fratboy mourn watch rook who chugs grave mists completely obliterated by man who matches his level of goth but is emotionally repressed 🐦⬛👍
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if you want more of this vibe, consider this a fic plug for 'the crow's hunt, the rook's tricks' aka my fic that has them constantly taking turns almost dying, infiltrating venatori parties, zara lowkey haunting them, illario doing psychological warfare on both of em, etc etc... and if you read the whole series then it takes em about 10k+ to finally get to being in a relationship where they dont even kiss bc if bioware was gonna be like that then im doubling the fuck down
killing my darlings (editing the veilguard fic) and realizing i'll have to cut off one of the FIRST parts that i finished writing during the draft because now it doesn't flow that well and is unnecessary
(Rook almost becomes Tranquil, and Lucanis watched the whole thing. Afterwards, Rook acts like everything's fine, but Lucanis has known him too well now to let it slide so easily.)
“As far as prison goes, this isn’t as bad as the Ossuary.” Lucanis said dryly.
From across his cell, Rook let out a humorless laugh, “Maybe in your cell. My cell’s floor smells like piss and I don’t remember the Ossuary smelling this bad.”
“Why are you lying down on your piss floor, then?”
Rook makes a non-committal sound to that.
The Antaam guard who had been standing in between their cell slams his large axe to the bars to Rook’s cell, “Quiet!”
There was an order barked in Qunlat, from the doors leading to the prison cells. The Antaam who was guarding them gave them both an angry glare, before stomping his way towards the sound, leaving them guardless for now.
Lucanis stepped closer to the bars in quick strides the moment he could hear the Antaam was gone. “I don’t like this, Rook. Why aren’t they killing us?” Lucanis whispered harshly.
Rook makes an I ‘unno noise, “They called us the Dread Wolf’s heralds. Maybe the Evanuris wants to get at him and they don’t know which one of us is housing Solas? Maybe they just didn’t get the order right? They barely speak the Common Tongue. I don’t really care– I’m more worried that Taash is taking this long to bust us out.”
“Maybe they caught them.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Rook lifted a hand up, snapped his fingers– a small flame flickered from the snap, but died. “Shit. My mana’s not charging up at all.” He sat himself up, then stood and walked over closer to the bar so he could look at Lucanis, “What do you have on your end?”
“Some rat bones that I could sharpen into a lockpick if I have 8 consecutive hours.”
“Shit.” Rook said again, he put his hands together in front of his face, scrunching his face hard, “Okay, think, think, think–”
They didn’t manage to think of anything up before loud footsteps came closer, signalling the Antaam guard was returning with another– this one wore a bigger armor, which probably meant he was their leader, or at least of a higher rank.
“Bas Saarebas.” the guard said, pointing at Rook. Rook let out a laugh, “Uhh, no, I’m Rook.”
The leader of the Antaam guards stepped closer to the bars and let out a snort, Lucanis could swear he saw smoke exhaled through the nose when he did so.
“Mage.” The Leader said, broken Common Tongue in the Qunari accent. “We used to sew our mages’s lips shut and blind them. Keep them leashed to someone who knows better.”
“Well. I’m glad there’s a "used to” in that sentence.” Rook quipped, but Lucanis could tell he swallowed nervously afterwards. The sentiment was shared, if the Antaam decide to treat Rook like their own mages–
“The gods have told us that magic isn’t to be feared. But you– they want you… quiet.”
“Oh, trust me, I can keep my mouth shut when I have to–”
The Antaam guard came back with a metal tong– another glance made it obvious it was a branding iron– then the realization hit Lucanis hard.
A Tranquil branding iron.
Lucanis watched as Rook’s face completely drained of color when his eyes landed on it. Lucanis’ mind raced, to be made Tranquil was more common in the South– how did they even have that instrument here in Rivain? Would the Antaam even know how to do the Rite of Tranquility? Surely not.
They’re just bluffing.
But what if they aren’t?
“They say this cuts you off from the Fade.” The leader said, and though Lucanis can’t see his face from how the leader has his back towards Lucanis’s cell, he could hear the sinister smile in his words now. “The Dread Wolf won’t be able to talk through you. You won’t be able to talk through yourself.”
Rook stepped backwards, eyes darting from the iron to the Antaams.
Spite turns up next to Rook in his cell, circling the mage unknowingly, “He’s scaaa–red.” Spite said, sing-songy, dragging the word out. “Sharp, cold blocks of ice. Not knowing. Something he loves, ripped–”
Shut up, Lucanis thinks, heart hammering in his ribcage, he was holding the bars to his own cell– but even if he extended his hands he wouldn’t be able to reach towards the Antaam. They were opening Rook’s cell now, and Rook stepped backwards into the wall, “Wait, wait, no.” Rook said.
Spite circled Rook once more like savoring the view before turning into a shadow and manifested himself at the back of Lucanis’s cell, he pushed Lucanis who had frozen to move forward, “We need Rook– we need Rook. Whole.”
The image of a blank-stared Rook, no longer able to laugh, to feel anything, just an empty shell who only speaks when spoken to, flashed in the back of Lucanis’s eyelids and he felt sick.
“Rook–” Lucanis called out, just as the Antaam made a move to hold him down. Rook scrambled, he tried to run past, only to have the guard block his path, holding him in place. Rook fought back the hold, kicking and wriggling and when the Antaam who was holding the iron walked towards him, Rook actually tried to bite him.
The Antaam pulled his hand back and said a word in Qunlat that surely must be a swear. He barked an order to the guard holding a struggling Rook, then walked out, presumably to the courtyard. There was a fire beacon there.
The guard pulled at Rook, who snarled and tried to plant his feet into the ground as much as he could, but it was barely any use. The size of the Antaam meant that he could drag Rook out.
“Rook!” Lucanis yelled out, he tried to reach his hands out, even if he couldn’t actually hold onto any of Rook’s limbs. And for a brief moment their eyes met and Lucanis saw the panicked fear in them once more.
“Luc–” Rook couldn’t even finish the name before he was picked up by the Antaam and carried out forcefully.
“ROOK!” Lucanis yelled again, and he thinks he hears his name being yelled back but the loud cheering of the Antaam outside made it hard to hear anything.
“Mierda!” Lucanis swore. “Spite!”
Spite heeded to his call, and Lucanis tried to strike at the bars with the demon’s wings again, but like the times he had before, it did nothing. There was a blood-curdling scream– Rook’s, and Lucanis’s blood ran cold.
“No.” He whispered, the wings disappearing along with Spite who retreated with it. “No, no, no–” He thought of praying to the Maker, what good that may be– a distant thought chimed in that he never asked Rook if Rook believed in the Maker or not, along with the other questions he never had the guts or time to ask, and red-hot regret flushed him.
Another round of yelling, but this time, the Antaams were yelling too– some of them cut abruptly and then for a few horrible moments, quiet.
Then footsteps, running towards the prison cell– light steps. Spite jumped in anticipation– only to fizzle down along with Lucanis when he saw who it was. “Harding! Rook’s being–”
“We know, we got there just in time.” Harding said, “Step back!” Lucanis stepped backwards, and Harding scrunched her face in concentration, and with a clang! The stones holding the bars crumbled, and with it, the door fell inwards. Lucanis rushed out, running to the courtyard– where Taash was standing next to the figure of Rook, sitting on the ground.
Lucanis dashed towards him, and Rook turned to look at him.
He doesn’t think there’s a word in all of Thedas that could describe the relief he felt when he saw blue eyes, drowning in tears.
Lucanis stopped short just a few steps before he reached Rook, suddenly unsure when he got close, as he always does.
Rook’s hands were burnt, the marks were straight, which meant he managed to break free just as the brand was about to be planted on his forehead. He held the burning iron with his bare hands to stop it from making contact.
Had Harding and Taash arrived just a bit too late–
Lucanis didn’t manage to finish that thought before Rook stood up, walked over to him and pulled him by the shoulder and put his arms around his back. Lucanis froze in place, eyes wide open, unsure what to do with the embrace. Rook rested his forehead on Lucanis’s shoulder, just for a bit, enough that Lucanis could feel the tears roll off his eyes onto the leather. Rook let out a shaky breath onto Lucanis’s neck.
Lucanis’ heart skipped a beat, confused, and sorry, his ribs failing to hold back all the aching.
Just when Lucanis was about to pat him on the back, or move, or do anything, Rook pushed him away gently, clearing his throat. Eyes not meeting his, the empty space in between their bodies like an ocean. As if it never happened.
Spite bristled. Lucanis shared the sentiment.
“Right.” Rook said, voice wrecked, “Anyone see our stuff?”
“Here!” Harding called out waving her arms at a barrel.
“Taash, you mind?” He asked, nodding his head towards where Harding was.
“No problem, Rook.”
“Okay, let’s just get out of here, I’ll uh–” He cleared his throat again, frowning and swallowing, “I’ll get back to you guys when we can check back up here.”
“Rook,” Lucanis said, warningly.
“Let’s just go.” Rook said, and Lucanis is usually able to keep the matters of his heart aside when it mattered, but this time he didn’t have the capacity to do so, and he let Rook have his escape.
Lucanis took back his blade from Taash’s hold, and spent the walk back watching Rook’s back like a hawk.
“Another time.” Spite said, and just this one time Lucanis agreed with the demon.
some of the cut content of the fic so far </3 still think these are fun though!
anw if you want to read the NOT cut content, im slowly working my way to finishin them as a somewhat cohesive series that can be read individually too if you prefer one shots/fewer chapters! i call it: the little deaths we look forward to
remember the little thing i wrote the other day about v borrowing kerry's shower? yeah i finished it, somewhat, decided it was still relatively short (2k) and too plotless for an ao3 post. so woe, fic be upon ye. (under the cut)
It seemed like it took forever until V’s incessant knocking on Villa Eurodyne’s front door got it to swing open.
Speaking of the door, when the fuck did Kerry even get his front door fixed anyway? They had tried to fix it on a random weekend when V came over, but it kept opening stubbornly no matter what they did. And then Kerry had gotten so mad and tried to rip the door of its hinges, so they dropped the effort altogether. And–
“Oh, shit.” Kerry’s voice brought him back to the present and V blinks to realize Kerry’s looking at him with wide eyes. He pulls down his headphones he had on to his neck. His previous annoyance at being bothered in his house at this hour slipping rapidly into shocked worry at the sight of a merc covered in blood and mud and who knows what else, standing with his arms and feet a shoulder apart.
“Hey Ker, wha‘sup, sorry for bargin’ in so late at night,” V says, words stumbling over the other like a trainwreck, then he gets to the point, “Can I please borrow your shower?”
“Jesus, of course,” Kerry says, and then jerkily opens the door wider like he just remembered he could do that.
“‘m not Jesus, I’m V.” V mumbled out absent-mindedly. He whacks his arm before he gets in, some blood and bits of flesh fell off the sleeves of his jacket, squelching to the floor.
“Do you need a ripper?” Kerry asked. V drags his feet onto the concrete in hopes it’ll lessen the blood stains when he walks in the house.
“Oh, nah, I’m fine. This isn’t mine.” V says, just realizing how this must’ve looked. “I’ve been out the whole day in the rain, went from the badlands then back, got a gig near here.” V walked further into the house, avoiding the items still strewn about the floor. “Got messy. Normal shootout stuff, grenades, the like, then just–” he makes a psh-SHOOO noise with his mouth as he creates an over-exaggerated motion of an explosion with his hands.
“Gonk had a grenade on him and pulled the wrong pin.”
Kerry lets out an amused, morbid chuckle. V thinks that’s nice; he’d probably laugh about it too. If he hadn’t spent the entire day being scorched and sweating under the Badlands sun, hit by dust and dirt. Then got whacked with a storm that came out of nowhere. Then trekked his way up here just to get blasted in the face with someone’s guts. He smelled like garbage and felt so grossed out, but he was still ready to spend the entire ride back to Watson feeling like complete shit… only to find that the earlier shootout had blown off his Yaiba’s fuel tank.
But yeah, he’s fine! He’s totally not gonna lose it if he can’t claw his way out of his clothes within the next 5 minutes. But just in case, he excuses himself to the shower and practically ran in.
–
V's buck-ass naked in Kerry's shower. It's a huge shower, taking up 30% of the entire bathroom and the bathroom itself is bigger than his apartment. And now the large space and the great ventilation is getting him cold. He rubs a foot on top of the other, trying to warm the palms of his feet. He goes to pick up another soap from the rows and rows of product that Kerry had, all lined up.
It took less time to decide on a shampoo to use earlier because there were only two options, and even though he should probably peruse the purple shampoo dedicated to keep hair dye to shine and all that... he had decided to use the one Kerry probably forgot at the back. It had dust on its lid but smelled powdery.
Johnny crackles, all blue pixels and blurs of light, leaning on the glass window next to him. "Occupied, asshole." V says, gesturing to himself. "Also, ever heard of privacy?"
"You lost your privacy rights the second you took longer than 10 minutes to decide on a soap to use. At least start the water. This isn't your megabuilding, Kerry can pay the hot water bills."
Johnny made a good point, but V opted to ignore Johnny for now, as he often does. Instead, he opens another soap bottle and sniffs it experimentally. He could tell this was Kerry's go-to soap. Smelled like mint and perfumed musk. He reads the name of the scent. Gold Desire.
"Oh fucking... his pretentious ass needs a beating." Johnny grumbles. V snorts and closes the bottle. It's a scent reminiscent of Kerry, which V doesn't hate, of course. But the idea of smelling like Kerry didn't sit right with him.
A little too domestic. A little like he's playing pretend as someone's cute little input who's enjoying the high life for years by now. A little too much like wearing a costume. He's already had enough of the idea of turning into someone he's not without a stupid soap doing it for him.
He goes to sniff the next soap and dry-heaves. It smelled overwhelmingly like burning plastic that's vaguely presented with artificial strawberry and vanilla. He coughs and puts it away.
“At this point your clothes are gonna finish being washed before you do.” Johnny complains, glitching away and popping up, squatting on top of the washing machine dramatically.
V picks up another soap, “Oh Johnny, gross, you cummed in this one.”
“I what.”
“Look, ‘Rockerboy’s Wet Dream.’” V says, grinning and showing off a green bottle. Johnny rolls his eyes and pretend-flicked his cigarette’s ash onto the floor.
V continues to read the bottle, “’Citrus and Red Chili.’ Wonder how that smells combined.” V sniffs it, “Spicy!” he announced to Johnny who has now resorted to softly banging his head on the wall behind him. V decided he could just use this one and goes to turn the water on.
He enjoys how it immediately produced the perfect temperature without him even needing to fiddle with the settings or wait. Some fancy tech that detects his temperature and automatically sets the most suitable one for him once his feet hit the shower tiles.
He pours a hefty amount, wincing at how the bottle wheezed and dropped a slimy gel-like substance with beads of scrubs– which hurt when he started to slather it up. Before the contact with skin promptly starts to burn. Granted he has never used a high-end soap with an exfoliator and whatnot, but V doubts it’s supposed to hurt this much.
V picks the bottle up again to inspect it, hoping to see if maybe he’s just using it wrong or something… when he noticed a manufacture date at the top of the cap. He froze in fear. “Holy shit. This was produced before I was even born. Why the hell do Kerry even keep this around.”
He chucks the bottle to the trash bin to the far end of the room. It missed and hit the wall, bouncing onto the floor. V scrubs the rest of the offending soap on him, almost panickedly.
“You can shower with my actual cum, ‘ll hurt less.” Johnny offers mockingly, getting in the stall with him. V elbows him hard, even if he glitches away before it made any believable contact.
“Give it a couple second and you’ll feel the burn too, see if you can joke then.” V grumbles. He takes a long deep breath and spends the next few breaths just watching as the bubbles get washed along with the grime and mud that starts to melt onto the floor along with the hot water. Shoulders slowly slumping as the events of the day start to catch up and some new bruises and cuts make their presence known. He cards his fingers onto his hair and plop goes the pieces of brain matter and what could’ve been an eighth of an eye. He kicks it down the drain, and blindly takes a random bottle.
This one’s still filled to the brim. He opened it to find it still sealed, even. He struggles to open it with his nails and managed to do so... sacrificing some nail paint in the process. He sniffed it almost dejectedly. Before perking up, pleasantly surprised with its unfamiliar but sweet scent.
"Huh.." he says, taking it away to properly read what it was. "Coconut and basil."
"Do you even know what a coconut looks like?" Johnny accused, out of nowhere.
"Sure I do. It's brown, kinda round looking. Floats. Not sure what a basil actually is though." V answers easily, and finally sets the soap next to the shampoo he had picked, and gets to showering in peace.
--
V stepped out of the bathroom feeling like an actual human again for once, shaking his hair onto the towel roughly to dry it.
"Ker?" he calls out. He hears a faint tune being repeatedly played and walks to the far end of the first floor. Kerry sat with his back to V, with his headphones in, frowning at a computer. He had a guitar in one hand while his other hand was covering his mouth, a finger tapping onto his lips.
Kerry glanced over when he noticed V in his peripheral vision and says, "Hey," but his focus quickly turns back to the computer.
V steps next to him to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the shower." (He could feel Johnny rolling his eyes, making pretend-barfing motions. V made a huge point to tell him to fuck off.)
"No problem," Kerry says, obviously still distracted.
"Busy?" V asks, knowing the answer but thinking he should probably still ask it.
Kerry doesn't really answer, just hums vaguely, somewhat affirmatively.
V spreads his toes out on the floor, feels that it’s dusty, still haven’t been properly vacuumed since god knows when. He shifts his weight. "... Anything I can help with?" He offers. It's a long shot but sometimes Kerry asks his opinion on song lyrics, even though V kinda guessed it's less of asking an opinion and more of showing off an unfinished piece he’s still proud of.
As he expected, the shot fell short of its mark when Kerry replies with a clear, resounding, "No." and by then V knows he's maxed out trying to get a conversation out of Kerry.
He goes to leave Kerry alone.
–
V checks his clothes to see it had finished its spin cycle and is now being dried. Still a couple hours to go. He goes back out and climbs to the second floor, trying to find something to wear in the meantime. Kerry’s a little shorter than him, (“Not by much.” Johnny annoyingly pointed out.) Fine, Kerry’s only a little shorter than him, but his clothes mostly consisted of leather or something so cropped, might as well just go nude.
There were some hoodies, though, large unassuming jackets Kerry bought in bulk to hide from media vultures. Big enough it makes his boxers look shorter than it actually is. V decides to borrow one, goes to bite and suck one of the hood’s strings immediately once he slipped it on.
He leans over the second floor to check up on Kerry from above. Kerry tapped the space bar so hard V swears it’ll crack. He starts grumbling unhappily, then goes to fiddle another tune on the guitar. Yikes. Better leave him alone for now.
“Derivative!” Johnny yells about the tune, over the railing.
If Kerry could actually hear him there would be a bloodbath.
V passed Kerry’s bed and goes back down to the first floor, sitting on the sofa. Kerry stops playing the guitar with an uncomfortable screech and whines loudly.
“Tell him try changing it to a minor tune.” Johnny says. V frowns at him, not sure if he’s actually offering genuine musical help or if he’s just fucking around to try and rile Kerry up. Either way, V knows Kerry wouldn’t appreciate any unwarranted advice at this stage. Johnny clicks his tongue, because he knows it too, he just doesn’t like not letting everyone know what he thinks.
V goes to lean back, only to sit up straight again, looking back and noticing there’s a bong stuck behind him. He pulled it out, then sighs at the mess. Before standing up and picking up empty and half-filled glasses to the kitchen to stick them in the dish washer. He continued to throw out two thongs wedged in the sofa. Wipe the counter from the sticky, spilled alcoholic drinks and their mixers.
It took a while until the sofa and the coffee table in front of it looked nice enough, and V sits and slumps himself onto it in satisfaction, letting the sofa’s crevice swallow him as much as it could.
–
"Hey, what're you doing here?" Kerry asks, gently shaking him to wake him up.
V blinks blearily awake, takes a second to realize where he's at. Then at the question. Wanted to wait up for you sounds too cheesy suddenly and V decides to just shrug.
"You cleaned my place up." Kerry says appreciatively.
"Nnno, just the sofa area." V points out, then yawns, putting his hand into a fist and using his knuckles to cover it. Kerry lets out an 'Awww' kind of sound and V stopped yawning immediately, frowning up at him. Kerry stopped cooing, and grinned, "Come on, let's get you to an actual bed, huh?"
He pulls V up and leads him to the second floor onto the bed. V falls into it immediately, rolling so he can plant his face down onto the biggest pillow Kerry had, while Kerry went off to turn off most of the lights on the switch on the wall.
V doesn't need to see to know when Kerry shuffled into bed when the bed dips next to him. He puts a hand out to feel for Kerry and when his fingers found contact on skin, he scoots closer.
"D'aww," Kerry says again cut off harshly when V pokes his ribs, hard. "Hey you don't want me to think you're cute? Stop being cute."
"Thought you said I was a brat?" V coyly asked.
Kerry lets out a huff, "Alright, down, boy. Way past your bedtime for that."
"Sounds like I need some punishi--" V couldn't help a yawn before he could finish that sentence, "Yeah, point taken." He shuffles again, a leg lands on top of Kerry's before settling. “Sorry I bothered you while you were doing your song.” He says to Kerry’s arm.
Kerry lets out a soft laugh again, rubs the point of contact between his fingers and V's upper arm, “Yeah if you were anyone else, I would’ve told you to fuck off. Consider it a privilege that you got me away from my set and I’m still letting you on my bed.”
“Yay, privilege!” V whoops softly. “Always wanted to know what that feels like.”
Kerry snorted again. They went quiet and V thought that was the end of it. Until Kerry adds, “You know you don’t have to…” he stops like he thought better than to say it. V opens his eyes to look up at Kerry, telling him to go on.
Put on the spot, Kerry begrudgingly continues, “I dunno, just… you know I’m here for you, right? So.. I dunno, V, maybe next time, you could just think of coming over in the first place instead of it being an alternative plan? And, ugh, I know how this might sound to– Look, I’m not saying this ‘cus I’m jealous or, or clingy, okay, I know you got your own thing. Look, you don’t have to act all awkward and proper ‘round me, ‘s all. I mean, come on, V, it’s just me.”
“Uh-huh.” V says, though he doesn’t really get what that’s all about. He shuffles and drops his head back to its original position, closing his eyes. He’s falling asleep again, and he fights to hear what Kerry’s saying next, it gets jumbled into one hazy tune. Something about time, and them being friends, sometimes a little more, something about worrying about not hearing something…
He snuggled to Kerry’s arm again, concludes Kerry’s probably just stressed about the piece. So, he sleepily asks, “Didja finish it though? The song.”
“Huh?” Took a few seconds for Kerry to realize what he’s asking, “Oh… Nope. Gave up on it for tonight.”
“Should try changing it to minor key.” V hears himself say without him actually thinking it, then he groans quietly. He kicks the engram mentally, mumbles out, “Oh, shut up, Johnny…”
“Yeah, shut up, Johnny.” Kerry echoes immediately. But there’s a slight moment where V thinks Kerry’s arm had tensed a tiny bit, before relaxing, as he leaned into V’s hair. Then, "You smell nice."
Thanks, it's coconut and basil. V thinks he says, but he's not sure because he conked out within milliseconds. He thinks that for tomorrow, in-between getting home, and doing gigs, and finding leads about the relic, he’ll try to figure out what a basil actually is.
Author's Note: yeah so coconut and basil huh. The coconut that goes around getting bobbed by the sea but floats with the flow. The basil that could mean anything from a token to ward off the devil to a symbol of love. Also smells great together as a body wash. Fun! Maybe Kerry'll think there's poetry in it if V shared it the next day.
V doesn’t really mean it. His head’s too fucked right now, the pain from the relic just pushing and pushing, clawing its way on a spot behind his eye. He’s just sick. He’s just trying to say things to alleviate the pain. He doesn’t really mean it.
Johnny knows this, could practically taste the fog in V’s brain firsthand. “Come on, kid. Get up.” He coaxes, he wants to put his hands out, push and pull V up from his curled up position on the dirty concrete. He holds out on it. Might make the episode worse. “At least try to stand, get some fresh air.”
“No.”
“Gonk next to you’s gonna piss on you if you stay here a second longer,” Johnny tries making light. It doesn’t work. V just sniffles, curls into himself even worse.
“V, come on.” Johnny prompts again, his tone’s not as snappy as he wants, worry starting to lace the words. When V doesn’t move, he goes to put a hand on V, who jerks away sharply. Blue pixels scramble and Johnny glitches away, sighs as he comes back into focus.
“V–”
“Stop it. Just stop.”
“We need to move.”
“Just leave me alone.”
All this bitching isn’t cute. Johnny has half a mind to start his own bitching, knock it off. Get your ass up. We don’t have time for this. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we figure out a plan to get to Mikoshi, the sooner you feel better.
“Come on, V. Let’s go.”
V’s all pain-receptors and frayed nerves. No coherent answer comes out and Johnny starts to think about the pseudo in his pocket.
“I hate you so much.” V says, unprompted, and Johnny stops all thought of the pseudo, like a knee-jerk reaction.
“Haven’t you ruined my life enough already?” V asks miserably, and Johnny looks up to see he’s opened his eyes to make contact.
He doesn’t really mean it. Right? Johnny thinks he doesn’t really mean it.
“V.” Johnny says again, and it feels less of a name and more of a plea. V scrunches his face hard. Then coughs, spits out some more blood. Goes to push himself up, staggering and balancing himself next to the wall.
Johnny’s heart flutters with some sort of relief, maybe pride, a sense of fuckin’ finally combined with thank fuck.
“I wish you were dead.”
This one’s easier to stomach. But Johnny grimaces and tenses at what he knows will come next.
“I wish I was dead.”
Johnny needs to believe V doesn’t really mean it. That it’s just the pain talking. That he’s not all there.
“Come on, V.” Johnny coaxes again, nods his head to the open space. “Come on.”
V sniffles and rubs his eyes blearily with both hands. Then sighs and starts walking gingerly away. A few steps and breaths later, with fresh air, V opens his mouth, “When I said I–”
“I know, V.”
He doesn’t, actually. But it’s easier for both of them if Johnny does the thinking and convincing the both of them that he doesn’t mean it. A broken mind’s enough trouble for V, no need to add heart into the mix.
I'm so curious about the draft you ended up scrapping for your Rookanis fic. I've had to scrap pieces before but it helps if I just think of it as a writing exercise to get characterization down or whatever. Makes it hurt less 😅
@greatmoldone
omg hi! yeah that's totally valid haha, i always call the cutting and editing process 'killing my darlings' and boy does those darlings sometimes fight back :') i put all of my wips and thrown ones into a 'throw pile' tab in the docs, so i could read through them and reuse them for future fics tho. never delete anything #neverdeleteanything (the whole blood magic torture scene with rookanis was actually a reworked baldur's gate 3 wip with my tav and shadowheart if you can believe it)
i knew there was no way for my rook to tell the others about the war, so the only way for lucanis to know would be through some dream/mind entering hence the whole cursed book concept. but even then as i wrote it all out, i still didn't vibe with the idea of lucanis actually knowing, so i scrapped it. also didn't help that i eventually followed the canon that 'Rook' was a newer nickname by Varric, and not when he had even back in the mourn watch, so i'd have to refer to him with his real name, which i avoided because doing it in the middle of a series where i committed to just calling him rook felt really off.
here's a few snippets from it
or here if you'd like to read the whole thing (it's not actually the whole thing because i didn't exactly finish the whole plot and ended it properly because i decided to cut it before i finished lmao)
ty so much for letting me yap ahhh i feel like im on a ted talk rn or at least pepe silvia. have a good day
