for it.

Isolde stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the wooden paneling of the floor. Sick, she thought, her stomach rolling. I’m going to be sick. “Leaving,” she managed out, only vaguely aware of Joseph also coming to a stand across from her, albeit more composed. “We’re leaving.”

I’m your husband, Isolde. It means it’s my job to keep you in line.

“Not on my account, I hope,” Alec sighed. “You’ve always been so dramatic. Anyway, Joseph—a pleasure to meet you, and—you know, call me if you need help with her. I’m always happy to lend my expertise.”

Everyone knows what it takes to get you under control, and I’ll tell anyone who asks.

She pushed past him, stepping around the table and clutching her coat and purse in her hands. There wasn’t time to put them on; there would never be enough time to get as much space between herself and Alec as she wanted.

I should have killed him, she thought viciously, taking in lungfuls of frigid air, snow dappling her face and sticking to her eyelashes. Right then, I should have bashed his fucking skull in.

Fingers brushed her arm. On instinct she startled, whirling to face the impending threat, half-expecting Alec to have chased her out into the street in an attempt to corner her—a thing that he had taken great joy in before, sweeping things off of the counter to grab and pull and rip—but it was Joseph. He waited two heartbeats before he reached again, his fingertips cradling the crook of her elbow.

It was a question: can I? Will you let me?

“I wish he would die,” she said, without thinking, the words spilling out of her like a poison she just couldn’t hold in anymore. Whatever information Joseph had gleaned about her tumultuous marriage with Alec made him unbothered by this statement; he tugged her closer to him, the hand not holding her arm reaching up to brush the pads of his fingers across her pulse point.

He said, “I know.”

“Joseph—”

“Isolde.” His voice was low, the words murmured against her forehead. “Don’t explain.” Because I already know, is what he meant. Because I already understand what’s going on here.

He tugged her coat out of her hands and pulled it around her shoulders. Bent like he was, leaned into her with something that she thought might be adoration, Joseph brushed their noses together. She felt tension flood her body; she was afraid that he might try to kiss her right then, of what she might do if he did while her body was brutalized by adrenaline, but he didn’t.

He just held her.

“Here,” Joseph said, taking her hand and bringing it to his neck until she could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his pulse under her fingers. “I’ve got you.”

It should have frightened her. Joseph’s intensity was an intimidating kind, but in these moments, the intensity was required to cut through the panic. It overwhelmed her fried senses, the neurons firing rapidly stifled and swallowed up by the looming responsibility to recognize his closeness. The smell of his cologne, the bump of their noses, the feeling of his stubble under her fingertips, his hands closing the jacket around her shoulders. All of it meant that her brain could no longer panic, and had, instead, something to occupy itself with.

“Can you take me home?” Her voice felt small coming out of her, like it belonged to someone else. A different Isolde, at a different place and time. The girl she might have been or perhaps was before Alec.

Low, Joseph murmured, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

A sick, macabre part of her wanted to look back behind Joseph at the wine bar. It wanted to see Alec again—the way that you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking through your hands at the monster in a horror movie, the way that you couldn’t look away from a brutal car crash on the highway. Sick, she thought dizzily. He made me sick.

“Take me home,” she said, more firmly this time.

“I’m trying,” Joseph replied. His voice was so soft that she almost had to strain to hear it over the pounding of her heart. His hands came to her face, cradling. “You have to let me.”

Isolde nodded, swallowing back what adrenaline insisted on leaking into her brain. She hadn’t realized that she was bolting her feet to the floor, gritting her teeth against the gentle pressure of Joseph’s hands, until he said, you have to let me.

“Okay,” she murmured. He nodded and brushed the hair from her face. This time, his guiding pressure actually registered in her brain; when he nudged her away from the bar and down the street to his car, she moved, instead of digging her heels in.

When they reached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her and waited for her to climb in before he leaned down.

“I’m—” Isolde started, the words shredding in her mouth before they got out of her. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. “About—the bar, I—”

“I told you, don’t explain yourself,” Joseph insisted, tucking her hair behind her ear. There was something almost earnest about his gaze now as he watched her, her heart thrumming violently in her chest with a different mantra now. Same, it said, when Joseph’s fingers grazed her cheek, tilted her chin up. Same as us. Ours, too. He’s our kind.

“There’s plenty of people I wish were dead, too.”

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Shoes, clothes, charger, phone. No phone?

“Where did he put my phone?” Isolde muttered, searching through the suitcase on the bed. An array of clothing was laid out, but not yet folded; in fact, the only things that were packed yet were all work things that she’d have to take with her. Joseph would probably be furious—he had, in fact, specifically insisted that no work come on the vacation—but better than anyone he knew what it was like to rely on John for things. Which was that, if you liked things done to the standard that Joseph and Isolde wanted them done to, you didn’t rely on anyone else. Least of all John.

“Soli…” It was Joseph’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, not questioning but asking. Beckoning. You’re taking too long. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

“Where’s my phone?” she called back, pacing around the other side of the bedroom. “I’m trying to pack it up for tomorrow so that I don’t have to worry about it.”

A beat, where Joseph was likely collecting his patience, passed. “It’s down here. You left it on the counter.” And then: “Come eat, won’t you?”

He was doing that thing where he phrased it as a question and meant it as a statement. Joseph had learned, in a very short period of time, that she didn’t like when someone told her what to do; as petulant as it was, she’d buck against something like that desperately until it felt like her idea all along.

Isolde sighed. “Yes, I’m coming, Joseph.” One more up-and-down the stairs, ten more minutes of packing, and then she’d be content enough to sit down and eat.

“Full first name?” came the leisurely reply from downstairs. “My, you are in a mood tonight.”

Isolde busied herself with folding clothes, a smile fighting its way onto her face in spite of Joseph’s insistence that she was “in a mood”. She wasn’t; if he wanted to believe that, he was certainly welcome to, but she wasn’t in a mood. She was thinking.

So she put folded clothes over the work files and said, “Joseph, light of my life; the sun which my planet orbits; the fabric by which the stars are made…”

“This sounds more like the Isolde I’m used to.” His voice was closer now, coming from the doorway, and when she looked over her shoulder at him he said, “And definitely not coming to eat.”

“Do you go by Joe?” she asked lightly, dropping the last of her clothes in the suitcase.

Joseph wandered across the master bedroom until there wasn’t any space left between them; his hand came up to her face, trailing the slope of her cheekbone. “I certainly do not.”

“So, definitely call you that, then.”

“You are testing my greatest virtue,” Joseph replied, leaning down and kissing her. Just the once, though; long enough for her to want to lean into it, and not long enough to be satisfying. He pulled back just so far as to let their lips brush when he said, “Come sit down.”

Skimming her fingers along his chest, she asked playfully, “What are you going to do if I say no?”

The blonde eyed her amusedly. “John was right. You really don’t like being bossed around, do you?”

“How dare you say those words, in that order, in my presence,” Isolde murmured without heat. “You know I can’t stand to have someone stroking his ego by admitting he’s right about something.” A low laugh slipped out of Joseph and he carded his fingers through her hair, letting the pads of his fingers skim the back of her scalp as he kissed her temple.

She loved it. She loved when he did this; Joseph was so tactile, taking every opportunity to connect them through touch, like she grounded him. Like she was something precious that he wanted to enjoy every chance he got.

“You are the only one I’ll say something to more than once,” he said, his voice pleasantly low. “But luckily for you, I find your obstinance endearing.”

“If it helps,” she countered, “I don’t mind if you boss me around. Mostly. Why don’t you give it another try?” That wasn’t true. She did. But she liked the way it made Joseph’s ego inflate the second he did, even if it was for something stupid.

“Sweet girl.” His voice was a pleasant purr against her skin. “Always threatening me with a good time.”

This made her laugh. Joseph kissed the slope of her cheekbone, and then the corner of her mouth, his fingers sliding through her hair affectionately. She finally relented and allowed him to nudge her out through the bedroom door, making her way down the stairs. It wasn’t her first time going on a vacation with a… Friend of the romantic persuasion, but it was her first time going on vacation with a friend of the romantic persuasion back home. She’d never introduced her parents to any man that she’d dated—not only because they were eleven hours away by flight, but because there just hadn’t ever been anyone.

Joseph was—different. But she had always known that; she had always known that he was an exception to a lot of people’s rules, not just her own, and she was violating cardinal rule number one of her own personal regiment, which was “don’t mix business and pleasure”. Pursuing a romantic relationship with your business partner’s older brother didn’t exactly adhere to that, did it?

“It’s going to be hot,” Isolde said, “and the flight is long, and the traffic is going to be… Well, insane. But my parents will definitely insist on feeding us the second we get there—”

“That’s fine.”

“—so what I’m saying is, if I blink at you five times in rapid succession, we need to make up an emergency to leave. What’s the emergency? We have to have one ready and on hand, otherwise my dad will see straight…”

Her voice trailed off. The kitchen was not as she’d left it, a little over an hour ago, to pack. In fact, it was dimly lit by candles, the dining table sporting a bouquet—not roses, like someone might have expected out of a scene like this, but calla lilies. Her favorite.

“What—” She stopped in the doorway, but Joseph sidled up behind her, hands on her hips and nudging her forward. “Joseph, what…?”

“I told you.” He kissed just below her ear, reaching for her left hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles there, too. “You’re the only person that I’ll say something to more than once—”

Isolde felt something—something both hot and cold, sharp and too soft—whip through her immediately at the leading tone. “You’re not making any sense,” she managed out, trying to dig her heels in, but Joseph wasn’t trying to push her in any further so it didn’t matter.

“I want you to marry me.” Joseph said against her skin, and he slid something cool and metal along her finger. “I want you to be my wife, Soli.”

A ring, her brain said, the alarm bells ringing immediately. That’s a ring. Holy shit, that’s a really big fucking ring. On your finger. Holy shit.

“Isolde.” Joseph turned her around to look at him fully now, brows furrowing at what was surely a look of panic on her face. What she thought had to be the assumption that they were only nerves, he continued, “I know that—”

“No.” The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it, the single-word-statement fleeing her mouth in her panic. She thought she’d feel regret about it, but she didn’t; only about the way Joseph looked at her when she said it.

He seemed to be gathering himself for a moment, like maybe he didn’t think that she meant it, that she was playing some kind of joke on him.

Joseph began, “If this is your idea of—”

“I mean it,” Isolde interjected. “I won’t marry you, Joseph. So—no. Take this—” She fumbled the engagement ring off of her finger and put it into his hand like it was a cursed item, like she couldn’t get it off of her finger any fucking quicker. “Take this back. And—that’s it, I just don’t want it.”

His eyes were fixed on her, no longer soft in their romanticism, but hard, steely. “And why not?”

She swallowed up a sound that probably would have been close to agony. It was agony, having to explain to him; her mind vibrating at an entirely different frequency than his, the panic settling into her bones. She needed to say, I’ve been married before you and I know what it’s like to give yourself over to someone, she needed to say, I won’t fucking let someone own me, Joseph Seed, she needed to say, I told you two months ago I never wanted to get married again, and you just apparently didn’t listen, which is reason enough.

“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” is what she said instead, going to step around him. But his hand caught her wrist, the carefully manicured and polished exterior fading into something that hit an edge of tension, pulling pulling pulling until she thought she was going to watch him finally snap.

But he said, “You do.”

“Fuck. You,” Sol bit out. The anger flared hot in her chest. It was, at last, a familiar emotion; anger and not panic, filling her up. Drowning out the sadness that tried to rip through her like a wildfire. “I told you. I told you I wasn’t doing it again.”

“I’m different.” Now it was his turn to sound almost petulant, his grip on her wrist like iron. “You said that yourself. That we’re—”

“Not different enough,” she snapped. “Apparently, anyway, since you couldn’t wait longer than two months to try and put your name on me, could you?” Trying to pull her wrist out of his grip proved futile, and she managed out with the timbre of her voice vibrating with poison, “And get your fucking hand off of me, Joseph.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he finally loosened his hold on her wrist. Enough to let her pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Isolde stayed firmly put, willing her legs to carry her somewhere else—back home would probably be the best thing, driving the hours it takes between Hope County and the nearest lick of civilization.

You said that yourself. I’m different.

He was. She wanted to say, you are, Joseph, but she didn’t, because she knew that it would only start them in another circle again, a snake swallowing its own tail in an endless cycle.

So they stood there for a moment: neither of them saying anything, her last threat hanging, jolts of anger fizzing and popping in the air between them. Isolde’s hand slid just enough to catch at the wrist in Joseph’s grip, and he took her hand instead, then, tugging lightly to draw her close to him.

Testing her out. Feeling her boundaries. She’d basically said I’ll tear your hand off if you don’t listen to me, but he didn’t think she would. And now he was going to slam those buttons—slide his fingers under her edges until he found the exact farthest he could push her.

“I won’t,” Joseph said, very low and quiet, “let you do this to me, Isolde.”

She had been expecting something else. Something sweet, maybe—Joseph liked to do that. Sweet girl, he’d say to her, and if anyone else had tried to call her girl they would’ve gotten dumped, but with this viper it was different. It didn’t feel condescending when Joseph said it to her. It just felt covetous.

And that’s what he was best at: bite, and then soothe. It made his sharp edges more tolerable. It made them nice. But now he was all sharp edges, only hard lines, catching on her and tearing every time the two of them made contact. It had always been this way; John had said that he thought they were poorly matched, and at the time, she’d written it off as John not liking to share even his business partner with his older brother.

Now more than ever, she thought that he was right. They were both too unwieldy, too wretched, to let someone else sway them from their opinions.

“You are so fucking dramatic,” Isolde said, pulling her hand out of his grip at last and turning on her heel. “We don’t need to be married to be together. And your antiquated notion—”

“There are things I want to accomplish, and they’re best done with a wife—”

“I’m sorry, did you hear a period punctuating the end of my sentence? Don’t fucking talk over me, Joseph,” she snapped. For one split second, she saw something vicious flicker over Joseph’s face—just for that one, tiny second—and then he cleared his face.

After a second of silence, of waiting for Joseph to try and get the last word in, she finished, “You don’t know me well enough to want to marry me. And—marriage is a scam, anyway. I would know, I handle nasty divorces every day at work.” I’ve handled my own nasty divorce. “If you’re looking for a pretty housewife to sit around statuesque and have dinner ready for you when you come home, then—well, then you really don’t fucking know me.”

Joseph was silent. His jaw worked, his eyes sweeping over her, tension radiating off of her until he said, “I guess I don’t.”

“I guess so,” Isolde agreed. Another moment of silence, where it felt like they were circling each other like wounded dogs, and she said, “I’m going to go—”

“Fine,” he interrupted, the thing that he knew she hated. “When you’ve calmed down, we can discuss this like adults.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she said, gathering up her coat and keys and walking up the stairs. “I’m not going to change my mind, Joseph.”

From the kitchen, she heard him agree, “Not yet.”

“Shut up,” Isolde snapped. “You make me so fucking mad.”

He didn’t respond to that; she heard him moving around in the kitchen, gathering things and putting them away as she hauled her suitcase down to the front door. He met her at the door, opening it for her—which pissed her off half as much as him putting an engagement ring on her finger.

It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was like he was saying, I know you’ll be back, so go on. Feel free to leave whenever you’d like.

Like the gentleman he was, he carried her suitcase out and loaded it into the car, lingering around the driver’s side as she threw her coat inside. And then she was the one waiting, unsure of what to do; the muscle memory of her body said, kiss him goodbye, the fury in her brain screaming to get in the car and leave.

“When you change your mind,” he reiterated calmly, reaching up and brushing the hair from her face, “you know how to get in touch with me.”

Isolde’s gaze flickered at the touch, Joseph’s warm, heady cologne washing over her as the space between them vanished. She said, the amber and vetiver of him welling up inside of her and filling her like a wineskin, “I won’t.”

His lips grazed her temple, fingers brushing her jaw. “I love you, Isolde.”

Fucking narcissist, she thought, venomously, pulling away from him. Her gaze drifted over his face, trying to find something familiar, something that reminded her of the man she had thought she had loved—but who had clearly proven he was incapable of thinking of anyone but himself.

So finally, she bit out, “This is what you think love is?”

She wanted the words to sting. She wanted them to wipe the tranquility off of his face. He had always been so composed; the wretchedness in her wanted to shake it out of him, making him squirm like he was so good at doing to her.

But he didn’t; his mouth ticked upward in a serene smile, eyes fixed on her as he stepped back from the car. He seemed confident in himself—that it was love, that she would see it was. One day.

I won’t let you do this to me, he’d said.

“Have a safe drive,” he called, when she slammed the door. It was an hour to the airport; an hour, and then however long of a flight, however long she’d have to wait for the next flight heading out to Georgia.

Joseph turned and walked back inside as she pulled out of the driveway, as carefully as she could through the snow; in her rearview mirror, she saw him stop at the door and turn to look, eyes fixed on her.

There are plenty of people I wish were dead, too.

#fic: witching hour #otp: i could sleep inside the cold of you #witching hour interlude #joseph seed x ofc #joseph seed/ofc #ch: isolde khan #ch: joseph seed #this felt important to include #a lot of it is polished from my pre-cult canon but it feels!!!!!#necessary to give them a bit more context esp for folks who only see my content on ao3 #thank u everyone for being patient w me <3 #my writing #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic

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depvotee · 4 years

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The apocalypse only happend becuase Joseph is the middle child and that’s it.

#fc5 #he had to #joseph seed #this is a joke ofc

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moving-accounts-uwu · 4 years

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Home Is Where The Heart Is {Pt. 1}

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Characters: Seed Brothers x Serah (OFC)

Story Type: Series

Series Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, death, violence, romance, fluff, polygamous relationship, abuse, smut, slight dub-con, religious themes, kidnapping, brain-washing, Stockholm Syndrome & Lima syndrome, some elements of the games is used (locations, story/timeline, etc).

Chapter Warnings: None!

Word count: 2.3k words

Story Summary: Serah is a young woman living in Fall’s End, Hope County and has lived there all her life. She owns her own farm and B&B, nothing very exciting ever happens in Fall’s End - except for the occasional chaos caused by Sharky Boshaw. That is until one day, three men show up with a broken down car and seeking a place to stay. Serah, being the kind and caring person she is, lets these men into her home with open arms, but she truly doesn’t know what she has invited into her life.

A/N: each chapter will have specific chapter warnings/trigger warnings at the beginning to help those who would get triggered to know what is about to happen in each chapter. I wouldn’t want to trigger anyone tho ;w; Other than that, I hope y’all enjoy this chapter 1 and updates to this story will be slow though. I know this first chapter is short but make sure to show it some love so I know y’all like it and I can continue it!! Gif is not mine btw~

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Hope County was never really busy or loud; it was mainly quiet and peaceful. People could leave their windows and doors unlocked during the nights because no major crimes were ever committed, and the fact that Hope County only had a small amount of law enforcement because of the low crime rate.

Hope County was the perfect place for Serah. Serah had lived in Fall's End for nearly seven years, and her life has never taken a turn for the worst while living on her farm. She owned a few cows, chickens, pigs, and horses that she tends and cares for. Her large farmhouse has also been renovated to be Fall's Ends very own 'Bed & Breakfast'; getting the occasional tourist here and there, or sometimes it's a local needing a little change in scenery. Serah's main customer is Sharky Boshaw.

Sharky liked to cause a little trouble, otherwise, Hope County would be too quiet. Whenever Sharky was too drunk to go home, he always managed to walk to Serah's farm and keep her company while tending to him. Serah was also good friends with Kim and Nick Rye, the couple being her closest friends since she moved to Montana from New York. Serah wanted a change of scenery herself, and she always dreamed of owning her own farm and 'B&B'.

It was a warm morning when Serah woke up in the early hours on a Saturday. She groaned a bit, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and giving her muscles a good stretch before leaving the confines of her bed. Most of her farm chores were done the day before, so only a few small chores were left remaining. Serah planned to go to The Spread Eagle to visit Mary May, another good friend of hers from when she first moved to Fall's End and worked at the bar for four years.

As Serah was doing some dusting around the house with only having to hang out the laundry after, she was excited to get a move on and get it finished.

"C'mon, Serah, nearly done then we can have drinks to wash the stress away."

Serah couldn't wait to relax before Monday began; the only days she really lets loose is on the weekends with Mary May, and sometimes Sharky if he hasn't already been drinking and passed out somewhere. When the chores were done, Serah took a quick shower to freshen up and put on a cute white, lace sundress that had a deep neckline that flashed a bit of her cleavage and stopped just above her knees.

Serah parked her car in the parking lot before pushing through the bar doors, looking around at the few patrons already there just before 1 p.m. When she approached the bar, Mary May was quick to greet her.

"Hey, beautiful! Just finished all the chores on the farm, yeah?"

"You have no idea..." Serah gave a dramatic sigh of relief while Mary just laughed.

"Don't worry, sweetie! Maybe you could ask one of the boys to help you out around that big farm of yours. You probably need to hire some farmhands, otherwise, you're gonna get tired and grey from stress." Mary May was very motherly for someone who was only a few years older than Serah.

"You know I would if I had the money, Mary. I can't afford to hire farmhands while paying my bills, groceries, and animal feed. I'd either go broke or couldn't pay them enough to keep around." Serah shrugged before getting comfortable at the bar, trying to decide what drink she'd want to order first.

Serah ordered herself a Bourbon and Coke while conversing with Mary and a few other patrons, having the day pass slowly and having a good time. It wasn't until two in the afternoon that Serah thought about heading back to the ranch. She asked Mary if she could leave her truck in the parking lot, which Mary said yes and that she didn't need to ask, while Serah called Nick for a lift.

Serah didn't have to wait for Nick long; he came under less than 2 mins and picked her up.

"Hey there, Serah! You have a good time?" Nick asked while he headed towards the ranch.

"Oh yeah, I had a few drinks to help unwind. It's been a rough few days working, but I got everything done. Maybe I'll get a few new guests or Sharky might just crash at mine whenever he's too drunk to go home." Nick and Serah both laughed at the thought.

Nick and Serah had a sibling bond; Nick was like an older brother and Serah being younger. Serah met Nick when she turned 21 and had her first drink at the Spread Eagle, where she was introduced to Nick and Kim Rye, then five years later, she was basically another Rye in their eyes. She had a second family after losing both her parents to cancer when she was 19. Nick and Serah even got tattoos of each other's names that Nick claims 'Now you're a Rye! You're now my little sister'. The memory always brings tears of pride and joy to Serah's eyes.

Nick parked in front of Serah's ranch before hugging her tight.

"You know, you could always ask me to help you out if things are too much, sis."

"I know that Nick, but I couldn't possibly ask of that from you when Kim is this far along in her pregnancy. She'll need your help more than me. She could give birth next month or so." Serah tried to reason, but Nick just scoffed.

"Kimmie is a tough son of a bitch, every time I offer to help her, she tells me she can do it herself. Trust me, I have plenty of free time to help you out." Nick gave Serah a comforting squeeze on her shoulder before she hopped out of his car, waving him goodbye and watched him drive away.

With a sigh, Serah walked back into her home and started to plan out what to make for dinner. She heard the soft sound of her white cat, Alpine, purring away in his perch at the window sill, the sun coating him with warmth.

"Hey there, Alpine, did ya miss me?" Serah giggled as she walked by him, scratching behind his ear as she went.

*2 hours later*

Serah always had a habit of making large portions of food as if other people lived in the two-story house. She couldn't help it, Serah just created that much food so she wouldn't have to worry about making more the next day. She guessed that it was because she would have to cook for the guests when they stayed at her 'B&B' and she just can't help it. While she let the chicken and corn soup to simmer, she started to get Alpine's food ready because she knew he'd become needy soon.

"Alright, buddy, you'll be having some delicious prawns, your favorite!" Serah sang as Alpine came rushing over and meowing loudly at the smell of the prawns.

As Serah put the prawns into a small bowl and placed it on the floor near the kitchen island, she heard the sound of a slam and a muffled, angry voice followed by a calmer voice. Serah's curious mind got the better of her and snooped near the front window and peeked out through her translucent curtains to see what the commotion was. There was a black SUV parked on the side of the road, small amounts of smoke coming from the hood while three men stood around the front of the car. One of the men had red hair and beard with scars covering parts of his face and forearms; he was the one who was angry at the fact that their car must have broken down while the two other men stood around letting the redhead vent. One of the other men was dressed in very luxurious clothes and had many tattoos covering his arms and hands, and he also sported a beard. The other man had his hair in a bun, wore yellow-tinted glasses, and looked to be trying to calm the scarred man.

Serah was still in a daze by watching the men that she hadn't realized that the men had noticed her house, and one of them was making their way to her front door. The sudden sound of knocking on her door startled Serah out of her daze and she quietly made her way to the front door. When she made sure her little latch lock was in place, she opened the door slightly to greet the man with the tinted glasses and man-bun.

"Hello my child, my name is Joseph, and my brothers and I happen to be in a bit of a predicament. It seems our car has broken down and we don't know how to fix the issue, would you happen to know of anyone who knows mechanics?" The man said.

Serah blinked for a few seconds, registering what he had said.

"Oh!" You looked at your little wristwatch to see that the time was now 4:30 in the afternoon and that the closest mechanic store is at least 45 minutes away and closes at 5 o'clock. "Um, the closest mechanic is nearly an hour away, and they'll be closing soon, so you won't be able to see them until tomorrow."

"That is quite alright. I also saw that this loving ranch was a 'Bed & Breakfast', would my brothers and I be able to seek refuge here for the night until one of us are ready to walk into town?" Joseph gestured to the two other men still standing by the SUV who were looking at them from afar.

"Oh, of course! And because of your circumstances, I won't charge you; I'd feel bad if I did. Save your money for when you get your car fixed." Serah gave him a warm smile, unlatching the lock on the door and opening it wide.

Joseph motioned for his brothers to come forth while he continued to talk to you.

"That is very kind of you, my dear. May I ask, what is your name? It's silly of me for not asking our host's name."

She then made way for the three men to enter her house and they huddled in the open space living room.

"My name's Serah, and I'll be your host. I've got some chicken and corn soup that's just settling and will be ready to serve. I also have spares bedrooms upstairs if you'll follow me!" Serah led the three men to the rooms and let them choose a room for themselves while also being introduced to the two men, John and Jacob.

Jacob was the eldest Seed brother while Joseph was the middle child, and John being the youngest. Jacob served in the army and was a hardened soldier; John used to be a lawyer while Joseph claims to be 'The Father'. He preached about the gifts of God and how God would occasionally speak to him or give him visions about 'the Collapse'. Serah was never really religious; she never cared for religion but never stopped anyone who did. She politely listened to Joseph talk about this 'Project at Eden's Gate' and how he and his brothers have come to Hope County to save as many people as he can before the collapse because that is what God has told him.

Serah started to serve the Seed brothers the soup when John spotted Alpine walk into the dining area.

"Oh, and who is this little guy?" John asked while petting the white feline.

"That's Alpine; he was a stray when I found him as a kitten. He was so small and malnourished, but he stole my heart the second I saw him. He's my little fur baby." Serah picked Alpine up into her arms and cuddled him for a bit.

The four of them ate, Joseph and Serah doing most of the talking, John contributing now and then while Jacob grunted in acknowledgment. Joseph talked more about Eden's Gate then asked where would be the best place to buy a property big enough to host sermons for him and his followers or 'children' as he called them. Serah answered as many of Joseph's questions but told them that they would have to see sheriff Whitehorse about getting a license to carry when John asked about that.

When dinner was over, Serah grabbed all the empty bowls and was prepping to wash them when John stopped her.

"Please, you've cooked and let us rest for the night for free, the least we could do is wash the dishes. Go and relax, dear."

Serah gave him a sweet smile, nodded, and thanked him before heading for the living room to read a book. Jacob seemed to already have worked out the TV remote, and he and Joseph were flicking through the channels. The sat in silence with only the noise of the dishes being washed in the kitchen to fill in as background noise. The rest of the evening went by with small talk and watching whatever is on TV before the Seed brothers and Serah bid goodnight to each other at around ten.

As Serah was about to enter her room, she was stopped by Joseph yet again.

"I'd like to thank you again, Serah. It seems God has led us to you, and to be blessed with your kindness and hospitality. Hopefully, in weeks to come, we'll see you again. Goodnight, dear." With that, Joseph went into his room, leaving Serah in the little hallway who was touched by his words.

As Serah did her nightly routine and hopped into bed, she had a nightmare of an explosion and the world on fire.

Thank you for reading this short chapter!

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betelgeusing · 4 years

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honestly if you haven't yet reached the point where you realize that a person's fictional crushes are in no way a reflection on what they prefer and endorse irl.... I don't have all that much time for u

#I mean if you're judging ppl for it ofc #fully yesterday I saw someone scolding ppl for liking Joseph Seed #like ''he's BAD'' beloved I think that's the point?? ppl are excited by that in a fictional and controlled space? mind your own business #this idea that a villain crush is only acceptable if it meets certain critera #smdh #like u can have your own opinions about TASTE but I'm so tired of ppl making this a morals issue #I may not understand who u want to fuck but I will defend to the death your right to want to fuck them #(OBVIOUS EXEMPTIONS APPLY don't creep on kids weirdos)#ALSO just ftr Joseph is NOT the worst Seed to be into #if u have no earthly clue what i am talking about...... u are blessed have a wonderful day

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brightbees · 6 years

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doomsday buds

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #joey hudson #staci pratt #someones hc was mexican staci and my latinx ass got really excited #hes praying the hail mary #in spanish ofc

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blissfulrook-blog · 6 years

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I just wanted to compile a lot of Far Cry 5′s Biblical allusions and the significance of those to the overall plot (especially the ending). I wouldn’t necessarily call this an analysis, but I suppose it gets a little meta at some points! Far Cry 5 is a HUGE allusion to the Book of Revelation and also Genesis, and I just really wanted to explore some of it.

For this, let’s start with the naming of Eden’s Gate itself and why it’s significant in general. The name Eden’s Gate is purposefully evocative of the Garden of Eden from the book of Genesis, which is the first part of the Bible and it describes the creation of the world and humanity, etc. The whole game of Far Cry 5 serves as an allusion to Revelations, which is the last part of the Bible and it features the end of the world/apocalypse.

This means that Eden’s Gate is supposed to serve as humanity’s rebirth into a new world- they’re the new beginning of humanity in a world born anew, free of sin. The last name Seed itself is general evocative of a garden, which serves to highlight this. This was already apparent with the cult being a doomsday cult, but the name itself is important as it highlights their purpose and how they view themselves relative to the “Collapse”.

Then there’s Joseph Seed. He most likely gets his name from Joseph of Nazareth/Saint Joseph, who was Jesus’ legal/earthly father and the husband of Mary. This makes his title “the Father” all that more important, considering who he’s named after. Joseph places himself as the spiritual “father” of the cult member. There was another Joseph in the Bible, and he was the son of Jacob and Rachel. In general, Joseph’s character seems to be a reference to Adam as well, since Adam and Eve are central to the belief that humanity is in essence a single family, which is how he operates his cult.

John’s name and title come from John the Baptist, and most scholars agree that John was the one who baptised Jesus. Then there’s Jacob, who was a Biblical figure featured in Genesis and he was married to Rachel, who was one of his two wives. In general, Joseph’s siblings (and potentially Joseph himself) are references to the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse. Jacob represents War (obviously, with him being a war veteran and in charge of training soldiers), John represents Famine (a large part of his region involve farmlands), and Faith represents Pestilence (with her Bliss sickening people’s minds).

Joseph can arguably represent Death, though I feel the deputy fits the description better, with them being a one-person army and all. Not to mention that when the deputy arrives to arrest Joseph, he quotes a Bible verse that features Death following a white horse (Sheriff Whitehorse).

The resist ending features Joseph being ultimately right about his prophecy, and Joseph and the deputy seemingly being the only survivors of the events in Montana (it’s highly unlikely they’re the only survivors in the world, however). Joseph says: “And together, we will march to Eden’s Gate”. This further highlights the Garden of Eden allusion, but at the same time it places Joseph as an Adam-type character and the deputy as an Eve-type character.

A female deputy and Joseph most likely won’t be the only ones repopulating the new world, but they’ll certainly be the ones to lead it. Joseph also refers to the deputy as the “snake in the garden”. Even then, the deputy and Joseph wouldn’t necessarily have to repopulate either, just lead the world into their Eden. The deputy was “tempted” by a metaphorical snake to sin through pride, which would further link the deputy to Eve. Their sin prevents them from joining Eden because they’re too prideful to consider that Joseph could be right, until it quite literally blows up in their face.

It can be argued that both Adam and Eve are equally responsible for their expulsion from the Garden of Eden, though Eve is the first one who is tempted. Eve is the one who is tempted and she eats the fruit, but she also gives some to Adam. Joseph and the deputy both equally lose, they’re both equally responsible for their losses. The deputy was too prideful to admit that they could be wrong, and so they destroy all of Joseph’s contingency plans whilst making none of their own for their companions. Joseph’s focused on trying to save everyone in Hope County to the point his methods became brutal, which led to the deputy trying to stop him in the first place.

There’s also this passage that can be linked to the deputy:

“And then the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will destroy with the breath of his mouth, annihilating him by the manifestation of his coming. The coming of the lawless one is apparent in the working of Satan, who uses all power, signs, lying wonders, and every kind of wicked deception for those who are perishing, because they refused to love the truth and so be saved. For this reason God sends them a powerful delusion, leading them to believe what is false, so that all who have not believed the truth but took pleasure in unrighteousness will be condemned.”

The deputy is the Antichrist/anti-messianic figure to Joseph’s prophet/messianic role as well as the Eve to his Adam. The deputy is the one who disrupts the cult’s inner workings, but it also makes the cult believe that the end is drawing closer. No matter what, the deputy won’t listen to the Seed family about what’s coming because “they refused to love the truth” that would save them (even though they were saved anyways).

The plot of the game itself can be seen as the world coming full circle from Genesis to Revelation to Genesis again. The antichrist is featured Revelation, while Adam and Eve are featured in Genesis. The Adam and Eve comparison becomes appropriate in the resist ending, which can be seen as leading into Genesis, while the antichrist comparison is appropriate for most of the game, which heavily references Revelation.

In general, I don’t feel like the resist ending is a hallucination like people say. Yes, the deputy was loaded with Bliss during Joseph’s boss battle, but all signs lean towards Joseph being right. The news on the radio, Joseph’s heralds telling you to consider that Joseph could be right (with some of the dialogue during Faith’s region having heavy-handed foreshadowing). The resist ending in general is most likely the canon ending as well, considering all the foreshadowing and how it fits with the way things are set up.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #syd.txt #i did........an uncomfortable amount of research for this just to make sure i had some of my facts straight #ofc i could still be wrong BUT YEAH #and i feel like the adam/eve comparison with joseph and the deputy is more applicable to female deputy/joseph #but it's still present with a male deputy #i mostly feel like the game itself was written with a male deputy in mind but the ending was written with a female one in mind which is #weird to me tBH but yea #i also just created this blog because i wanted a far cry centric blog LMAO

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quentinbecks · 3 years

Note

"for one muse to deny the other orgasm" joseph x reader to complete the collection pls and thank u ✧･ﾟ

thank you so much for this one, ash! i went a (slightly)different route/little too self indulgent with this one and added my girl instead of a reader. i actually almost ended this after she gets hers, but that would be rude. this was also a little more sacrilegious, but i got an immediate migraine and took that as a sign lol.

prompt: for one to deny the other an orgasm

pairing: joseph seed x ofc

words: 1.3 k (short and sweet)

warnings: edging, slightly sacrilegious, (male) oral sex, and slight hints of polyseeds

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Charlie had told John in confidence of her doubts about the project; trusted that her partner would keep her secrets safe, but with a Judas kiss he went and told Joseph. And now here she is, receiving a “punishment” that she’s certain God himself would frown upon.

She lies there, sweat soaked and fingers clutching desperately onto cotton sheets. This has been going on for over an hour and the woman finally thinks she has a grasp on the rules; no touching back and no outward signs of pleasure. Either rule is broken and he stops and it all begins again.

Charlie watches as his long fingers dance precariously down her abdomen; the rosary wrapped around his hand dangling between her thighs. She’s pretty sure at this point that despite all his talk of salvation; Joseph wants her to go to hell. And she’s certain if there is one she will because there is no way his god will ever forgive this.

“Please” she grits out, “I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Joseph leans up, wiping a free falling tear from under her eye. “You need to learn to trust me. That’s why you’re here.” He eyes her; her green eyes dazed and body slackened from exhaustion. “My brother gives you what you want, whenever you want. He’s spoiled you too much, sweet girl.”

Charlie finds herself glaring at the ceiling, wishing that they had made her an angel or had her run a trial; anything would be better than this. She had agreed to this arrangement because she thought her resolve was much stronger than it is; that and her sick attraction to the Father himself.

She feels his fingers slide back down in between her legs, twitching as they roll over her overstimulated bundle of nerves. Peering up, she catches him watching her face; unnerved by his unwavering intensity she has to look away. Charlie tries to focus on anything but the digits that have picked up speed. She wonders if he edges all his doubters or if she’s the only fortunate soul.

“You’re doing so well. I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Her eyes widen at his words; finally, the release she’s been waiting for. “Yes, please” she nods her head wildly. Charlie watches as he sits back on the bed, legs slightly spread as he beckons her towards him.

“Come here.”

She crawls over, stopping to take him in. She wonders how many people have the luck to see him like this. The setting summer sun glistening off his skin combined with his confident stature makes him look like a god and she wants to worship him.

“Can I?” Charlie asks as she reaches out a hand towards him, unwilling to touch without his consent.

Joseph nods, allowing her to slither up his body. Her hand reaches out, fingers tracing over the “lust” tattoo carved above his groin. She secretly hopes he’ll have a third one etched into his flesh soon; the idea of causing him to sin thrilling her.

His hands replace hers, making quick work of his belt to pull his jeans down. Charlie immediately straddles him; both eager to please and to be pleased.

Finally.

She’s not surprised by how easily he slides inside her, her folds slick from prolonged teasing. Her hips immediately start to rock, desperate for that sweet release, only for the older man’s hands to hold her in place.

“Be patient. Do you not trust that I’ll give you what you want?”

No Charlie thinks to herself.

Nevertheless, she nods. “I’m sorry, Joseph. Of course I trust you.”

Joseph’s hands grip onto her hips, moving her body the way he sees fit. The first hint of friction hits her; body twitching as if she’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. The intensity increases as she feels his lips trailing lightly down her neck onto her collarbone. She’s amazed at how he’s able to keep up this slow and steady pace; his self-restraint proving to be enviable.

Charlie doesn’t think she can take anymore when his thumb rolls circles over her clit, her hips moving in sync with his motions. “Please” she throws her head back with a cry, sweat and a stray tear rolling down her flushed cheeks.

Joseph doesn’t respond, he doesn’t need to. She can feel him begin to fuck into her from below, his hips thrusting so intensely she’s practically bouncing on his lap. His eyes never leave her as she squirms around, soft moans falling from her lips.

“Look at me” he commands as she starts to tighten around him. Charlie really doesn’t think she can keep her eyes open; let alone focus on him throughout her orgasm. She manages to obey, though, the look on his face as her eyes flutter open making her unravel

“Fuck” she cries out, her walls clenching around him causing him to let out a hiss. She stills for a moment, her body too exhausted to move or speak.

“Thank you” she sleepily plants a kiss to Joseph’s jaw before moving down to his neck. “Let me take care of you now.”

Charlie slides off his lap, trailing nips and kisses along each one of his scars and tattoos. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as her lips reach his “lust” scar; an earlier source of fixation.

“I should be the one taking care of you.”

She rolls her eyes at Joseph’s unwillingness to not be in control, but she’s pretty sure she’s had her fill of being dominated today. “Relax.” Lightly pushing him back, she takes a firm hold of his cock; her tongue dragging up the shaft in one long stride.

Joseph is lucky she’s not petty; that she won’t inflict the same stops and starts on him, even though the idea is tempting. A light kiss is given to the head, her soft tongue flicking out to swirl around the slit. Looking up through her lashes Charlie watches as the man inhales sharply, his eyes shutting tightly. Wetting her lips, she moves to take him in more, eager to extract similar noises out of him.

She slowly bobs her head as her right hand pumps in time with the movements of her mouth. Charlie feels his hands threading her long waves, pulling them back to be able to watch her better; the act making her moan lightly around him.

Outside of the soft sucking sounds and birds chirping, the room is completely quiet. She hears an intake of breath and feels his hips thrust into her mouth. Trying to keep up with his pace, her cheeks hollow and her left hand digs into his hip. Joseph is only able to keep this speed for so long, the time spent inside her combined with the wetness of her mouth sending him over the edge.

Charlie’s jaw slightly aches from the current momentum; relief washing over when she tastes the familiar salty seed fill her mouth. After giving a few last languid pumps, she pulls up, licking her licks to remove any remnants of the Father.

Crawling back into his lap, she places a lazy, chaste kiss to his pink lips. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Joseph. You’re right. I need to learn to trust people more.”

“All is forgiven.” He kisses her forehead before resting against it. “You’ll still need to atone for your actions. I think sloth is the most fitting for this.” Charlie nods solemnly before moving to get up, but a hand on her elbow stops her.

“Just rest here for now. Atonement can wait.”

Joseph gets up then, forcing her to lie back in the bed. He gets dressed and gives her one final kiss before heading back out to work on his sermons.

“Goodnight, Charlene.”

Charlie just nods, already dozing off. A final thought passes through her mind: was this “lesson” actually for her benefit or his? Either way, she’s grateful.

#this feels weird but I can’t look at it anymore lol #another one that kicked my ass #joseph seed x oc #far cry 5 fic #smut prompts

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general-kalani · 1 year

Text

{ Continued from here with @fallesto! }

Though he knew he should be afraid despite what they said, after all this was a threat. Remaining in front of him and a worry to his flock.

He instead gave a small nod. "I was not afraid. I just want to make sure I know where your hands are at all times."

So often, did people try to kill him. So often did they try to disprove him.

So often was he forced to kill with his own bare hands.

"What business do you have with me? God didn't tell me I'd get such a... Formal greeting."

#fallesto #muse: joseph seed #verse: this one shall reach atonement… ~ { joseph fc5 verse }#verse: i thought it would be glorious... ~ { joseph nd verse }#your choice on verse ofc but WOOOO this is gonna be GREAT LMFAO

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kanos · 2 years

Note

far cry 5⛪️🐻 for Send Me A Fandom

oh boy this gonna get me into trouble somehow

The first character I first fell in love with: Jacob… i know

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: im gonna say John?? yeah feels right i love him so much its insane

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Joseph… i get it but hmm

The character I love that everyone else hates: Hurk!!! just bc people dont talk about him much and hes wonderful

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: uuuh idk joseph i guess

The character I would totally smooch: so many but jacob ofc, sharky, hudson 💖

The character I’d want to be like: Sharky… kin

The character I’d slap: Joseph!! Tammy!!! Hurk sr.!!!!!

A pairing that I love: nick and kim!!!!

A pairing that I despise: shipping the seeds i guess but idk i dont really have any i guess

#look i think joseph is a fantastic character a great villain #i would beat the shit out if him tho #pitchmoss #ask

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

thought it was about time i got things all tidied up in here! all of my writings/one-shots/etc i THINK should be listed and organized under the cut. explicit content will be denoted with a *, with specific warnings prior in each individual oneshot/chapter. thank you! ♡

you can find my original masterlist posted on my archive here

—DEPUTY ELLIOT HONEYSETT—

MAIN UNIVERSE » ANCIENT NAMES » complete

masterpost

MAIN UNIVERSE » WITCHING HOUR » in progress

masterpost

OUTTAKES & DELETED SCENES » ANCIENT NAMES-ADJACENT

troublemaker • iloveyou • sinful • stay • animals

OUTTAKES & DELETED SCENES » WITCHING HOUR-ADJACENT

—JACOB SEED & ARDEN HALE—

my someplace is here • pareto optimal *

—ISOLDE KHAN X JOSEPH SEED—

let me sanctify you * • sanctify you, excerpt *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » HERALD ELLIOT & THE UNHOLY TRINITY

love made me do it * • a venom dripping in your mouth • vicious traditions • blood on my name • heart of glass, mind of stone • this domain of hunger * • playing with fire, living in sin * • condemnation *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » ELLIOT HONEYSETT x DIANA BAKER

loose cannon • a test of strength • listen before i go • i'm your man (feat. sharky) *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » ELLIOT HONEYSETT x WESLEY BROOKS

too close to stars

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » ELLIOT HONEYSETT x LYRA FAIRBANKS

this can’t happen again

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » PRE/NO-CULT AU

—ELLIOT HONEYSETT x JOHN SEED—

wrap me around your fingertips * • hands all over * • fever * • just like magic • equitable exchange • domestic warfare • golden morning • blue, baby • honey lavender * • party favours

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » ISOLDE KHAN, THE BRIDE OF GOD

—ISOLDE KHAN & LYRA FAIRBANKS—

our muses are mistaken to be a couple by someone else

—ISOLDE KHAN x AUDRY ROOK—

sugar-coated, the most sweet • sweet little unforgettable thing *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE » OUR CATHEDRAL IS THE BADLANDS

—ISOLDE KHAN x MICHAEL S. HUGHES—

dreaming of you • stained glass • parental disaster

—HELMI x DEPUTY JESTINY ELLEN—

devour

—ROMAN SIONIS x OFC! VARYA ASTAKHOVA—

MAIN UNIVERSE » CARRY YOUR THRONE

available only on ao3

MAIN UNIVERSE » THE LAND OF GODS & DEVILS

masterlist

ONESHOTS » CYT/G&D-ADJACENT

pavlovian * • damage done & damage made • danse macabre

—SANTINO D'ANTONIO x OFC! EUPHEMIA VOLPE—

MAIN UNIVERSE » NO TEMPTATION/NO GLORY

masterlist // read on ao3

ONESHOTS » NT/NG ADJACENT

pretty please * • i'm hanging up *

#spilled ink #honeysides masterlist #far cry 5 #birds of prey #sorry to everyone who's seeing this now for the 1000th time #but it felt necessary to fresh post rather than rb #and thank you to everyone being patient w me <3 #scheduled post #q #santino d'antonio/original female character

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levithestripper · 3 years

Note

Jackkkk can we have a sneak peek at what wips you haveee or like at what you'll be writing? Completely fine if not I'm just curious as to what you'll post in the future🥰💞

yeah, ofc!! i have a lot of ideas rolling around in this empty brain of mine lol. i hope you enjoy what i got coming down the pipe!! these are just things that i have immediate ideas for, but if you check my wip list you can see everything i gotta do. and if my oc fic interests you, please ask me more about it!! i wanna talk about it so badly.

game of thrones/asoiaf

➳ chapter 2 of What a Good Girl

➳ Sandor Clegane taking care of F! Reader’s injuries

➳ Ramsay Bolton / Reader

Far Cry 5:

➳ The Power of Yes || John Seed / F! Deputy Reader || cwc: 1.3k || [nsfw]

Summary:

John Seed was a funny man. He took innocent people hostage and forced them to confess their ‘sins’ to him, all for them to 'repent. The ways he got his hostages to confess varied since everyone responds to tactics differently.

John never directly used these so-called tactics on anyone himself. No no no, that was for his underlings to take care of. He only showed up once the prisoners were ready to confess. There was no need for him to involve himself with those things. That is, until recently, when his underlings informed him that they had captured the Deputy.

➳ some sort of long, chaptered story with my oc, Jason Spero. i have a general idea of how I want it to go, but there's nothing actually written for it yet. this is just a rough idea so it's bound to change, but so far, my concept is this:

jason spero has grown up in the suburbs of falls end his entire life. hope county, montana, may have some crusty citizens, but jason would do anything to keep the county safe. that gets put to the test when the project at eden's gate shows up. friends are either killed while others willingly join the project, houses are burnt to the ground, and the local government is almost overthrown.

hope county becomes a warzone, all thanks to the seed family. it was a complete and udder takeover. the citizens begged the government to do something, but montana and the surrounding states ignored their desperate pleas. but the united states government didn't ignore them and sent in a marshall to arrest joseph seed, the culprit of the entire thing. the marshall was accompanied by two local officers, sheriff earl whitehorse and the junior deputy jason spero.

however, nothing is ever that simple. joseph seed and his family have it out for jason and his friends, the unholy sinners who are determined to undermine their righteous path to the garden of eden.

jason spero has suffered all of his life. his job as a deputy is the first thing to bring him that happy feeling he'd so dearly missed. joseph is steadfast to ruin everything jason has built for himself, desperate to tear him down. how does he do that? his brothers, john and jacob seed.

#jason spero #jason 'the ripper' spero #game of thrones #sandor clegane #ramsey bolton #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #far cry 5 #sheriff earl whitehorse #far cry 5 jacob seed #far cry deputy #far cry 5 john seed #far cry 5 deputy #far cry 5 oc #oc x character #x reader #jack's mail

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

Text

ancient names, pt. vii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vii: anything that touches

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.4k (sorry I’m a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Uhhh brief mental breakdown that implies disassociation, and also some weird Joseph/Deputy if you squint real hard. Like REAL hard.

Notes: This chapter was a blast to write, mostly because I got to revisit that ICONIC scene (iykyk). That's pretty much the last in-canon thing we're going to have; the dialogue is essentially the same, but it felt important for me to have Elliot's experience of what it was like, when she was still soft and new.

Y'all the HOPELESS romantic in me is SUFFERING through these two but. I swear!! I swear. I SWEAR. Also anyone who tells me John doesn't want a partner who can put his ass in the dirt can fight me in hand to hand combat, because home boy needs it.

Thank you, as ALWAYS, to my sweet talented beautiful incredible @starcrier for proof-reading when this stuff is still in trash stages, and the ever-dutiful and perfect @empirics, who doesn’t even go here and yet???? Still stans and ships like she do. We love.

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads/comments/whateva! I’m so grateful for anything and everything and I just want to make it clear that I would not continue writing without you. Tysm!

John had never felt dread like this.

It was strange, the way it crept upon him as they walked to the trees. It was dark out, but the clouds had cleared so the moon and stars above were perfectly visible; it wasn’t as though he couldn’t see, and the closer they got to the trees, the more assured John felt that the van was there, or had been there. He supposed he didn’t know if the cultists had made off with it or not.

No, he wasn’t feeling dread about the fact that they were on foot, or that Boomer was nowhere to be seen, or that it was dark, or that he didn’t know for absolute certain that he was going in the right direction.

He felt dread because they were alive: because they were free, because there was no cultist in sight. He felt dread because Elliot was clutching his hand in hers, and her other hand was gripping his forearm, and she no longer moved with the surety of the apex predator she had made herself out to be in a very short period of time. Her feet hit the ground with heavy, unsteady thuds, their progression through the field and to the trees painfully halting. He had a very vivid memory of Elliot telling him, I’d rather you let me eat shit when he’d tried to steady her from falling, just a few days ago.

She wouldn’t look at him, either. Not directly in the eyes. He didn’t know if this was another side-effect of whatever they’d laced her with, or if it was Elliot, or if it had anything to do with the way she’d tried to pull away from him when he’d first found her in the field.

“Elliot,” John said, trying not to sound frustrated as her nails dug into his arm, “loosen your grip a little.”

Her lashes fluttered. She said, “Okay,” but then nothing changed, even though she looked like she was trying, as though the faculties with which she normally operated were so severely hindered that she wasn’t even aware if her body was doing the things she was willing it to.

He didn’t bring it up again. Even when he thought certainly her grip was going to bruise, even when his arm began to ache.

By the time they got to the trees, the moon was high in the sky, and John’s legs burned with the effort of merely walking. That was all it had been, walking, but the longer he turned it over in his mind that they were headed into a trap, the more laborious the movements became. They waded through the trees, the moonlight only barely filtering through now, until he saw it: the van.

At first, he felt relief. And then, immediately after, crashing into any good mood he might have left, was the paranoia. Why did they leave it? he wondered, hesitating. A trap. They want us to get back into the van.

But if they were trying to trap them, why wouldn’t they have just... kept them?

“John.” Elliot’s voice dragged with exhaustion. When he looked at her, her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her pupils were still huge—but not as much as before. “I’m so… tired.” Her body swayed a little, her eyes struggling to stay open; she was crashing, hard and fast.

“Stay here.”

Carefully, John pried his arm out of her grip, sitting her down in the nook of a tree’s roots before creeping his way over to the van. It was empty, and open, as though the cultists had just taken them and left it as it was. He wasn’t about to get caught a second time, so he moved quickly—climbed into the back, grabbed the backpack Elliot had filled with food and Tylenol, and reached for where he thought the guns were.

“Fuck,” John said. Gone. Everything else was left, except for the guns. And his glasses. Fuckheads.

He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into the backpack before he slid out of the back of the van and made his way back to Elliot. Her face was buried in her knees, her fingers absently curling and uncurling, something that John knew was just an Elliot thing—he’d seen it when she was at her most stressed, when she was trying hard to stay rooted.

John reached out and touched her shoulder. Even though he’d been clambering through the brush, the gesture startled her, her head jerking up and her eyes looking at him for just a second before diverting.

“We can’t stay,” he said urgently. “Come on.”

She nodded numbly before she took his offered hand, hoisting herself to her feet and trailing after him past the van and out closer to the road side. He thought, briefly, about yelling for the dog, or trying to whistle the way Elliot did, but the idea of making a violent range of noise to fetch a beast from somewhere deep in the woods—if he even was there—did not sit right with him. So instead, he found them a spot that was still within the trees, but pressed into the slope that led up to the road, and sat Elliot down again.

Now that he had a moment to sit, a moment to think, his brain flipped a switch into a necessary, self-preservation panic. Just a little adrenaline, to keep him awake, surely; because he didn’t want to be sleeping any time soon.

John couldn’t push the image of Elliot, pressed against the earth, crying , out of his mind. What had she seen? What did they do? His mouth burned with the itch to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when her eyes couldn’t stay on one place for more than a second.

“They didn’t—they didn’t do it to you?” Elliot asked him, after she took the tylenol he gave her dry and picked a chocolate chip out of a granola bar. John turned his gaze to her, cocking his head to the side. She still carried with her that dreamer’s sway, that soft loopy tone to her voice that reminded him she wasn’t yet quite herself again, but he thought it sounded like she was clearing up. Hopefully.

“Do what to me, deputy?”

She blinked down at her hands. “Drug you.”

He hesitated. He’d certainly gotten something , though he didn’t think it was anything like what they’d given Elliot. “Not the same,” he said after a second. “But I was asleep, for a while. For hours. I don’t know how long.”

“I wish I had been sleeping.” Elliot’s voice was miserable. She had never been so small, he thought, than in that moment, and she tipped her body over until the side of her face was on the ground. And then, after her eyes had drifted shut and a lapse of silence had passed, she mumbled, “They probably thought I was a bigger threat than you.”

John fought the urge to smile. It only barely worked, and he was glad, because he didn’t need Elliot getting a bigger ego than she already had.

“Yes, Rook, you’re very scary and intimidating. All—what, four feet, eight inches of you?”

“I’m five foot four, you fuckhead.”

A wave of relief washed over him. He rested his head back against the tree, exhaling softly.

“Go to sleep, deputy,” he murmured, “so you can go back to being the bigger threat.”

For the sake of both of us.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the first time in what felt like years, Elliot slept.

It was fitful sleep, to be sure, plagued by a strange, blurring color-scape of nightmares and fever-dreams that haunted the corner of her sleeping vision. It all just lurked around the edges, never an image that she could pin down or find, only ever something that was present enough to fill her with a persistent terror. Voice melded into each other, overlapping; fragments of noise and color drifted in and out of her, like a tree shedding petals in a fiercer wind.

When she woke, light was just beginning to try and creep over the distant mountains. It wasn’t enough to feel like a real morning, like the day time , but enough that the milky glow of it filtered through the tops of the trees; the earth smelled wet and fresh, and her clothes were a little damp from sleeping on the wet ground. The sky stretched, gray and soft as wedding silk, through the tops of the trees. She wiped the water from her face.

I smell: the earth, the rain, the grass and wind. I see: the light, the sky, the tops of the tress. I feel —

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens,” John said. His voice sounded gravelly; maybe he hadn’t slept at all, this whole time, which somehow made her stomach twist a little even though she didn’t want to care about what John did or didn’t get to do.

“Fuck off.” She groaned, coming into a sitting position and feeling her head immediately swoon with the effort. The back of it pulsed with a splitting pain, and she remembered the red-haired man from before, telling her to go back to sleep just before he slammed her head into the floor of the van. “God—what the fuck —”

“It’s so lovely,” John intoned, and she got the impression maybe it wasn’t lovely at all, “to have you back at full capacity again, deputy.”

Elliot pressed the heel of her palm to her head. “That asshole that works for Ase smashed my head in before he drugged me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

She stilled and closed her eyes against the splintering pain at the back of her head; she heard John shift where he was sitting, and then his hands against hers, brushing them away from the back of her head. Elliot tried not to think too much about how warm his hands were, how comforting the calloused feel of them was, or how gentle they were when he combed the hair out of his way. He clicked his tongue a little, hands dropping from her hair, and suddenly Elliot’s stomach plummeted, too; the loss of contact sent her poor little drug-addled lizard brain reeling.

“Well, you’ve got a nasty cut,” John said after a moment, “which is mostly scabbed over. And a bump that will probably be the size of an egg by the time it’s done.” His voice slid her out of her strange little panic, her desire to grab his hands and put them back on her face, even when that exact nightmare she’d had was stopping her from being able to meet his eyes for very long.

Elliot swallowed thickly. “Goody.”

She thought she could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “I’m sure you’ve had worse, Rook.”

“Don’t call me that.” She tried to force more heat in her voice, but she was so tired ; it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. John made a mild noise that might have been amusement, and then shifted where he sat before coming to a stand and stretching. Elliot asked, “Did you sleep?” and then immediately kicked herself ( because why would she care ), but it was too late to take the words back.

Her gaze flickered to John’s face and then immediately away. The strange dream—nightmare?—that she’d had of him, cradling her face, his touch searing through her, my Elliot , lingered on her skin still, heavy like a cinder block tying her down. It made it hard to look him in the eyes; she was afraid she’d see the flowers again.

“No,” he replied, and if it bothered him that she wasn’t looking at him very much, his voice didn’t sound like it. “Someone had to make sure those crazies didn’t come back.”

She scoffed, struggling to her feet. “The term crazies coming out of your mouth is impeccably comedic.”

“I’ll be here all night.”

Elliot shouldered the back pack and glanced around. The forest was quiet, and there was no sight nor sound of Boomer anywhere. She could only hope that he’d been out and away from the van when everything happened, and that he’d had the good sense to stay hidden. He was a smart boy. She tried not to worry too much.

At least, she would keep telling herself that, until proven otherwise. But she wouldn’t be whistling for him anytime soon—not with how easily they’d been tracked down by Ase and her fuckhead assistant.

“I suppose we should go on foot from here,” she said, a little mournfully, regretting the reasonable nature of her statement. She saw John grimace out of the corner of her eye.

“I suppose so, deputy.”

She heaved a sigh, fingers fluttering over the cut on the back of her head absently before she nodded. Her clothes were wet, she was nursing a raging hangover from whatever the fuck she’d been drugged with, and she’d eaten half a granola bar in a little over twenty-four hours. And if the drag of her breaths in her chest — even when she was taking a normal inhale — were any indication, sleeping in wet clothes had done nothing to improve her sickness.

Elliot set off, marching through the underbrush to get out of the woods and closer to the road. They passed the van again on their way out, and she thought, fuck, I’d kill John to get one more cigarette out of there, but she knew she shouldn’t. They probably had some kind of—bomb, or tracking device, or—

But in her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t utilize machinery the same way that Eden’s Gate did. And if they wanted her and John dead, well. They would have killed them already. So even though she knew this, and thought it to herself, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the car.

I see your color, mor, Ase had said, her voice like a thousand whispers against her skin. Elliot’s throat felt tight. She turned to John suddenly and said, “Hey, do you speak Swedish?”

John brushed past her. “What do you think?”

“How are you so unhelpful, and all of the time? Don’t you get tired of being useless?”

He laughed, and Elliot felt a little spark of indignation light in her chest. All of John’s strange tenderness—and she hadn’t forgotten, even if it was fuzzy, the way he’d held her face and said it’s me, Elliot, like he was supposed to be a comfort to her—

(and he was, now, what a sick thought, )

—was gone, and instead she kept thinking about the stupid fucking expression on his face when he’d said, so you think I’m attractive, then , because there was nothing more irritating than John Seed knowing he was attractive. It wasn’t like he needed her to tell him, so why he’d tried to wriggle the words out of her was beyond her comprehension; although Elliot supposed it could be explained that John hadn’t had anyone chant yes at his face for perhaps twenty-four hours, so how was he still sustaining himself? He must be craving attention, starved for it.

“You are the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met,” Elliot announced, so that she could abruptly shove any and all thoughts of John’s hands on her face out of her head, huffing a little as she worked to catch up with him.

And then John turned around so suddenly that she careened straight into his chest, his hands landing to steady her shoulders—( warm, she thought absently)—and he said, “I know,” with all of the arrogance that she knew him to have. “Give me the backpack, deputy. If they are tracking us in some sick game of hide and seek, they’re going to hear you huffing and puffing from fifteen miles away.”

Elliot mustered all of the spite she had in her—which was not as much as she would have liked—and said, “I hate you, John Seed.”

“You’re going to have to find a new slogan,” John rumbled, sliding the backpack straps off of her shoulders, “because that one just doesn’t ring very true anymore.”

She let him take the backpack; not because she liked that he was being helpful, but because her shoulders screamed in relief. The more and more sober she became, the more her muscles ached, like she had been involuntarily tensing all night, and now they burned . John might as well have punched her entire body over and over again, with his stupid rings.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, fishing the tylenol out of the bag and swallowing two. John rolled his eyes.

“Look, I can tell when you’re lying to me,” he said. “And I know that I’m irresistible, not only because I saved you—”

“Do not —”

“—but because, as a man of God, I am infinitely more wise than you, as well. If there is one thing that I would know about a woman of wrath, Deputy Honeysett, it’s that the one thing she wants is to feel in control of herself, and I’m exactly the man who can give you control.”

Elliot could have, perhaps, not picked a less-Godly man than John Seed; the only exception would be one of his brothers. His words rattled around in her skull. Was this the stupid shit he told himself? That he could give her control? Here, in the woods—soaking wet, sick, split open, walking for God knows how long on foot—and that’s the sales pitch he was going with?

Her jaw clenched, blistering the headache behind her eyes under an impossible heatwave of pure ache , and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re—fucking—”

John waited, patiently, much to her fury: but the words would not come to her, color fractals splintering even when her eyes were closed, driving frenzied neurons to fire off pain signals over and over again. When she opened her eyes, for a second, an aura stretched across her vision, like someone pulling saran-wrap tight right over her face. She thought she might puke.

“I’m fucking...?” John prompted, and when she only shuddered a breath, his tone shifted a little. She couldn’t tell what to , but his voice was different when he said, “Deputy?”

He sounded, quite suddenly, like he was very far away from her. She tried to open her eyes again. The world wobbled unpleasantly, and the ground stretched beneath her until it felt like she was on a moving conveyor belt. She saw herself , standing there numbly, heels of her palms pressed against her eye sockets in a desperate attempt to quell the migraine.

“Elliot.”

John’s hands came to her face, yanking her back into a painful reality. He was too close now, smelling like wet earth and forest and a little bit like sweat, the rough, warm palms of his hands holding grounding her back to reality. He said, “Earth to Elliot.”

“Yes,” Elliot managed out. She couldn’t muster up any vitriol; one of her hands gripped John’s wrist where it cut through her peripheral. “I’m here,” she added, and she didn’t know why she said it like that , like she’d been somewhere else—maybe because she had. “Just—this head wound is really fucking with me. We have to get moving, and—”

She heard, a few feet away from them, the sound of a car door slamming. Her brain immediately jumpstarted; first, she thought, oh those fucking Swedes, and then her brain tried to say, or maybe it’s Jerome, or Grace, or —

It was neither of them. Through the haze of pain, Elliot heard the sound of Eden’s Gate’s radio playing, the sound of boots hitting the pavement.

“Well,” Joseph sighed, “if it isn’t the lamb and her shepherd.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Joseph Seed is a particularly difficult man to pin down.

She never meets him once, either before she goes off to the Academy or after, and she’s glad for it. After she gets back to Hope County, after she gets cleared by the psychiatrist, after she gets back to life-on-normal, she thinks she’d be happy to never see Joseph Seed. Not because she isn’t religious, but because she doesn’t like his brand, because the doomsday-ing and the wriggling past legalities of owning land or, perhaps, even people make her skin crawl.

Elliot doesn’t think she’d ever be able to walk herself into his compound. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to look Joseph Seed in the eye, but she doesn’t have a choice , the helicopter planting them squarely in the compound.

The ground is wet, fresh from a recent rain, and slips underfoot. The night is clouded above with no stars in sight. She feels almost like she’s in a dream, Joey walking ahead of her as the U.S. Marshal bickers with Sheriff Whitehorse, back and forth. She’s barely listening. She feels eyes on them, burning, angry and defiant shouts coming from the onlooking Eden’s Gate members, and she hears the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

They get to the church. Inside, the congregation is singing Amazing Grace, and the crickets match its feverish pitch, sliding along her skin.

“Hudson, on the door and watch our backs,” Whitehorse says, when the Marshal— Burke , Elliot thinks absently, that was his name —acquiesces to doing things the way Whitehorse wants to do it. “Don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me.”

Elliot nods, her gaze focusing sharp again. Whitehorse has taken a risk, bringing her out when she was still so green; she wasn’t going to let him down.

Not that he has much choice. They’re short-staffed as it was anyway.

“And you—” Whitehorse looks at Burke, his expression faltering, tired. “Just… Try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke claps him on the shoulder. He is all easy confidence, surety of foot, the kind of confidence Elliot wants to have some day. She hopes she doesn’t become tired, like Whitehorse. “Relax, Sheriff,” Burke says, “you’re about to get your name in the paper.”

But Elliot isn’t paying attention to them. She’s thinking about the armed men and women skulking around, and the dogs barking in the distance, and the sound of the singing from the inside of the church.

Joey’s hand briefly touches her shoulder. Her dark gaze is soft, and she squeezes Elliot’s shoulder before she says, “You’ll be fine.”

Whitehorse doesn’t look pleased by Burke’s comment. He doesn’t even look assuaged, mildly. He pushes the door open, and Elliot sticks close to his heel, as the singing comes to an abrupt stop; the church is dimly lit, with most of the light coming from behind the man at the front, his silhouette carved obsidian so that his features are obscured to her.

They walk slow. The man says, “ Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you?”

His voice is a rich-willow timbre, decadent. The gathering of the cultists turn, their eyes piercing into the trio. Elliot’s heart is slamming against her rib cage. She doesn’t have a gun pulled—would never, not without Whitehorse’s blessing—but she wants to, not to fire but to warn. To keep them away.

“We are creeping toward the edge, and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the Project—”

They’re dirty, and bedraggled. Elliot’s throat tightens. Why would they choose this? Why would they want to be like this?

“—because we know what happens next. They will come. They will try to take from us—take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith.”

Burke looks back at her, his hand floating and tense, ready to pull his gun at any moment. But he beckons her with a crook of his fingers and she does as he bids. Closer now, Elliot can see that the man is not alone; to the left, a tall, rugged red-head, his arms crossed, his expression stony. To the right, a soft young woman, dressed in white, dreamy. And just behind Joseph, a handsome, dark-haired man; a man that Elliot recognizes as John Duncan, but now is told by Joey is John Seed .

Joseph’s shirtless, which should be ridiculous and comedic but only serves to make him look both polished and feral in equal amounts. Golden light from outside drenches through a window cut to be the same shape as the emblem of Eden’s Gate, and it bathes him; he is golden, soft and sharp all at the same time.

“Sheriff, c’mon,” Burke says, because he is not charmed; he, too, thinks it is ridiculous. Whitehorse holds up a hand to steady him.

“We will not let them.” Joseph Seed’s voice flexes, furious and controlled. “We will not let their greed , or their immorality or their depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering.”

Burke is furious that the sermon —if it can be called that, which Elliot would argue that it cannot, knowing the Seeds—has continued this long. She hears him say, “No, fuck this,” and he pulls the paper out and holds up in front of the man’s face.

“Joseph Seed,” Burke bites out, “I have a warrant issued for your arrest, on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Elliot’s gaze flickers. She feels sick to her stomach. Joseph lifts his hands; he is soft, again, no longer fervent, no longer yelling, and his gaze fixes on her.

“There they are,” he says, his voice quiet. “The locusts in our garden.”

Members of Eden’s Gate—armed, ragged, feral —slide their way between them and Joseph.

“You see, they’ve come for me.” Other members are beginning to get angry. They’re yelling, now, as Joseph says, “They’ve come to take me away from you , they’ve come to destroy all that we have built,” and the voices raise in volume, and Burke puts his hand on his gun and Whitehorse yells for him to stand down and Elliot’s fingers itch and she thinks, oh, no, this is when I’m going to have to shoot someone.

But Joseph steps down from his platform. His hands brush the shoulders of his supporters, and they part for him, quieting the crowd, quelling their noise. Behind him, John steps across the stage, his eyes narrowed and sharp, studying them; he moves like an animal, prowling.

“We knew this moment would come. We’ve prepared for it,” Joseph says, gentle. He ushers them away; they brush past Elliot, her head turning after them, thinking certainly one will grab her, choke her, kill her, but they don’t.

“— and I saw, ” Joseph is biting out, pointing at Burke, and then looking at the sheriff, “ and behold, it was a white horse. ”

And then Joseph is looking at her. He lifts his hands to her. His eyes are fixed on her, and she feels a strange, uncanny thrill slide through her. Joseph looks at her like she is the only person in the room, like all others have blinked out of existence and it’s only them.

That’s why, she thinks, the feeling of it making her heart ache a little. That’s why they choose to be this way. To belong to someone.

She knows that’s what it is. She knows that’s how he’s gotten these people to follow him: because he looks at them like this, with longing, like there is nothing in the world that he wants more than to take them into his embrace.

His voice is breathless, soft, covetous, jealously cradling her in velvet swathes: “ And Hell followed with him.”

Elliot feels frozen. Petrified. Her stomach churns. She can feel the eyes of the Seed siblings on her. Burke jerks his hand at her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch.”

Joseph is holding out his hands, obedient and compliant. “God will not let you take me.”

Burke says it again, maybe different, she can’t remember because the blood is rushing through her head, so she does as he asks. Her hands might be trembling. She takes Joseph’s hands and slides the cuffs on them, and he leans into her like he’s going to breathe her in or swallow her whole and almost purrs —

“Sometimes, the best thing to do is to walk away.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John’s hands slid from Elliot’s face. The first thing he felt when he saw Joseph was relief —sheer, pure relief, that it wasn’t the Resistance that had found them and that it wasn’t Ase and her man again, but that it was his brother. Over his shoulder, too, John could see Jacob in the driver’s seat of the truck, his face stony and hard as always.

The second thing that John felt was dread.

Joseph’s expression was unreadable. It almost always was, he supposed, but now the fact that he couldn’t tell what Joseph was thinking struck a hot cord of fear inside of him, because he was reminded—now and painfully—that Faith was still lost to them.

“Joseph,” John managed out, his hands drifting now from Elliot completely, where before they had slid to her shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You could sound like it,” Elliot muttered, and he shot her a look before he turned back to his brother, immediately crossing the gap from him to Joseph, standing on the road. Joseph watched him steadily, and once he was within arm’s reach, John stopped, hesitating.

“We were on our way to you,” Joseph explained, his voice steady, a soothing balm to John’s frayed nerves. “We heard talk on the radios that our sister had been taken, but we didn’t get a response when we tried to contact you at the ranch.”

John nodded. “Yes, it’s—there’s so much to tell you—”

Joseph’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for a moment; and, much the same way that John had done to Elliot, Joseph took his face in his hands.

“We’re so glad you’re alive,” Joseph murmured, his expression softening just that much . John felt the relief flood his system immediately at the gentle contact—merciful, healing, the way Joseph liked to be. “And that our dear deputy is still with you. Compliantly, too, it seems.”

Elliot’s voice was hard as flint when she said, “Yeah, well, you missed the last twenty-four hours where this fucking idiot had us cuffed together.”

Behind the yellow lenses of his glasses, Joseph’s gaze flickered to wherever Elliot lingered behind John, over his shoulders. His brother stared at Elliot for a moment; there was something in the way Joseph locked his gaze on the blonde that made John’s stomach twist uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite pin it down, either, couldn’t get it to stop squirming long enough for him to figure out what it was.

“And yet,” Joseph said after a moment, his voice a low drawl as his hands dropped from John, “you are here, unburdened.”

John turned to look at Elliot. She still had to be in pain; she might have been trying to hide it, because of Joseph, or maybe even still because of him , but he could see it on her face, in the way her fingers curled and uncurled themselves absently, absently digging her nails into her palms. But this little give-away of hers meant nothing to anyone else, because the lines of her face were sharp and unrelenting.

Elliot’s gaze did not once leave Joseph. John recognized on her face that same odd, cold calculation she’d had when she’d thought about choking that Eden’s Gate guard out. If there was, he supposed, one person that Elliot hated more than himself, it was Joseph; perhaps she was thinking about all of the ways she wanted to kill him , now.

“Well, coincidental, we were on our way to you , Joseph. There’s now a problem one size bigger than your little cult.” Elliot said, her shoulders relaxing. She crested the hill up to the road, her feet hitting the pavement with more surety than she’d had since she’d woken up. It was like seeing someone that she hated had poured adrenaline straight into her body, and now she moved with the same precision she always did—though if the weariness in her expression was any indication, she was only half capacity. “How lucky .”

Joseph gazed at Elliot, as though John didn’t exist—as though no-one and nothing else existed, in that moment, except for her. John’s stomach lurched again, once more, with feeling! a wicked voice shouted in his brain, rattling around, keeping him nice and distracted so that he couldn’t figure out quite what it was that it made him feel.

“Fated,” Joseph agreed. His voice was almost sly. “One could say.”

“One could,” Elliot shot back, “but one shouldn’t, if they don’t want to sound like an idiot.” The words shot a jolt of fearful anticipation through John—not only because he thought, Joseph is only so merciful , but because he was sure that it reflected back on him, the way she felt so comfortable insulting Joseph.

“Deputy,” John snapped, and she glared at him, her brows knitting together at the center of her forehead. Joseph smiled pleasantly.

“Mouthy,” Jacob said from the truck, his voice clipped, “for someone who wants our help.”

Elliot bit out venomously, “Fuck you,” just as John said, “ Elliot ,” their voices overlapping furiously, and she looked at him again. There was something accusatory in her gaze. John wanted to pluck it out of her, break it apart so he could figure it out: but there wasn’t any time for that now.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, like she was going to fight Jacob right then and there, and John wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t, pushed enough. He turned back to his brothers and said, “She’s agreed to help and get Faith back.”

“Not for nothing.” Elliot’s add-in was sharp. “I get to use the radios to contact the resistance and tell them to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Joseph’s gaze fluttered between them, just for a moment—landing on Elliot for a heartbeat longer than it did on John—and then he stepped back, gesturing for them to get into the back seat of the truck. The blonde stepped on without John, brushing past him and flinging the door of the truck open before hoisting herself inside.

“How much do you know?” John asked as he climbed in after Elliot, shoving the backpack behind one of the seats. He tried not to think about the way Elliot’s eyes stayed pinned on Joseph, or the way her body had gone rigid, like at any moment she was ready to throw her fists in the direction of the nearest Seed brother—and certainly now, she had her pick if that were the case.

“Enough,” Joseph replied. He closed the passenger seat door and Jacob pulled the steering wheel of the truck until it was turning around. “But I’m certain you’ll be of more help.”

John opened his mouth to elaborate and give what information he had at the top of his brain when Elliot said, abruptly and without pretense, “You’ve come so unguarded, Joseph. Doesn’t that make you nervous?” and John turned his head to stare at her in disbelief.

Fucking insane, he thought. She wants to die. Does she ever stop?

But Joseph only laughed. Through the rearview mirror, John saw his eyes make contact with Elliot’s, and he said, “Jacob is sufficient protection on his own.” He paused, something slick and cool in his voice when he added, “But your concern is touching .”

“That’s an interesting choice of word. Not what I would have picked, though.”

“When we heard the radio chatter,” Jacob interrupted, before John could will himself to tell Elliot to shut the fuck up while he was still within hitting range, “Joseph told everyone to hunker down while we identified the threat. For once, it wasn’t a little girl playing with a shotgun.”

The accusation lay there, unspoken: Jacob had made it clear many times that he was certain he could snuff Elliot out faster than anyone else, either deeming her useless or shaping her into the perfect killer. If Joseph would just let him, he’d said, he would see.

But Joseph had told him to wait. To let John—persuasion was his specialty. Let John show us.

And John didn’t miss the way that his brother said it; Joseph told everyone. An opinion had been overruled, and it wasn’t Joseph’s, and Jacob hadn’t forgotten.

Elliot’s mouth opened, rearing up to say something; the indignation had been lit in her gaze, furious. He would have been comforted that she was back to normal—no longer trembling, no longer somewhere far away from him—but he knew that Jacob had much less tolerant than Joseph did.

“I grabbed the cigarettes from the van,” John said tartly, before she could get going. “Smoke one.”

The unspoken words lingered. Chill the fuck out. Occupy your mouth with something else. Something that John didn’t think he’d say to her, out loud, unless he was feeling particularly confident that she wouldn’t strangle him to death in front of his brothers.

“Good thinking, honey ,” Elliot drawled. His eyes narrowed at her. She stuffed her hand into the backpack, searching until she found them. The blonde only looked mildly surprised through her rage that they were actually there.

When she rolled down the window and lit it, John relaxed a little and continued, “We’ve had a run-in with their leader. They’re armed and organized.”

Elliot stayed quiet. She settled back against the seat, deep into the corner of it, closest to the window, as though she couldn’t stand how close to them all she was, and took a long drag of the cigarette. The orange end of it burned until it was a sunspot in his vision.

John’s gaze drifted over her for a moment. Still, she wouldn’t look at him; she only spared him furtive glances through the corner of her eye, but never met his gaze, never going farther than his mouth.

“Ah.” Joseph’s gaze remained fixed on the road, his voice interrupting John’s thoughts. “So there’s now one more breed of locusts in our garden, it seems. Easy enough to exterminate, I think.”

“And how, pray tell,” Elliot asked, her voice sly, “do you plan to get rid of a new breed when you can’t even get rid of the old one?”

Jacob’s fingers tightened and flexed on the steering wheel. John could see a small smile tick the corner of Joseph’s mouth.

“If you get one flat foot on the devil’s wing,” Joseph replied, “you can get him to do just about anything you want.”

#far cry 5 #john seed/deputy #john seed/ofc #fc5 #my writing #fic: ancient names #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #but WHERE IS BOOMER #I SAY #THE AUTHOR #also like 2 instances very close together of john looking at elliot and joseph wanting to kill each other but ignoring him at the same time #and going #*hmmmmmm*#*don't like that*#so you know #idk what's even going on anymore i'm just in this wild ride with yall

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