Description: The Deputy is forced by Joseph to confront her guilt in order to reach salvation.
Relationship: Joseph Seed x FemDep!Reader
Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Cults, Bunker Ending (Far Cry), Psychological Horror, Survivor Guilt, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Dead Animals (fish)
Link to ao3
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A week had passed, neither of them had grown accustomed to bunker living but Joseph had fallen into a routine at least. He would wake, prepare his meals, place a plate aside for the deputy and after finishing his morning meal he would enter her room to feed her. Joseph worried though, the warmth had left her face and she only moved to breath and swallow, only showing signs of life under his attentions. Despite his worry, Joseph enjoyed her dependency on him, her suffering was the only route to salvation. It was also beneficial that she didn’t get in his way whilst he worked, Joseph was constantly writing, spending his free time alone, studying more astutely than he ever had as a student. The deputy would hear him talking to himself but cared little for what it was about, presuming his whisperings to be mumbled preaching so that he stayed sane. It made sense as sometime Joseph would preach to her, she listened as it was her sole source of entertainment, if it could be called that. A part of her equally believed she was unworthy to hear the word of God after all that she’d done. Evidently Joseph felt different. He would walk in her room after hours of quiet mumbling across the corridor to deliver a sermon on what the voice had told him all those years ago, he spoke mostly of rebirth and salvation.
So deep was her guilt, she believed it to be an undeserved kindness. She didn’t deserve the entertainment she longed for, which meant Dutch’s books gathered dust, his record player stilled, yet oddly enough his presence still lingered. Joseph had started to erode Dutch’s presence from the bunker, removing his decorations and any lingering notion that anyone other than himself and the deputy were all that had ever existed here. He believed it would help her on her journey to salvation but he could not remove the smell. In life, Dutch had no great distinguishable smell but the deputy could smell him as she slept, his smell was sewn into the furniture. When she would press her cheek to her pillow, it was as if he had just laid there. The smell brought no comfort as with every inhale she was reminded of his corpse and the sound of him being dragged to an unceremonial funeral.
Joseph observed the rot. He watched her eyes grow sullen and a paleness enter her pallor. She did not think he was observing her as closely as he was for she could not bear to look at him whilst he preached. Had she been more attentive, she would have noticed how his beady eyes studied her, Joseph had become a great scholar of late. He noticed how much skinnier she looked, how lethargic she was on the rare occasion she moved, just waiting patiently for her to be ready.
“Deputy,” he tested, standing at the far side of the room one evening, motioning her to come to him. At first she didn’t raise her eyes to him, only on the second and more firm calling did she look at him. She saw his motion, his hand turning at the wrist to beckon her to him, so infrequently had she left the bed in the past week, she was unsure if she had the muscle strength to walk further than to the bathroom. “Come to me,” his voice was soft as always, even in his preachings had he not taken the flare of dramatics and raised his voice. It became eerie not hearing anything but the soft spoken man who had tortured her friends and brought her salvation.
When she lifted herself from the bed, Joseph noticed what a week of inactivity did to her, how stress and guilt had aided in her decay, it was a strange thing to see the power the mind has over the body. It proved only more to him that she needed him if she was ever to find salvation. She was unlike his followers who simply needed to listen and follow, this needed to be proactive atonement on her part. It was his duty as her father and guide to lead her to salvation, his eyes assessed her still.
The once strong legs of a soldier struggled to carry the lighter weight of her body over to him as she more staggered into his embrace than walked. Joseph resisted the impulse to catch her as she tripped over her own feet, it taught her nothing to spoonfeed her the rest of her life. Only once she was in front of him did his hands come to her shoulders to steady her. A week did not ruin her body but the damage was there all the same, strong still but substantially weaker. In spite of that damage, his attention was drawn to her eyes, how she struggled to keep them open, how she lowered her gaze from him in shame and a self appointed lack of worth. Pity was unbecoming of her.
“Deputy, I can see how much pain you’re in. But this cannot continue: this rot. Come,” he was always soft spoken, taking her out of the room she’d isolated herself inside and towards a room where a harsh blue light beamed from a fish tank. He lightly supported her walking by resting his hand over her arm as they walked, ready to catch her should she fall.
As the deputy walked into the room, she was hit with a dull headache at the harsh light and struggled to clear the mist in her eyes. After a moment to adjust to the new setting, she saw that the tank was full of dead fish. A fresh wave of solemnity flushed her mind at more death. The fish were belly up and bobbing at the top of the water. The sight caused her to stop in her tracks, a shaky breath left her lips and she instinctively reached for Joseph. Despite the pain it caused her, she couldn’t pull her foggy eyes from the dead fish. Instead of comfort, she was greeted with a firm hand on her bicep, pulling her to sit in the chair, her head swivelling to follow the tank as she was moved.
The sight of the fish with the blinding blue beam was temporarily blocked as Joseph moved to the tank, taking an interest in the source of her disturbance. “Deputy, I need you to start talking to me,” this was his first command to her as he turned to face her again. For one, he wasn’t sure how much more of her pathetic ineptitude he could put up with, so far he had tamed his hatred for her with his love but more of this timidity would only frustrate him. Secondly, Joseph hadn’t heard another person speak for a week, it was admittedly starting to affect him. And speaking of admissions, salvation comes in confession, which he could only perform with a speaking deputy.
Joseph’s hand reached for her chin, gently moving her gaze away from the tank that had disturbed her so greatly, raising it to meet him as he stood before her. She had sunk into the chair, so to reach her chin, he stood close enough for his knees to press against the sides of her own. Such sadness in her eyes he mused, even her lips seemed forced into a permanent frown. He couldn’t help himself as his thumb danced across her skin, slowly rubbing the bottom of her cheek. “Just a word or two for now,” he said softly, his hand fell away but his stare remained.
There was a twitch in her throat muscles, a parting of her lips, but she couldn’t force a word out, just a couple of breaths. It made her brows furrow as she broke eye contact, pushing her cheek into the cushioned seat.
In frustration, Joseph ambled over to the tank and scooped out one of the five little red fishes, no bigger than his finger as it laid flat on his palm. He held the animal in between his thumb and forefinger and brought it to her face, watching as she grimaced at the sight of it. Having been busy in the bunker, Joseph had developed slightly overgrown fingernails, which he used to pierce the gills of the dead animal, causing fish blood to spurt up his finger. Her trembling breathing became more frantic as she gripped the arms of the chair. What left her lips was more a groan of distress than words, Joseph was not satisfied, so he pressed harder into its gills causing more blood to flow between his fingers. “Stop it! Please just stop it,” she cried, her hot tears leaving a burning trail as they ran down her cheeks.
When she lifted her gaze to him, she was met with a soft smile, he moved the fish to his other hand and stroked her cheek again, leaving a smear of fish blood in its path. “You are not beyond salvation, you only need to listen to me,” his voice delicate and monotone matching his eerily warm expression. As with every ending interaction they had, Joseph gently pressed his forehead to hers, he left soon after to discard the fish and wash his hands. Yet the deputy remained, chest heaving as she raised a shaky hand to the blood on her cheek.
On his return, he sat beside her on the wooden chair, unfocusing his eyes in the direction of the wall. “I remember when I was a child, my father, he used to take out his frustrations on me and my brothers, mostly on me, he hated my gift. I learned to accept fear and pain as part of life, I see now after reflecting that fear and pain are necessary in order to be accepted into God’s arms. I’m sorry if I frightened you but you must see now as I do that this is all for the greater good. I hope you’ll be speaking more to me, I’d like to hear your confession tomorrow, I think it would be good for your soul,” he said softly, turning to smile again at her.
“Yes,” she said in an attempt to appease him, lowering her shaky hand to her lap and calming her breathing. In spite of his friendly face, she couldn’t manage to smile back when she looked at him. This didn’t seem to upset Joseph as he reached to move a strand of hair behind her ear before leaving to prepare their dinner. The act was awfully intimate for her, having divulged in self-hatred, she battled with feelings of unworthiness for his love and for her own salvation. Everything seemed intimate with him, alone in this bunker. Even though she fought to suppress the feeling, deep-down she both loved and hated him. No man before had made her feel so loved and special like he had, but she knew no man who had harmed and killed as many as he had. For a long time, she’d denied ever feeling loved by him, conflicted given her resolute need to kill him. That conflict was still there, she couldn’t forget the shell of the man he had his brother turn Staci into, equally nor could she forget his open distaste for John's violence against her. It all seemed to centre on the feeling of the traces of his touch behind her ear which she quickly tried to brush away by pulling her hair out from behind her ear, deeply conflicted by her pulsing heart. With all this burning in her mind, she could foresee no way confession would ease her soul, only a growing pestilence of dissonance amplified by her guilt and loneliness.
Description: Bunker ending where a traumatised deputy is easily manipulated by Joseph, not only to become his judge but rather, something more... personal.
Relationship: Joseph Seed x FemDep!Reader
Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Cults, Bunker Ending (Far Cry), Psychological Horror, Survivor Guilt, Grief/Mourning
Link to ao3
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The panic was yet to die down, she said nothing but Joseph could see it in her eyes how disturbed she was by the situation she had found herself in. Dutch’s rotting corpse needed to be discreetly dealt with whilst not incurring any radiation damage from the blast. Joseph looked as disturbed as the deputy did, his prophecy had come true, a sweeping sense of vindication was halted by the reminder that he alone survived with her. How strangely cruel God’s plan was for them both.
Whilst Joseph was calm and pragmatic about their situation, the deputy thought of nothing. She stared at the floor for a long time, forgetting to blink until a tear ran down her cheek, only lightly pulling her out of the trance she’d put herself in just to blink and once again be lulled back into her absent thoughts. The two of them sat in silence, Joseph stared at her whilst he thought of everything that needed to be done, his face twitching as his thoughts were interrupted with occasional reminders that his family was dead. Everyone was dead.
Joseph was the first to leave, quietly dragging the body away which she dared not watch. It was somewhat laborious for Joseph which made it all the more frightening for her, the longer the procession, the longer she had to stay in her trance save her brain would shut down completely from shock. Dutch was not a heavy man but he was not so light either and his clothes russelled against the concrete flooring until all that became of him was a muffled noise beyond the room. She did not know how long Joseph was gone, only that after a time, he returned. Time felt like nothing, so tangible was the concept that she felt as if reality were a dream and the rules of dream could take place. Dreams were where she would seek refuge, she hoped to dream so heavily that it would convince her the dream was real. But she had never been so awake in all her life and being held in an awkward sitting position meant sleep eluded her. Especially with Joseph in the room again, he was looking at her, she could see it in her peripheral vision as she had not moved her eyes from where they had rested since Joseph stood from his chair to dispose of Dutch.
Joseph was first to breach her comfortable silence, “come,” he saw the shock in her eyes and how she had calmed her breath now. He was comfortable enough to remove her handcuffs and watched as her wrists flopped to the ground. There was nothing behind her eyes, so hauntingly enchanting to him the eyes of a killer, so devoid of humanity, more machine than woman. And so when he held his hand out to her, she did not take it, she did not move as if she’d forgotten how to do so. Joseph took her hand in his and it stirred a reaction in her, so minute he would have missed it were he not studying her face. The slightest twitch of her eyebrows, a quick expression of disgust that flattened into a neutral expression. Her head unnaturally turned towards him and he recognised the look of fear. She beheld him with an almost lovecraftian fear, so humble yet so grand was he, a prophet sent by God or a madman willing to destroy everything to be proven right. She could not decide for still she could not think beyond reactions to what was presently happening. The deputy lived now only in the present, unable to look introspectively at anything beyond five seconds prior to now.
The deputy stood now, with the guidance of Joseph, as he escorted her into what would become their dining room. “There is little but enough to sustain ourselves for seven years if we ration properly, fortunately the water filtration works just fine so we can shower and drink plenty,” he said with his soft southern drawl. Seven years. She would have seven years alone with the father, she wouldn’t be the same person she was now and it frightened her, the possibilities of what she may become. Joseph now noticed how the deputy could only function in the present, unable to think of the past or look into the future. “Rest now,” he told her, knowing that now more than ever, she needed his guidance. She was at least able to stand up on her own and return to the bedroom where she had originally been bound. In a somewhat robotic fashion, she removed her shoes and got into bed. Whilst she wanted to dream and to be convinced of another reality, she did not want to try to sleep, the more she was allowed to think, the more her brain seemed to melt. Joseph could hear her now laboured breathing as he walked back into the room. He was like her haunting rather than the guardian he no doubt saw himself as she thought. He sat at the edge of the bed, stroking her arm, only barred by the layers of bed covers between them. “When we’re in our garden, we’ll grow plenty of flowers, start a new flock, a peaceful people, strong people,” he mused, his head raised and eyes shut as he imagined his idyllic paradise. A sigh left his lips as he smiled at the thought, she supposed he tried to soothe her, he stopped rubbing her arm and rested his forearms on his knees. “What flowers would you like us to grow?” He aired softly, turning his head back to her, prying at her, digging out the humanity so long hidden in her body.
“I don’t see flowers,” she said flatly. She saw only death, bodies upon bodies, some righteous in death and others humanly cowardly. Death greeted everyone despite their feelings about it. She had been sending bodies to death, so long a courier that never met her recipient yet now wished to be taken into their loving embrace. It was her punishment to live. To live with the knowledge that her hands were stained red, so deep was the stain that not even the removal of her skin could clear the mark present only to her gaze. “There are no gardens left for flowers to grow Father, oh God,” she said, her words strangely strung, poetically describing the images of her mind that fluctuated between nothingness and reminders of why she could only function under nothingness. But Joseph was also pleased she so readily called him Father. The deputy did not speak or behave like herself, the stress bringing on a delirium in her that encouraged Joseph to stay and continue. She pulled her hands from under the covers to show him her bloody hands but he only saw her palms and the look of beginning madness in her eye.
“I wish you saw the peace of the future that will come but maybe what’s best right now is if you get some rest,” he said softly, taking her clean hands and hoping this feverish rambling from the once near mute deputy would cease and that she would find serenity in his promises and wisdom. The deputy got under the covers again and she was quietened by Joseph, he read from the bible so that she did not think whilst she tried to sleep. Joseph listened to her laboured breathing, could see her grind her teeth and furrow her brow, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead and when sleep finally met her, she was corpse-like in appearance.
Joseph delicately closed his bible, placed it on the table behind and looked at her with a wild look in his eye, his child, his family killer and most hated. He loved her dearly and it cost him everything. His expression relaxed as his thoughts drifted to what he lost, not thinking of their killer though she was within his grasp. His brothers, his sister, so perfect, they were at rest, this was his only comfort, knowing they did not suffer through the years leading up to New Eden. The ache in his chest led to a tightening in his throat as he felt his saliva thicken and his eyes burn with all that was lost. God had always pushed him to the most extreme of tests, this was his final one, accept her, love her, forgive her and then, only then can there be heaven on earth. But what is heaven when you’re in Hell? It all seemed to mean so little in this moment as he looked at her again, trapped in a lonely hell not quite ready to accept the fact he would never see his family again. All the things he had planned for them were gone, it was not the loss of the hope of seeing them in New Eden but the confrontation that he would never know the feel of their hands in his, that he would with time forget what it felt like to hug them that frightened him most. A wave of fear rushed over him as he knew one day he would forget their voice. There was nothing left that had recorded it, all gone with God’s fury. The only tangible proof of their existence was a portrait on a pinboard that existed solely to aid in their killer's pursuit. The world would forget them, the only people alive with any memory of them resided in this very room. His family only existed in their memory now, among his many missions Joseph made note to write down more of his family so that they were not entirely forgotten with time like their voices would be. And whilst he thought of his, his eyes focussed on the restless deputy and all the emotions she stirred in him, most were unpleasant, some exceeded to the point of sin. He knew he could love her, after all that she’d done, he knew deep inside, it could be honestly forgiven, God never asked the impossible from him.
God had told him to open his heart to her and who was he but the Lord’s servant. So he raised a hand to her as her body thrashed suddenly in the midst of a violent dream whilst the tides of guilt and sin sunk deep into her bones, his holy hand gently touched her cheek and she stilled. Her breath still laboured and her face was still tight but her twitching stilled as The Father began to caress her cheek. She was cold to the touch and moist from sweat, God gave her sickness a physical manifestation. His thumb brushed back and forth, waiting for her face to soften, so beautiful when she submitted to him. Her laboured breaths became more like groans, those groans turned to cries and her face was splotchy with splashes red on her skin. The deputy abruptly woke and could only cry, it was beautiful, Joseph was pleased her pride had not consumed her to guiltlessness. It gave him hope. He stilled his caress and held her head as she turned her wet cheeks to his palms. “I’m sorry, for all of it, I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me,” she whimpered against his skin. Joseph came closer to her and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.
“Yes,” he whispered with a raspiness to his voice and she cried more, it was not enough to free her of guilt but it was an overwhelming word. He quietly lulled her with shushes and caress to her cheeks. When she finally stilled, he moved to the bed, guiding her head to rest on his lap and she reached for him. As Joseph settled himself on the bed, she clung to him, arms outstretched to his waist as she felt it grossly improper and offensive to raise her gaze to him. The deputy rested her head on his thigh and Joseph gently moved her hair out the way so he could see her pretty face as she damped his clothes with the remainder of her sobs until again her energy faded to the point where she couldn’t cry any longer. Once again, exhaustion overcame her and he watched her sleep, quietly reciting an apt verse as he noticed the Lord’s words were of small comfort to her but a comfort nonetheless.
Another Monday come and gone - here is an update about Tamer, Mohammed, Karim, and Suhair.

Currently he’s trying to secure transportation south, with his family intact, but does not have enough contacts or funds to do so. His campaign is only run by about 15 active individuals ranging from Canada, to Iran, to the USA, to Australia. Anything helps, particularly as he is the last surviving member of his family to take care of all these things! Please help him support his younger brothers and disabled mother.
blakekathryn
origamiaround
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