#i've nevee made any edit before

[ltb-oc]

Idk i put it here 'cause i have nothing to do anyway

I'm looking for things to draw about Zanni, I have both my head and my mind full and then it's the void....🥹

[what-eats-owls]

It matters how you do it

I finished Dragon Age: The Veilguard and had some big feelings about it. Spoilers for basically everything under the cut, and frankly, it won't make sense unless you've finished the game anyway.

First of all: I had a blast with this game. I didn't find Act 1 slow, I did find Act 2 a bit of a whack-a-mole, and then Act 3 kicks you in the kidney (complementary) while insisting it's for your own good.

I've seen some recurring complaints: that it lacks depth/edge/darkness, that it abandons previous lore, that the previous choices don't matter. I don't entirely disagree. To me, it felt like a massive Dragon Age 4 game that pivoted to a different, tighter game after complaints about bloat in Inquisition. The key is that when editing down, there's such a thing as trying to trim the fat and taking a chunk of the roast with it.

I enjoy the concept of Lucanis's character, and the voice actor sold the hell out of him, but the storyline felt like being taken to a museum and allowed to see one (1) beautiful unfinished sculpture. Why did Spite, specifically, work? We know the spirit of Justice became Vengeance by abomination, we knew Solas was Wisdom before he became Pride, so what was Spite before, and why wasn't that tied to Lucanis's own personal arc? (Doubly so if you romance him!)

Similarly, Harding was a delight, and her greenhouse was such a lovely little haven. I would have loved to see more explanation of the connection between plants and the titans, and how Harding's own personal struggles with rage connected to that of the titans. She has every reason to be angry and scared, and the game tells us she pushed that away—but we don't actually see her toxic positivity manifest to that degree, until she abruptly has an angry clone.

On the flip side, I loved the other five character quests, and I felt they had solid, poignant arcs that delivered. I also adored their interactions with the codex—if anything, I wanted to see more of that type of interaction on the screen. You have to fill in a lot of the character work for Rook yourself; Rook has all these interesting potential backgrounds, but I think starting the game playing through those, a la Origins, would have gone miles towards establishing more personal stakes up front and made for a stronger start.

So that's all my nitpicking. But let's talk about the bigger theme: It matters how you do it.

In the first Fade conversation with Solas, he gets so mad when Rook refuses to let him DARVO them about the consequences of his botched ritual. This makes way more sense when you understand he's literally imprisoned by his own regrets, and he needs Rook to have that same kind of regret in order to take his place. His entire arc is about rationalizing binary choices and shitty actions that hurt others in the name of a hypothetical greater good that he wants.

Solas can't engineer every binary choice Rook's forced into, but he uses Varric to maximize Rook's regret. He is trying to quite literally mold Rook into him, and the game is great at presenting this both as a coldblooded manipulation and a broken plea for validation—if you let it. You don't have to give Solas a moment of consideration; you don't have to take time to view his memories, or kill his demons, or listen to those scraps of Mythal still holding onto the good in him. You don't have to do any of it.

But you can. And in the end, it matters.

It matters because for every companion, you can encourage them to either be more nurturing/compassionate or destructive/closed off versions of themselves, and that is frequently tied to continuing or breaking from a cycle. (The exception is either Neve or, presumably, Lucanis, who are forced into the Hardened version depending on which city you save.) These aren't presented as morally opposing choices, just who you want them to be. You can see how the Grey Wardens fucked up bad with griffons and decide they have a better place. You can help Emmrich face his fear by finding deeper meaning in life instead of indefinitely postponing death. You can help them do things differently.

So when you get to the final choice in the game, you may have two options: physically force Solas into saving the Veil, or trick him into it. The kind of binary choice Solas has molded you into making by pelting you with cruelty and manipulation.

Or, if you've taken the time, you can get him to understand he's wrong. You bring out the people who saw the best in him and speak to what he's had to endure, even as you're showing him there's another way. You reach him not as Pride, but as Wisdom. And he goes willingly.

Ultimately, I think DA2 and Inquisition grappled with big questions of oppression and violence, faith and authority. It makes sense for those games to delve into harder, uglier subject matter, and ask you to make binary calls.

But my read of Veilguard is that, at its core, it's about how those decisions are meant to trap you in regret at best, and numb you to rationalizing cruelty at worst. It's why the companion who loses their home city becomes colder, more isolated, in response—more like Solas.

That's why it offers you a third way at the very end, but only if you've worked for it. A better way is possible, yet it has to be more than words. You have to understand where the pain comes from, what maintains and is being maintained by the current cycle. Then, and only then, can you break it.

I can't wait to play it again.

P.S. Utterly obsessed with the Trevisan fish merchant.

[headachecat]

Would love to see your Rook dealing with any jealousy/insecurity about Neve and Lucanis flirting if you believe it would exist. This is my obsession. My MW Rook looks up to Neve almost as much as Bellera does and had been flirting with Lucanis and then realises they are flirting and is like. Well I've got no chance. But is also devastated.

I keep playing in my head my Rook withdrawing and giving them space to be respectful and Lucanis being entirely oblivious and confused and ways it is resolved

There was a way about Neve that made your heart flutter in your chest. For some, it was the insecurity she brought to light with her talk, as if she knew all the secrets your mind was hiding before you were even aware of them yourself. For others, it was the blush she evoked on their cheeks with a confident flirt, fully aware of all her traits and the effect they could have if used properly. But for Rook? Well, for Rook, it was the intrigue of her smart talk, her mind, and all the things she held so much knowledge about.

In the midst of the chaos that spurned around them ever since the collapse of the ritual, there were stolen moments of respite where they exchanged their favourite pieces of information — random facts, obscure history, fragments of thought that felt too precious to waste. Rook found herself captivated, caught between wanting to learn more and marvelling at Neve’s sharp wit and how it made everything feel significant. She could make a passing comment about an old text, an anecdote about an ancient discovery, or even a sharp critique of a flawed argument, and Rook would be left reeling, turning the words over in her mind long after. She could have picked Neve’s brain apart for hours. But there was always something eluding her, something hidden, untouched, unshared – a mystery that lingered just out of reach. Something Rook just couldn’t uncover. Maker knows they flirted here and there, but it all soon faded away with the arrival of newer additions to the party. The camaraderie shifted, new bonds formed, and those playful exchanges became fewer, buried beneath the weight of their shared mission. It wasn’t the first time Rook found herself pushing romance away for the greater cause, and it would probably not be the last. There was always a battle to fight, a crisis to resolve, and a part of her had come to accept that her own desires would always take a backseat to the larger picture. There would be an appropriate time for the right connection, she told herself – maybe after the Gods were dead, when the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. Such is life, and she never gave it a second thought. Until Lucanis.

It was the small things. The tiny acts of service that Rook held so close and so dear to her heart. The thoughtful notice of her favourite drink, set aside just for her. The breakfast left by her seat at the kitchen table on mornings when she barely had the energy to rise. An extended hand to help her cross a fallen bridge, steady and unwavering. He was always there, always steady and caring, with a quiet kind of affection that spoke louder than words ever could.

So, she cared in return. She cared deeply and truly, as she found herself looking for him whenever time allowed, just to see the corners of his mouth lift in a smile that softened her world. She lingered near while he cooked, not just to watch, but to lend a hand where she could and to help him clean as he worked his way through his recipes. She made sure to give back the love he so willingly poured into others, crafting small moments of her own to show him he mattered. A new edition of his favourite novel hidden under his pillow, for when he couldn’t sleep. A story told just to make him laugh, as he covered his face in amusement. And when she caught the faint glimmer in his eye – a quiet sense of ease, a glimpse of comfort that told her he felt at home with her—her heart swelled.

One afternoon, she felt herself falling for him, as she came by the pantry to collect his empty cups. He greeted her with a soft smile, the kind that warmed her more than she cared to admit, and thanked her for her help as they carried the dishes to the sink. Without a word, as if guided by instinct, Lucanis reached for a piece of bread and a jar of honey from the shelf. His hands moved deftly, spreading the honey and slicing a few pieces of fruit, placing them neatly atop the bread. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was thoughtful.

‘Here,’ he said, offering the plate to her with a gentle tilt of his head. ‘You’ve kept busy today. You should eat something.’

‘I wish I could take you home after all this,’ she joked, resting her hip against the counter with a teasing grin, as she tasted the fruit. ‘Would you consider becoming my personal chef? Although, it would pay less than your current occupation, I suppose.’

Lucanis chuckled faintly, drying his hands on a rag, but his next words came quieter, as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. ‘Letting me take care of you would be enough of a payment.’

The air shifted between them as he looked up, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than usual. His eyes scanned her face, searching – perhaps for her reaction, perhaps for reassurance, or maybe even rejection. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say more, but uncertainty lingered in the silence, holding his next words at bay. For now. That was enough for Rook. She smiled widely, tilting her head with a lighthearted wonderment that softened the tension. There was no need to push, no need to rush. She would wait until the words became clear for him, however long it took. And in the long run, it was the words exchanged between Neve and Lucanis that Rook started to notice first. The soft tease hidden beneath the guise of casual conversation. The laughter that lilted through the air, over-the-shoulder banter exchanged as the two playfully flirted with each other during their travels. It was effortless, natural, and it tickled in a way Rook couldn’t quite name. It was something she and Lucanis had never shared. Something, perhaps, she was waiting for. 

She didn’t worry much; it wasn’t like her. It was more of a quiet, bittersweet acceptance she felt deep within her chest, because how could she fault him? She had fallen under Neve’s spell too, after all. So how could he not?

But the feeling lingered deep inside her. She longed to see him, to talk, to touch. No one had made her feel the quiet yearning, the timeless depth of affection that grew stronger with each shared moment. Rook had always loved deeply, with a steady and enduring strength, and now was no different. There was little to do but make it clear.

The party stepped through the Eluvian, the echoes of their shoes radiating around them in a cacophony of dull, resounding thuds. ‘Where. Are. Lucanis and Darin. When we. Fight. Antaam,’ Rook groaned, dragging herself to the nearest stone column and collapsing against it, her staff clattering to the floor beside her. She could feel every single bone in her body protesting, her muscles aching with exhaustion as though they might simply refuse to carry her any further.

Neve, still catching her breath, let out a soft, relieved laugh. ‘They’re probably at each other’s throats somewhere. Care for me to find them?’ she offered, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her damp forehead. Bellara, looking no less worse than her companions, heaved a sigh as she trudged to the Lighthouse entrance door and pushed it open, leaning heavily against the frame for support. ‘The only relationship I’m interested in tightening right now is the one between my head and the pillow’ she muttered. Rook winced as she straightened herself with great effort, her legs groaning under the weight of her own body. ‘I got it,’ she said, brushing herself off. ‘They are probably in the kitchen. Need to find myself a bite to eat regardless. And some bandages.’ Neve followed closely behind, her tone carrying that unmistakable smirk. ‘And some Lucanis.’

Rook paused, glancing up at her with a weary chuckle. Of course, Neve knew. She always did. There was no use in hiding anything from her – not that Rook ever had much success in trying. ‘If I’m the lucky one, huh?’ she shot back, raising an eyebrow playfully. Neve shrugged, her lips quirking into a knowing smile as she looked down at Rook, her tone light and teasing. ‘Luck is what you make it, Rook!’ she said with a wink before turning and ascending the stairs.

But the mirror claimed the opposite. Rook caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the reflection in the hallway on her way to the courtyard exit. Her hair was tangled and streaked with blood, her face bruised, and her armor scuffed and torn in places, crying out for repair. She made a mental note to drop it off with Harding before heading out again. Maker, she looked disgusting, and definitely most unlucky. The kind of worn-down, battered appearance that would make anyone else wince. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care – not after the day she’d had.

Her feet carried her further through the courtyard, her boots crunching against the gravel. The kitchen loomed ahead, a safe haven she desperately needed. She placed her hand gently against the cool steel door, ready to push it open, but paused, her ears catching the sound of voices drifting from within. She couldn’t make out the words at first, only the soft, muffled rhythm of conversation. The tone was light, familiar. It wasn’t loud enough to be an argument, nor strained enough to be serious. Something about it made her pause, her hand still resting on the door, as if some part of her wasn’t quite yet ready to step inside. 

‘Lamp oil. Everything stank of burnt tentacles for miles after.’ Davrin’s voice sounded relaxed. Amused, even? That alone peaked Rook’s curiosity. She stepped into the kitchen, her shoes making a soft scuff against the worn wooden floor as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside.

‘Rook!’ The Warden turned towards the entrance, a bottle of wine swaying precariously in his grasp. Lucanis sat beside him, lounging comfortably, a cup nestled in his hands as though it had always belonged there. His usual cautious demeanour seemed to soften under the warm haze of the drink. Rook approached them slowly, her hands settling on her hips with a hint of playful reproach. She couldn’t stop the side smile creeping onto her lips. ‘If the two of you were going to open a bottle, you might have told me first.’

Lucanis looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. She could feel a comfortable warmth spilling over her heart, a gentle pull in her chest as she studied his big, brown, yet currently murky eyes. They were soft, unfocused in a way that made her smile, and for a heartbeat, it felt like she was the only one in the room.

‘It’s not a good bottle,’ Davrin’s jest broke the moment, drawing Lucanis’ attention away. The Crow blinked slowly, clearly unfazed, and gestured towards the pantry. ‘Might have to pick up a supply. I have a feeling we’ll need it.’ Rook nodded, the smile lingering on her lips as she turned on her heel, her feet dragging just slightly as she made her way to the shelves. She reached for the first bottle of wine her fingers brushed against, not even bothering to check the label. ‘Is anyone else hungry? Maybe I should cook something?’ Lucanis’ remark made her chuckle under hear breath. Even under the influence, he couldn’t help himself.

Davrin cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and getting comfortable once more. His gaze darted toward her, completely ignoring the question hanging in the air. ‘What about you, Rook? What’s the worst job you’ve ever been on?’

‘You’re familiar with how this whole thing came about, right?’ Rook’s voice was steady as she moved about the kitchen, the sounds of utensils and the clink of ceramic hurting her ears. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her companions were both listening, then turned back to continue her search. It took a minute before she began preparing a plate. ‘Well, after today’s Antaam encounter, I’m not sure that was my worst one anymore,’ she continued, a touch of weariness creeping into her tone. It was a quiet admission, though her hands worked efficiently in preparation. It took a moment longer to finish, but she eventually gathered the plate and made her way back to the corner of the room.

‘Sometimes it’s good to put things into perspective,’ Lucanis spoke up, his voice soft but thoughtful as he swirled the cup in his hands, watching the wine spin and settle within. ‘Especially if it’s funny,’ Davrin added with a chuckle, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment. He began shifting things around on the table to make space for Rook’s plate. Rook couldn’t help but humour them, her lips curling into a small smile as she set the plate down in front of them. She chuckled along, though her voice held a playful edge. ‘So. My suffering entertains you. Got it.’ 

‘You joining us, then?’ Davrin’s gaze followed her movement with a sudden interest, his eyes flicking over her as if weighing the possibility. His thumb rested against his lips, caressing it in a barely noticeable way. Rook winked at him teasingly in response. 

‘Fine, I’ll cook something if Rook’s staying,’ Lucanis declared suddenly, getting up with surprising speed. He moved forward, standing face to face with Rook, his eyes widening as she extended a smaller plate towards him. He looked down, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to focus. ‘It’s some cheese and olives. And bread, with olive oil. I heard that’s how you eat it in Treviso,’ she said, her voice quiet and tender. She smiled gently, the warmth in her offer softening further as she added, ‘You mentioned you were hungry.’ 

Lucanis met her eyes, as he reached out to take the plate from her hands. His touch was gentle, and Rook couldn’t help but notice the quiet, polite gratitude in his movements. Her heart began to beat faster. She kept up the eye contact, just to relish the feeling. Maker, he was simply everything.

Lucanis nodded with a whisper, ‘Please, do.’

‘Rook’s story first. Then Lucanis owes me one about this contract on a bronto,’ Davrin said, shifting in his seat, his tone playful, but insistent, drawing their attention back to him once more. Rook raised an eyebrow, and threw him the bottle of wine with a practiced toss. ‘Mierda, that bronto,’ Lucanis muttered as he sat down, dipping a piece of bread into the olive oil with great care. 

The hours passed quickly, as they so often do with drink as company, each sip loosening their tongues and sharpening their tease.The room felt warmer, more comfortable, as the trio moved about, shifting seats and sharing stories. Davrin took a chance to demonstrate the time he had to lift a log by attempting to pick up both Lucanis and Rook at the same time. He breathed out exaggerated grunting noises as he did so, struggling with effort, and the room filled with laughter, carrying their chatter out the window and drawing in curious wisps. When he finally set them back down, the world felt a bit more chaotic, and it was unclear who sat where in the jumble of limbs and shouts. In the end, Rook found herself sharing the two-seater with Lucanis, their proximity natural and expectant, as though they’d fallen into this arrangement a hundred times before.

She could feel Lucanis’ presence closer, the subtle warmth of it pressing against her as she settled into the comfort of the company. The sweetness of the wine clouded her senses, soothing the edges of her fatigue, and she needed it – the reprieve, the breathe it allowed her to take. Somewhere along the line, she’d taken off her covering, unbuckling the straps of her belt and letting the weight of it slide off her shoulders. The casual robes she wore now felt infinitely more comfortable, a sign of surrender to the simple pleasures of the evening. Lucanis observed her in silence, his eyes flickering over the discarded pieces of clothing on the floor, as if they were the most intriguing thing in the world. Resting her tired feet up on the table, she let her body sink into the chair, eyes closing for a moment as she sighed deeply, a soft longing for peace washing over her. Without thinking, she shifted slightly, her head finding its place against Lucanis’ shoulder.

Davrin stretched lazily, lifting his legs to rest them on the table as well. He carefully moved Rook’s feet aside, settling them gently on his lap so as not to disturb her. The gesture was effortless, natural, and somehow just another part of the delicate balance of their shared space, like the room itself had drawn them closer into this small, peaceful circle.

Rook’s gaze almost unconsciously traced Davrin’s chest, up to his neck, and finally to his lips. It was a brief moment, but her thoughts didn’t linger there for long. They drifted instead to Lucanis, to the buttons of his vest, the way the fabric sat perfectly tailored against waist, and how the collar teased the line of his neck. And then, perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the effortless charisma that always seemed to radiate from Davrin. Perhaps it was the sensation of Lucanis’ hand resting just a little too close to her own, his fingers brushing against her knuckles softly, as though the touch became an extension of the comfort he offered. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the silence itself – the way it stretched between the three of them for just a moment too long, breaking the shackles of Rook’s heart and loosening her tongue. ‘Davrin, what does flirting mean to you?’ she asked. Lucanis lifted his head suddenly, and Rook could feel his gaze tracing the curve of her features. She pulled a strand of hair from her cheek,  giving herself a moment of focus as she tried to steady her pulse, which was now racing beneath her skin.

‘How come?’ Davrin rested his head against his hand, clearly entertained by the turn in the conversation. Rook smiled, her heart skipping a beat, feeling Lucanis’ hand twitch slightly against her own, as though her words had sparked something in him, too. ‘Well,’ she started, ‘you flirt with me, and others, ceaselessly. And since we’ve had our… talk about where we stand, you’ve got me intrigued.’ The words hung between them, half teasing, half serious, as her gaze met Davrin’s. The Warden chuckled with a low sound. He patted her shin affectionately before leaning forward, his eyes gleaming.

’I suppose there’s an element of fun that comes with it. It eases the tension. It brings people closer, instantly.’ He paused, his voice dropping slightly as if sharing something more intimate. ‘But there’s also a certain amount of freedom to it. No promises are made, and yet it brings a promise of something more, if both parties wish it. A bond is made, even if it’s just through, or for, the thrill of the chase.’

‘Something more…’ Rook repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. She turned the cup in her hand  absentmindedly, before taking a sip, feeling the warmth of the wine trickle through her as she thought about his words. 

Davrin’s eyebrow lifted for a brief moment, his gaze shifting as he observed Rook’s position with a quiet, knowing smile. He took in the loose strands of hair cascading over Lucanis’ shoulder, the way her fingers were subtly tensing under the Crow’s instinctive touch, and the way her head had leaned slightly to the side. The scene was unfolding in a way that was hard to ignore.

With a slight shift, Davrin’s hand fell to Rook’s leg with a quiet slap, the motion deliberate but light, as though making a point. ‘I’m not the only one here with a talent,’ he remarked, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. ‘The Crow over there has some interested parties swooning over his tactics.’

Rook corrected herself, sitting up straighter to face Lucanis, who’s eyes widened slightly at the mention. ‘That’s a good way of putting it. Tactics,’ Lucanis said, his voice tinted with hesitation. The Crow let out a short laugh, his hand running up the back of his neck as though trying to smooth over the unease that had settled in.

Rook turned toward him, bending one leg beneath her thigh to face him more directly. There was a small, quiet hesitation before she placed her hand gently on his shoulder, offering him a soft gesture of reassurance. Lucanis closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in her touch, as if savouring the connection. ‘I’m not very… practiced,’ he confessed. ‘All I know about flirting is what the Crows taught me. And perhaps a few serials.’

Rook exchanged quick glances with Davrin, who looked just as intrigued. She leaned in closer, her voice teasing but filled with curiosity as she spoke, ‘Yeah, I’m going to need some details on that.’ The Crow looked up at her, his expression still a bit embarrassed, but also a little resigned to the conversation now.

Davrin took the opportunity to pick up the wine bottle with an exaggerated flourish, and took a few slow sips, his eyes never leaving Lucanis. ‘Flirting is an effective way to gain information. To blend in. To gain someone’s trust. Everything a Crow needs on a job. Naturally, the art of romance is one of the chapters taught to us. I’m no exception.’ Lucanis muttered, drinking from his cup, trying to deflect. Rook shook her head, tilting it in a drunken haze. ‘So it means nothing to you?’

‘I know the talk. I am rather inexperienced in the play itself,’ Lucanis looked at her, as he put his cup down on the table. ‘It’s complicated. There are moments when I catch myself in the act, as if it was an instinct. Years of training will do that to you. My mouth speaks before my mind thinks and I often find myself surprised by my own actions.’

A beat. ‘But the real thing… A real display of one’s affection…’ He held Rook’s gaze. ‘I believe I’m still figuring it out.’

Davrin slapped his thighs, before getting up with vigour,  ‘Right. So the Crow flirts by accident is what I’m hearing.’

Rook blinked, her eyes searching Lucanis’ for a moment. There was a level of peace in his expression, usually overshadowed by the daily struggles they went through. A steady calm in-between the passing storms, unbothered and certain, like never before. Rook could hear Davrin’s footsteps against the stone floor, and a creak of the door. A pretend yawn, before a certain goodnight. She couldn’t be more thankful for his tact in that moment. 

‘Have you done it with me?’ She lowered her tone, as if sharing a secret just between Lucanis and her. The Crow matched the slowly blooming intimacy, his hand running up to his neck again. A chuckle left his throat, echoing against the empty walls of the kitchen. 

‘I think you would know if I had. The Antivan approach can be unmistakably direct,’ he kept up Rook’s gaze like never before. There was nothing except for the two of them anymore. Nothing, but the words shared, no energy wasted.

‘No, I mean the real thing,’ Rook moved closer. She studied Lucanis’ face for any trace of hesitation, anything that could suggest he wished for her to pull back. She was met with a kind smile, as his eyes traced away with his thoughts. 

’Rook… I’m not sure I–‘

‘I wouldn’t mind it.’ His eyes returned to her face, dark and gleaming in the candlelight. Rook could feel herself smirk ever so slightly. ‘In case you’ve ever wondered. Or considered. Me.’ Lucanis’ brow furrowed just a little bit, as he looked down to notice her hand on his own. Rook breathed out, a tinge of nervousness creeping into her mind. How long has she been holding his hand? ‘I care for you, Lucanis. I thought you might… want to know. Forgive me,’ she added, letting go. But then, she froze for just a moment. Her breath caught, and hesitation washed over her, as if the moment had suddenly grown too large to hold. She reached up, her fingers touching Lucanis' chest. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, each thump clear and reassuring. She observed how the material of his vest bent subtly under her touch, as though it, too, was yielding to her presence, allowing her to close the distance between them.

Lucanis took a slow breath, then another, his chest rising and falling beneath her hand, his eyes half-lidded as he watched her. Rook smiled widely at the simple, intimate sensation. She felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach but before she could let the silence settle too deeply, she felt his hand rise, gentle and certain.

His fingers cupped her palm, holding it lightly just above his heart. Lucanis’ lips parted, as if he was on the verge of saying something. Yet, Rook wasn't certain she could bear the weight of whatever words he was about to offer – perhaps it was too soon, or perhaps it was too much to be said aloud.

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she closed her eyes, taking a breath to steady herself, and slowly, she let go of his grasp. She rose to her feet, but to her surprise, his hand followed her, his fingers wrapping around her knuckles with his usual tenderness. As he stood up with her, there was no rush, no urgency. ‘I care for you, Rook,’ he said softly. ’Thank you for… this.’ 

She chuckled quietly, squeezing his hand once more before letting go.

‘My pleasure,’ she whispered back, her voice soft and carrying a quiet weight. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, but it shifted, pulled toward the door. With careful steps, she made her way toward the exit, her footsteps muted on the floor, as if the world around her had momentarily paused. As she reached the threshold, she stopped, her fingers brushing against the doorframe, and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding Lucanis once again.

He was smiling.

And that was always more than enough.

[housederiva]

Okay! Hi! I've edited it and added bits and now the part below has the spoiler removed so it should be safe to read if anybody wants to who didn't before (it is the start of Lucanis' recruitment quest though so keep that in mind)

The group had been standing before the eluvian for what felt like hours now, though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Bellara insisted on poking and prodding each and every corner of the mirror she could reach before any of the others so much as breathed in its general direction.

Much of the ministrations were filled with humming and quiet murmurs that couldn’t quite be understood. In the meantime, Harding busied herself with examining a small patch of clover before finally selecting the exact one she wanted to pluck and tuck safely within her satchel for later pressing in her journal.

It wasn’t lost on Rook how Neve kept glancing off into the distance towards a secondary eluvian. Unlike the one before them that was cradled in the arches of Treviso like a lover’s embrace, the one that caught her eye was surrounded by the unmistakable architecture of Minrathous, jagged like that same lover’s scorn. Harding’s nervous banter with Bellara while she worked did nothing to draw anything close to a smile on the detective’s face like she had hoped. Too lost in thought to listen in, Rook supposed.

She moved back under the guise of not wanting to be her fellow elf’s stepping stool so that higher sections of the glass could be reached. Only stopping her stride when she got Neve’s side.

“We’ll go to Minrathous as soon as we get back from Treviso,” Rook said, “Requests like this usually don’t take long.” She couldn’t look at the reflection of that city the same way Neve was, up until that moment it had never occurred to her to try.

Where Neve had a sort of reverence in her stare- a longing for the familiar, Rook had wariness and an urge to forget. While it was where Rook was born, it was never her home like it was for Neve who's childhood spent in its suffocating walls were full of laughter. For Rook there wasn’t even a childhood to begin with. The mere idea of walking the streets of High Town once more made her skin crawl.

Neve sighed, gently pressing two fingers into the soft spot below her eye socket where her bruise was the deepest, “It’s not all as bad as…” She trailed off, taking in the way Rook was staring at the secondary eluvian, “There are good people in Minrathous, Rook.”

“How would I know?” She sighed in turn, pushing away the seed of spite in her chest before it could fester into resentment. Neve and the Shadow Dragons weren’t at fault for the injustices dealt Rook’s way. They weren’t to blame for the people pressed under more powerful thumbs then the resistance could lift. She was once just one back bowed out of many, no need to be remembered or afforded special treatment in the grand scheme of things, “It’s hard to go sightseeing when you’re at the beck and call of a man more powerful than you.”

“Rook I-”

“Okay!” Bellara called out with several claps, effectively, and unknowingly, stopping the conversation before it could begin.

Harding, the ever-watchful scout, darted her eyes away from the two of them and back towards the mirror. The sad expression switched to embarrassment when she was caught staring.

“Great work Bellara,” Harding spoke up before Rook could, smiling in that gentle way that made her believe everything was alright.

The compliment was waved off the before any others could be added, “Pshh, All I did was double triple check the attunement spheres and a few other things, it’s no biggie.”

“It’s safe though, right?” Neve rested her hand on her hip, putting her weight off her prosthetic as she stared up skeptically to the rippling reflection of the city before them.

“Yes! Most likely…maybe.”

Before a deeper hole could be stuttered into, Rook put her hand on Bellara’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze “If you say it’s good, then it’s good.”

She was expecting at worst a despondent shrug and at best a half-felt delayed agreement from the other women after asking if they were ready to go. If Varric were there and not back at the Lighthouse resting, he’d give a short and sweet speech about being able to show off the sights of her city and how amazing it’d be that they’d be home in time for the dinner Bellara was so excited about making.

Instead of the laugher or an eye roll that he would have drawn out, she got three nods in unison, succinct like the speech she skipped out on.

It was only then that she released the tension in her shoulders, a bad habit she was never quite able to break out of, and let the gravity of what she was about to do fully sink in.

She was going home.

In her letter to Teia sent ahead through the eluvian with the aid of a crow conjured by her magic, she had explained what had happened in the most concise way she was able. Rook wasn’t expecting the ball of electric energy she had given wings to return with a letter penned by Teia’s own hand.

The messenger sent was a trick she had learned from one of the few other Crows capable of magic, maybe her proficiency with it was why Viago kept her around in the first place. Her teacher in that regard was Rico de Riva, a Crow only a few years older than herself. The skill and experience he had when they first met made her look like an infant in comparison but any resentment for him she had as a child had since bloomed into admiration.

Teia’s response was one sentence long, tucked elegantly within the paper sheet folded into a diamond: Come home.

Rook could hear the distant chiming of harbor bells where the freshwater of the canal met the salt of the ocean. The crickets and cicadas hummed alongside the lapping of water and creaking of floorboards. When she breathed out the stiffness her body held, the unmistakable smell of damp earth and seaweed washed over her. It was a scent that could not be duplicated anywhere else in Thedas and one she would make a candle out of were she able.

It had been over a year now since she was home. Thirteen months and twelve days since she was sent away. In that time, Rook had only ever gotten one letter from her Talon. It was dated six months beforehand and got to her four prior.

Idiot, the page began, which all in all was a good start to considering everything. I hope you’re reading this. That was all she needed to get to know that he still cared. However, to not go over the rest of Viago’s letter would be a disservice to the elegant swirl of ink that made up his chastising.

His handwriting had always been a comfort to her, a fact she knew Viago was well aware of. The first time she had ever seen her name written on paper- the name he gave her, it was penned by his hand. When she was young, Rook had spent hours copying in the way the tale of the R curled, the same way it did in the name of their house.

It was Viago’s handwriting that she had learned to read all those years ago. His that she had learned to unintentionally mimic. The same curve of the R and the G, the strike of the S's tail and the dot of the I. She didn’t have the shaky uncertain handwriting of a slave trying to be more, there were no words to express how grateful she was for that. Several heads of other houses were much less kind to their roost than Viago was to his.

He had a sternness, yes. A pension for annoyance and an unrelenting need for perfection for those under him. Rook could never say any of it bordered on cruelty. De Revia was lucky to have Viago, her family all knew that.

The Crows had members better suited for teaching a slave how to read, but Rook had curled her tiny little hand into the cuff of his jacket she held onto far too often as a child. She only had to ask once for him to say yes.

That closeness was a problem, she knew that now. The softness Viago gifted her could be seen as a weakness, it was something others were spiteful over. She was a possible poison he couldn't build an immunity to. Of course he sent her away after her blunder with the Antaam. She couldn't be seen as an exception to his standards.

The letter Viago had sent was a scolding, a reminder of her mistake and that she could return home after helping Varric. Despite the cold tone of the letter's center, she held onto it. With the aid of a small ball of veil fire, she’d read the opening and closing whenever the refret of being cast out became too much to hold. Teia told her once that his strengths were in beginnings and ends. While Rook never fully understood what she meant by that, she’d like to think she could see the sentiment reflected in letter.

Don’t get careless out there. Don’t fail. And don’t get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the fade myself. The blackened ink that closed his reminder at her superior’s lingering annoyance had a blue tinge that the rest lacked, signaling that it was written at a different time. ‘Don’t be careless’ was one of the first lessons her Talon taught her. In fact, it those were among the first words Viago said to Rook.

Over the years, she had watched countless parents kiss their children on the top of their head’s goodbye with a request for them to be safe before sending them on their way. Viago always told her not to be careless. Before any outing and every mission, it would be accompanied by a nod that she would mirror back without hesitation. She never had the tenderness of parent’s goodbye. Viago’s unspoken worry would always be worth more.

The first kindness ever afforded Rook’s way was the day Viago killed the man who kept her enslaved. A spice merchant from Minrathous who, in Rook’s opinion, wasn’t important. The terms leading to the man’s contract were never shared there with her, not that she ever asked. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

In the quiet of night, she could still hear the way Crows that were now dead snickered when he brought her home. Her throat freshly stitched together and dressed. The former master ordered Rook to stand in front of him as a shield and without hesitation she had complied. When the man realised that was not going to stop his soon to be assassin he slit her throat in a bid for distraction. It didn't work.

Those same snickering Crows thought that Viago took pity on her simply because Rook looked eerily familiar to Teia from a distance and similar to him upon closer inspection. Though none would be stupid enough to remark on the coincidence within either’s earshot.

Coffee black hair that sat in curls at the nape of her neck when she attempted to take care of it, tan skin a mix of the two of theirs. Her eyes were brighter in direct sunlight but, in the blanket of Treviso’s night, were the same slate blue as Viago’s.

Whatever the reasoning for his lapsed in judgement, it led to Rook bleeding out in Viago’s arms while she clutched up to the leather of his jacket. She could still feel the way her blood gurgled in her throat as she drowned. Now she wanted nothing more than the comfort of clutching onto his jacket as he muttered out, 'Well, that was rather careless of you.'

“Rook?” Neve led the charge of the others looking at her sceptically, “Are you ready to go?”

Okay! Who wants to give me a lil vibe check of the start of the fic I'm writing? It's an expansion on Lucanis' recruitment quest from my Rook's pov that'll have a one on one conversation with Viago in it. There's foreshadowing to a revelation/spoiler that comes at the end of the game though it's not outright said so reader beware (and thanks you in advance, my writing isn't the strongest)

They had been standing before the eluvian for what felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Bellara insisted on poking and prodding each and every corner of the mirror she could reach before any of the others so much as breathed in its general direction.

It wasn’t lost on Rook how Neve kept glancing off into the distance towards a secondary eluvian surrounded by the unmistakable architecture of Minrathous. Harding’s banter with Bellara while she worked did nothing to draw anything close to a smile on the detective’s face. Too lost in thought to listen in, she supposed.

Rook moved back under the guise of not wanting to be her fellow elf’s stepping stool so that higher sections of the glass could be reached. She only stopped her stride when she got Neve’s side.

“We’ll go as soon as we get back,” Rook said, “Requests like the one I’m making usually don’t take that long.” She couldn’t look at the reflection of Minrathous the same way Neve was, up until this moment it had never occurred to her to try.

Where Neve had a sort of reverence in her stare- a longing for the familiar, Rook had wariness and an urge to forget. While it was where Rook was born, it was never her home like it was to Neve. Her childhood spent there was a full of laughter, there wasn’t even a childhood to begin with. The mere idea of walking the streets of High Town once more made her skin crawl.

Neve sighed, gently pressing two fingers into the soft spot below her eye socket where her bruise was the deepest, “It’s not all as bad as…” she trailed off, taking in the way Rook was staring off towards the second eluvian, “There are good people in Minrathous, Rook.”

“How would I know?” She sighed, pushing away the seed of a spite in her chest before it could fester into resentment. Neve and The Shadow Dragons weren’t at fault for the injustices dealt Rook’s way, it wasn’t their fault that her people were pressed under more powerful thumbs then the resistance could lift. She was one back bowed out of many, no need to be remembered or afforded special treatment in the grand scheme of things, “Never saw much of it while I was enslaved you know.”

“Rook I-”

“Okay!” Bellara called out with several claps, effectively and unknowingly stopping the conversation before it could begin.

Harding, the ever-watchful scout, darted her eyes away from the two of them and back towards the mirror. If Rook had turned a moment later, she wouldn’t have seen the sad look in her eye.

Varric had said that Harding just needed time to deal with everything. But Rook had known her for months now, this wasn’t the same despondent sadness she had when they ran into a hitch in their plans. Harding looked lost, defeated. Like she was grieving something. That expression was amplified when Rook told to the group that she was going to the infirmary.

Someone should’ve let Varric know where they were going before their departure, to Rook’s confusion no one else brought it up. Harding spoke as a shell of herself when she asked Rook to say hello on her behalf, she couldn’t look her in the eye when she did so. Why?

One single ripple of pain, sharp and succinct, spiderwebbed its way from the base of Rook’s skull to the crown of her forehead. A caring hand ghosted over her mind, easing any worry before it could crystallize. In a blink, she had forgotten the question at the edge of her mind.

“Great work Bellara,” Harding spoke up before Rook could, smiling in that gentle way that made her believe everything was alright.

Bellara waved off the compliment before any others could be added, “Pshh, All I did was double triple check the attunement spheres and a few other things, it’s no biggie.”

“It’s safe though, right?” Neve rested her hand on her hip putting her weight off her prosthetic as she stared up skeptically to the rippling reflection of the city before them.

“Yes! Most likely…maybe.”

Before a deeper hole could be stuttered into, Rook put her hand on Bellara’s shoulder, “If you say it’s good then it’s good.” She was expecting at worst a despondent shrug and at best a half-felt delayed yes from the other women after asking if they were ready to go. If Varric were there, he would have given a short and sweet speech about being able to show off the sights of her city and how amazing it’d be that they’d be home before dinner.

Instead, she got three nods in unison, succinct like the speech she skipped out on.

It was only then that she released the tension in her shoulders, a bad habit she was never quite able to break out of, and let the gravity of which was about to do fully sink in. Rook could hear the distant chiming of harbor bells where the freshwater of the canal met the salt of the ocean. The crickets and cicadas humming alongside the lapping of water and creaking of floorboards. As she breathed out the stiffness, there was the unmistakable smell of damp earth and seaweed. A scent that could not be duplicated anywhere else in Thedas.

It had been over a year now since she was home. Thirteen months and twelve days since she was sent away. In that time, Rook had only ever gotten one letter, it was dated six months beforehand and got to her four prior.

Idiot, it began, which all in all was a good start to considering everything that led up to this point.

[drabbles-mc]

Home For Christmas

Steve Murphy x F!Reader

Inspired by the lyrics in This Post: "Don't come home for Christmas, you're the last thing I wanna see."

Warnings: angst, alcohol, language

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I've been having a rough time and decided that it was Steve's turn to suffer because of it. Writing lately has been difficult for a multitude of reasons, but I'm happy that I was able to get this out. As always, we don't beta or edit in this house. 😂

Narcos Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes @garbinge @meadowofsinfulthoughts @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @alm0501 @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @bport76 @marrianena @ashlingnarcos @passionatewrites @narcolini @purplesong1028 @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It had been a long time since he had made it back to the states. It had been even longer since he had seen you. The previous trips home had never been long enough, and what little time he had was spent visiting his family. The thought of a layover stop in Miami crossed his mind each time, but he never followed through on it. He had never been ready enough, brave enough to deal with the possibility of a bad outcome. And the possibility of that was a large one.

But he had managed to land a longer stretch home than usual. And it was almost Christmas—that in and of itself was a miracle because over the years he drew the short straw more often than not and got stuck in Colombia during the holidays. He didn’t love it, but it didn’t bother him enough for him to make a big deal of it. Steve had never really been a huge holiday guy. He didn’t hate the holidays, but he never seemed to be quite as into them as the rest of his family was. He certainly didn’t love them as much as you had. You had the whole house decorated the week after Thanksgiving. It was impressive. He had to hope that all of your holiday spirit would make you at least a little merciful when he turned up on your doorstep.

You never moved out and sold the house. He figured that after the first year or so you might’ve gotten rid of it, moved into something that was just yours, something that you didn’t use to share with him. But when he looked you up, it was still the same address. He wondered if you gave the place a complete overhaul. If it had been him instead of you, he would’ve just sold it and washed his hands of it. But it wasn’t him.

He had contemplated calling you first. Same address, same home phone number. He still had it written down, not that he had used it. It sat scribbled on the page collecting months and then years of metaphorical dust. He sat by the phone in his hotel room for longer than he cared to admit weighing the pros and cons of calling you. You might slam the phone down on the receiver as soon as you heard that it was him. You might indulge him in a brief, awkward conversation before still reaching the same conclusion of you hanging up on him. The chances of the two of you having a good catch-up session like everything was fine was slim to none. It was just about as likely as you agreeing to grab coffee to hear him out.

But maybe the urge to turn him away would lessen if you saw him in person rather than just hearing his voice over the phone. He knew it wasn’t a very fair play. He was aware of the fact that he didn’t really have much of a right to be putting you in that position. But his awareness didn’t outweigh his need to see you, to hear your voice. Even if all he ended up hearing from you was you telling him to leave. So he got up off the bed, grabbed his keys and his jacket and headed for the door.

He made one pit-stop along the way. Your love for the holidays coupled well with your love for something nice to sip on while you decorated cookies or watched the same cheesy holiday films you watched every year. Annual rituals that you never seemed to get bored or tired of. He hoped your consistency applied to your taste in wines as well.

He was a little surprised that he still knew how to make his way to the house. It’d been a long time. He knew that he was heading in the right direction as soon as he hit the end of the street though—he could see the Christmas lights before he even got all that close. It made him smile despite the knot that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

The car rolled to a stop on the side of the street right in front of the house. He noticed that your car was the only one in the driveway, which was a definite win in his book. The last thing he wanted to do was have this whole interaction when you had family or friends over. Or, worse, if you were with some new guy he definitely didn’t want him witnessing all of whatever this was going to be. Good, bad, or indifferent he didn’t want an audience watching how it all played out.

Even after he cut the ignition on the car, he didn’t make any immediate move to get out. He took in all of the lights that you’d hung so nicely. You always did have a knack for making the house look like something right out of a catalogue. More often than not, you took the reins on the decorating and he had just faithfully followed behind you, carrying whatever needed to be carried. He wondered who had been helping you out since he left, if you had even asked anyone for help at all. Neither of you had really ever been all that great at that.

He knew that the longer that he sat in his car, the more likely it was that he was going to start it up and pull away. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the passenger seat and grabbed the bottle of wine he’d grabbed. The girl at the checkout counter had so nicely put a bow around the neck of it when Steve made the remark that it was a gift for someone. He wondered if it would make any difference to you, if you’d even take the thing.

The walk up the relatively short driveway felt like it was about five miles long. Steve found himself repeatedly pushing his hair back out of his face, fidgeting with his jacket. It was like he had all the anxiety of a first date with none of the hopefulness of one. If his grip on the bottle hadn’t been so tight, he wondered if his hand would’ve had a bit of a shake to it.

Taking one last deep breath, he gave up on any opportunity to get out of this unscathed. He reached forward and rang the doorbell, rocking back and forth from the heels to the balls of his feet. He wished that he had taken a drink of something before doing all of this. Maybe it would’ve calmed his nerves. And, really, as he stood there he couldn’t help but to think that this wasn’t the kind of thing that sane, sober people did.

The click of a lock had never made him stand up as straight as he did right then. There was no turning tail and running now. His breath was stuck in his throat as he watched the door open, the small sliver of warm light growing the farther you pulled it.

Despite the mixed emotions on your face, you looked as beautiful as you ever had. His mouth suddenly went dry as he took in the sight of you for the first time in so long. You had your apron on, the holiday-print fabric already smeared with flour and food coloring from whatever you had been baking before he disturbed you. Your headband kept your hair off of your face, although it did nothing to stop the smudges that were on your forehead from wiping the back of your hand across it. The sight of you like that, in all of the glory that Steve still so fondly remembered despite all the time that had gone by, got the weakest of smiles out of him.

“Steve?” you said his name like a question even though it was so clearly him in front of you.

He cleared his throat, trying to get himself to say something—the exact opposite of the problem that usually had. “H-hey, Y/N.”

You knew it was him. It sounded like him. For the most part, he still looked like himself. He looked more tired than you remembered. You wondered if the stress was from the fact that he was on your front step after all this time, or if it was because of everything that he had left you behind for. Maybe it was both. If he was anything like the man you remembered, it was both.

“What,” you shook your head in disbelief as you leaned against your doorframe, “what are you doing here?”

He was sure that he had rehearsed a good answer to that question at one point. He just wanted to see you again. But he didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want it to feel like he was expecting anything from you. Because he wasn’t. He knew how unfair it would be of him to act like you owed him anything. Not after what he put you through.

“Got to go home for the holidays this year. Had, you know,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment, “had a layover in Miami.”

You nodded. You didn’t not believe him, but you also had an inkling that it wasn’t quite as serendipitous as he was making it out to be. “Right.”

With each millisecond that passed by in silence, he felt his nerves getting worse. “Sorry to just drop by without callin’ first.”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to say, “That’s not the thing you need to be sorry for,” but you didn’t say it. You stopped yourself just in time. Letting out a deep sigh, you asked, “What’s going on, Steve?”

“I just…” he shook his head at himself as he tried to cobble together a sentence, “I just wanted to see you, I guess.”

You chuckled but it had no humor to it. “You guess?”

He could feel the venom building in your voice and he knew that he deserved it, sure, but he didn’t exactly want to be subjected to it. “Y/N—”

“You know how long it’s been, Steve?” You weren’t yelling, but you obviously weren’t happy.

He frowned, like his whole face was being weighed down by the reality of it all, the sadness of it all. He’d never hated the sound of his own name so much. “I know.”

“Then,” you threw your hands up, “why are you here? What do you want? Feeling lonely for the holidays so you figured you’d just—”

“No,” he managed to sum up the ability to interject. “That’s not it. I’m not, I’m not lookin’ for anything from you.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” you asked, exhausted even though you’d only been face-to-face with him for a few minutes.

“Because it’s been a long time,” Steve offered up, knowing it wasn’t anywhere near a good enough reason, “and I’ve been thinking about you and—”

“Then you could’ve picked up the fucking phone at some point over the last—”

“I know.” He wasn’t trying to make himself out to be any better than he was. That wasn’t something that you would fall for, anyway.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You tellin’ me you wouldn’t have hung up the second you figured out it was me?”

“Rejection has never been a deterrent for you before,” you said with a shake of your head.

He chuckled softly at that. “I know.”

There were a few seconds of incredibly tense silence before you finally broke it with the soft-spoken question of, “What the fuck, Steve?”

Everything that he had rehearsed and tried to burn into his brain was gone. All the pacing in the hotel room as he came up with his script was for nothing. He’d done plenty of stupid things. The fact that he’d let you go in the first place was evidence of that. But as he stood there, looking at you in the doorway of the house that could’ve been something the two of you had shared, every poor decision came and smacked him over the head. Reality was merciless.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’ll just,” he gestured back towards his car, “I’ll go.”

He was halfway through taking a step backward when you asked, “How did you think this was gonna go?”

“I, um,” he let out an embarrassed laugh, “I don’t really know. I was sorta just…hoping for the best.”

You shook your head, the expression on your face impossible for him to read. “You never even called after you left.”

His heart sank inside his chest. “Would you have even wanted to hear from me?”

“No,” you saw the way your immediate response got a bit of a sad laugh out of him, “but you still should’ve called. I never even knew if you got down there safe until I reached out to your parents.”

His eyes widened. “You asked them?”

You shrugged. “Yea. It was the only way I knew that you weren’t dead in a Colombian jungle. Eventually, though, I just,” you shrugged again, “started to assume that no news was good news. If something happened, I was sure they’d tell me.”

That twisted him up in a way that he hadn’t been prepared for. There was no way that he could even try to pretend he knew what the words coming out of your mouth were going to be, but even so, he hadn’t been ready for that. Maybe he should’ve been. It wasn’t that long ago that you had been ready to spend the rest of your life with him, diamond ring and save the dates and all. But the two of you never quite made it there. He didn’t let you. But you’d been ready for a whole future with him. Of course you called his parents.

“They never mentioned me calling?” you asked, knowing the answer.

He shook his head, unable to say anything other than, “No.”

“All the good it would’ve done,” you said, sounding more hopeless than you wanted to after all that time.

He’d taken his fair share of hits over the years, but nothing ever landed quite as hard as the words you were saying to him. He owed it to you, though. Allowing you to say your piece and get your licks in after so long, after all the silence, it was the least he could do. Made for a much better Christmas gift than the bottle of wine he was still holding.

You saw the way that he had nothing to say quite yet. You supposed that you couldn’t really blame him too much for that. You took advantage of the opportunity. “If you came here looking for forgiveness, or for me to tell you that it’s alright, it’s…” you shook your head, hating how tears were starting to prickle at the edges of your eyes, “it’s not.”

Despite the fact that it was impossible, it seemed like he actually became smaller as he listened to what you said. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded. “Yea, and you should be.” You wiped at your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the tears hitting your cheeks, even though deep down you knew that wasn’t really what he wanted anyway. “Why now?”

He looked like a man lost at sea as he tried to fumble his way to an answer. “Figured it was overdue? I had some extra time at home? Fuck, Y/N, what do you want me to say? It’s the holidays and—”

“You don’t really care about Christmas,” you interrupted with a roll of your eyes.

“But you do,” he countered.

You let out a dry laugh. “Not enough holiday cheer in the world, Steve, to get you out of this.”

“I’m not tryin’ to get out of it.” He took a small step towards you. “I swear. I just…really wanted to see you.”

The look on your face was enough to fool Steve, but the rapid thumping in your chest meant that you couldn’t lie to yourself. You weren’t stupid enough to buckle underneath the suffocating weight of it all, even with him standing so close, but it was tempting.

You leaned back just the slightest bit. “And now you have.”

He pulled back, nodding as he did. “Right.” He cleared his throat, trying to stuff down his own emotions but wasn’t able to do it nearly as well as you. “I really am sorry.”

You gave a small nod. “I know.”

The unsteadiness in the breath he took was enough so that you could hear it. Still, he pressed on. He lifted the bottle slightly. “Still drink red?”

“Still want to give it to me?” you asked, half joking, half knowing that he would be well within his rights to take it with him.

He held it out to you. “Not like I’m gonna drink it.”

The gesture got a weak smile out of you. It was all uncomfortable. Nothing was ever going to be the same. He was still Steve, though, even with the dark circles under his eyes that didn’t used to be there.

“Thanks,” you said, not sure what else there was to say.

He knew that this was the point where he should be apologizing one more time before saying goodbye and heading back to his car. He tried to make himself do it, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t thought about how long it had been since he saw you, since he got to stand this close to you, until he was there and couldn’t pry himself away. He did it to himself, of course, but now he was stuck. He almost hoped that you’d just give him a good push—maybe that would kick him into gear.

“How much longer are you there for?” you asked, not quite sure where the question came from.

It caught him off-guard too. he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m only in town for a couple weeks. More than I usually get, but—”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “I mean—how much longer are you in Colombia?”

His shoulders slumped slightly at your question. “I don’t know. Till we catch him, I guess. Could be three months, could be—”

“Three years.”

He swallowed hard. “Yea.”

You didn’t know why you asked or what you thought he was going to say. You didn’t know what to do with the information he’d just given you. It would just be something new to keep you up at night. “Be safe, then. For however long it takes.”

He nodded, knowing that promising you that was a lie. “I will.” He wanted to hug you but he knew that he had no right. He finally forced himself to take a small step back. “Hope you have a good Christmas.”

You gave him the smallest, most genuine smile you could muster, and it still came up sad. “You too.”

He turned on his heel and started to make his way back down towards his car. The walk away from your house felt just as long as the walk up to it. He wanted to look back at you, but he didn’t think he could handle whatever look was on your face. It wouldn’t matter the expression, all it would do was hurt him more. He dug his keys out of his pocket so he could unlock the car.

You watched him as he walked away. Again. Fresh tears were trying to gather and you tried desperately to blink them away. The fingers of the hand that weren’t holding the bottle of wine were absent-mindedly fiddling with the bow that was wrapped around the neck of it. Even though it was late, and dark, the lights on your house reached far enough for you to be able to see the way that he slumped back in his seat, his head tilted back. You wondered if he had his eyes closed, if he was briefly regretting all his decisions. A small part of you hoped that he was.

You waited until you heard the sound of the engine starting up before finally stepping completely back inside the house and shutting the door. Leaning back against it, you let out a sigh, feeling the tension bleed out of your body as wave after wave of every other emotion rolled over you. Part of you felt like you should be doing something, but you weren’t quite sure what. Instead, you made your way back through the house, past the Christmas tree that was fully decorated with presents already underneath it, and back to the kitchen where you had a few trays of cookie dough waiting to be put into the oven.

Setting the bottle of wine down on the counter, you grabbed a glass from the cabinet. You pulled the wine bottle opener from the drawer before pulling the cork from the top. You poured it into the glass, making sure not to let the bow slip off in the process. Bringing the glass to your lips, you took a small sip, smiling despite the weight in your chest. A lot of things changed, but some things didn’t. So, you put the cork back into the bottle and got back to your cookies, a million old thoughts running through your head.

[majorasnightmare]

Please help me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , two queer trans/nonbinary 22 yr olds, find a place to live in 30 days.

Posted September 5th, 2019

I've neve made a donation post before so I'll just explain everything here

TLDR: Me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , both live with his mother in her apartment. After asking us to go unemployed for several months to avoid scheduling conflicts for things she wanted to do, she is now requiring us to both submit job applications and be hired by the end of today. We have 30 days to save money from that job before we are forced to move out. We have no money, no credit, and no friends nearby to live with, and the job she wants us to work at is one im incapable of doing so, due to symptoms of my mental illnesses. She is demanding we leave in 1 hour as of this post to apply at our McDonald's where she expects them to hire us on the spot and for us to begin working that job tomorrow.

Please, we need money to do literally anything about this situation. I'll put my paypal link under this paragraph. All money will be kept in paypal so that if the situation changes i can send it back to any donors without having to wait several days for my bank to process the transfers. Note: my paypal uses my legal name, one I'm normally loathe to put online, but emergency circumstances require it.

PAYPAL:

LONGER SUMMARY:

This morning, we were woken by @dantemoore0's mother, who gave us the news that we had to start working today and then move out in 30 days. Until this point, we had both been unemployed for several months, experiencing verbal abuse from her as she ignored our mental health issues and chronic fatigue and demanded we continously clean up her apartment, and regardless of how much we cleaned, we would be yelled at afterwards for not doing enough and for the house looking filthy anyways. She had been out of town the past 24 hours and we spent that time cleaning, and we didn't finish until 6 in the morning. My body is in so much pain I can barely walk, and I am incapable of standing for longer than a few seconds.

I am autistic, as confirmed by my mother, without any diagnosis paperwork as she declined so that it wouldn't show on my records and interfere with my future. I'm incredibly sensitive to touch and texture, and preparing food on the regular, quickly, is not something I am capable of doing. I am also in a massive amount of pain, and my anxiety is spiralling out of control to the extent that I uncontrollably spasm during panic attacks, which happen often now. These new symptoms are terrifying to me, and I've been regularly suicidal, which she claims makes me a selfish and disrespectful person to her. I have been continously going into shutdowns that render me completely non-verbal

I have $5 in my savings account, and $.83 cents in my checking, I have no credit card or any kind of credit history at all, and @dantemoore0 is deep in student loan debt he's been unable to make payments on, causing his credit to drop. He no longer qualifies for her previous credit union after being disowned from his formerly adopted family and has spent the past several years without a bank account.

We have 3 cats to take care of, which his mother got us after feeling guilty about the amount of stress she causes us, and we are almost solely responsible for their care and maintenance. We haven't been able to take them to the vet even once, and as such they haven't been spayed or neutered. Two of the cats are in heat and must be kept seperate from their male sibling, and one of those cats has a medical condition (we think) where she will remain in heat until she is bred or spayed.

I have no shoes to work in, because all I own are sandals that were gifts from friends to avoid overheating in the heatwave, and boots that were christmas presents from family. My last pair of work shoes was thrown out by her, and my partner's shoes are several sizes too big for me to wear

On top of this, our cats are running out of food. She refuses to get the kind of wet food they eat, and then, because they aren't eating the kind she does get, stated that she isn't going to get them more food because she's sick of the cats "wasting her food and money".

We have several tote boxes of belongings from when we moved in together that we have no place to store. We have no luggage for our things, and no dresser for our clothes, and no way to transport any of our belongings because neither of us has a license or a car.

We have a bug infestation thats from a combination of living above a Public Storage rental space (where she gets housing through her job), and my previous abusive family. As such, she made us throw away 90% of our furniture including our dressers and most tables and boxes. Most of our belongings now are expensive presents from friends and family over the years that, on top of being financially valuable, provide some of the only sources of emotional reprieve we have. If we continue living with her, she has said we would be required to throw those away for fears of bug infestation. These include both our TV's, all of our gaming consoles (2 PS4's, a PS3, a PS2, and a WiiU, all gifts) and most of our video games and DVDs.

We have no Wi Fi/Internet at our house, and rely solely on our mobile data to communicate and do things. We can only put in job applications on the rare times she can drive us to our college campus, where only one of us can apply at a time due to me no longer having my login info, because application websites crash on our phone even when using the desktop version.

My physical health is deteriorating rapidly. Both mine and my partner's mental health are going to hell.

Even after all that, I feel like I'm forgetting info. If i remember anything more, I'll edit this post, and put it under an Edits header, and date it.

For anyone who read this whole way and doesnt want to scroll again, I'll repost the link here. Again, all donations will be kept in PayPal until they need to be used, where I'll make a post to inform everyone that the money was spent and what it was spent on (with receipts as proof when possible). I want to be as reliable as possible on this