#but every cool celestial event

[magnetothemagnificent]

A cool Dvar Torah I read:

Parshat HaChodesh, the New Moon, and Eclipses!

This Shabbat we read a special section from the Torah called Parshat Hachodesh. It is the story of the Mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh, that we track, observe and celebrate the new moon each and every month. Since the day that G-d commanded Moshe regarding this Mitzvah, two weeks before the grand Exodus from Egyptian slavery, we have kept a close eye on the moon, looking out for that celestial monthly moment of rebirth that G-d showed Moshe that early evening in Egypt. In the Torah, our holidays - Passover, Sukkot, Yom Kippur etc. - are prescribed to happen on a certain day following the new moon: "the fifteenth day after the new moon", "the tenth day after the new moon" and so on. Meaning, that if we wish to celebrate these festivals, we need to keep track of the lunar cycle, even if no one else on Earth gives it a second thought. Along the way, the Jewish people have come to identify with the moon. We can empathize with the moon's ups and downs, so similar to our own history. One moment we're shining bright, the next moment we're so oppressed and persecuted that casual observers have often written us off, predicting our extinction, G-d forbid. And yet the next moment, to their disbelief, we're back, reborn out of the darkness, and growing stronger every day. It's notable that G-d interrupted the flow of events leading up to the Exodus to tell Moshe about Rosh Chodesh. Not only because it seems to be unrelated to what was happening then, but also because by giving that Mitzvah right then, it meant that it would given in Egypt, the darkest spiritual locale in the world. G-d could have waited a couple of weeks until we were out of that spiritual wasteland and told us about Rosh Chodesh in the desert. Why the rush? * Everyone's talking about the eclipse happening Monday afternoon - The Great North American Eclipse. It's a major event that will have millions of people looking up to the Heavens, an event that will not happen again in the USA until 2044. Now, solar eclipses only happen around the new moon. Monday night and Tuesday, Jews will observe Rosh Chodesh. And not just any Rosh Chodesh, but the annual Rosh Chodesh of all Rosh Chodeshes - the first Rosh Chodesh of the year. This means that Monday is the day before rebirth, the day when the moon is at its very lowest, darkest point, the moment that symbolizes the most difficult, challenging times of the Jewish People. And so it turns out that precisely in its smallest, weakest moment, the moon looms largest: it can even eclipse the mighty light of the sun. Is this not our story exactly? Is this not precisely why G-d told this to Moshe in Egypt, in our place of misery and suffering? During the last new moon of our centuries-long sojourn in Egypt, G-d shows Moshe the truth about the miracle of Jewish rebirth and eternity. In the place of our pain, before the redemption, in the midst of the uncertainty, G-d stops everything and tells us to look up at the moon, see our story in the moon's story, and discover in the moon a solid friend, an eternal gentle reminder that it will be okay, that no matter what, Am Yisrael Chai forever. And better yet, as Monday's eclipse shows, our darkest moments are when we shine brightest and loom largest, as we begin the great turnaround, the journey from darkness to light. This Monday will be the 3,336th anniversary of the day G-d showed Moshe the moon. How perfect. During these painful days of antisemitism, the sun, 400 times bigger than the moon, is eclipsed by it. Far from tottering or faltering, the Jewish People are stronger than ever. Precisely when casual observers report us missing, that's when we shine. L'Chaim, brothers and sisters. Our best days lay just ahead. So in the words of the Lecha Dodi which we'll all be singing in just a few hours: "Wake up, wake up! Your light is coming, rise and shine! Time to wake up and say your song, because G-d's glory is revealed upon you."

by Rabbi Eli Friedman, Chabad Calabasas CA

#jumblr #eclipse #solar eclipse #north american solar eclipse 2024 #judaism #if jew know jew know #rosh chodesh #rosh chodesh nissan #dvar torah

[comic-sans-chan]

Fic I'll never write where Dukat decides the biennial Cardassian Festival of Whatever the Fuck (it is never actually specified) should be hosted on Deep Space Nine as a way of bridging the gap between the Cardassian and Bajoran peoples. Sisko and Kira are both Ehhhh about it, but Dukat is obnoxiously persistent until finally the Bajoran government and Federation higher ups are like “K”, on the condition that no Cardassian military (or Order) personnel be allowed. All security for the event will be handled by Odo and Starfleet. Dukat is suspiciously cool with this, which puts everyone on alert, but soon Cardassian vendors and decorators start showing up and they turn out to be pretty chill people, so they let it happen.

While the preparations for the festival are underway, another operation has started. A motherfucker from Garak's past is doing typical motherfucker things on the station. One of these things is scouting Garak's quarters, learning the layout, tracking Garak's routine. It becomes clear very quickly that the rapidly increasing number of Cardassians on DS9 is putting Garak on edge, though, because he seems to be fiddling more with his security protocols, so the motherfucker realizes they need to make their move and they need to make it fast.

They succeed. Sort of. With the circumstances as they are, they had to get a little... creative, but it should do the trick.

By early next morning, every PADD, screen, and computer system on the station is streaming seventy-two different poems on a constant loop. Love poems. Ardent, anguished, often utterly indecent love poems, all with the central theme of being about one Doctor Julian Bashir.

Quark is one of the first to notice the problem, being the type of asshole who opens early despite this only increasing his bottom line by a fraction of a fraction. At first, he's furious that his systems have been tampered with, but after reading a few lines of what his normal menu and advertisements have been replaced with, he's laughing, and by the end of the third poem, he's on the floor.

"Odo!" he shouts, banging on the bastard's door twenty minutes later. "Odo, open up! We've got a problem!"

Odo slinks under the door and slips up between it and Quark's pounding fist with a glare. "Quark! I'm not on duty for another hour. What could possibly be so urgent?"

Quark's sharp little rat teeth are splitting his face clean in half as he holds up the PADD. "Take a look."

Odo scrolls through a couple poems, then squints and scrolls through several more. "Erotic love poetry? I didn't peg you for the type."

"To like erotica? Hoo, I thought you paid better attention than that, Constable."

Odo returns the PADD with a dry expression. "To read."

"Oh, you're hilarious." He taps Odo's chest with the PADD. "The whole station is filled with this stuff. My bar, the Replimat, the Celestial Cafe, the promenade. Someone's either desperate to make a statement, or we've been sabatoged."

Dramatic sci-fi music swells and we get a close-up of Odo’s eerily hairless face and nasal cavity.

The next few hours are dedicated to trying and failing to seize back the servers and briefing the bridge staff on the situation.

"Are we sure these are all about Doctor Bashir?" Sisko's voice booms across Ops. He's on his second cup of coffee and a pile of useless PADDs lay beside him.

Julian has remained stoic throughout the discussion and he remains so now, avoiding eye contact with anyone who's smiling a little too wide. Like Jadzia. "Oh, definitely," she says. "He's mentioned by name in three of them, and several others make a point of highlighting the subject's 'golden sand dune skin', 'aristocratic' features, and 'voice that never stops singing.' Sounds like Julian to me."

A few snickers break out, but Sisko is taking the matter seriously. Thank fuck, Julian thinks. It actually looks like it's giving him a headache, which would make two of them if Julian was capable of having headaches. The captain's rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "And the source..."

"There's a clear data trail back to Garak's quarters. Whoever did this, they wanted us to know where it came from," Kira reports. A muscle jumps in Julian's cheek.

"I tracked Garak down for his statement on the issue," Odo says, gruff, "and he told me he had nothing to do with the virus. In fact, he denied ever having laid eyes on the poems in his life. He's claiming he's been framed." He rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Jadzia says, "we all agree he's lying, right?"

"But which part..."

"Oh, they're Garak's. I've read enough Lloja of Prim to be familiar with traditional Kardasi meter and syntax, and that isn't even going into all the parallels drawn between our doctor and Prime. Sand, heat, rainforests. Bit of Romulan imagery in there, too, if I'm not mistaken. A lot of flowers and vines. Wasn't Garak a gardener?"

"I see no reason why anyone would want to embarass themselves like this," O'Brien cuts in before Jadzia can make it worse. "Even if he is trying to distract us or something, this seems counterproductive in the long term. Everyone’s watching him now, not just us. The rumor mill is running rampant. Not exactly a spy’s MO."

"He did blow up his shop once."

"Because someone was trying to kill him," Julian pipes up for the first time, looking concerned. "Do you think this might be another cry for help?"

"Oh, it's a cry for something," Jadzia quips, and Julian shuts the fuck up.

"Dax," Sisko snaps, like the good benevolent Wormhole Alien Jesus he is, and Dax shuts the fuck up, too. Sisko gives them all the stink eye. "Constable, you're nearly as familiar with Garak as the doctor is," he says, and holds a hand up before any jokes can be made. "What do you think?"

"I don't think he's behind this, sir. None of the pieces add up, and he seemed genuinely agitated when I spoke to him, in his way. At present, I believe he is as much a victim here as the rest of us."

Sisko sighs. "All right. Do we have any idea who is behind this?"

The room is silent for a time, before Odo reluctantly answers for everyone, "Not yet, sir."

"Find out," Sisko demands, "and Chief, get these damn poems off of my reports. Dismissed."

Julian is out of the room before anyone else has stood up.

The rest of the day is spent ducking in and out of his office, only treating those who ask for him by name and keeping all conversations strictly professional. Any mentions of poetry, the festival, Cardassians, or Garak are firmly sidelined, and on a couple occasions, rewarded with a none-too-gentle hypo. He skips lunch altogether and extends his shift by two hours to avoid the dinner rush.

By the time he's leaving the Infirmary, it's late. Unfortunately for him, not late enough that the halls aren't still speckled with observers to his personal soap opera. With the Festival of Frank’s Hot Dogs less than a week away, DS9 is becoming increasingly crowded with tourists, mostly Cardassian, but a surprising amount Bajoran, too–apparently this festival was a rare bright point during the Occupation, when their oppressors were not only lenient with them for once, but generous with food and drink and freedoms. It doesn't hurt that the only Cardassians on board are civilian rather than military, so the atmosphere is rather more colorful, courteous and conversational rather than cold, dark and aggressive. It would make Julian smile if he wasn't so busy being gawked at.

"I don't see it," one Cardassian man grumbles and Julian's accursed augmented ears pick up. "He's even smoother than a Bajoran."

"Oh, yeah," his companion replies, "just think of how easily he'd slide around."

"Tanett!"

"Oh, hush, Grandpa. You're just xenophobic. He's cute."

"Well, you be careful who hears you say that. That Garak fellow is in the Order, you know. Ears everywhere. You don't want to know what things a man like that is capable of."

"Wasn't he exiled? Hardly intimidating now. Apparently all he's capable of anymore is whimpering over an alien like a pakrela."

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

But that just brings him within range of a cluster of Bajorans. "Oh, there's the doctor now," one is saying, up on the balcony. 

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

"That poor fool. He thought they were friends, but here this whole time it was perverse. I can only imagine how much that hurts."

"Happened to my friend once. He thought a glinn was being kind because he was having a crisis of conscience and wanted to help him escape. No, he just wanted to–"

He could go to his quarters, but a flash of memory - Garak's bright eyes at the end of his bed, his figure encased in shadow - sends him in the opposite direction. Before long, he finds himself on an oft-unused Observation deck, since it offers no view of the wormhole or either Bajor or Cardassia's suns. It's blessedly empty, as usual, and Julian settles on a bench and stares into the dark nothingness of space for a long time.

At some point, he finds that his hand has retrieved the PADD from his medical bag, and the screen is lit up automatically with the first poem.

He reads well into the night.

—

The next morning finds Garak with a tall glass of rokassa juice and two eggs, staring intensely into a mysteriously operational PADD at the far end of Quark's bar. Quark pops out of his backroom like a jack-in-the-box.

"Ha! Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself, gracing my fine establishment so soon after nearly destroying it. Do you know I've had to have menus printed, like we're in the dark ages? Do you have any idea how extensive my menu is? I ought to sue you for damages." He catches a glimpse of the PADD's screen and its decidedly unpoetic contents. "Hey, you fixed it? How?"

"It was just a simple virus. Viruses can be purged," Garak says without looking up. He barely seems aware of Quark's existence.

When no other words are forthcoming, Quark huffs. "Well, can you purge it from the rest of the station, then?"

"I gave the program to the Chief last night."

"And he didn't immediately come here to fix my bar? I'll have to file a complaint.”

Garak offers no reply. Just continues to stare into his PADD.

There are other customers he could be seeing to, but Quark can't pass up this golden opportunity. He's known Garak a long time and known of him even longer, and now that he has the guy's guts all neatly lined up on several dozen isolinear rods, he's never felt closer to the man. He makes a point of knowing things about his customers, but before yesterday, the most he knew about Garak was that he was an assassin, a tailor, a mean, weepy drunk, and friends with Bashir, Odo, and a smattering of other shopkeepers. That was it. But now...

He leans over the counter, closer to Garak's unblinking face. "You know," he says, with a smile rising slow on his cheeks, "if it's humans you like, I have a couple holosuite programs that might be just what you need."

Garak's gaze ascends as if on a motor, smooth and mechanical.

Good. He’s considering the bait. Now he just has to get him to bite. "All completely customizable. Skin, eyes, hair. You like long legs, they've got long legs. Scrawny, they're scrawny. Whatever you want. Although if you're really hung up on the one face, that can also be arranged. For the right price." When Garak just looks at him, Quark switches tactics. "Or maybe it's the uniform that does it for you? I've got 'em, but I'd suggest something out of my lingerie databases. I've still got some little Cardassian numbers filed away that I think even a man with your discerning tastes could appreciate. Just imagine, Doctor Bashir in a–"

He doesn't see the hand coming until it's already crushing his windpipe. Quark claws at it for several long, desperate moments while Garak continues to look.

Leeta scuttling over and yanking him away is what ultimately puts a stop to it, and it's while Quark is gasping in dramatic bursts of air that Leeta says in a rush, "Garak, please! Whatever he said, he didn't mean it!"

"Oh, I meant it," Quark coughs out with a high, strangled laugh, "he just didn't like it."

"Whatever conclusions you've drawn in the last twenty-six hours, allow me to dispel them," Garak says primly, as if he hadn't almost committed murder in broad daylight. "I am not a xenophile and I do not have feelings for Doctor Bashir. There are no less than two-hundred Cardassians currently aboard the station, and I assure you, none of them like me. Those poems were obviously planted."

Oh, but Quark is a little pissed now, unwise as that is. "Please, Garak," he says, "who has time to write that many poems about Julian just to mess with you? Two or three, maybe, but over seventy? If you're going to lie, at least don't insult our intelligence."

Garak's eyes flash and Quark ducks behind Leeta, repentant. Leeta sighs. "Garak, what's so bad about loving Julian?" she asks softly. "I thought the poems were really touching. It’s sweet how much you care for him."

But he's already staring into his PADD again. "I'm sorry, Miss Leeta, but I am a bit busy. Perhaps we can discuss my hypothetical feelings for your paramour another time."

"Julian and I have never been serious," she tries to assure him, but he's engrossed again, or at least pretending to be. Her and Quark share a look and leave him to it. Lesson learned.

"Let the bastard be pent up and miserable, then," Quark grumbles from the other end of the bar as he pours Table 3's drinks. A prickle on his neck has him looking up and there Garak's eyes are again, piercing, and Quark rushes off to deliver the drinks.

The three young Cardassians there are much more friendly. One has their nose stuck in one of the useless poetry PADDs while the other two smile at Quark while he sets out their orders.

"Three Raktajinos, extra bitter," Quark says, and is thanked. Polite. One even praises the drink's exoticness. Klingon coffee, exotic. Heh. "Your food will be out in a few."

Before he can finish turning, though, a hand is touching his arm. "What is the title of this anthology you include at every table?" the young man asks.

"Oh, that's not..." He sighs. "It's new. I can't remember."

"Find out for us, please," he says. "Works like these can be hard to come by on Prime and we make it our business to collect them. Whoever this author is, they're very unique."

"If these aren't banned on Prime already, they will be soon," his friend comments with a giggle.

"No doubt."

"'In my desolation, I am as weeds: Cut my roots and Let the waters take me, To drown and bloom anew, in You,'" the one with her nose in the PADD reads aloud, and shivers. "They'd burn the whole Central Archive down just for this one. It's so explicit."

"Let me see that," the boy demands, as the other one is already surging over to read over the girl's shoulder. Watching them fight over the PADD has Quark thinking back to the isolinear rods in his safe, and he hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder.

Garak isn't looking.

—

Glinn Halon Duvur. Former underling of Gul Dukat. Out of uniform, vacationing on Deep Space Nine with his wife and nine children. Spends his days gambling while his kids play unsupervised in the holosuites and his wife visits old friends. 

Beloved uncle sent to trial by the Obsidian Order in 2356 and executed that same day for crimes of attempted sabotage against Cardassia.

Garak watches the man wander down the promenade sans his proud lineage, jingling a fat little bag of gold-pressed latinum and yet-unconverted leks. He wanders out of range, so Garak switches to the next camera and there that unfortunate face is again. He drums his fingers on the desk. It won't be long now.

An alert rings in his ear and he almost initiates the shockfield on impulse, but the flash of smooth, brown skin on a monitor stays his hand. The knocking comes, and that haunting voice calls out, "Garak! Are you there?"

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

Predictably, the doctor tries to input his override, but the door remains shut. There's a long pause.

"Garak..." Julian sounds irate. Garak hums. "Did you deprogram my override code? Nevermind how illegal that is, that's dangerous! What if you're injured? Or fall ill?"

He says this just after attempting to abuse his station privileges for personal reasons. Infuriating hypocrite.

"Oh, my barging in at random, odd hours is no less than you deserve, Garak," Julian says as if in response to Garak's thoughts. "You set that precedent in our relationship yourself."

Terrible man.

"Fine. I'll give you some more time, since you want it so badly, but I'll be back and when I am, that override had better work. If it doesn’t, I promise there will be hell to pay, my friend."

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

Glinn Duvur dies two hours later of alcohol poisoning while his wife is in bed with Gul Rilimn's wife.

—

“I just can’t believe it,” Kira is bitching. Jadzia smiles and sips her drink, looking out over the Replimat balcony at all the happy brunchgoers. “A Cardassian writing poetry about something that isn’t conquest or the wonders of dictatorial rule or, at best, the pride of the traditional family nobly bowing and scraping. I’ve never seen it.”

“It would certainly seem to run counter to Cardassian values.”

“And about Julian!” she shrieks in her inside voice, slapping her hands down on the table. “Garak the spy, writing love poetry about Julian. Going on and on about his–his...”

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

“Eyes. His eyes! Ohhh, I knew he wanted to have sex with him, everyone knew that, but to write about his eyes like... like that? It’s practically Bajoran.”

“That’s true.”

Kira stops long enough in her tirade to eye her, and presses her lips into a thin line. “How are you so calm about this?”

Jadzia takes another sip. “I’m just fascinated,” she says. “I’ll admit, I’ve been looking at this more through Tobin’s eyes than my own. Have I ever told you that he met Lloja of Prim during his exile?” 

“He did not.”

“He did, and Lloja flirted with him outrageously. It was embarrassing, looking back. Of course, nothing ever came of it, because Tobin was always hopelessly blind to those sorts of things even without the language barrier, but his children liked to joke that many of Lloja’s poems were about him.”

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Jadzia allows, “but I do wonder... Being able to call nervous, asexual Tobin the lover of Lloja of Prim would have been quite the notch in my belt. Think of the stories I could have told! And now here Julian is with the opportunity. I know it’s not the same, I mean, it’s Garak. But, you have to admit, to write about him like that...”

“He must really love him,” Kira finishes for her, stumped. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I didn’t see it, either,” Jadzia confesses. “I was still wrestling with the idea that they were actually friends. I thought their association was strictly professional and all the books and flirting were just a front.” She cradles her head in her hands suddenly and sighs. “Ugh, but those poems. The poems are so good! Kira...”

“I know,” she moans. “They’re heart-wrenching. Which one are you on now?”

“Thirty-nine. I came back home, but I came back gone.”

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

A shout from below interrupts them and they both shoot out of their seats. Below, a Cardassian man has just had a beam fall on top of him. Jadzia and Kira bound down the stairs to him, Jadzia already slapping a hand on her comm badge. 

“Dax to Infirmary, a man has just been crushed, possibly impaled. Send a medical team to Replimat and be ready for emergency beam out.”

“Acknowledged, we’re on our way,” Girani says, but already Kira is looking up at Jadzia helplessly, the man’s wrist laying limp between her hands.

“He’s gone.”

“Shit!” Jadzia hunches over, hands on her knees. “That’s the third one today. Are Cardassians always this accident prone? No wonder you won the war.”

“No,” Kira says. “They’re not. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know,” Jadzia says grimly, and looks around at the crowd that’s formed. All Cardassian, all terrified. “But we need to find out.”

—

A Cardassian is sitting at the bar. This isn’t an unusual sight now, with the Festival of 90s Funk and Beyond coming up, but seeing one so young and looking so hunted is odd. Quark approaches him casually.

“What’ll you have?”

The Cardassian’s eyes dart. “Uh...” He leans over suddenly, cups both hands over his mouth, and whispers, “E. G. Special.”

Christ, these kids are going to kill him. “Coming right up,” he says in a normal person voice, and reaches under the bar for a glass. A little drink-mixing magic later, a beautiful fizzy blue drink is sitting between them, with an isolinear rod tucked neatly in the straw.

The Cardassian takes the drink between both hands excitedly, and Quark snaps his fingers in front of him. “Oh! Right,” the kid stutters, and all but launches the latinum at Quark’s face. “Thank you!” And off he goes, out of the bar with the glass still tight in his grasp.

“Idiot,” Quark mutters to himself, crouching carefully down to pick the latinum up off the floor without dirtying his expensive pants. “You’re supposed to take the straw, not the entire glass. That’s it, I’m switching to plastic. These little rebel brats don’t deserve my ni—Oh, hello, Constable! I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

Odo looks as unimpressed as ever. “That’s a funny question since last I checked, I don’t drink.”

“Ah, right, because you’re a liquid. How could I forget. You know, one of these days, I ought to serve you up with a little umbrella, see how people like it. I’d bet you taste bitter.” Odo harrumphs, and Quark makes himself busy with wiping down the counter. “Well, out with it then. What nefarious scheme am I up to now? I love to hear your little stories.”

Four isolinear rods drop onto the counter, right where Quark was just cleaning. “Hey now,” he says, throwing a performative glare at the changeling. “Careful. If you shatter glass in my bar, you’re cleaning it up.”

“I just had the most interesting conversation with the Tokal family,” Odo says, steamrolling right over him. “It seems their four darling children had somehow come into some questionable reading material. They tried searching for it in the Central Archives and yet, despite it being clearly Cardassian in origin, they could not find it. And I don’t need to tell you that when a piece of Cardassian reading material isn’t in the Central Archives...”

Quark, from his plastered position on the floor, stares up into Odo’s face directly horizontal to his and smiles. “What?”

“It’s illegal,” Odo sneers, stretching his body even further over the bar and nearly sending Quark starfishing. 

“Okay! Odo! I get it! But what does that have to do with me?”

“Quark!”

“Okay, okay! Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’ll stop! I’ll stop, okay?”

“I know you’re going to stop, because I am going to confiscate every copy of Garak’s poetry that you have absconded with and destroy them.”

Quark gasps. “Book burning? In this day and age?”

“Garak did not give his permission for you to sell his work! He didn’t even want anyone to see it in the first place! Those poems were stolen. Now, I expect a list of every person you sold a copy to and a full and complete refund to be issued by tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

Quark glowers. “You’ve made yourself something, all right.”

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

-

Turora Lumok. Obsidian Order operative and old colleague. Usually in deep cover in the Organian sectre, but has abandoned post to explore the space station. Barren, unattached. Cold. A model agent, if you ignore her unfortunate habit of going rogue and eliminating civilians on a whim. 

Recruited into the Order by Enabran Tain’s former right hand, Euluk Bucun, who was assassinated by Elim Garak in 2341 under orders from Enabran Tain for suspicions of treason. Turora Lumok disciplined shortly afterward by Elim Garak for complaining that she had wanted to be the one to kill that bitch.

Garak watches as the woman pretends to touch up her makeup while scouting for cameras. “Oh, Lumok, you always were woefully obvious. Have you been expecting me? I wonder why.”

Satisfied with the positions of the cameras, she puts away her mirror and strolls out of sight.

Garak shakes his head. “Fool. You forget how long I’ve lived on this wretched station. I don’t need to see you every second to know where you are.”

But then, the smell of antiseptic. Starfleet issue soap. Herbal shampoo, unique, robust. Gels. Oils. Sweat. 

He’s near.

Forcing calmness with a deep, measured breath, he takes off his eyepiece and slips it into his sleeve. He pays for the food he barely ate. He stands. He turns.

And is promptly thrust into the dark, deep woods of Julian Bashir’s eyes. “There you are, Garak! I’ve been looking all over for you,” the doctor says as if it’s just a regular day on Deep Space Nine. His hot, mammalian body caging him tightly in place against the table betrays the ruse. “Who was it you were talking to?”

Garak tries to step around him. Julian steps with him. “Oh, only ever myself. Forgive me, but you’ve caught me just on my way out. I have a strict appointment at 2.”

There’s Julian’s hand now. On his shoulder. Garak is calm. This is normal. “Well, why don’t I walk you there then.”

“My dear Doctor, I couldn’t rob you of your meal. Clearly you’ve just walked in.”

“Actually, I’ve found I’m craving something a bit different now.”

Garak makes to step around Julian again, and still Julian’s steps match his. It’s like they’re dancing. He doesn’t let this deter him. He’s not sure he’s capable of letting anything deter him now, with his heart trying to pound out of his throat. He keeps stepping doggedly forward, and Julian keeps mirroring, still with that damned hand burning through his tunic. “Well, you only have so much time before you must return to the infirmary, I know. Do not allow me to delay you in securing a table at a different locale.”

“Oh, but you’ve already delayed me so long. What’s a few more minutes?” A peek of teeth, a hint of warning. “Though I will admit... I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

“Then don’t.” Finally, Garak manages to elbow past this madness and shoot out of the restaurant. The station is so crowded these days, it’s short work to get lost in it. In a sea of ridges and black hair, Garak slips his eyepiece back on and lets the wave take him. 

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

He does not run. He does not stumble. He walks normally and not desperately, keeping his eye on both the path to the turbolift and Lumok. She’s down the corridor now, pretending to check her makeup again like an imbecile. Just a few paces more. Almost there...

“Garak, you’re the best dressed one here! You are not difficult to spot, you ridiculous dandy! Oh, no offense, Ma’am. Lovely scarf. Excuse me.”

There.

In the reflection of the mirror, Garak makes eye contact with the rogue and taps in the correct sequence on the device sewed into the seam of his pants just as the turbolift doors close behind him.

Like that, Turora Lumok is beamed into space and dies instantly, without a soul to mourn her, and Elim Garak walks back to his quarters with a hand over his mouth and a warmth on his shoulder, without a soul to mourn him, either.

—-

The Festival of Fierce and Fantastic Frogs is two days away and already it is being protested.

Outside Quark’s Bar is a growing army of dissident children with voice amplifiers and holoprojectors shouting to the stars that if they don’t get their porn back, they’ll tear it all down. Signs are projected in the air with essays cycling through them that look to be several pages each, a small holographic fire barely reaching ankle-height is lighting up the length of the promenade, and – perhaps most disturbingly – a comically inaccurate approximation of Odo is rotating at the center of the group, fitted in the typical regalia of the Cardassian military and holding a Klingon bat’leth. It is certainly... something.

“They’re Cardassians,” Quark is saying as he pours out some root beers. “They’ve probably never seen a protest in their lives, they don’t know what they’re doing. The Union puts an end to things like this pretty fast on the surface.”

“Heh,” Jadzia says, “what happens on DS9, stays on DS9.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

“It’s something Julian likes to say. Basically, they figure they can get away with speaking their minds here.”

Kira drums her fingers on the bar, staring into the flailing protestors thoughtfully. 

Right then, Odo arrives back on the scene. It looks like he’s trying to get through, respectfully, but the protestors are not making it easy. Jadzia and Kira come to his rescue just as about fifteen Cardassians start forming a blockade around him.

“I walked around as you do, investigating the endless stars,” one young woman is yelling at him while he stands there with big helpless baby eyes, “and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind!” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Odo says consolingly.

“Clearly!”

“Okay, okay, let him through!” Kira wiggles her way between the crowd and Odo, snatching him by the arm like a fish with a hook. “He’s not your enemy here, he was just upholding your laws!”

“The Cardassian government has no jurisdiction on a Bajoran station!”

“He made his choices!”

“Beautiful Julian would be ashamed of you! Repent! Repent!”

Kira and Jadzia manage to reel him most of the way through the protesters and he shapeshifts the rest of the journey. The protestors try to follow, but Quark bustles over to stop them. “No, no demonstrations inside! Remember who your allies are,” he says, and they all cow back. “Thank you.”

Odo ripples his form a couple times to make sure everything’s back in the right place and harrumphs. “Allies, Quark?”

“Yes, allies. It’s terrible what you’ve done to them. You can’t police art, Odo–-this is culture we're talking about here, the very bedrock of society.”

“And I’m sure this virtuous attitude of yours has nothing to do with the incredible profit you made and lost at the expense of our mutual friend.”

“Oh, I did him a favor.” Quark uncaps another bottle of Kanar and gestures back to the entrance, with its swarm of frothing Cardassian children. “Look, he’s got fans!”

“How has Garak been handling all this?” Kira asks Odo, sharing a look with Jadzia. “I haven’t heard a peep out of him since he gave us that antivirus program.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Didn’t you have breakfast with him yesterday?”

“Hmmm, that would have been routine. Except he didn’t show. When I made it back to my office, I found a message from him apologizing, telling me he’s so busy with orders he’s lost all track of time.”

“How has he been getting commissions?” Jadzia asks. “His shop’s been closed all week.”

Odo rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure the reality is he’s simply avoiding the issue. Dr. Bashir has informed me he’s been treating him like ‘the black plague’ as well.” 

“Julian’s one to talk. He practically pole-vaulted over a vedek the other day to get away from me.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Quark says, looking towards the door, and everyone turns just as the commotion starts–or, more accurately, the commotion abruptly stops. 

The protestors have all gone quiet, in apparent awe as they part around Julian like the red sea around Moses. He’s smiling stupidly as he stands in the center of them, nodding at something a Cardassian man is exclaiming. It’s an incredibly awkward scene, and Quark starts choking at some of the things his ears are picking up. “They’ve deified him,” he tells them, and Jadzia bursts into giggles at the idea, but Quark isn’t joking. “Really. He might as well be one of the prophets to them. You read the poems. You know.”

Ugh. Kira wrinkles her nose in disgust. The worst kind of blasphemy–horny blasphemy. “What is he even doing here?” she asks. 

“Getting his head inflated,” Jadzia says dryly, because now that Quark has mentioned it, it’s pretty clear from the shit-eating grin on Julian’s face that that’s exactly what’s happening. 

“Poor Garak.” Quark says it absentmindedly, but the comment gets several eyes turned on him. He’s shaking his head as he watches the scene unfold. “First, he falls for a human… humiliating… but then that love becomes public knowledge and several young beautiful Cardassians decide that he’s onto something, and now that human is going to get more action in a week than he’s seen his entire life. I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of more than a few star-crossed romances, but this might just be the saddest.”

“Julian wouldn’t have an orgy the same week the whole station found out Garak’s in love with him,” Jadzia says, insulted on his behalf.

Quark hefts a tray up onto his shoulder. “He just did,” he says as he leaves to go do his job, and Jadzia whips her head around to see Julian escorting two attractive Cardassians away from the protest. Her jaw drops.

“Bastard,” Kira spits, surprising everyone, herself most of all. Those poems must’ve affected her more than she realized.

Odo clears his throat unnecessarily. “I’m no expert on the behavior of solids, but it seems to me that neither party is handling this situation well.”

“I’ll tell you how the pakrela should be handling this,” an older Cardassian sitting at the far end of the bar cuts in, with a twitch to him that makes it clear he’s more than a few deep. “He should be settling his assets, because he doesn’t have long now. Whatever his human is doing is the least of his worries. Ha. Hehe. Being a traitor wasn’t enough for him. No, now he’s gone and corrupted the next generation with his degeneracy. Exile was too soft a punishment. Uh-huh.”

Kira opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Odo touches her shoulder. “You speak as if you know him,” he notes mildly, because of course, the exact reason for Garak’s exile isn’t public record. It’s barely even private record. The Order doesn’t work that way–or didn’t, as it stands. It is interesting that this man is acting like he has classified information despite being a civilian. 

But then, sometimes day drinkers just like to spout speculation as fact.

The man looks into his glass and laughs at his reflection. “Who doesn’t know Garak these days? But that’s temporary. He’ll be forgotten soon enough, just like the Order.” He finishes his drink and gets up. He insincerely mutters some friendly Cardassian farewell and starts to walk past them, but Kira can’t let it go.

“Excuse me, but what’s your name, sir? You’ve been so informative.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says, and elbows past the protesters.

—

“Solt Mebol, left behind a widow and child six years ago when he was tragically killed in a transporter accident. In reality, he accepted an undercover mission which required him to fake his death and have his bond dissolved. A significant sacrifice. Certainly not one many Cardassians could have made.”

The Cardassian stares at Garak sitting on his couch. Turning, he tries to exit his temporary quarters, but the door won’t open.

Garak tuts. “Oh, you know better than that, Mebol.” He taps his disruptor with his forefinger, resting harmlessly against his knee. “The festival isn’t for another couple days, yet here you are. Catching up with old friends before the festivities, I assume? Only I haven’t found you in anyone’s company but your own. You must be lonely. Please, let me alleviate your loneliness for a while.”

The Cardassian sighs at the closed door. “Solt, is it?”

“I can tell you the names of your wife and child as well, if you’d like, and the city they live in. Do you know your wife never rebonded? Unusual behavior for a Romulan. Quite dangerous, as I understand it.”

Solt steps carefully into the small living space and sits in the chair opposite Garak, with the coffee table between them. “As one of the last living members of the Order, I don’t suppose you would consider letting me go?”

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

“Would you? I had a deal with Central Command and they’ve been good to me so far. You, however, have been known to…” He eyes the disruptor casually turned in his direction.

“Yes, I imagine I must be something of a mystery these days to my people. I have been… squirrely, is what I suppose a human would say, and I must as well now that I’ve been painted with their brush. Oh, it is an incredible sin, I know. That I should enjoy the company of an attractive alien while in exile.”

Solt snorts. “You expect me to believe those poems were the natural result of a fling?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything you do not wish to. I only say that it’s convenient that I should be seen as even more traitorous just as a swarm of Cardassians should enter the station.”

“What’s convenient is that you’re still alive. You have friends in high places willing to go to bat for you, in spite of everything you’ve done. It’s a disgrace. You are a selfish disloyal anarchist and no one is holding you accountable, because you just happened to be good at your job once and everyone likes the idea of having you as a potential weapon should the need for one arise. Until then, they’re content to keep you in a cabinet collecting dust and sentiment. You can wave that disruptor all you want, but we both know you make a poor operative now. You’re in love.” 

Garak is still smiling, but Solt can see the signs of a grimace. Dusty, indeed. Too passionate. Too human. “I’m hardly so foolish. You know better than I the dangers of such things in our line of work. You’re little better than a puppet now that you’ve had a whiff of the truth, Mebol.”

“You’re right.” Solt attempts to raise one eye ridge, despite it being unfit for such maneuvers, and leans forward towards that disruptor. “Pull my strings, then, and let’s test that grip Bashir has on yours.”

—

Kira crashes into Garak’s quarters and kickflips past all his booby traps like Indiana Jones’ hotter cousin.

“What the fuck, Richard?” is basically what she says, only it’s in character, so it’s more like, “What the fuck, Garak!”

Garak spins around in his maniacal villain chair with a look of surprise. “How did you get in here, Major?” Miles bustles his way in after her with his impractically enormous toolkit, and Garak lets out an, “Ah,” then, sedately, “I suppose Dr. Bashir filed a complaint about my tampering with the door codes. Of course, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. You see, it–”

“This isn’t about door codes, Garak,” Kira yells. “What I want to know is why our best suspect for the sudden influx of murders on the station was just found drowned in his own toilet!”

“Oh my,” Garak says. “What an unfortunate end.”

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. We know what you’re capable of, but we’re good people and we didn’t want to accuse a victim until we had exhausted the rest of our line-up. Only, interestingly enough, they’re all dead, so now…” she marches over with the fury of the Prophets on her heels and stands imposingly over him, her teeth clenched, “here we are.”

“That is interesting.” He runs a hand down a roll of fabric in his lap, smoothing it. “I suppose you must have some of that ironclad evidence that the Federation so treasures.”

Kira glares at him.

Garak feigns looking around. “Oh, but I can’t help but notice the good Constable isn’t here with you. What could that mean? Surely not that you broke into my quarters without due cause or a hint of warning–at your own word, not even to fix my glitching door. For all you knew, I could have been in here writing one of my vaunted Bashir epics.”

Kira’s hands are in fists now. “The evidence we have would be more than enough to have your face plastered on every viewscreen in Cardassia and you know it.”

“The Federation and Bajoran legal processes do seem a tad inefficient in moments like these, don’t they?”

“Okay,” Miles cuts in, because he has Turbo PTSD and is not in the mood for a flare up. “I think I'll just wait in the hallway, then. Holler if you need me. Good luck, Major.”

Kira and Garak spend a few moments watching him waddle out of the room and then go back to staring each other down. 

“Look, you ass,” Kira starts, “we couldn’t link every victim to the Cardassian government or some third-party organization, but we were able to link enough of them to recognize that these aren’t just random nobodies having ‘accidents.’ Someone was able to break into your computer and embarrass you and you don’t like that so you’re pitching a fit. I can’t have Odo arrest you – yet – but I can tell you to cut it out. This vigilantism isn’t helping–”

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

“Goddamn you, Garak! Just… don’t do this anymore, okay?”

Garak looks at her with innocent astonishment, like he’s still bewildered by her totally plausible accusations. “Well. You have my word, I suppose,” he says, bemused.

—

Gul Skrain Dukat. Blessed with a wife, seven children, two sets of living parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, minus one father. Habitually cheats with lower ranked military officials, slaves, and barely legal adults, unbenownst to his family. Father was interrogated by Elim Garak and executed by the Union over live broadcast in the year 2350 for the crime of being a piece of shit. 

Elim Garak was shortly thereafter levied with an amateurish execution attempt by Gul Dukat. It failed.

The second attempt will succeed, but at a great cost.

The Festival of Filthy Fucking Foot Fetishists has officially begun, but Garak is struggling to feel any enthusiasm. He is surrounded by his people. The station has been dimmed by 15% to better suit Cardassian eyes and misting stations have been set up in limited locations. Extinct and invented flowers crafted by Cardassian and Bajoran artisans decorate the banisters and doorways. A wash of blue, green, and sparkling gold lights up every direction. There is the smell of freshly prepared Cardassian sweets on the air, a gentle warmth suffuses the atmosphere, and children are laughing on the promenade. It’s the first time the station has felt not just tolerable, but nearly pleasant, in years. 

But then, Garak has never felt particularly welcome among his people. As a child, he was an orphan generously cared for by service workers and sponsored by a government official, and as an adult, he was a member of the Order, which granted him more fear and loathing than it did admiration and respect. Companionship, in its truest form, was a rare thing to come by and not something he was encouraged to come by at all.

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him. 

In any case, Garak is delicately balanced on the line between proper misery and numbness. He gave up imbibing around the same time that he gave up the implant—or rather, the implant gave up on him—but he’s on his third cup now, wandering through the festivities with no particular direction in mind. The exact spot of this last operation isn’t important, only the timing.

He finishes his drink while a group play a spirited game of cold moba in front of him. It shouldn't be long now.

All the nearby screens suddenly flicker from the event schedule to Dukat’s sharp grin and Garak hums. There we are. He knew the bitch wouldn’t be able to resist showing his face.

“Welcome everyone to the biennial Festival of–” a baby wails, “generously hosted here on Deep Space Nine by Bajor and the Federation, and of course organized by our own prodigous Detapa Council. Ah, that wormhole… quite the view, isn’t it?”

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol. 

There aren’t any stalls in his immediate vicinity, but there is a young Cardassian couple marching towards him while making dogged eye contact. 

Oh no. 

Garak starts to make a break for it. Not too fast, it won’t do to cause a stir, but there are a number of very good reasons for him to stay far away from any Cardassians who might recognize him right now. Especially if the source of that recognition is those damn poems he was too stupid and sentimental to destroy.

Before he can make it more than a few steps, however, he looks up to see another few Cardassians working their way towards him, also making eye contact.

No, no, no.

He makes to move towards the stairs then, only for his eyes to land squarely on him. 

Him, wearing the silky green outfit he lovingly crafted for him a few months ago. Him, shining in the festival lights, casting him in an even more arresting shade of gold than usual. Him, looking determined and coming straight towards him.

Oh, fuck no.

“Garak,” Julian calls out, likely reading the panic on his face and stance and soul.

“Today, I am not a Gul, though,” Dukat is saying. “I am but a humble representative of the Cardassian Union in its totality, and as such, I would like to thank Colonel Kira Nerys and Captain Benjamin Sisko for their hand in this week’s festivities. They have been nothing if not accommodating these last few weeks while our coordinators ran rampant through their halls.”

He should have accounted for the possibility of this. Thinking of Julian had become excruciating as of late, but that was no excuse. Whatever interaction Julian had been hoping to have with him couldn’t be allowed, not now, and not only for the sake of Garak’s traitorous, disgusting feelings. Even if it would give the sweet man closure, it would not be worth his life. 

“Now, it may be a bit unorthodox, but I thought it would be only fitting if the first Reenactment was carried out by our benevolent hosts, and the Lakarian City Acting Troupe were all too happy to take them under their wing.”

More eyes are turning towards the screen now, the laughing and playing and sloshing of cups quieting down. Julian is nearly with him, his approach halted only by the gathering crowd, and Garak can only pretend to be interested in Dukat’s speech while he racks his brain desperately for a solution. Any solution. Anything.

“I trust that the history of Cardassia is in capable hands.”

The screen flickers again and changes to a shot of one of Quark’s holodecks, where a lone Bajoran man stands in a beam of red light.

A hand grabs Garak roughly by the arm, and he nearly cries with relief when he sees that it’s Lumok.

Well, Lumok with the face and attire of a Bajoran, but that ever-present spark of unchecked malice in her eye is quite unmistakable to someone who worked with her for over a decade. 

“Surprised, you ugly old regnar?” she asks under the actor’s impassioned opening monologue.

He sucks in a breath as the sharp edge of something presses into his back. “Impossible. They found your body caught on one of the station’s spires.”

“A simple bait and switch,” she purrs, pressing the weapon closer, slicing through his tunic. A pity. This was one of his nicer ones. “You’ve gotten sloppy.”

He manufactures a smile. “A knife, then? A favorite of yours, I recall, but terribly messy for such a public venue. Not to mention if your aim is even an inch off, I’ll be in and out of the infirmary within the day, as if nothing at all had happened.”

“Don’t lecture me,” she growls. “You can’t do that anymore. You’re not anyone to anyone. Your master is dead, and what did you do the second you were off leash for the first time in your life? You went and choked yourself on the first Starfleet sotl you could find. You’re pathetic.”

It took incredible effort to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull. “Oh, just stab me already.”

“I’m not going to stab you. I’ve done a bit of outsourcing, in fact.” She slid the knife from his lower back to his side and looped her arm through his, pinning him in place with a wide smile. “All I had to do was suggest to my new friend that you were infiltrating the Federation. That you were poisoning them against Bajor from the inside, uniting Cardassia and Starfleet in a secret alliance under the guise of wooing the CMO. No, no, you won’t be killed by one of your peers. Your death will be at the hands of a perfect stranger. A pointless death for a pointless man.” She leans in and whispers into his aural ridge, “It always was so easy to make people hate you.”

The next few seconds are a flurry of chaos. One second he’s watching as Human, Bajoran and Cardassian actors alike are all holding hands and reciting ancient poetry and the next he’s on the floor with a searing weight bearing down on him from calf to shoulder. There are screams and footfalls coming from all directions and Odo’s voice is immediately discernible shouting over the commotion. His back is on fire, he can’t breathe, and there’s a slash in his side, but he doesn’t miss the thump of Lumok’s body a few feet away, dead before she hits the ground.

“Garak? Garak?” the weight on him is speaking frantically, pawing at his head and shoulders. The weight shifts and the hands flip him onto his back. Those same hands pat him down, blazing a path down his chest and his stomach and his sides, stopping at the superficial gash near his rib, and Garak knows who this is before he even opens his eyes.

“Garak,” Julian sighs with relief. Garak was meant to be dead by phaser blast right now, but instead Julian Bashir is smiling down at him like he’s important, kneeling beside him, his hands on him, branding him with their incredible heat. It shouldn’t be possible. No one could be that fast. 

“Doctor,” he manages on a wheeze. One of his ribs might be broken, actually.

“Dukat,” Sisko growls from the monitor in billowing robes and a long flowing wig, surrounded by flowers.

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

Having decided that showing weakness right now can only help his case, Garak is sitting hunched to the side, holding his reeling head in one hand. It’s through a hiss that he replies, “A woman named Turora Lumok was responsible for sabotaging the station with those poems forged with my data signature. The Bajoran woman who was just assassinated–she was no Bajoran, but rather one of the last remaining members of the Obsidian Order. She was hired by Dukat to kill me during the festival under the guise of a hate crime. No doubt because of her indomitable reputation, I’m sure. A number of Cardassian casualties these past several days were at her hands.”

Sisko walks to the viewport to stare out into the stars for a moment, processing this. “All his talk of friendship between Bajor and Cardassia…” he trails off, the ghost of a sneer on his lips as he turns back around. “His goal was just the opposite. He wanted to destroy any hope of cooperation.”

“And get me out of the way in the process,” Garak grumbles. 

Sisko hums and wanders over to Garak’s side, looking down at him thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who assassinated Ms. Lumok?”

Garak stares at the floor through his fingers, his eyes glazed.

“Or who your informant is on Dukat’s involvement?”

“Captain,” Garak mutters, not looking up, “I have sat here concussed after an attempt on my life and shared with you everything that I know, and here you have not even told me who the tailor of your magnificent robe is.” He tugs half-heartedly at a strip of embroidery on the fabric. “I must admit, I am feeling a touch betrayed you didn’t come to me.”

Sisko flicks his eyes up to Julian, who has been standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. “Very well, Mr. Garak. I release you into Dr. Bashir’s care for now, but I expect to continue this conversation soon.” He massages his forehead. “Once I figure out what to do about this damned festival.”

Julian comes over to help Garak out of his chair, but Garak snaps upright and to the door before he can touch him. Sisko takes the opportunity to lean into Julian’s face and whisper, “Get more information out of him.” The doctor nods.

Julian isn’t angry when he steps out of Sisko’s office and sees that Garak is walking in the exact opposite direction of the infirmary, but he is disappointed. 

“Mr. Garak,” he says urgently once he’s caught up to the idiot.

Mr. Garak interrupts him in the same tone, “Now, now, my dear doctor, we both know I have a dermal regenerator in my quarters, so we need not extend–”

“And I think we both know this is about much more than a few bumps and bruises. I’m afraid the time for beating around the bush passed quite a while ago.”

“You’re right, Doctor,” Garak says, coming to an abrupt stop and rounding on him with wild eyes. “There is an urgent matter we must discuss.” Julian’s eyebrows raise, and Garak nods severely. “Oh, yes, let us not ‘beat around the bush.’ We should talk about how you threw yourself directly into the line of a lethal phaser blast on the one in a millionth chance that you might save my life. The cost of such an action being almost certainly your own life, and yet, here you stand, and here I stand. Will wonders never cease.” Julian opens his mouth, but Garak raises a finger. “Nevermind that I was in the middle of an altercation with a very dangerous, very volatile woman who would not have hesitated for a second to dispose of you. She had a nasty habit of that. Now I knew that you were naive, Doctor, Doctor! I knew that! What I did not know – what I never could have guessed after all these years – was that you are an idiot.” 

Julian stares back into Garak’s hissing face, unimpressed. Garak feels a wave of deja-vu and does not like it. It has no place here. And yet, Julian takes in a breath and smiles, raising his shoulders. “All right, Garak. If it’s really so important to you, we can talk about your suicide attempt.”

“What?” Garak bites out.

“You were going to let yourself get shot, yes?”

“I was n–” Garak starts to lie, disgusted, but is stopped by Julian stepping entirely too close. He stumbles back a step, then another when Julian attempts to crowd him again, and the familiarity of the routine has him shutting his eyes, rueful. They’re dancing again. It’s humiliating, the things this man makes him do, how effortlessly he can gain the upperhand. Most of the time without even having to lift a finger.

“You figured out Dukat’s plan and arranged for Lumok to die if she succeeded, but you expected her to. You didn’t expect to be saved,” the doctor tells his blank, unresponsive face. His eyes are still closed, his hands tense at his sides, but he knows Julian’s stepped closer again by the heat of his livid breath. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Very well. I didn’t figure it out. I was informed.”

“So, the captain was right.” He sounds bored, but Garak seizes his chance. His eyes open in a sudden burst of animation.

“Yes, I had an informant. I believe the major was familiar with him, a fellow by the name of Damoc who was recently presumed dead? Though I knew him far better as Mebol. We first met on Romulus, you see. In the event of my death, he had strict instructions to reveal Dukat’s plot in my stead and protect my remaining assets. In return, he was to receive some valuable coordinates, which by now he will have long accessed. I suppose he’s already booked passage off of the station, if he hasn’t already gone.” 

“Quick to abandon you,” Julian says, completely off-script. Garak’s carefully measured breathing stutters.

“Surely Captain Sisko would like to have a word with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Doctor…” Garak says, lost. “There isn’t time to was–”

Suddenly there are two hands slamming into his chest like they’re iron forks and he’s a slab of meat, rocketing him back into the nearest wall with a loud thud. Garak gasps at the strength of it, astounded, but all his attention is quickly monopolized by Julian’s snarling words.

“Stop trying to distract me, Garak! Stop racing away before I can even properly get into the room, stop begging off lunch, stop ignoring my comms, and stop acting like your bloody life is over just because it was found out that you have feelings for me!” 

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

“Thirty-seven. That’s how many direct references to our literary discussions are in your poems. All chronologically concordant with the dates of those discussions, and six of which from that classic Earth album I recommended to you a year ago that you swore up and down sounded like a pack of voles had been crammed into a bucket and shaken around. I knew you were having me on. You love Mitski, and you love me.”

Garak’s face shutters. 

Finally, Julian takes a step back. His hands remain on his chest, pinning him in place, but he allows him some oxygen. Exactly twenty seconds pass like this, before the doctor becomes impatient and huffs, “You can’t possibly have nothing to say.”

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve heard it from friends and coworkers and strangers and every tourist on this damn station, it feels like, but I haven’t heard it from you.”

Garak is silent for a long time. Finally, he quietly asks, “You would further humiliate me this way? Knowing what you do? My dear friend…” He, carefully, with only the gentlest of pressure, puts a hand over one of Julian’s. “Please. You’ve read everything I could possibly have to say. What more could there be?”

Julian’s hands are unforgiving, but his eyes soften at the simple lowering of the curtain. It’s not the direct confession he was looking for, the I love you completely, traitorously, ruinously that his poems professed and a deep, broken part of Julian desperately wants to hear, but it is, it is. For Garak, this is as explicit as it gets, and Julian can feel his heart trying to catch in his throat.

“Garak,” he starts to say.

Garak isn’t scowling anymore. His eyes are shining as he looks away and sucks in an aggrieved breath. “Oh, please, let us skip this excruciating precursor. I have no intention of remaining on this station.”

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

“I will need time to pack up my shop and settle my lease, but then I promise, you will never suffer the consequences of my unfortunate… condition again.” When Julian only stares at him with mounting alarm in his lovely eyes, Garak grimaces. “You must know I had no intention of pursuing you.” At least, not after the implant had been shut off and he’d realized what horrors he’d stumbled into with the doctor while under its influence, and by then, it was already too late. He was too weak to stop speaking to him, but he was not a complete monster. “I wouldn’t have. My writing was never about nurturing the emotions, only managing them.” A bit of a lie, but only a bit. He does love to languish and he never could resist a good innuendo. Their friendship had been infinitely precious to him, though, and he couldn’t bear the slow death it would undergo now that everyone knew the truth.

The worsening rumors that would spread. The suffering of Julian’s reputation, career, and love life with the Cardassian spy’s drastic affections hanging over everyone’s heads. The danger it would place them both in, the damage it had already done. The way Julian would know every time Garak flirted now, it was never idle. It had never been and could never be. 

It would be a torture hitherto unthinkable. Better to sever the limb before it could rot.

Still, Julian is silent. The pressure on his chest is more a suggestion than a command now.

“Doctor, I…” he swallows back anymore hideous truths. “I apologize. Your rage is understandable, but I swear to you, I have every intention of righting this wrong.”

“Oh,” Julian says then, softly, as if he isn’t speaking to Garak at all,  “you don’t know.”

“Doctor?”

He makes a bizarre human gesture, skimming the heel of his hand off his forehead. “My God! Of course. I thought it was pride, or shame, or paranoia. Anything and everything but this, but of course you would be this ridiculous. Well. That’s an easy enough problem to solve.”

“Doctor–?!”

The hands on his chest are gone. Instead, they’re seizing him by the head and pulling him up to connect his mouth to Julian’s.

Oh.

If Julian’s touch was a brand before, this is lava running down his throat, into his stomach and down, down, down to eat through the twenty inch thick duranium floor. Slow, thorough, and final in its devastation. A transformation that cannot be persuaded. He grapples with it, hands scrambling stupidly over and across his doctor’s shoulders. Whether it’s to pull him closer or push him away, he doesn’t know. He’s too busy being brutally altered to give it much thought.

His hands settle for burying themselves in his hair at some point. When doesn’t matter. Time holds no power here. It happens, and then he knows how soft Julian Bashir’s hair feels, and there is no going back.

The loss of control becomes alarming enough that he finally manages to pry himself away, gulping in desperate, anxious breaths of frigid station air. It works. The fire and the madness that followed it calms down and he manages the strength to push Julian back, but the wet smack of their lips disconnecting will echo in his dreams for the foreseeable future, as will the dizzy grin on Julian’s face inches from his own. There’s a hand on his ass keeping him from tumbling through the hole in the floor and a couple unlucky passersby gawking at the gruesome scene and Garak is a different creature entirely, incandescent and strange, forged anew in the curious fires of mutual attachment. 

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.” 

Julian looks anything but naive right then. He can’t focus on that, though. He needs to focus on the fact he was nearly assassinated; the fact that the kindest man alive nearly died with him out of some misguided terran idea that all lives are of equal value and importance.

And yet, Julian is leaning in to kiss him again, so Garak puts a hand on his chest and says, “You know what I am.”

Julian’s expression turns complicated and it’s clear he understands. Garak’s roiling emotions can’t settle on being relieved or horrified. How to go on after this? After knowing intimately what he almost had, with the smoke of it still thick in his eyes and his throat and his heart?

A gentle hand on his jaw brings him back to the moment, where Julian’s eyes are serious. “I know,” he murmurs.

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

“The question is,” Julian continues, even quieter, “do you know what I am?”

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

Julian just smiles sadly, and it's clear that there are some long conversations in their future. But for now… “About that dermal regenerator in your quarters,” Julian begins, and Garak is relieved to find out that whatever stupid, lovely thing he’s become can still appreciate an innuendo.

—

Not long after, in the middle of telling Sisko all about Mebol over Julian’s comm badge while its owner watches expectantly in a state of teasing half-dress, he’s horrified to find that whatever thing he’s become is also rather eager to please.

—

A couple days later, the two of them are picking from a generous cut of flaming taspar in the Replimat.

Or, Garak is picking, anyway. Julian is stuffing his face. Ordinarily, this would mildly scandalize him, but the fact it’s taspar, one of the most traditional delicacies of his homeworld, being shoveled enthusiastically into that pretty face makes it so he can feel only hope.

Rather than giving into that inadvisable feeling, he takes a dainty sip of his tea and tries to look nonsuspect. Cardassians from all sides and angles are staring.

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

Julian wipes his face with the side of his hand. Disgusting, but oddly compelling. “What about her?” 

“When will you be breaking the news to her?”

“Oh.” Julian smiles, bemused. “She knows.”

A tightness in his chest dispels slightly. “Does she?” he says faintly.

“She’s the one who first brought it up. We performed the Rite of Separation days ago. She said it was great timing, what with the festival and all. We didn’t even have to leave the station.”

“So you were together then.”

“Well, in a sense. We weren’t in love, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Garak takes another sip, lowering his eyes. “I wasn’t worried. Only concerned for the young lady’s feelings.”

Julian’s face is incandescent. A Cardassian to his far left is openly gaping. “Of course, of course.” He leans suddenly over the table then, moving a hand forward to rest on his knee. “So, should I take this line of questioning as an indicator that you’re open to a relationship with me?”

Garak shifts a little in his seat, moving his knee further under the table and its shadows, but otherwise doesn’t pull away. “It would be unwise,” he says quietly, without actually saying no.

The hand squeezes. “It isn’t as if people won’t assume anyway.”

“Rumors can be dispelled. Redirected. Altered.” He reaches forward to take a small saucière and pours a bright red sauce over a couple groatcakes. “There would be no coming back from a confirmation.”

Julian’s hand falls away. “Would it be so bad?”

“I don’t know,” Garak says, splitting a cake up into three neat sections. “Would it, Doctor?”

A Bajoran couple walks past their table then, and while one purposely avoids eye contact and seems to be giving them a wide berth, the other throws a meaningful glare Julian’s way. This is the fourth judgemental or pitying look he’s received since they came in for brunch. Julian calmly returns the look, refusing to be the first to look away, until finally the man averts his eyes and Julian looks back to Garak with a stern smile. Garak inclines his head.

“Be careful, Doctor,” Garak goes on. “Rumors can ruin lives. End careers.” He scoops up a bite of his cake, dripping with red sauce, and lifts it to his mouth. “Kill,” he finishes, and eats.

At that, Julian leans back in his seat with his arms crossed tight. Garak gives him his time. It’s a relief to have finally made a dent in Julian’s lovesick, idealistic conviction–and Garak can admit, after the last few days, that it is lovesickness. Julian’s decided he loves him back and there will be no stopping him from pursuing this, but there may yet be some tempering. A small, equally stubborn, sentimental part of Garak despairs at the whole horrid affair, but the behemoth of his good sense squashes this part down with little difficulty. 

It’s this moment that a smattering of young Cardassians, accompanied by one Jadzia Dax, arrive at their table. Immediately, Garak recognizes them as the ones that nearly intercepted his meeting with Lumok and his stomach drops. Julian, on the other hand, brightens back up.

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

Jadzia responds first, with each elbow leaned on a Cardassian’s shoulder and a knowing sparkle in her blue eyes, “Hello to you.” The Cardassians all echo with similar greetings, some shy, others giddy.

One young woman standing at the front, with her hair in three elaborately plaited braids and little makeup, is looking at Garak with particular interest. “You’re the one who wrote the poems about Julian.”

Garak looks at the girl coolly. “Do you mean Dr. Bashir?”

She goes blue. “Oh, um. Yes. I do.” She tucks an imaginary lock of hair into her perfectly coiffed hair and lowers her head respectfully. “My apologies, Doctor.”

“Hey now,” the doctor scolds with good humor, “none of that. We’re all friends here.” 

The girl throws another searching glance Garak’s way. “Friends?”

That’s enough of that. “This is certainly quite the surprise,” Garak says genially, plastering on his most pleasant smile. “Is there something you needed? As Deep Space Nine’s resident Cardassian tailor and reputed troubadour, I’m always happy to be of service.” Julian sends him a sharp look, which he ignores. 

Jadzia is looking as foxy as she ever does, with a grin nearly to her spotted ears. “Julian asked me to bring them here,” she says too happily, and Garak has to sit back in his seat to process that. Julian scratches his neck with a guilty smile, obliviously alluring. It cannot be overstated that there are, still, eyes on them from all directions and angles.

“Garak, sir,” the Cardassian woman-child begins again, earnest, “let me start over. My name is Inia Milam. I am the President of the Ivory State Liberation Library. We collect–”

“Madam,” Garak interrupts her quietly, stunned. “This is hardly the time and place.” He blinks, still shocked stupid by her brazenness, and leans towards her, peering into her distressingly young features with beseeching desperation. “And I am hardly the audience.”

Milam doesn’t appear to process his warning at all, though. She just continues to look inquisitive. She has that gleam in her eyes that is common in Cardassian women, calculating and intelligent, but there’s something else there. Something indefinable that he’s seen hundreds of times over an interrogation table, but without the fear to staunch it. Without the hopelessness. It makes his stomach flip. “On the contrary, you are exactly the sort of person we look for.” She bows her head. “Dr. Bashir promised that if we assisted him a few days prior, he would introduce us so that I could formally welcome your book of poems into our shelves. I apologize if this comes as a surprise. I wish only to thank you for your excellent contribution, E. G., and tell you that we hope to welcome many more pieces from you in the future. I’ll be in touch. Dr. Bashir.” She nods to him, returns his gentle smile, and walks confidently away. The rest of the group mirror her, voicing similar words of polite farewell and appreciation, and leave.

Garak forces himself not to track their departure and instead picks up his fork again, as if nothing world-shattering has occurred at all. The cake is tasteless in his mouth.

Julian is concealing nothing of his thoughts, however. He’s staring openly at Garak, as if he’s a bomb and he’s trying to figure out which color wire to cut.

Ultimately, it’s Jadzia that breaks the tension. “Well,” she says, “that is some harem you’ve got there, Julian.”

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing.” Uncharacteristically, her impish smile turns regretful. “Now that that’s out of the way, I do have to bring your friend in for questioning,” she says, and that explains that. “I’m sorry, boys. I stalled Ben as long as I could.”

Garak polishes off the last of his meal and takes one last gulp of his tea to wash it down. With that done, he stands with a placid, conciliatory smile.

Julian puts a hand on his shoulder before he can take a step. “I’ll come see you after my shift.” Those lovely, dark, deep eyes search his, pinning him like a moth above his fireplace. “Okay?”

Garak inhales. “Without end,” he murmurs, waits for Julian’s eyes to light in understanding, and then aloud says, “I am at your disposal, Doctor. Good day.” With that and a firm, friendly pat on Julian’s hand, he limps away.

Jadzia rather pointedly watches him limp to the exit for a few long seconds before throwing Julian a rakish grin. “Well, well,” she says largely. Julian pretends not to notice, and Jadzia pivots on her heel after Garak.

“Before we lock you up and throw away the key, could you sign my datarod,” Julian hears Jadzia asking, and he shakes his head, unsuccessfully trying to rub away his smile.

Without end Do I think of you and so Come to me at night. For on the path of dreams at least, There's no one to disapprove! Ono no Komachi

#my posts #garashir #I wanted to post this on April 1st but LONG SIGH it didn't work out #at least it's still april. pranking people on the 1st is so predictable anyway #not a fic #credits to ono no komachi cynthia cruz and pablo neruda #really weird how tumblr just lets you publish blank posts like this one #this entirely blank post with nothing in it at all #very strange

[shinybearnerd]

"Celestial Ties" - pt. 1 of 2

Hello! Here's my second ff about Good Omens and this one is about our favourite angel, Aziraphale. I hope to publish the last part soon. I hope you like it! <3

Part 2.

Bonus Part.

Pair: Aziraphale x Gn!reader Words: 1,7k Genre: Angst Story: Aziraphale and the reader are a couple for quite some time now. But the Armageddon is started and the angel is worried about their future, so he decides to do something...

-Engish is not my first language. So I'm sorry if there are any mistakes-

In the quiet solitude of the bookshop, Aziraphale and Y/n found themselves entwined in a love that defied the boundaries of their respective worlds. Their hearts beat as one, resonating with an intensity they could not deny. Yet the angel's celestial nature weighed heavily on him like an anchor.

That evening, as the rain tapped gently against the windowpanes, Aziraphale couldn't shake the turmoil in his heart any longer. The prospect of the approaching Armageddon, the battle between Heaven and Hell that loomed ever closer, haunted his thoughts. He knew that loving a human was forbidden. It was a transgression of the divine order he had always upheld. But he couldn't help it. Not with someone as special as Y/n lightening his days.

With a heavy heart, he turned towards them. They were sitting in the quiet corner of the shop, getting lost in the pages of one of their favourite book. A soft smile was on their face. As it always was since the angel met them.

Aziraphale's voice trembled as he spoke. <<My dear, we need to talk...>> Startled by the seriousness in his tone, Y/n looked up, concern etched across their features. <<What is it, Aziraphale? Is something wrong?>> The angel hesitated as he struggled to find the right words. <<It's about us, our relationship.>> A flicker of worry danced across their features as they listened intently to his words. <<Go on.>> <<I… I can't do this anymore.>> Y/n heart sank at his words, feeling a lump in their throat. <<"Can't do this anymore"? What do you mean?>> His heart ached with every passing moment. <<I… I can't continue this relationship, Y/n.>> he continues. <<It's not right. I'm an angel, and you're a human. We can't be together like this.>> <<Why? What's changed?>>

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his eyes avoiding Y/n's as he struggled to find the right words. Tears welled in their eyes, and their voice wavered as they pleaded to talk to them. The angel's resolve faltered as he looked into the human's tear-filled eyes, his heartbreaking about the pain he was causing them.

<<My celestial duties and the upcoming events…>> As the words slip out of his mouth, he understands the mistake. And Y/n noticed it. He was trying to cover it up by talking: <<…they complicate everything. I have to put the greater good above my desires.>> But Y/n already catch that. <<Events? What events? What are you talking about, Aziraphale?>>

They reached out and grasped his hand, Y/n touch warm against his cool skin. <<I don't understand. Please, Aziraphale, talk to me! What's going on?>>

Aziraphale hesitated, torn between protecting them from the truth and his desire to share his burdens. He knew the forthcoming Armageddon could bring Y/n even more pain, but he couldn't bear to keep them in danger.

<<I must prioritize my duties, and it's best for both of us if we go our separate ways.>> He said it like he was talking to himself other than Y/n. <<But… what about us? What about the love we share?>> Aziraphale's gaze stuttered for a moment. He took a deep breath, composing himself to deliver the painful lie. <<I'm afraid there was never more than friendship between us, Y/n. I'm sorry if I led you on, but it's for the best if we end this.>> Tears welled in their eyes as Y/n tried to comprehend his sudden change in demeanour. <<No. No, that can't be true! We love each other! …don't we?>>

His angelic mask remained intact, his voice steady. But deep down, he was feeling horrible. Like he was about to throw up. <<I'm afraid you misunderstood, my dear. It was all a mistake, a moment of weakness on my part. An angel like me can't harbour romantic feelings for a human. It goes against everything I stand for.>>

Y/n heart felt like it was being torn apart, struggling to reconcile the truth of their shared love with the lie he was weaving. <<But I saw it in your eyes. Felt it in your touch when we…>> Aziraphale insisted. <<I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken.>> His words are like daggers to your wounded heart. <<We can't continue this delusion any longer. It's better to part ways now before things get more complicated.>>

Every fibre of Y/n's being screamed out against his words, desperate to hold onto the love they knew was factual. <<Please, Aziraphale, don't do this. I love you, and I know you love me too. Why are you lying?>>

The pain in his eyes mirrored their own, and for a moment, Y/n thought they saw a glimmer of the truth hidden beneath the lie. But before they could say anything else, Aziraphale turned away, prepared to leave. Y/n reached out, their hand trembling, but he evaded their touch, taking a step back. <<Please, don't make this harder…>> he said softly, his voice laced with sorrow.

He disappeared into the shadows of the bookshop, leaving Y/n alone with their shattered heart and the echoes of his false words. It was a painful betrayal, an act of sacrifice he thought was necessary, but it left them broken and lost.

The following day Y/n tried to contact Aziraphale multiple times, but nothing could persuade the angel to talk to them. Neither Crowley, who didn't even know what was going on, knew what to do. And in the end, they stopped searching for an answer. Hoping that one day, things would sort it out for themself.

Years had passed, and the something that should have "sorted this out" never came.

Y/n had moved on, building a new life in another city once they found out they were pregnant. The love they once shared with the angel remained a bittersweet memory. They started a relationship with someone else, though happiness had proven elusive. It was a relationship full of unhappiness and fighting.

The years had brought struggles, arguments, and infidelity from their current partner, and they remained together only for the sake of their son, a beautiful boy with gold curly locks like his father and deep y/c eyes like his parent.

Fate, however, had a peculiar way of orchestrating reunions.

One day, while they were reading some e-mails from work, Y/n stumbled on a particular one from their boss. The e-mail was about a short transfer of a few weeks to their base in London.

The more they read, the more they felt their heart sink. Them? Going back to London? It was out of the quest-

<<You are going to London?>> The surprised high-pitch tone of their son made them jump.

His little face had a happy expression written all over it. He always wanted to visit the big city. Since Y/n's friends and parents were from there, it was very rational as a wish. <<What did we say about others' personal space?>> The kid ignored them and started to (almost) scream: <<Please can I come with you? Please, please, please?>> In the end, Y/n accepted. That feeling of nausea rising more and more by the second.

After they settled into a temporary apartment in central London, the little boy started to beg. He wanted to go outside. To explore London. <<There's an incredible bookshop near here. I saw it in the cab on the way here.>> Y/n, that was drinking some water, let the glass go. As a result, it smashed on the floor, pieces of glass going everywhere. <<Shoot. Hold on, kiddo. Don't move.>>

They suddenly felt awful. The sense of nausea and anxiety gripped their stomach. They were about to throw up. They tried to persuade the little boy to go somewhere else. But, as they started to think about someplace to go, they remembered that most of those places were the same that they, Aziraphale and Crowley, used to go. So it was inevitable meeting the demon and…

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was a sunny day, unusual for being in London. Crowley got out of the Bentley, directed to the bookshop before him. His phone was in his hand, and the chat between him and Y/n opened. Since Aziraphale and Y/n parted ways, the demon saw the difference in the angel. Maybe not during the Armageddon, but the moment that all ended, Crowley knew that Aziraphale missed them. The books that Y/n used to love were on the angel's desk, away from the public gaze. And the music that filled the bookshop was almost inexistent because most of the songs reminded him of them.

And Crowley couldn't stand to see his best friends like this any longer. Not him. Not after all they've been through. He wanted to contact them. But despite the effort, they didn't seem to want a connection, making the demon ask himself what Aziraphale could have said to have that reaction out of the human.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The more Y/n and their son walked, the more their heart was heavy with memories of the past. They were strolling through the bustling streets of Soho when they saw the silhouette of Aziraphale's shop. Without realizing it, they froze on the spot. His son was next to them, asking if they were okay. Suddenly panic and a powerful feeling to go away filled their brains. They needed to go. Immediately. They weren't ready for the possibility of meeting the angel. Not now. Not when there was their kid with them. What were they thinking?

They finally decided to turn around and go to the apartment when their gaze met Crowley's, who seemed frozen in time as he caught sight of them. It was too late to turn back now. Or was it?

Only when the demon looks passed between them and the kid, Y/n realized it was too late.

<<Nomy (*), who is that man? Do you know him?>> Y/n sighed. <<Yes, my love. It's a very long friend of mine.>> <<I never saw him, why?>> Y/n was biting their cheeks, extremely nervous. They and the demon continue to stare at each other. <<Did you have a fight?>> <<No, baby. It's just…>> they sighed again, breaking eye contact with Crowley. They kneel in front of him and continue: <<…Time and relationships sometimes are difficult. Especially for adults, my love. And unfortunately, some friends along the way tend to… fade away.>> The kid nodded, looking before his parent and then Crowley. <<He seems nice.>> Y/n chuckled with melancholy. <<He is...>> <<Is him your friend too, Nomy?>>

Y/n frowned, looking toward where their son was glancing at. As they turned their gaze, they could see the demon, still with a speechless expression on his face, talking to…

<<Aziraphale...>> they whispered.

When the angel turned his face, they looked at each other. Both feeling an overwhelming sensation.

-.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- -.-.-.-.-.- (*) Nomy is a non-binary name for parents that I find on the internet and I find it too cute to not put it in here.

#aziraphale x reader #aziraphale #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fandom #good omens aziraphale #angst #x reader #x y/n #x you

[half-a-stache]

Finn has used many swords. Each unique in origin and power. Some are epic, some are bland.

Regal Sword: Just a regular sword Finn used after buying it before sneaking off into a dungeon. The gray bulb was originally red until his mom ate the color.

Ice Sword: A Christmas present from Grandpa Simon. Ice King made it, adding a defending spell from the crown. This sword was unfortunately destroyed by Scorcher after accidently hiring him and the spell flew back into the crown. So, Finn went back to using the Regal Sword before getting the next one.

Abadeer Demon Sword: Finn gets it during the second time meeting Grandfather Hunson. (The first time, Hunson tried to bond with him by trying to suck all the souls in Ooo) Hunson gives it to the little "prince" before making the offer to Marcy in taking over the Nightosphere. Events go down normally, even Finn wearing the amulet. So, Finn gets a new sword and trauma that day. This dark blade is infused with Hunson's magic, giving it power to suck up souls, chop ghosts and overpower even the strongest of foes. Marceline, however, destroys this one after finding out that the Demon Sword was corrupting her son to do evil, finding out Finn's been sneaking out dungeon crawling even before he got the sword. Though the effect was taking way slower than Hunson expected for some reason. (*cough* Comet *cough*)

Candy Cane Sword: With the Evil Sword Curse still lingering on Finn, Marceline banned her son from going into dungeons. He went to the Candy Kingdom to look for any thrill, but not too extreme as he's still a good-hearted hero. He went to Princess Bubblegum to see if there's anything he could do. As Hero of Ooo, she saw an opportunity and gave him a job as a knight, giving him a new sword. Though he had a breakdown and quits after enduring trauma from the second zombie incident, but he still kept the sword.

Celestial Light: Seeing the curse becoming worse for Finn, Marcy feared she was going to lose her son like she lost her father-figure. She looked through the Enchiridion and the library to find at least something to help him, even a little. (Now, I didn't think of a full story here, but they end up in another dimension, earns the orb and it lifts his curse) Made of purifying light, Finn could shape it into any tool he willed it to with a proud shout of its name. Celestial Light was destroyed when it stabbed into the Lich's heart, erasing him and the blade from existence.

Biotech Sword: Finn gets this sword from when he, his mom and BMO somehow ended up in space... on the Drift. At first look, it's a cool looking sword, but it can adjust its effectiveness from able to block attacks to slicing anything like hot butter. It can also create arcs of energy with every slash Finn makes in close combat or ranged and release shockwaves with every hit if he wants to. If the sword has been knocked away or just out of reach in general, it will fly back to him with just a thought.

Soul Sword: Created by Peppermint Bulter before the Lich War, a soul trapper. Finn used it on the PepperLich to end to war and dumped it in the same volcano where Magic Man threw Patience St Pim after she used him as an elemental spell battery, but not before turning her into an avocado.

Biotech Arm Sword: Shortly after losing his arm, the Biotech Sword merged with the severed appendage and immediately reattached itself onto him, giving him a hard light blade with the same features as before. At one point after, he discovered it could customize its appearance, giving himself claws.

There was that one sword he made with the Sister of Flame (Flame Princess), but he never used it and gave it to her after she overthrew her father.

And that's all the sword MMAU Finn has used.

#au #fanart #adventure time #finn abadeer #finn mertens #finn the human #mama marcy au #swords #sword #marceline abadeer #adventure time marceline #marceline #hunson abadeer #marceline's dad #adventure time ice king #adventure time simon #simon petrikov #nightosphere #adventure time princess bubblegum #princess bubblegum #bonnibel bubblegum #bonnie bubblegum #adventure time fanart #the lich #flame princess #peppermint butler #bmo #magic man #patience st pim

[devildomwriter]

How To Get the Most Out of HAPPY DEVIL DAY

Nightmare

1. The nightmares last for 22 days so don’t panic when you don’t get them right away.

2. After ten 10x pulls you are guaranteed a UR+ which means EVERYONE gets a UR+. To do this make sure you claim your free 10x every day

Main Event

1. If you haven’t already, SAVE UP your energy drinks for the extra chapters in the game. As always there will be a route harder to unlock so save it for that

2. Celestial Blessing events are MUCH easier to get the cards

3. There will likely be rewards other than the card like special backgrounds. If you want those don’t move on to the next box because you CANNOT go back to get them EVER

AP For Event

1. Make sure to collect your AP twice daily

2. Play the event when the day refreshes in the morning and come back later for when the AP is replenished.

3. Make sure to complete ALL your daily missions for your 18 total devil points so when the special offer pops up you have enough devil points to get 200 AP

Charge Mission

1. Charge mission requires ALOT of money. However you have until JANUARY 2 to complete them so a little bit at a time will help. You get cool rewards even if you don’t get the cards. If you don’t get the cards be thankful you still have money in your bank account because I sure won’t

Pint Sized Challenge

1. The pint size challenge only last ELEVEN Days. To finish the challenge you HAVE to have the Lucifer UR+ which means if you have the vouchers or money to buy the vouchers you should use them carefully. And like I mentioned for the nightmare you do have time to get the cards but not as much to get the Lucifer UR+

2. This memory card DOES come with a story in devilgram

The Sale

These are the awesome things you get with the “sale” (the crossed out prices have never actually been prices it’s just a marketing thing) however you do get useful things for the event.

There is also an 80 USD one but I impulsively bought it so I don’t have a picture for it. It does come with a UR+ voucher and lots of demon vouchers but if you’re like me you may just end up with the same one twice

Main Take Aways

1. Be careful with your demon vouchers/AP/Log in bonuses/Real world money

2. Players without VIP accounts will still be able to get rewards from the event and a guaranteed UR+ Card. It also wouldn’t hurt to sign up for VIP for just one month to get even better rewards

3. The event lasts TWENTY-TWO days but it’s split into two events so keep an eye out on which ones that includes (It goes for the pint sized challenge for sure)

Have Fun and try not to be too impulsive :D

#obey me shall we date #obey me happy devil day #obey me event #obey me charge mission #obey me game tips #obey me advice #obey me nightmare #obey me ur+

[rustytrident]

mc vlogs while they stay in the human world.

it started because they would send the brothers' group chat videos of them and the events throughout their day, and asmo was like hm. why not just,,, post it?

and post it they did.

it's on a website that allows streaming from every realm, so humans, demons, and even angels can watch what mc is up to, which ultimately kinda weirds them out because they will be filming themselves gaming or studying or even going grocery shopping and thousands of beings will fill their page with views and comments. they already are a sort of celebrity in the devildom, and a lot of beings have heard of them in the celestial realm, so they were expecting some sort of traction from there, but when humans started watching and commenting things like "i love that brand of chips" or "you can clean it with baking soda and it will make it look brand new!" they really started freaking out.

i can see demons especially being so fascinated with how humans live. mc will be going to the bank or knocking on watermelons to choose which one to buy and every demon comment is along the lines of "damn bitch you live like this???"

you can easily tell when the brothers or someone from purgatory hall comments because they're all channel members (something mammon and levi set up), and mc replies to every single one of them, and only them. beings start complaining that mc is playing favorites and in their next video they're like "yes. that's my family. you're a stranger on the internet" and though not many of them stop being supportive, none of them bring it up again.

idk man this whole post is one big brainfart but tldr mc is really popular and really cool and all they did was just have a monologue about their favourite anime character's development and eat instant ramen because they were out of food.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #mc's most popular video is of them cleaning their home #humans use it for motivation demons use it to study human technology #what do you mean you have a thing that sucks all the dust from your floor in it... where does the dust go after #diavolo forbid they have a roomba and just start filming the thing circle around their place like a sentient being #user 'mammoney' commented: mc what the fuck is that thing on your floor and why is it freely moving in your space #user 'mc' replied: pet

[notmasonpines]

Calendars of the Boiling Isles

(In-Universe excerpt first, analysis on BI calendars and notes on this excerpt further down)

Tl;dr: Dana said the BI has a 666 day calendar, the show says it has a 365 day calendar, I say that concluding this is a simple contradiction is boring, and that both calendars existing is more fun to discuss (just that Belos hated the old calendar and forced the Gregorian one onto the BI after he established the empire).

Prior to the founding of the empire, the witches and demons of the Boiling Isles measured the passage of time with the Celestial Calendar, which was based on the periodic and reliable cyclic trajectory of the Wandering Star through the thirteen segments of the Intestina Tract wrapped around the celestial sphere. A full cycle in this calendar consisted of 666 days, with 74 weeks of nine days divided over 13 months, each defined by the period the Wandering Star spent in one of the constellations, which could become quite disproportionate in some cases. However, soon after the founding of the empire, emperor Belos implemented and began to enforce the Imperial calendar. The Imperial calendar employs years that consist of 365 days, divided into 52 weeks of seven days. These weeks are further divided into nine months, with four months of five whole weeks, three of six, and two of seven. These months can further be associated with one of the main covens, as per the Titan’s Will, providing a deeper symbolic connection to our lands and magic rather than a reliance on an extra-terrestrial phenomenon. The remaining day, separating the years, belongs to no weekday or month, instead being associated with the Emperor’s Coven, and is called a day of unity —Not to be confused with The Day of Unity, which is a promised, singular event, the date whereof may fall on any day, and could be significant enough to serve as the new transition point between years in a post-Unity calendar. Every four years there is a pair of days of duality instead, where the celebrations for the past year and the upcoming year are expanded upon and split between the two. The switching of calendars brought many difficulties to the Isles. Mainly the need to convert between a person’s Celestial and Imperial age, though the former is now firmly out of use, beyond elderly people attempting to sound younger through letters or Penstagram messages, as well as the switch to shorter five-day work weeks from the prior seven days. This last change was considered a positive by many, and the more regular, even spread of the weeks over the months compared to the old system helped with the smooth, willing adoption of the Imperial calendar. The only remnant of the old calendar can be seen in the practice of assigning people birth constellations based on the Wandering Star’s position in the Intestina Tract, which can bring quite some confusion to the younger generations, as this cycle does not line up with our coven-based one, with several constellations inconsistently overlapping and shifting over time if one only has the written attempts to match Imperial times with Celestial months to rely on.

Before the rest of this post comes along, quick shoutout to the Calendar put together by Marztheincredible for Titan's Blessing, not that it's needed. But that calendar is pretty cool too.

I've always found the references to what calendar the Boiling Isles uses interesting…but also very confusing/conflicting. The first time it really came to my attention was during the Q&A panel the crew held for Gallery Nucleus. One of the questions was about star signs, to which Dana (indirectly through a pre-prepared text) answered that the BI has a calendar that consists of 666 day years with 13 months, each represented as a worm or tube-like demon (I at first almost didn't catch the joke of just how easy it is to make constellations for those animals, just connect any sequence of stars with a single line and you're done).

So, funny hahah Beast's Number and unlucky number for Demon and Witching Realm calendar, very fitting.

Except then come the complications.

First of all, ages would be all out of whack. Since BI years in this calendar would be 1.8 times as long as Earth years, that would mean that the age of someone according to this calendar (which I'll call the Edgy Calendar for short) is about half what you expect compared to their biological age based on our own calendar. And we do get actual age drops by BI residents, like Hunter being called 16 by Darius, or Skara having her 15th birthday.

Either that means the Hexside crew except Luz are actually all in their mid 20s to 30s based on Earth years, and physically age about half as fast as humans (which they don't. It's confirmed witches have similar natural lifespans to that of humans), the days on the BI are only 13 hours long (which I can't imagine Luz's biological clock vibing with while having her remain as upbeat and awake as we see her in the show), or the fun Calendar fact from the Q&A doesn't fit with canon and is just straight-up false, with canon trumping anything contradictory said by the creators outside of the show (something Dana subscribes to) and the BI use a Calendar with years that are about as long as our own.

And it makes sense that the Edgy Calendar is more a joke than a serious fact. It wasn't even part of the main response to the actual question that was anticipated, since that was about star signs and birth constellations. The Calendar was just made to completely mismatch ours so there'd be no easy or meaningful way to determine birth signs for BI characters. It could definitely also be an early concept thing that wasn't implemented because of the previously mentioned age stuff, or something that was thought up far too late to implement and match with in-canon stuff (like the mentioned ages).

But that's also a very boring answer, especially since the 666-13 stuff is very fitting. So, how to reconcile the complications while having our cake and eating it too?

Well, see the excerpt back at the top: Just have the Edgy Calendar be the old one and the Earth-like Calendar the new one, implemented by Belos when he rose to power.

It would certainly be in-character for him to do so. We know he was losing track of time after he'd spent a while in the Demon Realm, and the mismatched Calendars at the time would definitely contribute to that. Add to that the fact both the Beast's Number and the unlucky number are involved, and someone like Philip would absolutely despise it. Obviously one of his first acts as Emperor would be to abolish it and implement a calendar that matches the Gregorian one in length. The man completely upended an entire culture with the Coven system, surely he can implement a new calendar.

This does bring along the interesting implication that the Boiling Isles doesn't really have any event or cycle that could determine a year, as otherwise such a switch would've never been possible, let alone accepted (like seasons, which we don't really see. Though we're only there in the summer period from Earth's perspective). Which further implies that the BI planet has very little to no axial tilt.

The Moonlight Conjuring does put a bit of a wrench in this idea, however, since it's said that 'the celestial powers only align once a year'. Which would be a great way to define a calendar, and brings questions as to why it wasn't used like that before.

Then again, though this is a common expression for 'each instance happens exactly one year apart', it technically only says it happens once a year, not that the time between consecutive events is regular or predictable (you can have the Oracle Coven predict when the next one comes). Perhaps it's more like a lunar eclipse that just so happens to occur often enough to be almost always once a year.

As for how I put together my own 'Imperial Calendar', one of the few things we do know about the calendar that's currently in use (besides the years being as long as Earth years), is that at least one month has 40 or more days (Eda talks about 40th of Scabuary in Them's the Breaks, Kid, and in Wing it Like Witches we see a calendar month that's six weeks of seven days each long).

To be honest, I certainly like the idea of having months that are made up of whole weeks, making each date have the same weekday no matter what year it is.

And then came the task of dividing 52 weeks of seven days (plus the unaffiliated day) into neat months. After some struggling, the best, most pleasing combination I could come up with was 4 months of 5 weeks, three of 6, and two of 7. That it amounts to 9 months to match the main covens was also very convenient.

Some last notes: Since, with these conclusions, the BI didn't have any significant annual cycle they used to keep track of the years, they could've used any regular cycle to keep track of the years. So, rather than something lame and normal like the actual orbit of the Demon Realm planet (tracked through observing the sun move through some constellations near its ecliptic), or by observing the phases of its moon for the months, I made up something more wacky.

Since we already had the Wailing Star, I thought a star that makes a meandering trip across the night sky over the span of 666 days would be fun (And it could be one of the Archivists, idk. I like the headcanon that the Wailing Star is one of the Archivisists, crying out over the loss of their sibling, so why not have another that continues its normal duty of observing from a distance, slowly making their way along a route that passes along all the planets in the sky that they check in on?) And since the star doesn't move along the tract at an equal speed (the actual layout of star systems it floats past will be at different distances, despite looking projected on a sphere from the perspective of a BI resident) it brings some extra funkiness of some months being widely longer than others.

Plus, since all the constellations are worms or worm-like, I can use the name for an old, outdated taxonomy system where most typical worms were classed under 'Intestina', and since this version of the 'zodiac belt' is less a belt and more a random track, the 'Intestina Tract' matches perfectly with the pun names based on body parts that all locations on the BI have. I also imagine the Intestina Tract as being illustrated as a bunch of worms and tube-like demons one after the other, each eating the next's tail like some messed up, multi-stage ouroboros.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

#the owl house #owl house #owl house theory #toh #toh analysis #boiling isles #overanalysis #worldbuilding #boiling isles calendar

[inksrepublic]

Ahoy to all One piece lovers comrades, I need your help.

Hi guys, I hope you are having a good day. I'm mainly looking for a couple of beta readers/co-writers or writing buddies for a One piece themed story I'm writing.

Mainly I'm looking for someone to do some healthy world-building with, who can sit down with me and brainstorm intensively and discuss character arcs, plot points and so on. I'm also looking for someone who is good at building and narrating fighting scenes, as there will be quite a few in this story.

Some additional information:

Compared to the canonical work, this story will have somewhat darker tones, with an atmosphere that also draws heavily from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

This is an Oc-centered fic set in a universe where the characters who appeared in the canon series never existed and some events never happened. Some might call it an original story that borrows only elements from One Piece.

Since I think the system created by Oda is quite good, I decided to keep it and expand some elements. I'm referring to groups such as Yonko, Shichibukai, Revolutionary Army, etc.

I have currently written and published well eight chapters of this fanfic reaching 35454 words and a ninth chapter is being written.

Summary: "We didn't understand what we were attracted to until it was before our eyes."

Beyond the Grand Line, one of the world's greatest explorers unearthed something that should never have been found and could have thrown the world into chaos if it had fallen into the wrong hands. However, it seems that he himself went back to erase every trace of his journey, including the way to get there and the location of the treasure itself. Some 20 years later, a pirate with a mysterious past known as "The Devil of the Seas" and his extravagant crew are on the trail of the man and the clues he allegedly left behind before mysteriously vanishing into thin air. What is their purpose? What role does the World Government play with all this? And why are the Celestial Dragons so afraid of it?

In a nutshell, my story is about the incredible and chaotic voyage undertaken by Captain Morgan, or as he is commonly called "The Devil of the Seas," a former rear admiral turned very dangerous pirate and outlaw, in order to find a legendary relic to completely destroy the World Government and the World Nobles system, all the while recruiting a crew of such scoundrels and turning the whole world upside down.

My purpose is also to create with my stories a solid community that is even more passionate about this fantastic work that is One Piece. It would also be cool for multiple authors who are One Piece fans to join together, each creating their own story set in my own universe. We could create spin-offs on various characters, sequels and whatnot. The only limitation would be our imagination.

If you decide to participate and are writing or need a hand with stories themed to One piece or belonging to fandoms such as Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh, Bnha, Demon Slayer, Naruto, AC and MCU, I will be very happy to return the favor and give you a hand, feedback or whatever else you need, even becoming a co-writer or writing buddy if you wish.

Dm me for more information.

So come on! Don't be shy and jump aboard!

#writing #beta reader #writing friends #fanfic #looking for a beta reader #one piece #beta request #pirates #community #writing buddy #one piece fanfic #dream

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Fic Recs - Other

Fic recs featuring media other than Star Wars and The Last of Us.

Key: 🏴 = dark, 💕 = fluff, ⛓ = rough/bdsm elements, 💀 = dead dove do not eat

Mind the warnings, and please read responsibly. you control your own media consumption.

All Fic Recs

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels - "Kingsman: The Golden Circle"

it tastes like acid by @psychedelic-ink (oneshot)

summary: he came by every wednesday to ask for your services, he's a broken man, you can tell. however, you didn't expect him to break you in return.

Dieter Bravo - "The Bubble"

Celestial Navigation by @write-and-buried (series, complete)

summary: dumped and drowning in a summer storm, you duck inside a coffee shop to hide from your broken heart. Covered in plants and hand drawn images over exposed brick, it seems like a slice of heaven. The owner brings you a blueberry muffin and a promise; you’ll fall in love with him before the new year.

Red Herring by @nothoughtsjustmeds (one-shot)

summary: red herring (n.): an unimportant fact, idea, event, etc. that takes people's attention away from something important.

Dave York - "The Equalizer 2"

⛓🏴The Violence of You by @whataperfectwasteoftime (oneshot)

summary: You’re so fucking predictable. You have a bad night, and you come crawling to him, the only person who can take all this pain inside you and do something with it.

Black Jaguar by @oogaboogasphincter (one-shot)

summary: dave returns home from a job and can’t wait to indulge in you.

⛓ the dress series by @janaispunk (ongoing)

summary: You’re having an affair with Dave York. When he takes you on a week-long vacation, you realize that you have deeper feelings for him than you should.

⛓ Penance by @max--phillips (one-shot)

summary: dom!dave and boot worship

Ezra - "Prospect"

⛓B is for Bathroom Control by @max--phillips (oneshot)

pro-dom Ezra and piss play

I Forget About Time and Space by @psychedelic-ink (oneshot)

summary: you cook for ezra's guests, and seeing the sight of you being so domestic awakens something in him.

⛓ Plaited and Braided by @bonezone44

summary: Ezra gets a hold of a supersonic whip (aka bullwhip) and tries it out on you. There’s aftercare and then there’s sex.

Francisco "Frankie" Morales - "Triple Frontier"

🏴⛓ A Little Mishap by @lincolndjarin (oneshot)

summary: you and frankie return to base camp after an unsuccessful mission, each of you blaming the other for the outcome.

Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Verse)

distracted by @cool-iguana

summary: reader is sick of Miguel playing video games and not giving her attention, so she does something about it.

Max Phillips - "Bloodsucking Bastards"

i wanna do bad things with you by @chronically-ghosted (series; ongoing)

summary: you ask him to bite you, but he has some reservations. you agree to work up to it and test his limits.

Javier Peña - "Narcos"

Paranoid Heart by @goodwithcheese (ongoing)

summary: Maybe reckless hearts come in pairs.

Moon Knight

⛓ Be Lost by @juneknight (series; ongoing)

Marc Spector

summary: after a series of failures to find a dominant, your long time best friend Marc offers to give topping you a shot.

Crossovers

Welcome to the Carnal-val by @covetyou

ft. Dieter Bravo & Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

summary: Ladies and gentlefolk, adults of all ages, come one, come all, to the Carnal-val. Witness the most spectacular sights, jaw-dropping feats of depravity, and awe-inspiring liberties taken with Pedro characters.

#fic rec #dave york fic #dieter bravo fic #jack whiskey daniels fic #other media fic recs #for the record #I don't go here #the only movie on this list I've seen is the bubble #these authors are just all so good that I'm willing to read anything they write #so go read everything they write

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The Stars Don’t Shine; They Burn

Happy Mother’s Day, Deuce and Ruggie.

I’m really into your looks 🥰 Think you can introduce me to your mom/grandma? This is a MHYK joke

***Mild spoilers for the Wish Upon a Star event!***

Imagine this...

The shooting stars were a spectacle to behold.

Blinking, twinkling, as they hung in the sky, like celestial beads decorating a dusky dress, like ornaments strewn up amid dark leaves. Then they fell from grace, plummeting to the earth as blurs of light streaking the night. Trails of sparkles followed, raining down like fine glitter--the stuff of faith, trust, and a little pixie dust.

All the people’s desires, come to seek their loving wishers.

This was the annual Star Sending.

It was a rare time of unity for the students and the staff of Night Raven College. One long, solemn breath held in their chests as they looked to the sky above.

So crystal clear, so spacious. Every little shimmering secret swirling overhead reflected back in Deuce’s watery eyes.

I did this. I helped make this a reality.

He sniffed, wiping at the tear trails left behind on his cheeks. The wetness was cool, temporary relief from the blazing summer heat, comforting him as he was cradled by the stars.

... I did it, mom.

She had sounded so close over the phone, almost as though she were right next to him, a hand laid on his shoulder as they watched the stars fall. He could see her smiling at him now, her face the portrait of motherly confidence.

A breeze sweeping her hair up in dark wisps. Starlight refracting in the peacock green of her irises.

Physical traits they shared.

Like mother, like son.

“I’m so proud of you, Deuce,” she had told him. “My little Stargazer. You’ve changed so much.”

Fresh sniffles tore through him at the memory.

He continued to rub at his eyes, whisking away the tears—but new ones formed, only to be continuously battered away. His face would likely be swollen and red by the end of the night.

Rosebuds blooming into full flowers in the heady summer.

Burning tears collected in the corners of Deuce’s eyes. They clung to him like dewdrops on morning leaves, refusing to fall until their dying moments.

Overhead, the constellations shifted. Shining sugar continued to drift down upon the world.

I’m... no longer the person I was before. I’m moving forward. These tears... are just proof of that, aren’t they?

Deuce clasped his hands together, casting a wobbling smile to the sky.

“I’m... changing.”

The wind rushed out of him when he uttered those words—almost as though a binding spell had been released. The magic, his expelled breath, fanned through the field, at last liberated to the world.

He laughed through his tears, throwing his arms out to embrace the sky, the stars. Fabric billowed. The accessories on his outfit tinkled in turn, ringing in a merry welcome, a new start.

The sun, the moon, the stars.

The galaxy expanding before his very eyes.

Deuce was spellbound by it all.

A jostle to his arm snapped him out of it. He stumbled, found his footing again, and whipped his head to face his impish assailant.

“Whoops, sorry ‘bout that! Didn’t see you there, Deuce-kun.”

“Bucchi-senpai!!”

Deuce’s hands instinctively flew to his pockets—or where they would be, were it not for his Stargazer robes. There had been no place to stash his wallet, and therefore, nothing of value for Ruggie to swipe. The first year sighed in relief—before he realized that his eyes were still wet, and panic seized him.

“I-I wasn’t crying! I was so amazed by the shooting stars that I forgot to blink!!” Deuce blurted out. “I-It’s just pollen allergies!”

“Uh, that’s one more excuse than you needed there,” Ruggie pointed out, snickering. “Chill, I won’t rat you out or anything. I’m just here to get a good view of the stars.”

“O-Oh, right!!” He robotically side stepped and gestured, offering up the space where he had once been standing to his upperclassman.

“Nishishi, how nice of you~ Don’t mind if I do!”

Ruggie slid over, staring out into space. His snickers gave way to quiet, his gaze steadily passing from star to star as they blazed through the sky.

Strangely solemn.

“Man... Ortho-kun went so high up. He cleared that cloud like it was nothing...” the hyena mumbled. His eyes were glazed over, yet slightly shiny--like the glaze on the donuts he loved so much.

“Bucchi-senpai...” Deuce balled his hands. Passion rose up in his throat. “I understand how you’re feeling!”

“Huh, you do?”

“The stars are so pretty, you’ve forgotten to blink too, right?!” The first year eagerly pumped hist fists into the air. “You just want to watch them forever and ever!”

“Uh... sure, let’s go with that.” Inwardly, Ruggie groaned. Sheesh, is this guy naive or what? Who’d wanna do something as sappy as that?

But in spite of his thoughts, he found his own eyes drawn to the sky once more. The stars, magnetic.

“... Hey,” he said slowly, his head still angled upward, “do you think we’ll ever be able to reach those stars someday? If our voices will ever reach the same heights?”

Deuce’s answer was immediate, and just as earnest.

“Well, I still need to work on my flying. I’m nowhere near as good as you are--but I’m sure that if we both keep practicing, we’ll be able to reach the stars!”

Ruggie’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, a laugh escaping from between his lips. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It won’t be. We’ll definitely mess up or fail...! But what matters most is getting up and trying again and again until we finally succeed!” Deuce returned his grin, determination dancing in his eyes.

“That’s the whole reason we’re able to see the star shower today. Everyone tried so much to make it a reality. You’re one of the hardest workers I’ve ever known, Bucchi-senpai...! So I’m sure that you can do it too! The stars... they’ll surely hear you!”

Ruggie stared at him.

For a moment, there was only darkness, their shadows stretching across the lawn. Then came the stars that shattered it, silver shards piercing them every which way. Exposing, glaring light in the night.

Ruggie chuckled softly.

It swelled, becoming a laugh, and then a cackle, then a crazed laugh. Loud, erratic, and high-pitched, the sort of laugh only a hyena was capable of.

“Did I say something funny?” Deuce asked, his expression folding into confusion.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. I just...” Ruggie caught himself and stopped, forced himself to veer his head and look away. “... Sorry, I think I hear Leona-san calling for me.”

“Really? I didn’t hear any...”

“A beastman’s got his ways!” Ruggie indicated his fluffy ears, which wiggled mischievously. “Ahhhh, looks like my time stargazing’s over~ I gotta get going before Leona-san starts whining.”

He quickly turned away, rushing by his junior with a pat on the back.

“Catch ya later, Deuce-kun. Thanks for keeping me company!”

“Hey, wait...!”

He pivoted and reached out, but just narrowly missed grabbing ahold of Ruggie’s scruff. An expert dodge, an animal slipping through his fingers and bolting away.

“Huh?”

It was brief, but for a second, Deuce thought he had glimpsed something wet and shiny. A flash, a glimmer. Drops as crystal clear as the night sky.

Something that wasn’t a star upon Ruggie’s face.

“Was that...?”

"There you are.”

Leona uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off of the tree trunk he had been leaning against. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he lazily prowled toward his right-hand man. Leona wore his regal features well, even if they were marred by irritation and the tears left over from a yawn. 

“I was beginning to wonder how long you’d stand there and gawk,” he called. “The ceremony’s over now. Let’s get going back to Savanaclaw.”

The lion stopped short a few paces before Ruggie.

“You’re crying.”

His brow furrowed, his lips pinching into a sideways frown.

“I’m not,” Ruggie stubbornly insisted. His mind worked as fast as his fingers did, leaping to borrow Deuce’s excuse. “I... just looked at the stars for too long. I forgot to blink.”

“Right.”

Both of them knew that Leona didn’t believe him.

“... Did someone hurt your precious feelings?” the prince asked, a certain snideness set to his voice. Sarcasm to conceal true concern. “Really, I thought you were hardier than that.”

“The only thing that’s hurting here’s your pride, Leona-san. Can’t last a few minutes without me, can ya?” Ruggie shook his head, letting his shaggy bangs fall over his eyes--hoping that they would hide his tears.

“Hmph. Looks like you’re doing just fine if you can still talk back to me like that. My worry is wasted on you.”

“Aww, you were worried about me? You big softie.”

Leona growled, brushing by him.

“Move your tail.”

“Gotcha. You’re the boss, Boss~”

Ruggie trailed after his dorm leader, his steps falling in line with Leona’s. Despite the saunter, the lion left quite an impression in the grass where he walked--large sandals smoothing out the land, forcing it to make way for him. Meanwhile Ruggie, on his light and agile feet, easily followed, his footsteps left unseen in the shadow of Leona’s.

A smaller star, orbiting one that burned so brightly. Eclipsed by him, and the world.

Ruggie’s steps slowed.

He lifted his head to the sprawling sky, and the multitude of lights that littered it. Took in the sights and the sounds and the mysteries of the universe.

Amid the darkness, he found the twinkle of eyes, the broad curve that made up a smile. A kind face carved out in the stars, a gentle laugh whispered by the wind.

His breath stilled, his heart stopped.

Deuce’s words resonated in his mind, and in his chest.

“You’re one of the hardest workers I’ve ever known, Bucchi-senpai...! So I’m sure that you can do it too! The stars... they’ll surely hear you!”

“........................ Yeah. Maybe they will.”

“Mm?” Leona glanced over his shoulder. “Did you say something?” 

The hyena was looking upward, his intense gaze fixated on a point in the sky. Seeing something that Leona couldn’t.

That’s right, his mom is...

Leona’s expression creased, complicating his handsomeness.

“... Oi, Ruggie. I’m going ahead without you,” he announced gruffly, folding his arms. “You stay here and do whatever. Stare at the stars until you get bored of them, I don’t care.”

There was a break in Ruggie’s face. Surprise that lasted for a second before he relaxed, his shoulders lowering in defeat.

“... Thanks, Leona-san. You’re a real one.”

"Don’t thank me just yet,” the lion snorted. “I still expect you up bright and early for Magift Club practice tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Leona nodded, saying said nothing more as he turned on his heel and departed. To the naked eye, his stride was as slow as ever--but Ruggie understood that his pace had quickened, that he was making haste.

A graceful exit, permission for privacy.

When his dorm leader was completely out of sight, Ruggie let the feelings fly.

Silent tears dripped down his face, heavy and salty waterfalls he had long held back. His mouth wobbled as it was pulled back into a wide grin, a howl of laughter thrown out.

Simultaneously crying and smiling.

Sad and happy.

Painful and painless.

“Mom...” Ruggie nearly choked on the word. “You’re up there too. Are you watching over me? Are you... proud of me?”

The wind whistled. It didn’t give a response, and it didn’t seek to soothe him.

Not that he had expected them to.

No matter what his grandma’s stories were, the stars could never speak. “They are people of the past,” she’d say. “People we’ve loved. People we’ve lost. But if you wish hard and listen closely, your voice will reach them.”

Ruggie sniffled into his sleeve. “................. Stupid.”

It’s just a fairy tale.

“IT ISN’T STUPID, BUCCHI-SENPAI!!”

“H-Huh?!”

Ruggie keeled over with a shout. His bum slammed into the earth, sending a dull thud of pain racing through him. The sky and the stars crashed into one another in his vision, darkness grasping light in its clutches.

“Oops, s-sorry! I didn’t mean to make you fall over!” Deuce sputtered, rushing over to offer a hand. “Here, let me help!”

“What are you...” Ruggie bristled, lurching back from the freshman, hand retracted. His voice lost its steam when he took a look at Deuce. It looked as though a damn had burst, flooding his entire face. “Why are you crying?”

“I er... I overheard it,” Deuce confessed sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I followed you because I was curious, and I... well, you know.”

“Oh.”

Ruggie’s ears flattened. He carefully stood, ignoring Deuce’s hand, and dusted himself off.

An awkward silence filled the air between them.

“................... Um! I-If I can say something!!” Deuce cried, clenching both of his fists. “I think... if your mom was here, she’d give you a big hug and tell you how proud she is of everything you’ve done.”

“How would you know? You don’t know her. I didn’t even know her. She died before I even had the chance to.”

“I! I just know!! I know she’d be!!” Deuce shouted indignantly. He flew at Ruggie, seizing him by the arms. “You’re more amazing than you realize you are, senpai! You can smile like this when you’re so sad inside. So please... Have more faith in yourself!”

“Are you seriously gonna lecture me while you’re bawling your own eyes out?!”

“Y-You’re doing the same!!”

“At least cry about something else, not about me! ‘S embarrassing...!”

“I respectfully refuse!! I will repeat myself until you stop crying!”

“You stop first!!”

Their argument echoed into a dark expanse, the bickering turning playful with time and the scornful snickers turning into true laughter. All around them, the stars formed a shimmering veil, sheltering them as they huddled.

Two boys, not quite men, still yet to find their ways in the world.

A single star inlaid in the apex of the sky shone, burning loudly, proudly.

#Deuce Spade #Ruggie Bucchi #twst #Leona Kingscholar #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #something no one asked for #twisted wonderland scenarios #happy mother’s day y’all #angst #spoilers #I made the random decision to add Leona in this piece halfway through writing #NO IT'S NOT BECAUSE I WANTED TO WRITE KIND OF SOFT LEONA SHUT UP #beyond the looking glass #imagine this #not the NRC boys being emotionally constipated 👁👄👁

[lavandulacosmos]

Inktober Day 23: CELESTIAL [ATEEZ X Six of Crows]

Seonghwa (Inej) & Hongjoong (Kaz)

Let go, Seonghwa. His hands were bleeding inside Hongjoong's gloves and the muscles in his legs shook with tremors. Every breath of black air seared his lungs as the heat of the incinerator wrapped around him like a living thing, waiting for him to fall. Was this how their journey ended? "I want you to join the Horizon." "Doing what?" "I need a spider to climb the walls of Ketterdam. I need someone who can become invisible, who can become a ghost," Hongjoong'd answered, reaching a hand out towards him that meant freedom. "Do you think you can do that?" Climb, Seonghwa. That was when he felt it on his cheeks and face. Heard it hissing as it struck the coals below. Rain. Cool and forgiving. A blessing from the skies to wash away his pain. A celestial touch from his saints and he had to make it count. He was Park Seonghwa, and his future was waiting above.

[ATEEZ days - Part 4]

Bonus:

(I had this little extra ready back in September, then decided to leave the main event for Inktober)

#art #inktober #inktober2023 #ateez #ateez x six of crows #six of crows #seonghwa #hongjoong #atzsource #ateez fanart #myart #ateezdays #jonghomies #this inej scene needed to be included tbh #so i went a bit wild with it #(who needs sleep anyway) #surprise scene under the cut #seonghwanet

[three-word-count]

The Taste of Home

Chapter Two: Delphinium

read Chapter One on tumblr here

Saeran x reader, post-after-ending domestics

Word count: 1128

Read on Ao3 link with author notes

[ I love even the parts of you I cannot see. Everything related to you is lovely. ]

…

Saeran had no idea. 

The two of you often went thrifting. It was a wonderful way to spend time together in a different place, enraptured by all the curious little items filling up the shelves in droves. It was one of his favorite newly discovered hobbies. There was far more to be seen than inside a retail homestore. 

Often, you found hidden treasures in the forms of random knick knacks that now dotted across your shared dresser at home, or ornate picture frames that held your photos proudly on walls. Sometimes Ray found a garden chair that he just had to take home. Sometimes you didn't have to buy anything at all to have fun. You'd even goof off sometimes, sitting at a worn down dining room set having an idle chat over imaginary tea, or suddenly launching yourself into some puffy old recliner much to his startlement. 

And rarely, you'd find an old, forgotten instrument, hidden among the mess of it all. 

He hadn't expected anything out of the usual from you with it. Just the standard schedule of messing around for kicks. Perhaps a quick quip of, “Look, my love! I’m a star!” which he’d answer with a feigned profession of how much he admired your musical prowess, claiming to own all your vinyl albums (Some encased in frames, too, he may add! A divine complement!) as your absolute number one fan (this part of his fictional claim, however, was true). 

But he didn't know. 

Really. 

He stood with his arm crossed loosely, an amused grin on his face as he expected you to put on a messy show for a cute little memory that he could store away inside his mind. 

Until you sounded your first chord. 

Your face looked like that of home. A softened smile. Shining eyes that hid a shade of sadness for something you'd left behind and missed dearly. 

Your second chord. Slow and tentative as your fingers did exactly what they needed to do, a satisfied emotion adding to the pool within your eyes as you confirmed that you still remembered it after so many years. A single, shy laugh of content. 

You let the so-deeply ingrained muscle memory take control, bliss carrying you through the song you knew like the back of your hand. After years of being buried in your head’s dusty recesses, rust was sure to be expected. But any blemish in the twangs of an off-key strike were lost to Saeran’s ears as all he heard were the celestial chords of nothing less than perfection. It was music to his ears, in more ways than one. 

The notes melted in his ears like the honey in his morning green tea, rejuvenated him like a cool dawn breeze, woke him up like the sun. The taste of your happiness flowed through the air like syrup he poured over his sundaes, sweetening his heart at the sight of you so confidently sharing your art. He was proud. Proud to know someone like you, who felt safe enough to expose your hidden passions to him with no hesitation. Proud to be with someone like you, who allowed him to bask in your light and accept his place by your side. Proud to see you for you. He was also very much in love, as if he couldn't possibly fall any deeper with you already, but you proved him wrong time and time again as he tumbled harder for your every revealed facet even further than before. 

You hadn’t taken notice of his expression until you finished your short song. “Speechless, Ray…? Come on now, I'm not that good,” you laughed.

He stood, mouth agape, his cheeks dusted a shade of pink enough to rival his highlights. “I didn’t know you could play,” he gawked. 

“Ahh, it was just an old hobby. It's nothing special or anyth-”

“Yes it is!”

You were a bit taken aback by his interjection, a rather unusual event coming from Saeran. He was rarely ever vocally worked up, outside of displaying excitement for his latest  fresh-budding flowers, avidly defending “pesky” pollinators and misunderstood animals that were crucial to ecosystems, or of course during your commonly traded info-dump sessions. 

“That was… that was more than special! I didn’t know that you…!” He trailed off and instead gestured at you excitedly. 

“Ahh, well, you know…” you shrugged, “It’s not like I have any instruments here. It just wasn't important to mention before.”

“It’s important to me, now, though. It’s something you enjoy, isn’t it…?”

“Uh… Yeah… I guess. It’s just that I haven't had the access or ability since I’ve moved into Seoul. So I kinda just… left it behind. It’s alright though. It happens.”

Saeran only stared at you, a hurt look on his face. “But you looked so happy, just then,” he lamented. “I’d rather you enjoy yourself than give up something you loved just from moving on to a new way of life. I still enjoy gardening after… after everything. I want you to have something like that, too.” 

“I like gardening with you.”

“No, no, something different. Something just for you. You help me a lot with harvests and care, but you also let me have time just for myself when I need it. I’ve spent some days in the greenhouse alone with my thoughts, watching the clouds pass by above me through the glass. We all need things just for ourselves sometimes. I know you tend to neglect that.”

You thought about that statement. You had hobbies, didn’t you? Were you too lost in forging your new path nowadays and you just hadn’t noticed? You didn’t want to see that as the truth. You know how it hurts to lose parts of yourself. You already lost music when you left it behind for your move to Seoul. 

“I… make things sometimes,” you countered, using your arsenal of crafts and doodles scattered around the house as ammunition. 

“Not as often as you’d like. I know that. I’ve been there. I can see it.” He reached out to hold your hand, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I want you to be happy, my love. I want you to take advantage of the freedom you have in our shared home now. Like me.”

You felt a sting in your eyes. “You always know exactly what to say, don't you,” you resigned. 

He hummed. “Not always. It’s something I’ve learned. I only want the best for you.” 

You leaned into him, melting into a hug. “I love you,” you whispered into his ear.

“And I love you. Now,” he said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, “shall we buy it? I know exactly where it would look beautifully back home.” 

#this is the Worst time to post this. oh well. /releases it into the tags like a wild animal/ #three writes something #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #saeran x reader

[t-horn-n]

— helically intertwined

PAIRING: peter ballard x reader (gender-neutral) 

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none, ooc Peter, college au

SUMMARY: Anon requested: May I request a Peter Ballard fic in like a college AU setting where reader meets him through classes and gets flustered/ shy whenever he’s around because they’re crushing harddd 

NOTE: a million thank you’s for your request!!  and as many apologies for the long wait.

Undeniably, Peter Ballard is beautiful.  What is more striking than the twin skies of his eyes?  Can anything dare to compare to the grace of his figure—the junction of his jaw and his neck?  But it was not the apparent idyllically of his loveliness that wrapped around your throat like a noose.

By chance, in an amazingly serendipitous twist of fate, he sat in the aisle seat to your right during your first lecture of the semester, trapping you between him and a boy with the unfortunate personality of a side character.  It is one of those classes that everyone drags their feet to, those early in the morning ones that people are stuck in only because it’s a required class and the block was the only one still open for enrollment.

Yet, on that first morning, Peter acted as though he had signed up for the eight-in-the-morning class willingly.  And God was he intelligent.  Simultaneously he demonstrated his wit and the kind of cunning that directly opposed its negative connotation.  

Let it be known, too, that Peter Ballard is a gentleman in a society where chivalry has been swept beneath a vintage rug.  

Politely, he had greeted you as he slid into his chair; and, as more students filed into the lecture hall, you made small talk.  He was quietly confident.  Then, you made him smile and it was like you were having a conversation with the sun.  

Peter’s celestial features are always on display, but noticing them is purely surface-level.  Beneath his gilded hair and his smart cardigans is a personality that ensnared you only by existing.  It was that night, as you let the day’s events play like a repeating reel in your head while you smiled like a fool, that you realised you were utterly screwed. 

Two days later you are sitting in the campus cafe circled by a rapidly cooling coffee, several loose sheets of paper, and the book you are halfway through annotating.  He steps through the breezeway and it is like you can sense his presence without looking and immediately your attention has been pulled away from your work.  It is silly, you think, to be so involved with a boy you just met.  It feels as though the room has warmed by degrees.

You are trying to force yourself to read when Peter approaches you with something warm- and cosy-smelling in his hand.  Instantaneously, your nerves alight as you attempt to think of what to say.  

“It’s a good book,” he says first, nodding to the novel before you.  Its pages are covered with your scribbles and miscellaneous highlights.  “I read it for a course last year.” 

You wring your hands below the table, twisting your rings around your fingers.  A moment passes before you can find your voice, but he lets the time run by with grace. 

“It is.”  You nod.  “I’d love to compare notes when I finish.” 

You exchange grins.  

“May I sit?” he asks. 

A fifteen minute discussion of your book turns into a bashful trade of numbers and for the next week you shyly smile everytime you run into Peter on campus.  Those passing moments when you cross each other on the quad and when he holds the door for you out of the building.  It is as though you are the tides, influencing each other’s motions, pulling the other towards you every chance you get.

In class you stutter when he leans closer to whisper a chide at the professor in your ear.  Your ears flush when he chuckles at such a close proximity that you can smell the mint on his breath.  You are sort of awkward around this gorgeous man; you cannot find your silver tongue as quickly as he recalls his repartee.  He is suave, but you have what the general population lacks: genuineness.  Despite your nervousness he sticks around.  For reasons you cannot name, he actively seeks out your company as enthusiastically as you yearn for his.

You aren’t the only one who's screwed.

— m. list

#peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #henry creel #henry creel x reader #venca #venca x reader #001 #001 x reader #peter ballard fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

[seraphiism]

*grabs you like rubber chicken*

dreamscape event: dawn/twilight (whatever works best for whatever idea u get for this) + 🌙 claude + plumeria 💐

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐮𝐦

( but there's a beginning in an end, you know? it's true that you can't reclaim what you had, but you can lock it up behind you. )

chara : claude von riegan fandom : fire emblem: 3 houses quote cr : alexandra bracken

・❥・[ dreamscape event ] ༊*·˚ ⌛ fluff/angst •🌙 claude • 💐 plumeria : new beginnings

i. and youth has never been kind to a king , memories full of survival and hardships. they'll say that's how it always goes, doesn't it? so he'll tear away the armor, pull out his heart, and show every sinew and crevice that has hardened from the terror and fear of being known as the outsider. they will understand, then, what it took for him to carry on, keep his chin up when they wanted him to fail. they will understand, but they won't understand like you do.

ii. the night skies have always been a guiding light : an anchor, a tether-- something that keeps him grounded, keeps him going when he didn't want to. the stars are as bright as ever, resilient in their way of being known. how very difficult it must be, to be celestial and shoulder the burdens of another's hopes & dreams when you have long passed from this world, your soul in another. claude does not believe in fate, not really. but surely the stars have seen him and granted him with the blessing of you.

iii. there are scars on his body and he does not wear them proudly. gone are the days of battle, but the memories are all too vivid, sometimes, and in the nights he wakes up in fear, all you can do is hold him until his breathing comes to a calm and the trepidation leaves green eyes. those days are over now, but they live on through battle scars. days of peace turned into violence, wars stained with the recollection of laughter amongst friends turned enemies. how brutal life was back then, claude recalls, so he squeezes your hand a little tighter, and you squeeze it back.

iv. "be real with me. do i look weird with that crown on?" you flip your pillow over, feel the coolness against your skin, toss him a strange look before a soft laugh escapes your lips.

"i think you look handsome with it. it's fitting."

"it's heavy."

somewhere, claude thinks there must be a shooting star. he glances out the window, searches for something that has been with him all along. things have changed now, war and death replaced with a growing tranquility he hopes to invigorate. the burden is different now, meeting upon meeting, diplomacy versus diplomacy. this is much better, he thinks, but his heart will always remain heavy from what once was.

it's over now ; better days have come already, and he will be grateful for each morning he wakes with you.

"it is." you respond. your voice is softer now, quiet mourning on your visage. you look out the window, gaze upon the brilliant sky. "don't you want to go wait for it?"

"for?"

"a shooting star."

claude grins, presses a kiss against your knuckles in worship and adoration. it is a very wonderful thing, to know you are in love and loved by another. how fortunate he is, to walk alongside you in the path to newfound ataraxia.

"nah, i think i've already found it."

#fire emblem x reader #claude von riegan x reader #claude x reader #fire emblem three houses x reader #.: event!fic.dream of me 🌿 #.: writing

[jinkicake]

Adding back to my “Lilith died so Lucifer could get laid” theory. I read a fic years ago about Lilith meeting mc and mc wants to fight God (understandable) and Lilith isn’t mad she’s calm asf just happy to finally meet her and she’s like???? “Aren’t you pissed??? You literally died just to come back up to the celestial realm” And Lilith is holding back a laugh like “mc, beloved if I had ent died and the war never happened where would you be?” And she’s like 😀🙂 oh okay. Like damn,,,, we would have never gotten to meet them! And Satan wouldn’t exist🥲 like that’s so said to think and IK the brothers don’t want to hear that. So imagine like idk how marrying 7 people at once would go but it’s your wedding or some type of “we swear to be together for eternity” ceremony and it’s all fun and cool even some of the angels who were against them are there bc like CANNOT keep his mouth shut about his fav big sibling getting married and Michael was like oh it gotta be here for the drama👀 maybe diavolo would walk mc down the isle but like lmao he’s apart of my harem too💀 might have to wake his dad up for that one. Or they walk to us and Lucifer is the last to go for he feels this overwhelming familiar presence and freezes and god has to give a speech bc lmao he does what he wants CLEARLY. The brothers feel every emotion at once, sadness, fear, rage and confusion they don’t even know what to do as they were stunned into silence and diavolo is like 😅what do you need?? And he starts some long speech about how they’re still his kids and Lucifer was his favorite before he drops the bomb that he sacrificed Lilith so mc could be born bc their his soulmate💀 bc if mr all seeing eye can know the past present and future why ain’t he do something before?? Why did he let that human being born?? He sat back and watched lmao and Michael helped!! So he’s like “yeaaaaaahh remember when I told you you need to loosen up and get laid?,,,, we’ll nobody was good enough for you so I had to make your soulmate from hand🥰” and literally people are about to pass out bc HUH??? PEOPLE DIED MAN!! Michael is like “no yeah can confirm I thought it was crazy too when he first told me” Lilith is a lil salty bc she wasn’t in on it but 🤷🏿‍♂️ she took one for the team. Imagine belphie bc he’s always the quickest to anger when it comes to this flips his shit and is like?? What the FUCK is wrong with you so you know how much suffering you put us through??? And Michael pipes up and is like “are you mad when you’re getting your dick wet??? Okay then relax” Aiken can’t even be like “what an odd turn of events” bc they can get his ass too “yeah we sent you to this exchange program for a reason lmao. No offense but you are NOT my strongest soldier. Pussy had you in your knees more than prayer ik that was a set up.”😭😭so before he’s like yeah so mc was MY gift to you, uh your welcome! Bc it was FR only for Lucifer but he might have added a lil too much charisma, and when he gives his well wishes he sends a shit eating grin and a wink over to diavolo and makes a comment on how well his plan to unify the realms is coming along and he hopes to be In attendance for his wedding and he’s like “excuse me???” Barbatos can’t even see wtf he’s talking about😭 but like since Lilith wasn’t an angel or demon when she fell she was like a mix of both and mc is a human if they had a kid it would be all three🤭 rip tho bc they’re all gunna be way more possessive when they fuck you I fear. Now when they say shit like “you’re taking it so well like you were made for me” THEY REALLY MEAN IT Lucifer gets a little rush of serotonin when he sees you on your knees for him and he is reminded that it’s all for him, and nobody can stop him from destroying your insides come morning, Belphegor who would get hitter over remembering watching Lilith perish before his eyes looming at it in a new light and taking it out on you. “Aren’t you gunna take responsibility for all the trouble you’ve me? The time spent in the attic” when he’s making your brain liquid

omg this makes me wonder who the demons would choose... mc or lilith like i know they would pick mc but also... would they?

no but like what if michael did all that and then mc chose to be with like barbatos or simeon HAHAH for me they would win five times out of seven.... the only people im NOT choosing over them is luci and mammon...

#sarahandoikawatalkshit

[fall-of-enselia]

Hi, I’m Bleu, and welcome to my other blog! This one’s simply to keep track of all my FoE stuff, as well as allow suggestions from outsiders as to how I should continue the story. Here’s a basic description and some rules (Please read the full post, if you have the time)

General Summary

15 year old Emberlyn Sharp has just lived through the worst year of her life. Her parents just got a divorce, her sister went off to college on the other side of the country, her best friend moved away, she has to spend every day in English literature sitting shoulder to shoulder with her god awful excuse of an “ex girlfriend,” and worst of all, strange, almost paranormal events have been happening all around town. People are waking up to their mailboxes dissolved into acidic black sludge. Completely unidentifiable plants are showing up everywhere. But worst of all, a mysterious crystal she found in the woods when she was little starts making these god-awful screeching noises every time she opens its case.

Conveniently, suspiciously, around this time, a rumor starts spreading around the school that hidden within the restricted section of the library, there rests an old book containing a spell that will send anyone unfortunate enough to read its pages to hell. Now, under normal circumstances, Emberlyn would pass these rumors as a load of bullcrap, but with all the weird, paranormal events going on around her, her curiosity can’t help but be sparked. So, with a fully-packed suitcase, her mysterious screaming rock, and some help from the other school designated weird girl, she brakes into the school, and makes her trip to the library at 10:00 o’clock at night.

Little did she know, all those rumors would turn out to be true. Well, minus the portal to hell part.

Instead of hell, the floor gives way to a completely new world. One that is undeniably beautiful, but torn to shreds by war, disease, and natural disasters. She is thrust headfirst into a wasteland of warring nations, a plague that causes people to grow poisonous flowers out of their bodies, shadow demons falling from the sun, colonialism, and a crooked world history built upon lies. All tracing back to a god amongst gods who calls herself Enselia, hell-bent on tearing this world to shreds. But why, if Enselia is the high celestial, a creature whose duty is to be the all-seeing-eye and protector of this place, be trying to destroy it? Why does she hate this place so much? And is she even supposed to be the high celestial all along? Well, this angry little lesbian and five other cool people wanted dead by god are about to find out!

Oh yeah, and that screaming rock of hers? Turns out it’s a sentient dagger with enough energy to cause the highest of high celestials to spontaneously combust! How fun :D

Planning

So, my plans for this absolute mess of a series is to make it into a webcomic series, and a rather expansive one at that! Yes, I did say series. I intend to make Fall of Enselia into a multi-volume series with a planned 6-7 books (not including side material.) I doubt it’ll ever go into print, but it still feels more natural to me to structure each page and book like a physical comic book, so sadly, you’re not getting any infinite scrolls from me. If you’re wondering where you’ll be able to find it, I’ll be posting each chapter on Webtoon under the username Im_Tired1124. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep a consistent update schedule, but my current plan is to try and post one chapter every two months once I get the storyboards, script, and plot nailed down. As of writing this, I’m still working on the storyboard and script for the prologue of book one. Though I’ve had this story slowly forming in my head for about 2-4 years now, I kind of did the thing where you write down nothing about your story, while planning out every book, character beat, villain motivation, animated spin-off, and anime opening for your story lol. It’s definitely not going to be out for a while, but my current plan is to, hopefully, get the prologue and first three chapters published in the timeframe of July-December of 2024. In the meantime, I’ll be using this account to publish concept art, reference sheets, work in progress, and lore notes while working on the main event. It should also come with the expectation that I probably won’t be posting on my main account as much.(granted, I tend to be slow as hell with drawing, and posting things on there anyway) So, as much as it may pain me, I’m going to have to go on hiatus with my Omori fanart. And also probably my fanfiction, but hey, don’t tell anyone I said that!

Granted, I will let little bits of FoE content slip through on my main account, but most of them are probably gonna be more on the unofficial content/shitposty side (maybe even a spoiler here and there :)). This is where all the juicy story stuff goes!

Do’s and Do Not’s

Alright, here’s where all my rules for the series go!

You have my full permission to:

Make fanart

Form headcanons

Cosplay my characters

Make OC’s

Write fanfictions (so long as they are appropriate)

Order commissions of my characters (I don’t have a PayPal rn, so everything is free for now, yay!)

Draw them with other characters/your own OC’s

Take inspiration from my OC’s and comics

Give me advice on writing, send me sources on how to accurately represent different cultures, and tell me if I’ve accidentally done anything wrong or offensive. This story revolves heavily around different cultures and marginalized people trying to resist oppression and forced hegemony. However, I am fully aware that as a moderately culturally detatched half-Jamaican who hasn’t had to face too much racism or scrutiny for my appearance and cultural background, I can very easily screw things up. So, constructive criticism is always welcome ^•^

Ship my characters, I couldn’t give less of a shit! Just don’t turn anyone’s family tree into a family wreath, or get any of my OC’s arrested.

Genuinely, I have no problem with fan works, and I’d be absolutely overjoyed to see people engaging in my work in these ways! However I do still have standards within my ToS, so…

Things you may NOT do with my creative works (and just general stuff you shouldn’t do):

Trace or steal my art or OC’s

Use my characters in insensitive, harmful, bigoted, or political material.

“Reference” my works to the point you’ve just made the Wish.com knockoff of my OC’s.

Stalk, harass, or send death threats to people who disagree with you, or myself. Y’all should know better than that.

Spread misinformation about myself, my motives, the story, or other people I associate with just because you don’t like them. You have better things to do with your life, so stop making shit up and go outside. Don’t like, don’t engage.

For the love of Mangoes, under no circumstances is anyone allowed to make NSFW of my characters. Nope, not even the adults. Not only are most of the lead characters in FoE teenagers, but I also based there personalities and life experiences of of my own, as well as the experiences of friends and family of mine. Look, I hate to use the, “As a minor, this makes me uncomfortable,” card, but god damnit, as a minor this makes me real uncomfortable! Now, this ban may lift (AT LEAST ON ADULT CHARACTERS) once I get older, and am more comfortable with people interpreting my works that way, but right now, no. Don’t do it. Keep those ideas in the rough draft bin of your brain. That’s nasty. Don’t do it. Granted, I don’t have a problem with sexual humor in fan works, my sense of humor irl is already pretty… let’s just say, risqué, anyways, but as has already been established, don’t write or draw any of my characters getting it on.

Lastly, A few content warnings for the story to come.

Content warnings for Fall of Enselia will include

Violence

Horror

Gore

Disturbing imagery

Emetophobia

Racism

Potential unreality

Eating disorders

Mild religious themes

Bullying

Kidnapping

Child abuse

Unhealthy/Abusive relationships

Implied substances abuse

Murder

War

Death

Swearing

Generalized bigotry

Though all of these subjects are included if FoE, that doesn’t mean I condone them in any way. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. These things are included to show just how god-awful they are, and hopefully to encourage them to stop. Granted, most of the heavier themes in FoE aren’t anything worse than what you find in the average WoF book, but they’re still pretty heavy things, and I would advise all readers to see with caution if these subjects could trigger you.

Anyways, that’s all I have to say for now. Have a good day or night, take your vitamins, eat a good breakfast, stay hydrated, and make sure to wash your hands! 💙