𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀 𝐀𝐁𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐇. This is a private blog for my interpretation of the deputy based on the story/lore of Far Cry 5. This blog will contain primarily adult content, please do not follow or interact if you are under the age of 20. Given the nature of the game, there may be a fair amount of triggering content. This includes but is not limited to: mentions of blood, violence, torture, religious extremism, murder, etc. character information here.
written by: Maya, she/her, 25+, rules below the cut
affiliated with: @countrys
001. THIS BLOG WILL CONTAIN PRIMARILY ADULT CONTENT AND IS THEREFORE RATED 21+.
Far Cry 5 contains heavy violence, language, religious cult activity, and killing. Since I personally do not feel comfortable discussing these topics with anyone below the age of 21, my blog is rated 21+. If you're sensitive to this kind of content, I advise you to read my threads with caution because I cannot promise that everything will be sunshine and roses all the time. If any of my threads have an alarming amount of triggering material I will appropriately tag it and put it under a read more.
002. THIS BLOG IS PRIVATE AND HEAVILY PLOT BASED.
This is a mutuals only blog, so all plots and asks will be answered based on a mutual basis. This is nothing personal, I'm just very very busy, so all of my blogs are essentially private, meaning that I prefer it if we plot first before interacting. If we are mutuals and you would like to plot, feel free to message me and let me know your ideas!
003. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT MUSE'S VIEWS DO NOT REFLECT THE WRITER'S VIEWS.
Any thoughts or ideas expressed by my muse are not a reflection of my own views. If you are uncomfortable with any of the subject matter posed on this blog, you are more than welcome not to follow, believe me I completely understand!
004. I WILL TAG ANY AND ALL TRIGGERS.
I will tag anything that may be of a triggering nature such as blood, gore, death, etc. If there is something I miss that you really need me to tag, please tell me! Anonymously or not, I won’t ask why and don’t need any explanation, just tell me what you need tagged and consider it done. Posts that are triggering will have a ‘tw:’ before them, so for example if someone’s trigger was blood, it’d be ‘tw: blood’ (without the quotations).
005. DO NOT RUSH ME INTO REPLYING OR WRITING A STARTER.
I write at my own pace at my own time. I am a very slow writer, and also have a life outside of tumblr. If I do not reply to your thread right away it doesn’t mean that I hate you, or that I am bored with our thread. I’m either busy, don’t have the motivation to write, or don’t feel the muse for it at the moment. Along that same token, don’t rush me into plotting or writing starters. I’m a slow writer, and even slower when I write a starter.
006. I'M OPEN TO ALL ROLEPLAYING STYLES.
I am open to chat threads, short threads, long threads, just note that long threads will take longer for me to reply to as it is much faster and easier for me to write plain dialogue than prose. If you have a preferred length you are welcome to message me, and we can work something out! Just don’t feel the need to have to match my length exactly, all I ask is that it’s comparable in length, like if I give you a good solid two paragraphs, I expect more than just a sentence back.
OTHER BLOGS:
LAYLA BAUDELAIRE, a fandomless horror oc
NOVA ESTRELLA, a cyberpunk 2077 OC
MULTI-MUSE, a collection of characters from various fandoms
JUDE DAWSON, a far cry 5 OC
VALERIA "V" RAIDA, cyberpunk 2077 playable character
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@deputyzed said: how about you stay a little longer?
a smile is a ghost haunting the corners of his lips as he leans against the doorframe. his hands are still dirty from completing various 'fix-it' jobs around her place. peter was never the handyman type, but if it meant spending a little more time with her, he was going to make it work. there's a small part of him, deep inside, that still won't let him be happy. not after everything, not even in this new life. but he thinks, maybe, he could be happy here. in some little pacific northwest town, with the cop who helped him on the side of the road when his mom's car shit out on him.
"got a real good feeling you don't know what you're signing up for," he admits. the old peter would jump on the opportunity. sleeping his way across the galaxy. but there's a little hesitance now. not because he doesn't want to, but because it could mean something.
his shoulder is pressed against the frame as he stares down at her, arms crossed and casual, despite the war going on inside his head. peter thinks, maybe he should leave now and stop this before it gets too far. that painful feeling of loss is still fresh. but another part of him is warring with that. "i'm a whole lotta trouble. more than you know."
SAMIRA DIDN'T MAKE A HABIT OF INVITING STRANGERS SHE FOUND ON THE SIDE OF HER ROAD TO HER HOME. But after spending an entire afternoon with the man trying to get his car towed and into the local mechanic shop, she couldn't help but feel some obligation to check in on him. It had been almost a week since she'd discovered him stranded on the highway, and what she thought was a run of the mill stop had turned out to be far more puzzling than mundane.
A newcomer was hardly cause for headlines, their town might have been small but it wasn't so remote that it was immune to visitors and road trippers alike. It wasn't his novelty that raised a brow, but the fact that he seemingly knew nothing of the modern world. No facebook, no twitter, not even a cell phone, let alone any cash to pay for his car to be repaired. It seemed as if he just dropped out of the sky one day. He was a mystery to her; an amiable, handsome, mystery that she wanted to solve.
"Then it's a good thing dealing with trouble is basically my job." There's a brief pause, as she eyes him. Chin tilted high with a playful smirk, challenging him to try and deflect her once more, before she holds up a paper menu between them. "Relax, I was just wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner. Unless you're one of those freaks who likes anchovies on their pizza, I don't think I'm gonna need to get out the handcuffs just yet."
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SAMIRA FOUND HERSELF FALLING INTO AN ALL TOO FAMILIAR PATTERN OF RESTLESSNESS ONCE AGAIN. She was exhausted. Yet, try as she might to sleep, to get some rest for the next fight, for whatever responsibility would inevitably fall on her shoulders; the mixture of insomnia and night terrors made sure that her mind remained wide awake. She'd taken to milling about the room, pacing in front of the couch she'd made into her bed, in the hopes that doing something else other than laying there staring at the ceiling could shake the edginess she felt. She'd been trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to awake her roommate, but after a few laps around the small space she turned to find Quinn already standing in the middle of the room with Atlas at his legs.
Her restlessness had become a nightly occurrence and a rather troublesome thorn in her side, in both their sides really. Moving to Quinn's place was supposed to have quelled some of the lingering anxiety and, at the very least, afforded her some comfort in knowing she was much safer there, rather than all alone in the middle of the woods where just about anybody could waltz right up to her home. Instead it had turned into neither of them getting a decent night's sleep, and them quietly conversing until either she finally drifted off or the morning sun light filtered through the windows. Now they both sat on the couch, the sides of their legs pressed against one another, her weight leaning into his side just a bit too heavily as they talked, while she absentmindedly pet Atlas's head resting in her lap.
@sgtdarling sent: ❝ when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. ❞
"Wherever I want? And you're paying for all of it, right? Then I guess I better pick somewhere really nice." It felt good to talk about the future. To talk as if either of them could have a life after all of this was over. That it would be as simple as packing up everything that had happened over the last year into a tidy little square, and leaving it all behind in a suitcase. Never to be opened again. She was smart enough to know that was not how it worked. Trauma was a pervasive, invisible wound that didn't just disappear due to a change of scenery. She knew that and so did he, there was no running away from the demons of the past.
In the back of her mind, she acknowledged that neither of them would likely ever be able to completely return to normal, despite whatever plans they hatched together. But that didn't stop her from entertaining the idea of taking a long vacation away from Hope County. Of clinging to that small shred of hope that maybe there was a chance at life after all this. "I miss the ocean." She admits, fingers rhythmically drifting through Atlas's fur. "So wherever we go there'll have to be a beach, preferably somewhere sunny. Maybe Hawaii? Or even Bali? What about Greece?"
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NAME: Samira Abdullah
ALIASES: The Deputy, Dep, Rookie, Sam, Sammy
BIRTHDATE: January 13, 1992 (26 years old)
PLACE OF BIRTH: Seattle, Washington
GENDER: Female, she/her
ORIENTATION: Bisexual, biromantic
EYES & HAIR: Brown eyes, long dark brown hair
HEIGHT: 5'7
ETHNICITY: Lebanese American
MARKINGS: small tattoo of a quote in arabic calligraphy on her right wrist.
FACE CLAIM: Huda El Mufti
FAMILY: Dr. Ibrahim Abdullah (father), Dr. Fatima Abdullah (mother)
RELIGION: Raised muslim, non-practicing
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, never married.
OCCUPATIONAL HISTORY: A Junior deputy in the Hope County Sheriff's Department.
PERSONALITY TYPE: ENTJ-T, The Commander. Commanders are bold, imaginative, and strong-willed, always finding a way – or making one.
TEMPERAMENT: choleric
MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral
ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 8, "The Challenger", Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating.
INTELLIGENCE: High intelligence, was pre-med during her undergraduate career at the University of Washington, has a bachelor's of science in neuroscience and criminal psychology.
SAMIRA ABDULLAH: THE DEPUTY
Raised in Seattle, Washington and the daughter of Lebanese immigrants, it was always expected of Samira to follow in her parents' footsteps and become a doctor. Wanting to live up to her family's expectations, she pursued an education in pre-med until she discovered her true passion in criminal psychology. After a dramatic change in her life course and much pushback from her parents, she gets a degree in criminal psychology with the goal of eventually becoming an agent in the FBI.
Desperate to escape the weight of her parents' scrutiny and intrigued by the rumors of a large cult in the area, Samira applies for a position in the sheriff's department in Hope County. It's a small enough area that she believes she can fast track her way to the role of detective and eventually move onto a bigger, more prolific department elsewhere. She moves to Montana and completes the three month Sheriff's Academy. Upon graduating, she's given the position of rookie deputy within the Whitetail Mountains division of the Hope County Sheriff's department. This division within the Sheriff's department tends to take on more of the 'high profile' cases within Hope County, and has been integral in gathering evidence against the cult for some time without much luck in finding anything tangible that could lead to a warrant.
Eight months into her year long training as a rookie, the department recovers video evidence of the cult kidnapping tourists and is able to secure the warrant for Joseph Seed's arrest. As the hotshot rookie within the department, Samira's given the opportunity to assist Whitehorse and the Marshall with the arrest. Things quickly turn south as the team tries to leave the compound and Joseph Seed is freed due to the sacrifice of his followers and subsequent helicopter crash. Injured and in enemy territory, Samira is forced to fight her way to safety as the Reaping begins.
QUICK FACTS:
The events of the game take place over a three year period, given the size of Hope County (which is a lot bigger than what's shown on the game map) and the inability of each resistance faction to work together or really accomplish anything without the deputy's help.
Though Samira begins in Holland Valley, she establishes contact with all three resistance factions first and spends her time traveling between each area. Her progression through liberating the areas is not entirely linear, and essentially she is taken by each Herald at various times throughout her efforts to liberate the county.
She executes John Seed first, then Faith, and Jacob last.
Of all the Seeds, Samira is most intrigued by Jacob and the inner workings of his mind. He has a deep understanding of the human psyche, more so than his brothers and Faith, that she finds fascinating, if not alarmingly similar to her in a way.
SHE CLAWS AT HIM IN DESPERATION, like an animal backed into corner, bearing its teeth in some futile attempt. he always admired that about her. where others would crumble against the weight of it all, samira somehow found the strength to fight back. she was strong. never weak. and that was why she was special. the object of his obsession, the perfect little soldier. jacob almost laughs as she leaves her mark against his cheek, no doubt dragging away skin like a trophy. it's obvious from any angle that there's a grin forming at the corners of his lips, and it's enough to prompt the removal of the knife from the equation.
in one fell swoop, the hunting knife slams against the wood of her kitchen table, dug away into its new home. but where the blade once stood, a hand soon returns to her jaw, where he roughly turns her around to face him. better to face the little lion now. see what more those claws could do now. his weight is the key in keeping the deputy pinned beneath him, even now as she's backed against the countertop. " there's ways of punishing you that don't require me killing you, " his suggestion is left open to interpretation. regardless, there's a look of disappointment in his eyes. his prodigy, his key to ending the whitetails' reign, was becoming quite the liability. joseph demanded retribution. all of their people in holland valley wanted to see her dead. how could he not make her pay for killing his little brother?
" honey, you ain't even seen scared yet. " he threatens her, cold eyes seem to glow against the dull lighting of the kitchen. the hand that once pressed too deeply into newly forming bruises slips down, finding a place beneath her jaw, around her neck. the squeeze that follows is a gesture of purpose. a threat. " what do you think is at the end of this road, samira? hm? do you think you're going free? ''
THERE WAS LITTLE DOUBT THAT THE BRUISES ON HER JAW would be the only reminder of his visit that night by the time they were finished. If he wanted to mark her, then let him. He would not leave her house unscathed, for she would fight back tooth and nail, brand him with her own fair share of scratches and bruises. Despite being roughly handled to face him once more, pinned beneath his weight with her jaw smarting at the painful press of his fingers, she takes some satisfaction in the sight of thin red lines forming along his cheeks where her nails had marred his skin. An eye for an eye, a mark for a mark.
Her arrogance is ruined only by his mirroring smile. Of course he liked this, the sick bastard that he was. He wanted her to fight back much like the other times she had fallen into his grasp. And just like the other times, a small part of her briefly considers playing weak, to let him do as he pleases with no complaint if only to deny him the pleasure of seeing her struggle. Yet the desire to rebel ultimately wins, just as it always does. She was too proud to give in to his intimidation. The smile she once wore is replaced instead with a scowl, meeting his smug grin with a glare of her own.
The moment is soon broken by the hand around her throat. Though she had fortified herself to rebellion, fear takes over. An unbidden memory surfaces to the forefront of her mind, of him snuffing out the life of a prisoner deemed too 'weak' to continue his trials at the veteran's center. All it had taken was just a simple squeeze of his hand around their throat and their windpipe was crushed in a matter of seconds. Eyes wide, breath gasping, her hands fly to grasp at his wrist as she twists and writhes beneath him in a panic. Trying to free herself from his hold by any means necessary. But she soon realizes the pressure he applies is not deadly. She can breathe, not easily, but she will not die.
Though it was only a brief moment of weakness, there was no hiding the naked fear that had taken over. She wanted to kick herself for letting him frighten her so easily. He had undoubtedly noted her reaction, especially with his face a mere few inches away, and his fingers resting tight against the errant pulse beating in her neck. Refusing to let him intimidate her any further, she stills beneath him taking a slow, steadying breath. "The end of the road is when you and all your family are dead, and I can dance freely on your graves. You will not own me." She practically spits, fixing him with the same angry look as before. Shoulders squared, chin tilted high, and her nails digging into the skin of his wrist as she attempts to pry his hand loose, she continues. "John is already dead, Faith and Joseph are next." The smile returns, but this time it's not born of arrogance, but rather a deranged sort of vengeance. "I think I'll save you for last so you can watch as all your family dies around you, and you're left with nothing but ashes."
HIS CHILDHOOD MEMORIES ARE PAINTED IN BRUISES AND BLOOD. jacob had fought their father, tooth and nail, to protect them from wrath. he had learned, even at a young age, that there was no place in this world for weakness. there were always predators, there was always prey. and their parents were the first predators to sink their teeth into their skin. it wasn't long after graduating high school that he was shipped off to fight the gulf war. little john and joseph were split between two homes, destined to become victims of the system. he would be lying if he'd said that there weren't countless nights that he stared up at the stars, wondering if they were staring up at them the same. that naivety was lost in the war, crushed beneath the weight of gunfire and explosions.
when joseph pieced the family back together, there was hope. at least in the eyes of the father. jacob had a hard time subscribing to the idea of the voice, or this destiny they were meant to carve out. he couldn't relate to his brothers, or the countless faiths that lined up to slaughter. war prepares you for death, for the inevitable loss of your brethren. so, why did the news of john's death pull at something dead inside of him? his youngest brother was an idiot, controlled by his own weakness, but - his bloodshed was celebrated by those who did not deserve to breathe the same air.
and at the center of it all was the deputy. the golden girl. the beacon of hope the people of this county clung to in the midst of the reaping. she was weak. even now, as she wandered through her home, unaware of the danger that lurked in the darkness. he had sat at this table for an hour. a patient predator always gets its prey. and, like a lamb wandering from too far from the flock, samira finds herself in the jaws of a wolf.
the knife she holds doesn't pose any threat to him. he could kill her before the opportunity to use it would even present itself. it doesn't take much for jacob to rise to full height and close the distance between them. her defiance was unacceptable. her willingness to continue to fight with the resistance would be noted. his hand is almost as big as her face when he grabs her by the jaw. it's worth noting that the grip would likely leave its mark in the morning. she could stab him now. right through the heart. but he doubts she has the guts to try, not when he was commanding all of her attention.
" do not mistake my tolerance for weakness, angel. your worth does not outweigh your crime. " that's a threat. there's something serious about the way he speaks now. no more mind games, no more dancing around the point. the deputy had managed to take something from him, and she would pay the price. when he lets go of her face, he shoves her against the countertop and confiscates the knife. it's all done in a swift motion. before samira knows it, her face is pressed against the cool tile with a knife against her throat. the weight of his body against hers is a restraint. there's a long pause before he speaks against her ear. " i could punish you now. but that would take the fun out of it, wouldn't it? "
UP CLOSE AND IN THE LIGHT HE IS EVEN MORE menacing than before. She should have kept the lights off, let him remain a shadow, a monster hiding in the dark rather than the snarling beast snapping in her face. But it was too late for her to do anything now. The fact that she holds a knife in her hand doesn't register through the bone crushing grip he has on her jaw, all she can focus on is the pain and the cold ice of his eyes boring into hers. For a brief moment her expression betrays her, wincing at the initial sting of his touch. The true fear shines in her gaze then, before she steels herself to keep a stiff upper lip. Defiant to the very end.
Even when he swats her knife away, as easily as taking scissors from a child. Even when he smacks her forehead against the countertop, the only weakness she allows an involuntary hiss of pain. Even with a knife pressed to her throat, she resolves herself to continue her rebellion. Slowly, careful of the blade against her skin, she turns her head so that her cheek is pressed into the cold tile, and she can fix him with the same, impetuous look from the corner of her eye. "You mean we're not already having fun?"
She's acutely aware of the proximity of his face, close enough that his breath stirs the fine hairs framing her temple and brow. His body is like a large weighted blanket of muscle and bone, pressing her further and further into the countertop. A wolf playing with his food, but she was no innocent lamb ripe for the slaughter. Never one to back down from a challenge, she squirms against the confines of her cage knowing it would be nearly impossible to escape.
Despite the way her heart pounded in her ears, she couldn't deny the part of her that buzzed with excitement. There was small pleasure in the fact that the man responsible for her entrapment could kill her, but an even greater thrill in knowing that he wouldn't. If he wanted her dead, he could have killed her long ago. Pounced on her the moment she walked through the door, silencing her before she could have even screamed, and yet he held back. No, she would not die tonight, the knowledge of which brings a smug smile to her lips.
"If you're not going to punish me, then what are you doing here? Are you trying to scare me into giving up? Because no matter what you do, it's not going to work." She's taunting him, a stupid decision knowing that would likely only anger him even more. But she doesn't care. Her pride won't allow her to succumb to whatever fucked up machination he had planned without a fight. Without warning, she reaches up behind her and claws harshly at his cheeks. Marking him in much the same way he had along her jaw.
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@wolfbeacons sent: ❝ do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in right now? ❞
HER HOME IS COMPLETELY DARK when she returns, still riding the high of the day's victory and the pleasant buzz a couple of celebratory drinks at the Spread Eagle had left. Today marked a huge triumph for the resistance. John Seed was dead, and with his death, there remained a flicker of hope that they may just succeed in washing away the stain left by the cult. Though there was still so much work to be done, especially in the Henbane and the Whitetail Mountains, the Peggies' influence in Holland Valley had all but crumbled. Now it was just a matter of time before the other regions followed suit and were liberated from their respective Heralds. The fight was far from over, but tonight was not the time to plan for the future, tonight was a time to revel in the glow of her achievements, leave the hard work for tomorrow.
Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol that had distracted her, or her own smug pride that kept her from taking complete stock of her surroundings before getting too comfortable for she did not notice the dark shadow lurking in her kitchen. Not when she first entered her home, nor when she turned her attention to the fridge while humming a cheery tune to herself as she perused its contents. It was not until a soft, but familiar voice cuts through the darkness that she became acutely aware she was not alone. 'do you have any idea how much trouble you're in right now?'
At first her mind refuses to believe the sound, the voice which haunts her nightmares is right here with her in her home, and not being blasted over some radio, or over the crackly static of an intercom at a Peggy outpost. More pressingly, she refuses to acknowledge the truth of the matter. She'd let her guard down, she'd become too comfortable, and had missed all the signals that someone had forced themselves into her home. Except this wasn't just a random thief in the night, this was him.
He was perhaps the most dangerous brother of the Seed family. His military background, army of Chosen, and understanding of the human psyche made him an intimidating target, and a deeply fascinating character, moreso than the rest of his family. He had put her through his trials once already, had played his sick games with her mind, and now she had walked right into his trap. Goosebumps crop along her arms, the hairs raising on the back of her neck as she stands frozen in place. A small, prideful, part of her is glad that he cannot see her shocked expression, she would not let him see her fear. Another, more logical, part of her realizes that her back is turned to him, making her all too easy prey, weak even. And you know what happens to the weak.
Quickly, she grabs a knife from the wooden block on her counter as she whirls around to face him. flipping on the lights in the process. The dim light reveals the large figure of Jacob Seed sitting quietly at her kitchen table, as if he had come to visit and was waiting all too patiently to be served his dinner. Like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, except there was no woodsman to save her, and she refused to be made into his next meal. Brandishing her knife in front of her, she glares at him with all the hate and disgust she can muster. She does not answer him, but instead asks a question of her own, her voice filled with venom. Her own form of rebellion in the face of danger. "Is that why you're here then? To punish me for all the trouble I've caused?"
You know what this means? It means the politicians have been silenced. It means the corporations have been erased. It means the world has been cleansed by God’s rigtheous fire. Most of all, it means I was right. The Collapse has come. The world as we know it…is over. I waited so long…I waited so long for the prophecy that God whispered in my ear to be fulfilled. I prepared my family for this moment. And you took them from me. I should kill you for what you’ve done. But you’re all I have left now. You’re my family. And when the world is ready to be born anew, we will step into the light. I am your Father, and you are my child. And together we will march to Eden’s Gate.
