#ROOK HAS ALWAYS BEEN FINE BUT THIS MADE ME GO FUCKING FERAL

[ephemii]

I'll render it properly one day but I needed to get this out of my system because

Holy Fucking Shit

Excuse me while I fucking bite at the walls

#HELLO SAILOR #ROOK HAS ALWAYS BEEN FINE BUT THIS MADE ME GO FUCKING FERAL #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst fanart #rook hunt #twst rook #ルーク・ハント #ツイスト #ツイステッドワンダーランド #twst art

[silica-sunset]

Whumptober Day 3 - Held at Gunpoint

1.4k words of a far cry cult au

CW: gun violence, major (resistance member) character death, graphic depictions of strangulation

Rook only has himself to blame for the position he’s in, on his knees with his hands zip tied behind him. He knew it was stupid, knew there was no way Nick wanted to have a parley with him without ill-intent. But Nick was his favorite of the people he left behind and even though he tried to kill who he was before, he couldn’t kill the part of himself that loved Nick. He was Rook’s weak point, the one person he refused to hurt, and Rook knew the sooner he got the Rye family out, the faster Rook could help tear the county apart without that bit of hesitation getting in the way. He wanted so badly to save his old friend that he went against his gut, suffered through John’s jealousy-fueled sullen silences and bursts of anger just to ensure Nick and Kim would have safe passage out of Hope County. 

He knew something wasn’t right when he pulled up outside their home, but determination always made him stupid. Rook couldn’t trust anyone else to make sure they got out all right, and he paid the price for it in the form of a bat to the back of the head when he stepped out of his truck. He was unconscious before he could even hit the dirt.

His head hurts like a motherfucker when someone finally kicks him awake, hard enough to break his ribs. Someone behind him lifts him roughly upright again when the kick forces him onto his side, jostling his pounding skull and his aching shoulders. The nausea is overwhelming and the stomach acid burns his esophagus when he pukes it up on the floor in front of him. There’s a sound of disgust and he blearily looks up. He’s near the arcade machine in the Spread Eagle and Mary May is standing in front of him. He hasn’t seen such contempt since the night he walked out of this place and joined Eden’s Gate. Not even the Peggies hate him this much, and he’s killed way more of them.

“Did you enjoy your time with them?” Mary May spits. Her body lurches with the force of her fury but the shotgun in her hands doesn’t waver from where she points it at Rook’s head. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Her eyes tell it all: no matter what he says, she’s going to kill him. She just wants to hear him admit he made a mistake, that he’s sorry and beg for his life, that he should’ve known better than to trust Joseph Seed. That he regrets all the Resistance members he’s killed. He won’t give her the satisfaction because there isn’t any to give. 

“Yeah. I did,” Rook says. It’s just the honest truth. He always suspected he was going to die in Hope County and he can finally say that he doesn’t feel like it’ll be a waste. Even the brief involvement he had in the Project felt more meaningful than anything else he’s done in his wretched life. He’ll go to his grave absolved of his sins by the only people that matter. He will miss Boomer though. “You know you’re going to die for this, right? I don’t care that you’re going to kill me, but the Father definitely will. John will raze Fall’s End to ashes before the week is over.”

“Let him try,” she hisses, “I’ll kill him too.”

Rook laughs, body slumping. He tries to test the restraints and feels blood trail sluggishly down his hands from where the skin near his wrists has been rubbed raw. “Yeah, right. I’m the only person who ever stood a chance at killing John. The second I joined them, you lost any chance you ever had at winning.”

“You shut your mouth.”

“You never could handle the truth.” He tugs harder at the zip tie. “Some outsider nobodies managed to hold your entire fucking county hostage, and your only hope of salvation was the National Guard. And when that didn’t work out, your second best chance was another outsider nobody, just some rookie cop with a hobby for firearms. You all are Weak, running around like children with the most ass-backwards priorities -”

“Shut the hell up, Rook! We were managin’ just fine before you showed up.”

Rook laughs again - meaner, full of violence. “You can lie to yourself all you want. I’m right like I was right that night weeks ago. You guys couldn’t make a single goddamn dent in the cult’s firepower.”

“Shut up -!”

There’s the sound of wood splintering just as Mary May takes a step forward. He may have a concussion but he still has muscle memory. He snaps the zip tie as he hears a shot ring out. He doesn’t turn to see who the shooter is; he’s either going to get shot in the back or the head, and he’ll take being shot in the back if it means he gets to kill Mary May first. He grabs the barrel of her shotgun while she’s distracted, shoving it forward so the stock hits her directly in the nose. There’s the crunch that he’s become so accustomed to hearing in his few months here and a fountain of blood as she stumbles back in pain. He wobbles when he gets up but he uses that momentum to tackle her.

They hit the ground hard. There’s more shots, more bodies falling around them. The adrenaline drowns out everything that isn’t Mary May’s shocked and bloody face. Rook wraps his hands around her throat, putting all his weight behind it. She claws at his arms, long nails leaving aching grooves, and it’s hard to keep his grip with his hands slick with blood, but if this is the last thing he’ll have the opportunity to do, he’s going to make sure he finishes the job. 

“You think you can kill me?” Rook demands, close enough to her face that her desperate gasping hits his lips. He feels Mary May’s windpipe cave under his palms. “The Guardian of the Father? The executor of his Will? You can’t fucking kill me!” He doesn’t realize he’s evolved into wordless, feral yelling until her arms stop trying to push him away and her body stills.

There’s a hand on Rook’s shoulder and he whips around, falling off Mary May’s body onto the floor, nauseated again. He looks up and there’s John, his messy hair haloed by the ceiling lights. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to seeing something holy in his life. If God is real, He brought them together for this specific moment.

“Rook, are you all right?”

“I think I have a concussion, maybe some bruised ribs.” Rook gestures vaguely at the body next to him. “Better than her though.”

John starts to help Rook up, supporting him when Rook stumbles to his knees and retches again. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go to Nick goddamn Rye,” John says tersely. 

“Lucky for us, the Resistance is short-sighted. If they had any sense, they would’ve killed me the second I was in their crosshairs.”

“They’ll never get the chance again.” John leads them out of the Spread Eagle and puts Rook into the passenger seat of a cult truck. “Jacob has found the Wolf's Den, Faith is closing in on the prison, and I am about to burn this place to the ground.” 

Rook sees other cars around their own, cultists with absurd amounts of fire power hefting C4 and gasoline out of truck beds. Hearing that everything is falling into place all at once settles something within him. He makes a grab for John’s hand across the center console after John starts the engine. Blood transfers from Rook to John, looking black in the night. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” John promises. He intertwines their fingers and squeezes once before letting go to get them back to the ranch. “There’s a doctor waiting for you. It was only supposed to be a precaution, but trouble always seems to find you.”

“Being the attack dog of a cult will do that,” Rook says. He means no malice when he says it, simply stating a fact. And he’s not mad about it; he’s accepted it as easily as he’s accepted every other new facet of his life as it’s come about. He wouldn't say he’s happy, because he doesn't know if his mind remembers what that’s even like anymore, but he’s something. Content, at the very least.

Injuries aside, it’s a pretty okay life.

#oc: jonah rook #far cry 5 #this is barely edited and i've never done one of these before but it was a lot of fun #be warned folks: this isn't a happy story for the resistance #my writing