#and at the near total disregard of anyone else

[yllowpages]

john's not a hero. basically all of the choices he makes during his story are the wrong ones. he is in the wrong up until the last second really. yes, he wanted revenge on iosef for this despicable thing iosef himself did. but how many people did john kill before even getting to iosef? and then after? but he finally realizes at the last moment there's no way out. no matter what he does, he'll keep breeding more death, even if he gets his peace. and there's nothing left for him anyway. he thought he was living to keep alive the memory of himself and helen, but the longer he maimed and killed to do that, the more tainted the intention became. helen's last wish for him was that he would find peace. and he realized he would really only have it in death. so he does right by all the bad things he's done for these last months and weeks by allowing caine to walk away. helping caine out of his bonds so he can return to his daughter.

[patchs-curiosity-corner]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑺.𝑹. [𝟏]

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕 - 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: A new member is added to the BAU soon after Reid’s kidnapping. She seems determined not to overlook him.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: angst, hurt/comfort, slight arguing, themes of drug addiction and self harm, referenced overdose, likely inaccurate depiction of drug addiction/withdrawal, Spencer and Reader being insecure.

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.5k

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: Fair warning this could be horrible. It’s part one of hopefully six total oneshots stemming from the concept of ‘5 times you help Spencer Reid heal, and one time he helps you.’ So, heart attack levels of cheese. Largely inspired by my righteous fury when no one helped Reid with his addiction. I will do a tag list for anyone interested in being alerted when part 2 comes out! Not proofread.

𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

You and Spencer Reid don’t get along.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it; it would be more accurate to say that he doesn’t get along with you. You were brought on a month ago, 36 days 4 hours and 27 minutes had passed since you had first walked into the bullpen and given him one more person to deal with. It didn’t help that you were sweet, gentle and understanding in a way seemed to grate on his already frayed nerves. You’re 22, but only recently, recently enough to have just barely squeaked out the title of “youngest member to join the BAU” that had previously belonged to him. It’s a childish record, he’s a 25 year old man, and it shouldn’t affect him much less upset him, but it does. 

Your presence feels like a personal insult. Your arrival so soon after his kidnapping churns his stomach, makes him wonder if the team is questioning his capabilities as a profiler. Why else would they need to suddenly hire an extra person? Not-so-deep down he knows that logically, it probably had to do with the recent increase in the units budget. Nothing to do with him, but rather Hotch taking advantage of the opportunity to have another pair of boots on the ground during cases. None of that matters though, because Spencer doesn’t feel very logical right now.

He’s found more little ways to justify his distaste for you in the weeks since your arrival. The way you always seem to smile and nod along with his ramblings, despite the fact they’re not directed at you. You must be mocking him, he concludes, secretly patronizing him for his inability to shut up. Or the way you look at him after learning about his recent… ordeal with Tobias Hankel, the gentle sympathy in your eyes he willingly misinterprets as pity. He hates being pitied. He hates being patronized. He hates the analytical way you always seem to look at him, and he almost immediately convinces himself that above all: he hates you.

———

Something’s up with Reid.

You’d noticed it from day one, but it had been easy to disregard as growing pains. After all, with Emily having only joined months before you, you were sure there was going to be a bit of an adjustment period, especially when the sting of losing one of their previous teammates was still so fresh. You’d heard so many good things about Elle from everyone, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make you feel even a little bit insecure as the greenest among them.

It takes about a week for you to realize there’s something more to his behavior than awkward aloofness. The way he wears long sleeves even as the cool air of spring grows warmer, the near-constant twitch in his brow, and especially the way he seems to constantly fidget with those aforementioned sleeves, scratching nervously at his inner elbow. Even just the way his wiry fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, you can’t shake it.

Something is terribly wrong.

You try to remain casual, asking after him when he disappears into the bathroom for a touch too long, or when he takes a sick day that even as the newbie you know is out of character. Innocuous little questions like: “Is Reid alright?” or “Does he seem paler lately?” that gleaned no real answer from any of their teammates. It made you furious. Spencer was a part of their team, part of their family, regardless of his icy attitude towards you. So why wouldn’t any of them help him?

You watch him deteriorate over time, in the 36 days you’d spent on the team you’d been silently festering, mentally begging someone to do something, anything for Reid. Help him! your eyes beg Morgan, Hotch, Gideon, JJ, anyone. He’s going to die like this…

…but no one does, and enough is enough.

———

Spencer can’t eat, he can’t sleep either. Whenever he tries to his mind is filled with the memory of the horrible night he spent with Hankel, his crystal clear eidetic memory forcing him to relive that torture again and again the moment he closes his eyes. He knows there must be dark circles under his eyes, that his cheeks are likely sunken and pale, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. He’s certain the others must have noticed, there’s no way they couldn’t. But he tries to convince himself they haven’t, because if they had and no one had checked on him? …He doesn’t want to consider that reality.

The soft rapping of knuckles against his door stirs him out of his sleepless daze. It’s late, late enough that no one in their right mind would be awake right now, much less knocking on his door. In his drained state he heaves himself off the couch, plodding with weighted feet over to the door of his apartment. He doesn’t bother to check the peephole, if he did maybe he wouldn’t have been so startled by who he sees upon pulling open the door.

You.

A travel bag slung over your shoulder and a determined look set on your features. You both just stand there for a moment, until your voice breaks the silence.

“Hi.” It’s just one word, but it tugs at something inside him he can’t quite name.

“Hey.” He croaks back apathetically, or at least he tries to. Before he can say anything else or even question what you’re doing you push past him into his apartment, tossing your bag onto his kitchen island. “What the hell-“ Is all he manages to get out, irritation swelling in his chest as he scowls at your form, looking at him with arms crossed, fingers picking at the frayed edges of your sweater.

And just like that it’s quiet again. It’s his voice that breaks the silence this time, quiet and tired: “What are you doing here?”

“Make sure you don’t die, hopefully.” you murmur, your own voice cracked by anxiety and a frail attempt at humor. “Where are they?” That makes his jaw tighten, you both know what you’re talking about, and it causes long-suppressed frustration to boil up in his chest.

“You have no right to be here. You- you have no right to look through my things.” The words are gritted out through teeth clenched so tight you worry they may crack. It’s painful, watching him fight so hard against the help you’re trying to offer.

“Look, Spencer” you sigh, unable to hide the pained expression of your own face, “Hotch knows. I talked to him about it.” You brace for something, anything. Maybe shouting, you seriously doubted Reid would ever consider laying a hand on you but… drugs did funny things to those you would have thought you knew. “S-so you either let me help you, or I’ll be forced to report your current addiction to Strauss.” Your voice had wavered at the beginning, but the more you spoke the more conviction bled into your voice. Soon all the pent up anxiety and worry for your brilliant coworker was pushing you forward, fueling your words. “I won’t stand by Spencer, because if you keep going like this it’s not a matter of if but when it kills you, and that is the last thing I would ever want because you are too damn good for that.”

Reid glares at you, every ounce of misplaced anger in his system directed at you alone in a gaze far more furious than you or anyone thought him capable of. Then his shoulders slump, and that tired, worn appearance returns. He could deny it, claim you had no proof, but with no energy left in his tired, broken body- He didn’t have it in him to lie. When Spencer finally speaks it’s quiet, and reluctant.

“In the bathroom,” his voice croaks, “Inside the medicine cabinet.”

He would have expected you to immediately go there, to play the role of drill sergeant for his sudden makeshift rehab, but you don’t. Instead your own shoulders sag, and in a number of slow steps you cross the room to where he stands, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. Spencer goes stiff at first, unable to process the sudden display of affection, why this girl seems to care so much about him when he’d been nothing but distant to her at best. After everything he’s been through though -even with his germaphobia- it’s impossible not to relax into the embrace, his own slender arms wrapping around you in return. It’s nice to be held again, he thinks.

“This is going to be awful.” You mumble against his chest, “A week and a half, that’s all Hotch could give us. Far as anyone’s concerned I had a family emergency and you’re on a mandated sabbatical.” It takes him a minute or so to process her words, stuck in the haze of affection after going to long without.

“…what are you talking about?” Reid asks, his voice is quiet. He can’t understand why you care so much, he just needs you to go away now, before he gets addicted to your presence as well. Before something happened to you and you left; like his Mother, like Elle.

“Getting you clean.” You say hesitantly, finally pulling away from him after what felt like a peaceful eternity. “Under normal circumstances quitting outright is a terrible idea, but-“ you swallow thickly- “you’re a federal agent, so there’s a clock ticking.”

“And your plan is…?” Spencer sighs, running a heavy hand through his hair and down his face. He tries to ignore the feeling that lingers, the ghost of you in his arms.

“Stay with you through the inevitable withdrawals, I hope.” The words are tentative, not as confidant as before while you pick nervously at the sleeve of your sweater. “The first thing I have to do is get rid of all the Dilaudid in this apartment.”

His body goes rigid again, this time with the flash of panic that goes through him at your words. Hands clenching and jaw tightening, the thought of losing the thing he’d come to rely on so desperately makes him terrified. Part of Spencer wants to say ‘no,’ to stop you- beg you not to let what gave him peace drain away… But he just can’t muster the energy, forced to watch in dejected silence as you conduct a thorough search of his apartment for the offending drug -his only comfort and companion in these past two months- and dispose of it, all in a few moments. Gone.

Once you’re finished, you settle yourself on his warm, comfortable couch, letting out a quiet sigh as you wave him closer. “C’mere.”

Reid lets himself be touched for the second time that night, accepting your offer and laying his head on your lap. He’s quickly hit with a hazy feeling as your fingers slide into his hair, playing gently with the chocolate strands and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Are you angry with me?” You ask softly after a moment, concerned by the silent treatment he was currently giving you. Again he can’t lie to you, even compared to the unwillingness to admit his fear and anger. In an act of petty rebellion he refuses to look at you when he answers.

“…yes.”

“That’s alright.” He hears you reply, as soft and gentle as everything else you had been so far. “You can be angry, Spence.”

“Why are you even here?” He bites back, a storm of emotions behind his eyes as he finally looks up at your face: anger, sadness, confusion, fear. The brilliant ‘boy-genius’ reduced to an absolute mess.Your answer is just as easily spoken and simple as before: 

“Because I care about you.” Those five words ring in his head even as you continue. “Because despite how we started out you are an incredibly genuine person, Spencer, and probably one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Spencer shakes his head, for once lost for words. Why were you here, being so nice to him? Why did you even care in the first place when he had been so cold and hostile to you over the past month. 

“I don’t- you shouldn’t care.” He spits out, turning away from her. The action feels petulant.

“But I do.” You say a hint of amusement in your voice despite the circumstances. “And you can’t stop me from caring.”His face feels hot, and his jaw clenches again as he rolls back over to hide his face in your stomach. Reid mumbles in a voice almost too low to hear: 

“You’re frustrating.” It makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry Reid,” you say through your laughter, “the feeling is definitely mutual.”

———

The next week is just as brutal as you had both been expecting.

Spencer didn’t know what he expected drug withdrawal to be like. He’d read plenty of textbooks sure but they did nothing to prepare him for a firsthand experience. The only way he can think of to describe it is pure, unadulterated misery. His body struggles without consistent doses of Dilaudid to keep him going, it’s evident he had become much more dependent than he realized in a short amount of time. He can’t eat, he feels violently sick. Too hot one moment and freezing the next with his emotions following much the same kind of roller coaster.

You stay through all of it, keeping him comforted during panic attacks and soothing his fevers with a cool washcloth as you try to get him to drink just a little more water, even if it may come back up minutes later. You’re tired, exhausted even, and yet you won’t leave Spencer’s side for more than a second. It’s easy to endure the moments of anger he has, shouting and cruel words flung in your direction are hardly any price at all if it means he might recover faster. He doesn’t understand how you take it, all the snapping, screaming and crying. Reid takes out every anxiety and fear he has on you, and still you remain in the end, ready to let him fall into your arms again and cry like a child.

He feels guilty, ashamed even in this state. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness weighs heavy on his heart, but little by little, things do get better, even if he doesn’t notice at first.

It must be the 8th day of this hell when he realizes that slowly, far too gradually for him to notice: things have returned to something oddly adjacent to normal. Sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of warm honey tea in his hands, watching you hum along to the radio while you prepare breakfast… Spencer almost feels human again. Things weren’t perfect by any means, his hands still trembled, the ghosts left behind by the worst of it all still tugged at his mind, a familiar voice begging him for just one more hit. But the voice is tiny now, easier to ignore. It was strangely peaceful, in fact, the way he could sit at this table and observe the domestic scene of you cooking breakfast in his kitchen. His chest warms pleasantly, and for what feels like the first time in years:

Spencer can finally breathe.

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! I have a request, if you please could you write plus size!reader coming home to find one of the marauders (your choice) in her clothing. I think it’d be super duper cute. If you have written anything similar to this you can obviously disregard.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

modern au

Sirius Black x plus size!reader ♡ 743 words

You come home, chilled and damp, to a boyfriend who is looking especially soft. 

“Hey.” Sirius props himself up where he’s sprawled across the couch. His skin glows blue in the light from the TV, and there’s a crease on his cheek like he might’ve been sleeping before you came in. His hair is down and fluffier than normal, a shorter piece falling near his face and curving along the inside of his jaw. He’s the picture of loveliness, but worse, he’s wearing your hoodie. Your favorite one, with the soft fuzzy inside and the sleeves long enough to pull over your fingers. “You were supposed to text me when you got off.” 

“My phone died,” you say. 

Sirius tsks, getting up and arching his back until it cracks satisfyingly. “Poor girl. So you had to walk all this way in the rain, hm?” He meets you by the door for a kiss, thumbing at your cheek tenderly. “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah,” you agree. You sound about as smitten as you feel, and your boyfriend grins smugly. “Is that my hoodie?” 

Anyone else might look down to see what they’re wearing, but Sirius only keeps looking at you. He hasn’t forgotten. “It is,” he says. “You couldn’t honestly expect me to bear the burden of your absence for the entire day, sweetness. A man has to cope.” 

You feel your lips curve unwillingly. “Right. My mistake.” 

“Don’t make it again.” He smacks your bum and goes into the kitchen. You’re a bit too lovesick at the moment to retaliate. “Want me to make you hot cocoa?” 

What you really want is to drag him back to the sofa so you can have a nice warm cuddle with your extremely cuddly-looking boyfriend, but it’s your job to be the sensible one in this relationship. And the sensible one doesn’t get the couch wet. 

“Please,” you agree. “I’m going to go upstairs and change.” 

It proves hard work peeling your work clothes off your damp skin. You hear Sirius’ steps on the stairs when you’re only just tugging your pants off your ankles. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at the sight of you, sitting on the bed in your underwear. “I don’t see why you ever put on more clothes than this, darling. I quite like clothes, but I’d be happy with this all of the time.” 

You give him a wry look, having recovered somewhat from your shock of adoration downstairs. “I think my boss might take issue with that proposal.” 

“Not after she gives me some time to tell my side of the story.” Sirius walks past you to set your hot cocoa on the nightstand. His eyes stay on you the entire time. When he looks at you like this, it’s like you can feel the physical weight of him pressing you into the mattress even from across the room. Your body feels pleasantly warm and heavy. “If you do need to put something on, though,” he says, starting to pull your hoodie over his head, “use this.” 

“I have other sweatshirts,” you say when it lands in your lap. “Why do you want me to wear this one?” 

“So I can steal it back,” Sirius says happily, “and it’ll be nice and warm.” 

You huff a laugh. “Doesn’t seem fair. I didn’t get that benefit, you’re like a vampire.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve told this joke, so your boyfriend’s reaction is predictable (it’s why you keep telling it). In two quick strides, he has your wrists pinned beneath his hands and his mouth on your neck. 

He takes your skin between your teeth, biting down gently. “Gotcha.” 

You make a faux distressed sound, but you’re unable to suppress the giggle that bubbles up in your chest. Sirius kisses the spot lightly. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you, rubbing his hands over your thighs. “The transformation’s totally painless, and you’ll make a super hot vamp. Now put on the sweatshirt.” This last part is said completely soberly.

“Alright, fine,” you relent. “But don’t expect to get it back warm now that you’ve vamped me. And I don’t even think I can wear this one as often anymore now that I know how good you look in it.” 

“Not nearly as good as you do, gorgeous.” He kisses you sweetly, your smiles a mirror image. “But we may have to work out a custody agreement, yeah. This one always smells the most like you.”

[my-writing-street]

hey queen what if you made ein and reader into the trope of "oo you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid" reader x "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!" (does in fact want them) ein

HAHSHDHD OK LOL

this is being set in highschool btw

anyone else reading this I haven't watched mystreet in years pls forgive any OOC actions

Ein knew you were bad news. Disregarding the fact that you're in the Shadow Knights, something about you just.. makes him feel wrong. His body sounded the alarms whenever you were around, and even the sight of you would make his face red with embarrassment rage.

He already knew his day was going to be awful when the two of you crossed paths this morning. Your infuriatingly alluring eyes creased with a smirk as you rounded the corner to him. His back stiffened.

"What's wrong, doggy?" with your hands behind your back, you started to circle him. Each tap of your foot meeting the ground made his ears twitch against his own will, which you unfortunately caught.

"Twitchy twitchy.." you hummed, voice low and taunting. His heart beats faster every time you open your mouth and his face twists into a scowl before you can continue.

"Can't you tell when you're unwanted." He snarls, hunched over defensively. "Or are you just that dense?!"

"Woah oh, and the teeth come out! Did you miss your morning walk, Blue?" Seemingly unfazed by his posturing you continue to rile him up. Even going so far as to laugh at him! Sometimes , Ein wonders if he's even intimidating you at all. Maybe you're just stupid or something...

...

You know what, he's better than this. Ein doesn't have to stand there and listen to you belittle him. He can leave! He can totally leave! In fact, that's exactly what he's going to do!

A puff of air escapes his lips as he purposely relaxes his body. A flint of confusion passes over on your face at his new stance but it's quickly patched over with more haughtiness and just a pinch of interest.

"It's.." He bites his lower lip, giving up on his sentence before he readjust his bag straps and turns to leave. "Whatever."

A scoff sounds out behind him, and as he turns the corner he can just make out your annoyed mumbles.

"...Typical dog. Tch, running away with your tail between your legs.."

Ein's bag was on the floor. Biology homework was still floating in the air by the time he slammed your back against the wall.

Hot breath fanned across your nose and sharp claws came dangerously close to piercing your shoulders. Leaning above you was Ein, ears at attention and glowering.

"By Irene..! You just CAN'T keep your mouth shut!" Shaking with rage, you could practically see the steam puffing from his ears. But even as with his teeth bared and little pinpricks of blood welling up from your shoulders, all you did was grin a wickedly satisfied smile.

"Because you love to hear me talk, Blue." You laughed like you found this whole thing so pathetically intriguing. And he slammed your back into the locker doors once more.

"I'LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS."

Across the hallway, near the doors, three other werewolves stood watching. Dottie, Rylan, and Daniel looked at each other, then at you and Ein, then once more at each other.

Finally, after they had migrated a bit farther from the scene, Daniel spoke up.

"Should we, y'know.. Do something..?" He whispered as to not pique your attention. Dottie slung her head in his direction, in disbelief that he would even suggest a thing like that.

"And get between those two!?" Her yell was not so dramatic that it would alert anyone but their little trio, but was still dramatic enough to get her point across. "Are you crazy!?"

"But, Ein is.. taking it kinda far.. And [Name] is-"

Rylan cut in. "Don't worry about it." He placated, patting Daniel's shoulder. "It's best to just report it and not get involved." Rylan made a gesture like he would start walking away before he paused.

"Besides." He waved for the both of them to join as he actually started walking. "Ein's tail is wagging."

"What??"

"No way!"

Thankfully, the wolf trio had made it out of sight and out of hearing range or else Daniel and Dottie's exclamations would have certainly alerted the both of you.

Still, Dottie couldn't believe it! Lagging behind, she backed up a few steps and quickly turned her head to look at you and Ein once more. I mean, there's no way his is actually wagging-

Ah.

It was.

[fruitless-vain]

Oooooookay here comes the rant post

What happened: jacks old coworker had a series of unfortunate events happen that resulted in them being homeless and jobless. We offered a place to stay first month rent free while they get a job, $200 a month after the fact just to cover absolutely bare bones basics so they can save up and move out quickly. Started out with him putting on a great people pleasing act and quickly turned in to a nightmare.

Ye animal related rant list:

Given explicit instructions not to do xyz with Yoshis because she is a service dog that cannot get in to these bad habits. One moment I see him telling her to eat something off the floor, I pick up the item and politely tell him she’s not allowed to do that since scavenging while she’s on the job at a restaurant would get us kicked out. I reward her for not eating the thing, turn my back for two minutes just to hear him whispering “eat it, take it, you can have it” once again encouraging her to eat off the floor

Initially I was letting her follow him downstairs, whatever, dudes going through a bad time and a happy dog makes anyone better. Until I learned he had been feeding her HUGE doses of food off his plate I’m talking larger than her entire meal and was feeding things that are outright toxic for dogs. I only found that out because Yoshi would throw up in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason. Asked him and sure as shit feeding her toxic things.

Repeatedly got in the way of Yoshi retrieving medications as well as actively trying to distract her while she was doing DPT for a medical episode.

On the first day I told him it’s hormone season for the parrots they are aggressive and sensitive right now please just ignore them, don’t interact with them at all, it will make things so much worse and someone will get bit. A couple days later he taunts Newt by wagging his fingers in front of him deliberately trying to set him off, I immediately tell him to stop in a very stern sharp tone, he blatantly ignores me, I have to raise my voice to get this grown ass man to stop harassing Newt. This disregard resulted in Newt flipping so bad he is now totally unhandleable I have to wear bulky headphones a loose sweater and a hood because he will launch to bite anyone to moves right now. Thanks for that genius.

Explained how scents will kill the birds, please smoke outside away from any open windows, wash your hands// air off before going near the bird room so the smoke residual doesn’t kill my pets. Does a mostly okay job at smoking away from windows, for whatever reason thinks smoking outside open doors is fine though? No attempt to ensure he doesn’t reek of cigarette before going down near the bird room. No effort not to kill my animals.

All my animals are clean and well maintained to the best extent an animal can be. He will pet sham then immediately make a snarky statement about him being gross or having to wash his hands now bc gross, smell his hands and huff away to wash his hands before resuming something dramatically. Just don’t pet him then? He’s a dog.

Finances:

We paid for everything for the first chunk with 0 need for payback because we wanted to help him out. Get some new clothes, the basic hygiene stuff, cover one tank of gas so he can hand out resumes. A startup base to get back on your feet with. Anything past that point that he asks for from us was agreed upon to be paid back whenever possible. He owes us over $1000 currently and has paid us $10 to take off of that debt. It’s been two months, he got a job within the first week. The only other payment has been the $200 rent agreed upon for the second month. Anything else he has ever “attempted” to pay us back with he would ask for it back within 8 hours.

Which wouldn’t be the biggest issue if not for the fact that: he has gone out drinking at bars every weekend, got a new girlfriend and has been buying her stuff/ giving her gas money/ paying her bills just for funsies, he started eating out and refusing to make food with the Free Stuff We Supply. He has the money to spend and pay us back. He just won’t.

Wasting, Everything. He showers twice a day every day. Our water bill has gone up $150 on his water usage alone. He will make a huge plate of food then just leave it sitting out all night and throw it away. He will cook 6 eggs at a time for himself then not finish it consistently. Make Less Next Time or USE THE FRIDGE.

He leaves every single light on and I don’t mean oops I left it on when I came upstairs and forgot. I mean he will leave at night to go to the bar and leave four lights on, the computer running and everything on high to go out for 4-6 hours. I am now acting like the parent of a child having to listen for his car driving away to go down the stairs and shut everything off god forbid my hydro bill pay the price and the birds be stuck with lights blaring keeping them awake.

We are flat broke right now, we have run ourselves dry, we made it very clear that past the first batch of purchases we got for him his expenses were his responsibility. He has asked for gas money every week since the start. He will make up some story about his car just burning through gas “it must be broke !” “Just filled it now sure how this happened???” For the first bit we went along with it adding it to list he owes us for but it quickly became a clear habit so we stopped. IMMEDIATELY started guilt tripped and being manipulative about it. Sending pictures of a car on E on the road after we said no, going “well where’d that 10$ I gave you go?????” Being super pushy and not taking No I don’t have money to give You as an answer.

Keeps wanting to do the grocery shop with this undertone of “I want to do the shop without you there so I can over buy things we don’t need and you’ll have to foot the bill for it” constantly mentioning things like expensive meats he wants to eat, buying excess of things we already have in the house, brands and things we cannot afford. Initially I interpreted his offers as kind like oh this is a hard task for me he wants to help! But this one day he was supposed to do it but we were out of pizza sauce and I was literally in the middle of prepping the dough so I just ran out and did it. He was So Mad that he didn’t get to do it like sir? Wtf was so important about groceries that I’ve foiled your plans here? What the HELL were you going to do?

Jack also smokes, if you buy x amount of cartons you get them cheaper so they were going to buy x amount and split the bill together. Dude smoked like 5/6 cartons all by himself. To add to this I have found his cigarettes all over my front yard from him smoking in his car and throwing it in to the grass, also some left at the side door instead of the ashtray that’s right the fuck there. On top of that half of these are still like full cigarettes? Just completely wasting shit that’s already a chaotic price for a habit he certainly can’t afford.

Habits:

We’ve had alcohol sitting in our house since our wedding. We don’t drink much but every now and then we celebrate something and have a nice night together. It’s nice having the booze sitting there for those random times we can have some fun without spending any money cause it’s already here. He drank a full bottle of vodka, rum, gin, kahlua, and wine within the second week of being here. It was all gone in a night.

He is incapable of flushing his own toilet. Every morning after he leaves for work I have to do the round shutting off the lights and discovered that he just leaves his shit to ferment all day long. There is piss splash all along the seat and surrounding floor. It reeks like a porta potty. It’s fucking disgusting.

Lies about it every tiny little thing, pretended I just didn’t buy two chocolate bars I mustve only gotten one and that’s why only one is in the pantry now. I found the wrapper on the floor of his room for that bar. Says he’s staying in this weekend doesn’t want to go out drinking can’t afford it then immediately goes out. Says he has no money for gas he can’t be doing anything then goes to drive to a fro around town for no reason other than to just drive.

Gotta love the casual bragging about all the “chores” he’s done so we should be grateful (he washed his own frying pan he used and the whole house needed to know about it)

Weaponized incompetence. Ohh I didn’t know the dishwasher was clean! There’s a giant sign on the front that says clean. Deliberately messing up cookies he wanted to make four times for his coworkers so that I would have to do it for him (that didn’t work, enjoy bringing gross cookies in, magically he made them perfectly the next time)

My all time favourite of “I think I’ll do X!” And then standing in the kitchen staring at me waiting for me to get up and do it for him. Boy does he every huff and puff when I do not move and just go “enjoy” when he starts asking 20 questions back to back to trigger me to just do it myself it’ll be easier I instead just go “idk” “try asking google”. Suddenly he’s capable of doing the thing with no further questions.

Claims to be a neat freak, will make an underhanded comment about dog fur or a bird poop on the couch or some other very small not a big deal thing then fails to even keep his bedroom clean. I have had to clean up sticky coffee spills from the hallway, deep clean the stair he covered in mud and clay, his room has no visible floor, need I mention the state of that bathroom again? Neat freak my ass you just want to complain and talk shit without sounding rude?

Dramatic gagging sounds whenever he sees a bird poop. Pretended to “help” by picking up a dog poop (which we didn’t ask him to do it’s our dog we’ll clean it) and then dramatically fake vomiting the entire time until one of us walked over took the bag from him and did it. Our dogs are on raw, the poops are small and have very minimal smell. No one asked him to do this if you were truly this bothered by poop you would just not. You just wanted to make a scene. About how Gross our animals are cause that seems to be all you do in a day.

Keeps going out the side door to smoke in the middle of the night then not locking the door when he comes back in.

Goes out every night drinking then spends all day bitching about not getting enough sleep

OH MY GOD I can only take Advil for my migraines bc of my heart medication. We have Tylenol for everyone else. HE TOOK THE ENTIRE BOTTLE OF ADVIL IN ONE FUCKING NIGHT. So I’ve been stuck with debilitating pain and no pain relief because it’s expensive as fuck. The bottle of Tylenol was also half chugged down by the next weekend. We will not be buying more.

Any and all leftovers I have from cooking for myself and Jack (I cook meals for all of us if he’s home but if he’s not I won’t bc who knows what time he’ll show up) he just eats without even asking. Most of the time the leftovers are for my flare up days so I can eat when I’m in pain. He’s been told this. He doesn’t care. If there is food pre made he will consume all of it it doesn’t matter if it’s way too much for one person to eat. He’ll just leave it out all night for a week to rot in the basement. Otherwise the only thing he will cook for himself is eggs. Expensive. We no longer buy eggs he can buy his own to feed that expensive diet choice.

Common sense not to use metal on things like frying pans and baking sheets. I inform him of this anyways, do not cut directly on my pizza pans. It will make them rust and no longer be non stick. These are new. Don’t damage them. He was supposed to be home for home made pizza, didn’t show until like 2am. I left cooking instructions with the dough pre set up for him just need to put on toppings bake and serve. I left a note saying “do NOT cut on tray” he cut on the tray. This was the second time. Both trays are permanently damaged. My notes were found in the oven burnt. Thanks for the fire hazard.

Complains about there being insects in the basement (there’s the occasional spider and we’ve had some rain so the occasional little wood bug is piping up the escape the rain) it just needs to dry and they’ll be gone. It’s a basement. There’s gonna be some spiders n shit. Bitched about there being ants. I’ve never had ants in this house anywhere, lo and behold leaving his food out all over the damn room attracted them. Told him this fact. He goes no it couldn’t possibly be that and demands to use chemicals (bird death so NO). Eventually got him to bring up his dishes and BEHOLD the ants are all gone.

Bitched about it being cold in the basement, (it’s warm enough for my tropical parrots?) we bought a second space heater for him. Yet he doesn’t use the spare blankets down there at all, still complains about it being cold. It’s the pit of summer. I’m not turning the central heating on??? Use the damn blankets????? Move the space heater closer to you????? Close your bedroom door??????????? This space heater has been left too close to flammable objects on no less than four occasions so far. It’s like he wants my house to burn down.

He kept wanting to be involved and help the house so we were having a bbq and asked him to pick up some small things we needed like a case of beer and some buns. He left and never showed back up. He then ate the leftovers of five burger patties and seven hotdogs which we were hoping to eat after pride all in one sitting for breakfast.

Ah yes, continuously eating the last of something and informing no one that it’s gone. Had no pickles for the bbq cause he ate them without telling anyone, numerous times I’ve been ready to do something just to find out there’s no cheese in the fridge bc he failed to notice it used the last of it and replace it with one we have in the freezer, eating all the prepped ingredients and putting empty containers in the fridge. It’s not hard to tell someone something is getting low, add it to the list, write it down, or literally anything other than eat the last of it and make it someone else’s problem later

Anywho this whole setup is shit, if we don’t get money by his next check we’ll be cutting ties and telling him to find a new place by the end of the month. This is getting ridiculous. Every day he’s asking for money while talking down to us and talking shit about our pets or our home all the while making no effort to pay what’s owed.

[animehouse-moe]

Delicious In Dungeon Episode 2: Basilisk Omelet/Kakiage

While I like refinement and quality as much as the next guy, it's something that is inevitably possible for any high level studio to deliver upon. Style is a totally different question, and I was disappointed when the first episode lacked that decisive Trigger Touch. Thankfully, this episode delivers on it in spades and gives me lots to chat about!

Of course, I could spend an entire post chatting about Marcille because she's just so damn funny. Her reactions and overall demeanor are just as hilarious in anime, and her voice actor (much like the rest of the cast) near perfectly embodies her Marcille.

Anyways, more to the point. I think Trigger bringing more of their studio's style into the anime is a great thing, and not just because I really like it.

Exaggeration and excessive animation work great to sell humor, and I think anyone could take one look at Delicious In Dungeon's comedy and come to the understanding that Trigger's style is arguably the best suited to expressing that comedy.

Sharp and fast movement, almost a disregard for character models, and plenty of freedom in terms of art style all culminate in an effort meant to draw the most amount of humor out of each sequence.

The second reason that allowing Trigger to express their style within Delicious In Dungeon works well is that it balances the episodes. If you're funny 24/7 you're not as funny as you could be. If you're giving 100% the whole time, the effect isn't as effective. Bringing more of Trigger's style in helps balance the more reserved and refined aspects of the series. It helps sell the great and subtle character acting that you see in certain sequences, it helps draw viewers in to the more methodic cooking scenes. It just adds a great deal of variance and value to the episode that, much like Senshi's argument about nutrition while in the dungeon, focuses on rounding out the episode and providing a more 'whole' feeling.

And really, I don't have much of anything to say with the episode past that. I've read Delicious In Dungeon front to back multiple times so there's not really anything new for me in the anime, and I think the direction and boarding more than speaks for itself. I wouldn't quite say there's really any sort of strong identity being expressed with the layouts and whatnot, but I'd definitely say they're still very good layouts. It's just one of those things where it's plain good, and there's not a whole lot else to it. Some might see that as an issue, but I don't really take any offense to it. Trigger's very clearly trying to let the mangaka's effort take center stage with this adaptation, and it's working more than well enough for the time being. I'm still very interested to see how the more action heavy sequences play out in future episodes though.

[rahuratna]

Hi Rahu!! 👋 👋

Do you like apocalyptic stories/movies? Like anything with zombies or Death Angels overtaking the earth, and the protagonists have to learn to co-operate.

I’m not sure if this is an unpopular opinion but I think that apocalyptic movies, typically classified as horror, has a certain beauty to them. There are certain scenes that are so ethereal, the brief moments amidst chaos when it’s a soothing quiet. There’s no one else, and it’s reminiscent of being the first and only one to wake up early in the morning and watch the sun rise all to yourself. (I think this shows just how introverted I am LOL.) Or with a partner, like maybe Nanami 🥹🥹🥲, but I can’t relate 😂

The second point I wanted to bring up: have you watched Train to Busan? Basically it’s about a fund manager who is a workaholic and also a divorced father as he was often absent from his family. For his daughter’s birthday, she wanted to go see his mother so they take a the train to Busan. However, an infected person boards the train, and the unaffected passengers must isolate the zombies in the separate carts until they reach Busan.

One of the big themes is balancing self-interest and the protection of others. You see this played out in different variations with the different characters. Some don’t mind sacrificing themselves for the sake of the majority, a few selfish people will make reckless decisions that will sacrifice everyone else’s life for their own benefit, and then we have the father. If my faded and wavering memory (💀) serves correctly, he only looked out for his own and his daughter’s safety and disregard the other passengers’. This changes by the end— I don’t want to specify how because no spoilers but imo it’s a very beautiful character growth to witness.

So why do I bring this up? Because, oh. my. gawd, it reminded me soooo much of Salaryman Era!Nanami Kento 😙😙😙

Finance? ✅

6’0+ ✅

Tired workaholic dad? ✅

Oh, side note, it makes sense why Gege said Nanami would only want to get married after he’s done with jujutsu sorcery, so he can pay all his attention to his lovely new family! The male lead’s splintered family from Train to Busan is like a “what would’ve happened” if Nanami chose to have a family while being so busy.

If you are interested in an apocalypse AU (or not, that’s okay too! since this is a bit different from character analysis), I wanted to discuss with you the potential philosophies and decision-makings of salaryman Nanami before he finds his purpose as a protector. When his only goals were money, beach house, and reading (so relatable). I wonder how this past version of Nanami would react and if he would choose to save anyone. Maybe not at first, or maybe he’d be very selective at first? But I could totally see potential character growth and also find someone worth saving (you 😏).

For now, I’ll just leave this conversation as open-ended since I’m unsure if it’s a topic worth pursuing for you. I used to be in to dystopian, but I slowly fell out of love and quickly became infatuated with both apocalyptic media and Nanami Kento. Hope you’re having a great day! 💜💜💜

@courtneedsleep Wow, this is so fascinating! So, to get into it, I love dystopian themes, but have watched my fair share of apocalyptic themes in media too. I know exactly what you mean by the beauty of the quiet juxtaposed with the frenetic energy and near escapes (or not) of the rest of the film.

My personal favourite piece of apocalyptic/dystopian media is 'Oryx and Crake' by Margaret Atwood, a book I can return to many, many times. Some of the most beautiful, haunting scenes are the moments of stillness and stolen beauty, where the main character's memories of the past superimpose themselves over the naked desolation of the present, a world designed for millions now inhabited by a few. So I completely understand what you mean when you say that the brief moments of peace amongst the chaos stand out the most.

I haven't watched Train to Busan, but based on this description, think I'm gonna get back from work and watch it tomorrow evening. A cosy movie night!

The evolution of salaryman Nanami is a fascinating one, because he placed his personal desires first (saving for his comfortable retirement, as you mentioned), but his innate desire to help others draws him inevitably back to sorcery.

So, on this note, I think salaryman Nanami would show a distinct evolution in an apocalyptic setting, particularly if he had a family. His initial instincts would be to protect his child, probably to the point of ruthlessness (and assuming there would be a similar familial set-up to 'Train to Busan'). Nanami's analytic mind and ability to accurately and carefully assess risks and outcomes of situations would probably be invaluable to anyone he comes into contact with.

I feel, to extend on that, that in this setting, he would probably start out just looking out for himself, and possibly his child. Due to his natural, quiet charisma and ability to take charge, he would probably gather a following of people who see him as trustworthy, level-headed and a leader, even if he himself denies any such role. I feel like people would naturally gravitate towards him in this sense, including those with useful skills who need to simply be pointed in the right direction.

Although Nanami would start out strictly looking after his family, I think that in this setting, he would eventually start to see and understand that the isolation of modern living and the rules that apply, all fall away when faced with an apocalyptic situation. He would come to realise that the skills, personalities and unique perspectives of others are things to be valued and relied upon. It would be a slow process, but he'd get there.

Nanami's principles, as strong as ever, would never allow him to use someone for his/his family's convenience. If he was to operate independently, and look out only for himself at the outset, he'd never do so at the expense of someone else. His thoughts would be more along the line of: "I will save my family. Everyone else can do whatever they want." And it's this mindset that would gradually change the more he is exposed to some core group of reliable companions who may even rescue him from a tight situation on more than one occasion.

His gradual acknowledgement of the involvement others have in his life and survival could open the door a crack for maybe some romance 😉 Or at least, hints of it. This gradual opening up would also have implications for his personal growth and development. That rare beauty you spoke of in apocalyptic media, the moment of serenity and otherworldly calm amidst the devastation, is something that could open his eyes to the importance of humanity's preservation, for future generations (like his child).

While this may not lead to the exact evolution of Sorcerer Nanami, who we know and love so well, it would certainly drive him to become something very close. The theme of self-interest versus selfishness is a really interesting one, because Nanami's canon 'selfishness' always rang a little hollow for me. He worked so hard for those things (books, comfort, an early retirement), but all it took was one person (bakery girl) showing him how killing curses helps people, to turn him back to his selfless (and self-sacrificing) job of being a sorcerer. At heart, Nanami could never have put himself first. Not to say that he didn't genuinely want those personal goals, he just put them aside so quickly for a higher cause, because that's just who he is.

Apocalyptic Salaryman Nanami would probably have the same epiphany, arriving in a different vehicle. Some trigger would help him understand the value of self-sacrifice/sacrifice in general for a greater good; ensuring the safety of not just his child/loved one, but everyone who can be saved. He'd adopt the role of guardian, but in a symbolic sense too, safeguarding the future that belongs to his child and all like them. Where that would lead his character ... who knows? 🤭

It would be fun to speculate!

Thank you for another lovely and fascinating idea to discuss. 🧡🧡🧡

[elegyofthemoon]

6, 9, 13 for the ask game!

HI GLORIJA!!! I hope you're doing well :D thanks for the ask!!

female character asks

6. A female character who got done dirty by the narrative?

okay so listen. I have a slight love/hate with her character, but truly, I feel that Edelgard gets kinda done dirty by her own route

I will never get over the fact that the Black Eagles route is 17 chapters compared to the 26 (?) chapters that the other routes get, with Golden Deer and Church route having near identical stories?!?!??! like they totally could have used that effort to give Edelgard the chance to take down Those Who Slither In The Dark BUT NOOOOOO NOOOO WE DONT GET THAAAT WE DONT GET THE JUSTICE FOR THE WRONG DEALT TO HER AS A KID AND WHY SHE STARTED THE WHOLE WAR NOOOOO

The payoff was horrendous and it just left me sitting bitter and ill towards her route and just her character. It's such a disservice really :oI

9. A female character you started out disliking but came around to?

oh my god a character i disliked but had a slow warm up to... hmmm... ngl and I'm soooo so so so sorry to do this to her, but that's Camilla for me

AND TBH THIS ISN'T EVEN HER FAULT TBF !! Have you seen that post around that's like "this isnt you girl this is your writers fault?" Yeah that's how I feel towards Camilla lmao

I just am very very extra tired of fanservice characters, and especially female characters used for fanservice, so I have a tendency to just disregard the "sexy female" trope in an instant, but it's thanks to my friend that I actually came around and gave Camilla a try and started working through her supports, and honestly, it just makes me hate the. The cutscenes with Camilla more. It just feels (again) like a disservice.

I won't say that I outright hated her? I just felt disappointed by the way the writers frequently portray her. I don't know --

13. An interesting femslash ship? (Canon or otherwise)

OH YAY this is the most recent femslash ship that I fell in love with but Kallen/Sakura from Honkai Impact 3rd !!

I found out that they were actually canon in one of the manga, saying explicitly that they were soulmates (or Kallen the white hair girl saying that "When I first met Sakura, it was like I knew the reason why I was born" lIKE OKAY??!?!?!?!??!? OKAY------)

BUT BUT BUT my heart felt so touched reading through Kallen and Sakura's story, and while I'm still only slowly learning what happened between them (I'm still super new), what I do know and love is that Kallen saved Sakura from falling into absolute despair after being forced to kill her sister to appease the gods of her village, reminding Sakura of the kindness in humanity.

But for whatever reason (I haven't reached this yet BUT I think I'm pretty close actually? idk. if anyone else is reading this and plays hi3, please don't spoil me. ik the game's been out forever but i am absolutely blind to this so i don't want to know :)), Kallen had to seal Sakura away because she houses an evil being within her, but she leaves an artifact that would defend Sakura within the place she seals Sakura and just,, making sure Sakura is never alone and it was soooo ; - ;

I think a bit of it actually reminded me a bit of the ending for Sayaka and Kyoko in PMMM if you know that ! But I sure am particularly weak to knights in shining armor ish stories lmao

[jvzebel-x]

What does it mean to "believe someone when they tell you who they are"

when i say that, what i mean is to not go hunting through people's actions&words-- especially their actions-- for subliminal messaging when they are extremely&overtly clear in their direct messaging. disregarding my personal near-phobia of wasting my time, i just generally think that it 1: disrespects the person you're dealing with by totally ignoring their most obvious+directly stated wishes, &more importantly 2: disrespects you by making yourself bend over backwards for someone who-- by your own admittance-- does not think you deserve direct communication or treatment that equates to how they truly feel about you.

... i don't know what anyone else means when they say that, though, lmao.

[charmanderxerneas]

I can't sleep and i was having thoughts about Scott cawthon and fnaf. Lets ramble while im sleep deprived at 5 am. I have a weird perspective because i still think its okay to like fnaf and i dont think scott is the WORST person in the world, but i also dont think hes great and i think the fnaf fandom reacted very shittily. You can think of you will of me and my opinionz but i totally do understand and think youre justified if you disagree and think that fnaf is bad to support because of scott

(What the fuck where is the "read more" option on mobile.... Fuck it)

The whole drama with scott cawthon like. Last year. Was really fucking disheartening. As a fnaf fan who happens to be bigender and queer, seeing a majority of the stupid fucking fnaf fans immediately go "we support you scott you did nothing wrong!!" While being shitty to actual trans and queer people who were rightfully upset... I can't even put into words how disheartening and awful that is, i think those who jumped on the "i stand with scott" bandwagon should frankly feel ashamed.

I also understand that a majority of fnaf fans are kids and some were probably too young to understand the nuance of it all. It felt like their favorite game series was being attacked! And they wanted to feel like they could still like the game, so when scott made his super shitty response they were all like "its okay we forgive you" even though they weren't necessarily the ones able to make that call (not saying a cishet white person cant forgive Scott cawthon, just that they should listen to and seriously consider the voices of queer people or poc or anyone else who is harmed by the polititions he donated to.) But ultimately, being young isnt an excuse for excusing bad things.

Scott isnt the best person. And by supporting him, you do in a way support the shitty politicians he donates to.

However, i dont actually think scott is like. 100% completely immoral. Im going to be very generous here: this next paragraph is just giving him the entire benefit of the doubt and playing devils advocate, so feel free to disregard it: but hes not as bad as joanne rowling or anthing. He doesnt activly go out of his way to spread hatespeech, hasnt filled his game with antisemitism and homophobia and transphobia like she has, and by all accounts seems to be a nice guy who has been caring to queer fans, even if he is a Republican. I don't necessarily think being a Republican makes you an evil person. Yes, if youre extreme about it you are an evil person, but like. Im sure many of us have Republican family members you wouldnt necessarily call evil. Like, i have a wonderful grandma whos a Republican but she also fuckin hates trump and supports me and my identity and is generally a good person. I also think its worth mentioning that a lot of Republicans didnt like trump, but felt like they had to vote for him because they were Republican.

Now im not saying that last bit applies to scott cawthon: hes said he voted for trump so Yikes Man. He did support trump and other bad politicians, and in doing so he supported the terrible policys they push forward. Thats awful. And thats what makes him not the best person. More fnaf fans should consider that.

Finally: even if scott is bad, i don't think its bad to still like and play the fnaf games. Like i mentioned before, the politics of all that arent really written into fnaf and its story (claims to be pro life, makes a game where all the kids die anyways 😳). Scott has basically given steel wool the games now (even if he is still behind the scenes😔). And i dont think you're a bad person if you like. Buy fnaf merch and the games (yeah it sucks that in some way you are supporting someone who financially supports bad policies... But i can also see some removal from it simply because in this society today it is near impossible to not support Any Business Or Person that supports a Republican... In america at least, like half of our stores/businesses go towards that shit)

Sorry for this rant over i need some sleep i have a final paper due tomorrow that i havent started and im going to denver and im sleep deprived. FUCK

[pmmechanicalny9873]

P&M Mechanical Inc.

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[aroundtheneareststar]

September 30

loss of inventory

there is salt and there is butter

heat from the stove

the cracked tiles and the quiet sizzle

dirt beneath fingernails

you count all that’s left

hold it at arm's length

close enough to feel

far enough to not love

when everything left is precious

nothing is safe

and the number diminishes

right before your streaming eyes

is it the steam from the scratched pan

or the bittersweet edge of remnant

what has stuck around

what you could stop from slipping through your fingers

you can keep making your total

count your humming fridge

count your wrinkled clothes

but when you notice each a new stopwatch starts

the list grows and time shrinks

the list stops and time shrinks

the list is thrown away and time shrinks

the clock ticks regardless of inventory

it will all disappear

the smell of garlic scratches the peeling walls

you hesitate realizing you forgot to add yourself

but you cannot lose what you are

the list of loss is far greater

an entire past compared to the minute present

the fallen soldiers of broken dishware

and photos you forgot to make copies of

the have seems nothing compared to the haven’t

and that’s disregarding the things never had

the opportunities lost at a moment’s notice

so fleeting they never even made the list

you tell yourself things were better once

you had everything you wanted

but they were stripped from you in waves

layer upon layer husked by time

no rope strong enough to tie it all together

no safe secure enough to keep it truly kept

the golden sauce streams on the chipped plate

it was a fool’s effort to be okay forever

but it was never hoarding

you were too precise for that

you loved what you had

but you never had it all

and it all was never goal

it all was just the orchard

pick a basket’s worth

to hold in your arms

accumulation sure

but loss and gain made fair exchange

until loss grew more ravenous

and gain started to cough

the almost flickering lightbulb

bread crust on the counter

the fork in your fist

drops of sink water

loss grew outside your shell

and became the main quality of the world

an affliction of the living

a description of the dead

it infected you as much as anyone else

after years of already gnawing at your bones

more and more ducked past your intended watchfulness

a holey blanket and a book depaged

you were a being of destruction

little to do to mitigate that

the largest threat to any little realm

is its leader

so you accidentally broke

next to time’s purposed breaking

and with the state of the world

less was lesser was least

the list morphed from a game of appreciation

to a survival strategy

a necessity

a reason to think you still have a chance

rusted spatula

frayed broom

nice dinner

silence of near emptiness

you take a bite of your cooking

the meal you created from what little was left

a few things fall from the list

but satisfaction is added to another

loss is the mode of those who have

maybe the fortune of having should be enough

you stand in your small and count on your fingers

but the number itself never mattered

you thank the remains

what stuck around

you thank the loss

what made gaining precious

it all seems so silly

a child and their toys

you close your wet eyes

and lose

[dramatiique]

When she said she didn't know anything about him, JD arched a brow. Why would she know anything about him? It wasn't in his nature to go around telling total strangers about himself. Talking about himself was far down on the list of conversation topics.

Attention now focused on the notebook pushed across the table, JD took in the information with an studious eye. It was simple enough; not anything that would cause them problems during this assignment. The only part he could see being an issue was his partner if she decided she wanted to act out for no reason. He'd already seen signs of her disregard for decency and tact.

As if to prove his point, her question cut through the air, hardly any time before her last statement and this sudden prying into his personal life. "What is this, Twenty Questions? I'm here because this is where life brought me."

And that was all there was to it, really. Nine times out of ten, the reason for anyone moving to an entirely new school was because their folks dragged them there. Even if he wanted to play up the whole mysterious angle, JD slotted into that category better than most — his old man never stopped moving around and JD had nowhere else to go but follow him across the country. When he made it to eighteen, maybe he'd throw a dart at a world map and go wherever it landed. Or maybe he'd stick near his idiot dad so that he didn't end up dead somewhere.

He looked up from the page he'd started, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Maybe I've been sent here because I'm unruly and my parents don't want me anymore." Although, from the look of this school, it didn't seem particularly well-equipped to deal with anyone who might pose a danger to the rest of the students.

"urgh, what a terrible way to find out." she doesn't seem regretful - honestly, not even a TINY BIT. she didn't even blush, nor seem embarrassed with the insinuation in his voice for it, green eyes following him as she's moved to claim a seat as her own. and yes, there's an attitude, and yes, she feels fully entitled to have it, a certain carelessness to her that seemed absent when the teacher had been around. it was as if someone cut all the primness from her body, slouching forwards within her seat.

"honestly? i don't know anything about you." just another new kid dropped in, unexpectedly, her head tilting back slightly at his bold assumption. or maybe it wasn't really that. maybe she's the one, being aggressive without cause... she doesn't want to think about it. doesn't even what to contemplate it for a moment, because she thinks, well, aren't men ETERNALLY disappointing anyways? it's whatever - he'll fumble at some point, make a nuisance, in another. and then everything will be vindicated and she'll feel as if she'd been right all along and - well. now she's kind of getting ahead of herself, here.

her books are pulled out, flipped right to the page dog-earred into creased pages. there's writing, scribbles, highlighter on her notebook, along with scribbled art, all of it, rubbish. it's so clear how bored she is here, pushing her work his way. "we already did half of the stuff here in, like, 9th grade back home." she responded, kicking at the chair in front of her, idly. part of her STILL DIDN'T UNDERSTAND why she had to be here, teeth digging into her bottom lip. "so let's start from this. at least it won't be like doing it from nothing. why'd you move here now, anyways?" faye, relentless, pushing her ask forwards without regard.

- @dramatiique

[nikadoesanart]

Dazai living in a shipping container analysis

I’ll be talking about the “pros” and “cons”, if you can even call them that, of Dazai living in a shipping container near a dumping site. Also I am using what architecture knowledge I do have on the subject of container homes.

This is on the longer side so brace yourself. Also Stormbringer spoiler warning, in case that wasn’t realized yet.

Before I actually start I’ll preface this by saying that I’m a former architecture student but it was with a design focus. I have also previously designed a shipping container home so although I have some knowledge, it does have its limitations.

Also this will be updated when the fan translations get to this part of Stormbringer. Currently, I’m getting the information from chazukekani and popopretty’s summaries and translations, so please check them out too!

As a general reference for what to expect of a shipping container home, the average shipping container is 8 x 20 ft or 8 x 40 ft. As a more visual example, here is a portion of the container house I designed. Note that it’s total length is 30ft because I have two 20ft long containers stacked on top of each other, with a 10ft offset. The space beyond the sliding doors is a balcony and can basically be ignored for the purpose of this analysis. With the pictured dimensions, you can consider it to be insulated from the outside, so as not to sacrifice internal space. Despite this, you can see that it feels fairly cramped even with minimal furniture (a sink, toilet and shower unit in the bathroom and a bed, desk, and wardrobe closet in the master bedroom).

Dazai’s current living arrangement

Now for comparison, let’s first take note of what’s known of Dazai’s living conditions for comparison.

he’s living in an illegal dumping site, and there are toxic substances coming from the ground because of this

“Not even a field mouse would dare to approach it.” (Popopretty)

the area is not on the map and Dazai lives near the center of it (which can easily be one of the worst parts in terms of health and safety)

the container was previously “used to export passenger cars overseas” (popopretty)

his only furniture is a fridge, (exhaust) fan, desk/table, a chair, and a bare light bulb

no one would approach “not just because the place itself was weird. It was because no one could predict how Dazai would react if someone approached his private residence.” (Popopretty)

it’s been a year since he’s joined, yet no one trusts him → he could’ve been living here since before he joined but we don’t know as of yet

he’s sitting in complete darkness, lightbulb off and door shut, until Verlaine opens the door and walks in

Verlaine asks if he’s living here because he’s afraid of property taxes but Dazai claims that he’s afraid of Verlaine. He’s not actually addressing his choice of location because he only corrected Verlaine on what he fears, and gives no actual explanation for why he chose to live here.

The “pros”

Naturally unapproachable location. Even if Dazai being PM Dazai wasn’t a factor in people staying away, the nearby smell alone means no one would normally approach it, much less suspect a Port Mafia executive of all people to be living there. It’s also unmapped territory so even less reason for him to be found. This means enemies and allies alike would have a more difficult time trying to find him (ie. to come for his life) and there’s unlikely to be anyone else around. After all, if even a mouse won’t go there why would a whole person live there?

It costs him nothing. Not that it’d make a difference with what we can assume of his financial wealth. He has money, likely more than Chuuya who lives in a nice apartment in a nice area, yet chooses to live in a shipping container in an illegal dumping site. This is beneficial for Dazai, since there’s no paper trail or record of where he lives, which goes right into my 3rd point.

Ease of abandonment. Considering his whole goal at the time is to off himself without troubling others in the process, it makes sense that he’d want to leave minimal traces behind. No unpaid rent or mortgage, no one on a waiting list to move into a nice place, and no personal belongings or attachments. This winds up being a pro/advantageous when he does leave the PM since there wasn’t a trace to follow him with in the first place. He can simply grab his few things of importance and find a new shipping container or abandoned building outside of the PM’s territory. In fact, he might’ve even been able to stay there or in that general area since no one dares to approach it in the first place.

The “cons”

Or should I say say the dangerous living conditions he’s in. I don’t find them surprising because again, he doesn’t have a long term plan to live at this point. He doesn’t have much reason to care about what happens to himself, as we can deduce from his overall disregard towards being constantly injured and in danger for example. This is also where the architectural stuff comes into play.

Let’s start with the most visible one, lack of insulation. With a shipping container home, you can insulate from the inside and lose about a foot of interior space in each direction (6 in. off each wall) or from the outside and lose the aesthetic of the textured walls. Either way, it costs time and money to do it. We know it’s not insulated from the inside because of the illustration and, in my opinion, it’s very unlikely that Dazai would’ve gotten it insulated from the outside because at the very least, it would make his container stand out among the others nearby. You need to insulate a container home because they get very hot or cold in the summer and winter respectively, as they are made of metal. I’ve heard that at the very least, Japan’s summers are HOT.

This one is a little harder to confirm and will likely be updated as fan translations are released, but a likely hazardous set up for electricity and (hopefully) plumbing. If you don’t have the insulation on the inside but you still have your electrical and plumbing, it can possibly become both a visual mess and a safety hazard. It’s possible that he kept it all in the back portion of his container for example, or maybe he has it taped to the floor or walls somewhere, but that also brings the question of where it’s connected to on the outside. Since he’s on a dumping site, then where’s the electrical going to go at the very least? Sure he can use nearby public facilities but every day? He has a fridge, single lightbulb and a fan but where is the power is connected to? In terms of plumbing, I think it’s equally likely he found a Porta potty nearby or there’s (hopefully) some sort of public or PM owned facility nearby. Really, his hygiene, especially during the PM days when he was (as far as we the audience are aware) likely at his lowest, can easily become its own separate question/discussion for another day. After all, we’re just talking about the condition of his container in this post.

The possible fumes and chemicals left over. The paint on shipping containers is meant to withstand the sea water splashing on to them, so it may contain harsh chemicals. And we know that his container was used previously to ship cars overseas, but that still leaves the possibility for things to have leaked on the inside at this time. We don’t actually know if it’s been used more than once, but seeing as we do have a usage history, I’d say there’s a fair enough chance for it to have been a single use container. Still, chemicals could’ve previously leaked and the paint may be a concern in the long run. It’s also possible that it has begun rusting as well, due to the metal being exposed to the likes of sea water. Also, let’s not forget the toxic substances from the illegal dumping site itself, possibly going into the container over time.

Also as far as we can tell, there seems to be a lack of windows. This means no natural light, aside from opening a whole door. Keep in mind that windows can help with indoor temperature control, not just natural light.

Living in a dump site, especially an illegal one. This one should speak for itself but I’ll list some concerns anyway. Seeing as it’s illegal, we can probably just forget about regulations altogether, much less any possible existing ones being followed. This means that there can be literally anything from hazardous waste material, to dangerous and sharp objects on the ground, to who knows what kind of smells and fumes, etc. In short, not a safe area to live in, for health concern reasons at a minimum.

Again, my knowledge on shipping container homes themselves is limited and I do recommend checking out Belinda Carr’s videos on some of the downsides of them from a professional’s POV.

7 reasons why shipping container homes are a scam

Responding to comments: shipping container scam video

Also, just because Dazai was making presumably LARGE amounts of money obviously doesn’t mean that he has to spend it all or live luxuriously if he doesn’t want to. It’s not that hard to infer why Dazai did choose to live in such conditions and I mainly wanted to draw attention to how these conditions can affect him, with both the advantages and disadvantages.

[writingabouteverything]

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly 

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:)) 

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever. 

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex? 

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish. 

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that. 

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again. 

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle. 

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar.��

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.  

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird. 

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.” 

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.” 

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health. 

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.” 

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have. 

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.” 

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh. 

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.” 

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.” 

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.” 

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible. 

 I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut. 

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?” 

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach. 

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.” 

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.” 

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.” 

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.” 

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!” 

--

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go. 

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.” 

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.” 

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?” 

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.” 

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black. 

--

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between. 

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.” 

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.” 

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.” 

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.” 

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.” 

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.” 

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.” 

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--” 

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse. 

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.” 

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.” 

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.” 

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.” 

[nirikeehan]

Hey hi hey! I dunno if this will work with your world state, so feel free to disregard, but may I combine a (highly open to interpretation) 14 Days of DA Lovers prompt "Faded" with a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Surrender" for some more Cullen & Samson? There are so many good whump prompts in that bingo list for these two!

HEY YOU this took me way longer to write than I planned but it's been living rent-free in my head this whole time. I leaned more into "Surrender" than "Faded" but tried to incorporate the latter in the aesthetic, at least.

Also, for some reason, my first thought was, “What if the Inquisition loses?”

Well, this, I guess.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo (with a shoutout to @14daysdalovers even though there's definitely not much love here, ahahaha oops)

---

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Pairings: Cullen Rutherford & Raleigh Samson, mention of Cullen/my Inquisitor, Thalia Trevelyan

Word Count: 1841

---

The sky hung low like a threat. It pulsated emerald green, punctuated by swirling dark clouds and detritus. His mouth tasted of ashes. The courtyard was choked with dead grass and fallen rock. Cullen blinked at it dumbly. His eyes hurt, even in the dim light. The near-total darkness of his cell had been all he’d known for weeks beyond count.

The Red Templar guards marched him over familiar ground. Over here Cassandra once practiced her swordplay. Over there he used to nod hello to Scout Harding before strolling into Herald’s Rest — now a charred shell, smashed by a boulder. In the distance, the tower that housed his office was gone entirely.

Where were his colleagues, friends? Dead, or lost, or worse. So said the whispers from cell to cell, down in the dungeons: notes scribbled and tied on the legs of mice, knocks on the walls in code.

No one had heard anything of the Inquisitor. His heart squeezed at the news every time.

They were taking him up the steep stone stairs, to the Main Hall. Cullen kept pace, though every step felt like a monumental effort. The chains were heavy on his wrists and between his ankles. His hair hung down into his face, dirty and matted. He had grown a full beard. He was in no state to face anyone. A vain notion, but it persisted. An act of deliberation, of course. The enemy loved to humiliate those it had defeated.

The hall was barely recognizable. Where long ornate tables once stood rose towers of crimson crystal, gleaming in the light from the hearths. Their song seeped into his head as he passed — one of profound, heady desire. Cullen’s hands trembled. I must stay strong. But for whom? Who was left?

The throne loomed at the end of the cavernous hall, framed by the faded light filtering through broken stained glass windows. In another lifetime, Cullen had glimpsed Thalia sitting there, her posture as regal as her upbringing. Watching her pass judgment filled him with pride, and with something else — something baser, more carnal. He had liked to watch how she wielded her power, though her judgments were never harsh or cruel. She weighed everything with careful consideration, and he had nodded in approval at most of her pronouncements. If she doubted her decisions, she had never shown it, and he had never questioned.

A figure, shrouded in darkness, lounged in the throne like a cat. One leg lazily extended over the armrest; a hand was propped up under his chin. Around his shoulders was a familiar fur-lined collar.

My coat. Rage washed over Cullen. He’s wearing my goddamn coat.

Before he could open his mouth, one of the guards kicked the back of the leg. With a grunt of pain, Cullen fell forward, onto his knees. He looked up into the familiar grinning face.

“Samson,” he hissed, like a curse.

His eyes glowed as red as the braziers on either side of him. The red lyrium that corrupted and deteriorated others somehow lent Samson more power. Try as they might, the Inquisition never did learn why. It was one fatal failure of many, over those dark months.

“Would you look at that.” Samson had the inflection of a Lowtown peasant, the slur of a drunkard, and the smugness of a victor. The combination made Cullen’s stomach churn. “I told you it would end up like this, mate. Warned you, I did.”

Cullen gritted his teeth and tried to stand. The Red Templar guard slammed a stone-like limb onto his shoulder, forcing him down again. Cullen let out a strangled cry of pain.

“Ah, ah, ah. I did not give you leave to rise.” Laughter rumbled low in Samson’s throat.

Seething with anger, Cullen picked his words carefully. “What do you want, Samson?”

“What I told you I wanted in my letter. You remember it, don’t you? The one I left for you in the Shrine of Dumat?”

Cullen remembered, against his will. He had wanted to burn the letter and forget it, but key phrases haunted him deep into the long nights, as he lie on the cold cobblestones. “I believe your exact words were, ‘to prostrate myself and beg.’”

“No.” Samson accentuated the shout with a fist smashed into the armrest. He leaned forward on the edge of the throne, the madness bright in his eyes. “I wanted to save you, dammit!”

Cullen nearly laughed. “Save me? From what?”

“Yourself, for a start.” Samson leaned back in the throne, steepling his fingers. “All that bloody business with honor and purpose. Your delusions of grandeur. The Inquisition? Bah. You know what the Chantry did to us, Cullen. You know what you are, deep down.”

Cullen swallowed hard. The hunger howled inside him still. Being surrounded by so much red lyrium only made it worse. The melody vibrated in his ears, sweeter than its cerulean counterpart could ever be.

“An addict.” He lowered his head, leaning hard on his hands. The word felt despicable on his tongue. Admitting it had always been as difficult as resisting it. “Just like you.”

“Ha! At least you accept that much.” Samson smirked. For a glimmering moment Cullen could see past the gaunt, sallow figure, back to the youthful charmer he’d known in the Gallows: his first friend in Kirkwall, who had taught him to play Wicked Grace and would slip him extra doses of lyrium when the nightmares got bad. “We’re not so different, you and I. We’re the rubbish the Chantry chewed up and spat out. Why you’d want to go running right back into their hypocritical arms I could never bloody imagine.”

“We could not be more different,” Cullen scoffed. “I tried to save the world, not drive it to its ruin. You might have received your reward from Corypheus, but what good is being king of the ashes?”

The grin seeped from Samson’s face. “It’s plenty good, mate, I’ll tell you that. Untold riches in my hands, untold women in my bed, servants at my beck and call…”

Revulsion writhed inside Cullen’s gut. He summoned all his strength and spat at Samson’s polished boots. “Then all you ever cared about was power. You’re a disgrace to us all. To the Templar Order, to the Chantry — to everyone who wanted to live in a peaceable world.”

Eyes narrowed, Samson rose to his feet and descended the steps of the dais. He leaned down and grabbed Cullen’s shoulder. Cullen tensed, struggling not to flinch as Samson’s sour breath filled his nose. “You think I give one singular fuck about any of that, eh? Don’t threaten me with your empty platitudes, kid.” He shoved Cullen hard. Reeling, he went down on his elbow. Samson stood above him, tall and defiant. “Of course I wanted power. Who doesn’t? You sure took a shine to commanding an army quick enough. Just a pity you were on the losing side.”

Cullen struggled to right himself, to do more than writhe on the ground. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Samson laughed. “Oh, my spies told me all about your little war games. Civilians sacrificed for the sake of heading off enemy convoys. Invading and occupying sovereign lands. Withholding lyrium from my captured men until they broke — who taught you to do that, huh?”

“That’s war,” Cullen snarled, though fatigue had caught up with him. He slumped on the floor, remembering the look in Thalia’s eyes every time he suggested something at a war council meeting she deemed too extreme: wide-eyed, akin to fear. “The circumstances forced my hand.”

“As they did mine.”

They watched each other silently; Cullen’s cheek to the cool stone floor, Samson crowned by the light of the chandelier flickering beyond his head. Aggression drained from his former colleague’s expression, replaced with a gentleness Cullen hadn’t seen in years. He approached slowly and crouched beside him.

“I didn’t bring you here to gloat, ya know,” Samson muttered.

Cullen closed his eyes, wished he could press his chained hands over his ears. He didn’t want to hear whatever Samson had to say — not when he sounded so much like someone who had once been a friend. “You could’ve fooled me.”

Samson let out a weary sigh. “Gotta give a big show to the underlings, or they start to question your authority.”

A lesson straight from Meredith, Cullen thought, but kept his mouth shut.

“Truth is, good help’s hard to find. Even more so at the end of the world.” Samson reached out a hand. “Thought maybe you’d reconsider.”

“Reconsider what?” Cullen blurted, uncomprehending.

“Your refusal to surrender. You don’t have to spend the rest of your days withering away in that damp excuse for a dungeon. You’d be put to good use… and I’d make sure you’re treated kindly.”

Cullen laughed. “As kindly as you treated Maddox?”

Samson snatched his hand back, scowling. “You always did have more pride than sense.” He stood and strode up the dais, heels clicking on the floor. “Get ‘im up, boys.”

The guards seized him under the armpits and pulled him to his feet. Samson stood, facing the throne, and gave a flicking motion with his hand. The Red Templars began to drag Cullen away. Samson’s echoing voice followed.

“You’re making a grave mistake, Cullen. Ya shouldn’t turn your nose up at a gift like this.” Samson turned, and the red fire in his eyes had returned. “Specially if you ever want to see your precious Inquisitor again.”

Cullen tensed. “She’s alive?” The guards tightened their grip. Cullen resisted, digging his heels into the floor. “Thalia’s alive?”

A slow smirk worked its way up Samson’s face. “You speak with such fondness. Heh, adorable.” Seeing Cullen’s stricken look, he chuckled. “Oh, I know all about your affections for your little false Herald. Have to say I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in ya.” His grin grew wolfish. “Or in her.”

“You son of a bitch,” Cullen spat, struggling against the iron grip of his captors. “If you’ve touched one hair on her head, I swear to the Maker, I’ll kill you myself.”

Samson yawned. “Idle threats, is that the best you can do?”

“I swear it,” Cullen vowed. “The last thing you’ll ever know shall be my hands around your vile throat.”

For a fleeting moment, Samson seemed almost sad. He dropped onto the throne and crossed one leg over another. He gripped the arm rests with both hands, the collar of his stolen coat framing him like a lion’s mane. “Right, well, it’s been a nice chat. I’ll tell the Lady Thalia you said hi. Maybe next time, if you’re a good dog, I’ll even let you have a play date.”

Back in the dungeon, Cullen gripped the bars tight and stared into the frigid rapids falling outside his cell. Their roar drowned out the red lyrium’s siren call. In them he heard something deeper, more potent, keeping time the blood that pounded in his ears.

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.