#seriously where the fuck have you people been

[r3starttt]

GET IT HOT

cw: car sex. use of strap. fingering. sub! ellie. good girl, babe.

Traffic had been beyond horrifying today. You've had a long exhausting day, and you've prayed to any divinity to let you get home quick, to just cuddle and have a nice night with your girlfriend. Ellie begged for the same thing, having a thought day with clients at her job and then being all day burning due the sun and traffic, taking ages to pick you up and then ages to get back home.

She read your face the moment you got in the car, so you've got the privilege to get some sleep until you two arrived home. Which was for nothing because she had to wake you up before she even got the two of you out for traffic. She got bored and anxious and felt like exploding if she didn't hear you yapping about anything.

Eventually traffic faded, but there was still a long path before you even got near home. And your yapping didn't help at all, she was mad.

You could tell by how her hands ran through her hair, almost ripping it off. By how her fingers would grip the steering wheel, by how she would groan or mumble slurs to all those stupid humans driving like shit. She was hot, you were hot.

So, after overthinking it, you decided to wait till you got home. Ellie had a hard day too, and it wouldn't be any fair to make her put more effort for today, you could wait.

"Fuck" she groaned, throwing her hands to the air, not so accidentally slapping the flesh of your thighs. "What?" You whispered, trying to distract yourself from losing it.

"These fucking- everyone's fucking stupid- look!" Her grip tightened, making you squirm underneath her. There were some cars making a mess, how the fuck did these people got their license?

"Shit, m' sorry" the tone of her voice lowered, harshly moving her hand away. You furrowed your brows, letting out a small 'huh?'

"I was ripping your leg apart" she chuckled. Your hand traveled to hers, moving her to where it was just some seconds ago, making sure it'll keep in place. "Nothing you haven't done before, no worries"

"Seriously?" You rolled your eyes "what?" She laughed at you, slacing a cautionary glaze at you and then shifting her eyes back to the road. "Though you've had a hard day?" You shrugged "same for you"

She clicked her tongue "shut up" your fingers grabbed her hand, moving it closer and deeper to your inner thighs. You crossed your legs, feeling your panties stupidly wet.

"You sure?" She replied, cocky as her usual temper. Suddenly, all the anger she had from all day faded. "How's that?" Her fingers moved to the middle of your cunt, rubbing circles above your clothed clit. You whined 'good'.

"Yeah?" You nodded "If I slid my fingers like this, how's that feel?" Her middle finger slid over your arousal, deeping it just enough to make you clench around nothing. "Good, feels good"

"Come here" the red light illuminated your face. Your body, almost as a reflex, leaned towards her. Her lips pressed against yours, Ellie could not be craving you more.

"How're you this wet already?" She mocked "what have you been thinking-" You interrupted her, giving her one last kiss before the light turned green.

"Lean back" so you did, opening your legs wide and nice for her. The palm of her fingers moving your panties aside, letting her digit dance in between your cunt. It only lasted some seconds before she introduced her fingers inside you, smiling at how you clenched at her feeling.

You kept on bucking your hips closer to her hand if even possible, eliciting that sheepish smile, full of adoration. Fuck she couldn't have any better view.

The cold air hitting your bare legs, her fingers curling so deliciously inside you. The wetness and obscene sounds filling the silence between both, some groans and heavily sighs coming out of her too. You felt your stomach clenching at it.

She couldn't do much, and it was more than frustrating. To see how your hands gripped on anything you had near, how you tried to push her away whenever it got a little bit too much. See your legs closing, feel how damp her hand was getting. She couldn't wait.

So she pulled over. "Come on, sit on my lap" her hand pulled off your cunt, almost too abruptly. You whined at it, still doing as she asked you to. "Yeah, good girl"

"Look at you" she chuckled "kiss" your lips pressed on hers in such a messy desperate kiss, feeling your tongue dancing against hers, the drool escaping your mouth and to your chin.

"Pull it out" your hands grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer until she didn't let you "I know you feel it, pull it out"

You wanted to ask, stupid, knowing you already had the answer. She was always so considerating, wasn't she?

Your nails dragged along the hem of her t shirt, rolling it up right before her chest. You got rid of her belt, letting out the strap.

"Sink on it" your knees moved up hers, finding a better position. Just as the tip touched your arousal you let out a humiliating whimper, already so desperate for her. "Feels good huh?" She mocked.

"Now sink all the way down" she filled you just right. Without realizing you were already clenching around it, too focused on resting your weight on her, pressing your hands over her shoulders. You looked at her eyes, searching for a hint of pleasure coming out her. Ellie simply replied with a 'mhm'.

"Good girl, take your time, babe." you could hear how wet you were, moving up and down her lap. Her nose brushed your neck, holding your lower back, guiding you as you ride her.

Once you got yourself comfortable you started to speed your movements, hearing your arousal becoming more wet at your every move. Ellie kept on letting out repetitive pleads. The friction on her clit started to her way too overwhelming.

She pulled your shirt off, immediately meeting your nipples with her mouth, dancing her tongue on each of them. Her hips started to buck into you, making the friction for both stupidly perfect.

You felt your cunt clenching, a contraction on your whole body, all accompanied by her pretty whines, her tongue making a mess on your breasts and her drool covering your nipples.

"Cum for me babe" you asked her, harshly grabbing her pretty face, already messy, and pressing your lips against hers, feeling your inner thighs get covered by your juices. "Can't- Can't, fuck-"

Her mouth opened very slightly, whining at your mouth. Fuck she was so pretty. Her fingers gripped tightly at the fat of your hips, letting the pleasure invade both your bodies.

That until she caught her breath, letting out a sheepishly laugh per usual, shushed by your lips on her temple. "Love you" "love you too"

#ellie smut #ellie wiliams #ellie fanfic #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie x reader smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic

[theyluvkarolina]

hi

could you pls write a smau about a gymnast and lando

𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ y/n and lando hate each other. at least that’s what they want people to think. actually, they are in a relationship with each other

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ lando norris x gymnast!fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ none!

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌: Sunisa Lee

𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ a lot of lando love on my account lately! might make that change 😊😊 also, ik sunisa is team usa but for the sake of the story pretend she is for britain 🥹

Instagram

y/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by simonebiles, olympics, nike, and others

y/n_l/n So excited to represent Britain for Paris 2024! 🇬🇧 the new leo smacks 😵‍💫😵‍💫

2,346 comments

username1 SHE’S BACK!!

username2 i keep forgetting she is british and not from the usa 😭

→ username3 SHE’S NOT?? → username4 nope! she goes to college in the usa for the gymnastics program but she is a british citizen :) → username5 my life has been a lie

landonorris ✔︎ it’s not your colour tbh 🫤 🫤

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ neither is orange but here we are 🤷‍♀️ → oscarpiastri ✔︎ oh god here we go → landonorris ✔︎ @ y/n_l/n it’s papaya actually → y/n_l/n ✔︎ “it’s papaya actually “ 🤓 ☝️ → landonorris ✔︎ your not funny → y/n_l/n ✔︎ *you’re → oscarpiastri @ mclaren media train this man. i'm at my limit. → username6 can anyone explain why they hate each other so much?? 😭 → username7 nvm that, someone send oscar help that hes screaming for

iMessages

Instagram

y/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by lilyzniemer, oscarpiastri, livvydunne, and others

y/n_l/n olympics are underway 👀

1,985 comments

landonorris ✔︎ i hope you fall

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ what a supportive companion 😍 love you lan 😘 → landonorris ✔︎ i hate you too 😘 😘 → username8 these guys have no chill bro 😭

lilyzniemer the heart 🫶

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ for my best girl ❤️ → oscarpiastri ✔︎ excuse you? → y/n_l/n ✔︎ you are excused.

username10 seriously, does anyone know why lando and y/n don’t like each other?? they are from such polar opposite sports 😭

username11 i heard from somewhere that they were friends in school but had a falling out for some reason… might be due to their respective sports.

iMessages

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y/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by lando.jpeg, jadecarey, lindsay horan, and others

y/n_l/n rest and relaxation 😴

3,001 comments

username12 UHMMM…

username13 Miss Y/N L/N. Who the fuck is that man?

landonorris did you save croissant for me?

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ i did actually → landonorris then where is it 🤨 → y/n_l/n ✔︎ ready to be shoved up your fucking ass → mclaren ✔︎ i’m tired. → username14 HELP NOT THE MCLAREN ADMIN BEING OVER THEM. → landonorris ✔︎ :( → username15 THE SAD FACE 😭😭 → username16 anyone else find it strange lando isn’t commenting about the guy in the photos? i mean he teases her all the time and to just have nothing now is so strange → username17 stay delusional!!

username16 lando.jpeg like??? 🤨📸

Twitter

Instagram

landonorris ✔︎

liked by mclaren, carlosainz55, maxfewtrell, and others

landonorris J'adore Paris 🥐

3,670 comments

username17 i think lando is loving something else other than paris…

→ landonorris ✔︎ no

username18 THE MUSEUM DATE?? 🙁🙁

username19 idk who that girl is but i wish i was her 😕

y/n_l/n ✔︎ the bucket hats need to be retired.

→ landonorris ✔︎ uhhhmm??? no?? some guy said i look handsome. → y/n_l/n ✔︎ was the man a figment of your imagination? → landonorris ✔︎ rude 😒

maxfewtrell ✔︎ upset i don’t get any picture credits. i was the third wheel for nothing.

username20 WHO IS THAT GIRL??

username21 i’m telling you guys it’s y/n and when they reval it they will be laughing in our faces.

Twitter

Instagram

y/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by landonorris, lauriehernandez, alyraisman, and others

y/n_l/n better than gold 🩷🥇

tagged ; landonorris

2,560 comments

username22 WHAT ON EARTH

→ username23 IS GOING ON → username24 IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

oscarpiastri ✔︎ what in the world.

→ username25 HELPP → username26 i think oscar finally lost it 😭😭

carlosainz55 ✔︎ put a jumpscare warning next time 😢

→ landonorris ✔︎ sorry mate, if you’re on her account you’ll be seeing her quite a lot → carlosainz55 ✔︎ yeah! i totally meant Y/N! → landonorris ✔︎ 🤨 → y/n_l/n ✔︎ HAHA POINT AND LAUGH EVERYONE!

landonorris ✔︎

liked by y/n_l/n, charles_leclerc, f1, and others

landonorris she’s a little weird and kind of mean to me but i love her 🙃

tagged ; y/n_l/n

3,734 comments

username27 IT’S CONFIRMED GUYS!!

username28 more y/nlando content ??? it really is the best day ever.

y/n_l/n ✔︎ i’m not mean 🙁🙁

→ landonorris you literally made me choke on my spaghetti. → y/n_l/n ✔︎ because you were outstanded by my beauty 😍 → landonorris ✔︎ maybe i was 🫶 → y/n_l/n ✔︎ stop i’m blushing 🫣🩷 → osarpiastri ✔︎ i missed it when you two together was a secret. → landonorris ✔︎ someone is grumpy. @ y/n_l/n get lily to call him so he stops being a baby → maxverstappen1 ✔︎ didn’t you cry when she got the first place medal? → landonorris ✔︎ didn’t you retire from the australian gp? → username29 SHOTS FIRED 😭 → username30 sassy lando is back → y/n_l/n ✔︎ oh sweetheart, he sadly never left. → landonorris ✔︎ sadly??

#☆ﾟ user ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝ #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 smau #formula one x you #☆ﾟ smau ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝ #f1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula one x y/n #mclaren formula 1 #formula one #oscar piastri #max verstappen

[beenbaanbuun]

hii bunny! 🤍🤍

i was wondering if you maybe could write something angsty with mingi? like he’s had a long day and snaps at you a little after seeing your clothes on the floor or something.. like it would never bother him on a normal day but it’s just been a long day for him

it’s not too harsh but it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him have that tone with you so obviously it’s a lot for you 🫣 it doesn’t take him long to realize and regret it but by the time he does you’re already outside on the verge of tears and getting some fresh air.. he basically panics and texts you and calls you 😭 there’s no answer for around 10 minutes and just as he’s about to go outside and look for you, not even bothering throwing an hoodie on, he opens the door and sees you standing there with a little bag with his favorite snacks that you bought for him and he immediately starts apologising

sorry if this is quite specific i just hope it helps a little with your ideas! if you want to change anything you can! you can add smut and make it angsty or you can make it sweet and soft.. maybe even both 🤷‍♀️

i feel like he’s so gentle and definitely would love his partner too much, and just the thought of that he’s upset them could kill him

i cried writing this so i hope you enjoy it 🫡

——————————————————————————

to say that mingi’s day was hard would be an understatement. he barely slept the previous night, the constant beeping of the fire alarm begging for new batteries that they didn’t yet have keeping him awake into the early hours of the morning. he thinks it was sheer exhaustion that sent him to sleep at just gone 4am, and he was equally exhausted when san woke him two hours later for practice. he had half a mind to tell his friend to fuck off and just go back to sleep, but then he heard the beep of the fire alarm and decided he had no chance. he was going to have to stay awake.

then came practice, which was never easy, but for some reason was so much worse today. it started with yunho, who was being so much stricter than usual, jaw clenching and eyes filling with fire if anyone even dared to get a single step wrong. with mingi’s tired brain, he wasn’t afraid to admit that most of those glares were aimed at him; intricate footwork is more difficult when you can hardly string two thoughts together, it seems. annoyance doesn’t help with that either, yet with every pointed look at yunho gets him, he feels his blood boiling more and more.

then you have the troublemakers who seemed to make it their sole purpose today to annoy every single other person in that room. san and wooyoung were naturally loud people, but today they seemed to have the dial turned up to twelve. of course, yeosang was dragged into it too, offering quiet, but not unheard, snarky comments to go along with whatever nonsense the other pair were babbling about. mingi wasn’t sure how much more of that high-pitched cackle he could stand before it made his achy head explode.

and last, but certainly not least, there was hongjoong, perhaps mingi’s biggest issue out of his members. he too seemed to be in a bad mood, but unlike mingi who had yet to retaliate to any of the shit show going on around him, hongjoong just couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. someone misstepped? he’d yell at them. someone misspoke? he’d yell at them. it was just a constant wall of sound coming from his leader and mingi wasn’t sure just how much more he could take until…

“everyone just go,” hongjoong groans, anger and frustration laced through his features. “it’s clear no one is taking it seriously today so just go!”

a miracle.

mingi wastes no time in grabbing his bag and running out of the practice room without even a glance back at his members. perhaps later he’ll text them and let them know where he is, but for now he just needs you. he needs your arms to wrap around him and keep him warm as he sleeps. he needs your voice to float around his brain as he drifts away. he needs you.

he’s thankful that you live close because before he knows it, he’s at your door, fishing your key from his pocket. he fiddles with it excitedly, scraping it against the door a few times by accident before finally slipping it into the keyhole. he twists it and pushes it open, expecting to find you buzzing around your apartment like a cute little bumble bee.

instead he’s met with silence and darkness, curtains still drawn and your lively little self nowhere to be seen. there’s pots in the sink, mess strewn across the floor and the trash bag from last night still propped up by the door. mingi lets out a long sigh.

he knows it’s wrong of him to feel annoyed by all of this, and normally he wouldn’t. it’s just after the day he’s had, all he wanted was to cuddle up to you in a nice tidy, stress-free apartment. now he has to take your load on his shoulders as well. he has to pick up your pieces whilst he’s still desperately trying to hold all of his together. but this is it; this is his last straw, and the irritation and frustration he’s been barely holding back all day suddenly bursts free of its dam. he cant stop himself as he kicks off his shoes, not caring where they go (it’s not like it’ll make any difference with the state your apartment in is anyway) and storms his way down the hallway to your bedroom.

your door is already open, and through it he can see you still in bed. you’re curled up under the quilt, just like he has wanted to be all day. just like he hasn’t been able to because he has been busy. for some reason it only fills him with more annoyance, and he steps over the threshold into your room and slams the door behind him.

he can see that the sound startles you, but he can’t find it in him to care. he just stares down at you, a mixture of anger and disappointment twisting his features as you groggily sit up to look at him. your eyes are red, as are your cheeks, but mingi just brushes it off. the painful pang in his chest upon seeing you like that is hardly enough to outweigh everything else he feels.

“really?” he bends down to pick up a t-shirt before holding it up to show you. you stare at it blankly, not sure what he’s trying to get at.

“what’s wrong, mingi?” your voice is strained as if you’d been crying recently. if mingi wasn’t so blinded by everything, perhaps he would’ve noticed how fragile you seem to be. perhaps he’d be able to take a step back and see that you need him to comfort you, not berate you. it’s a shame his head is too full of his own feelings to even consider yours.

“what’s wrong?” he scoffs, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “this! everything!” he gestures wildly around your room as if it explains anything. “i don’t need to deal with this shit right now, baby! i can’t!”

he watches as your brows furrow in confusion, hurt washing over your features. there’s something in his that tells him that it’s enough, that he’s said and done too much already, but there’s still more on the tip of his tongue and he needs to get it out of him before he bursts.

“i have enough on my plate without having to take care of you, alright?” his voice comes out harsher than he means it to, more of a shout than anything else, and by the way your expression tightens, he can tell he’s hurt you.

that’s when it all sinks in for him, when you hum, nodding your head slowly as his words echo around your brain. your eyes look down at your hands, thumbs picking at one another awkwardly. he’s said too much, gone too far, he can understand that now. like, really understand it. he should’ve stayed silent. ignored the shit spewed across the floor and crawled into your bed like he’d been wanting to do all day.

well shit, he thinks to himself, he never meant to hurt you. he doesn’t know what he wanted to do by telling you those things, but this wasn’t it.

“sorry,” is all you say when you toss the comforter off your legs. you’re dressed in the same clothes that he saw you in yesterday; had you slept in them? “i, uh… i’ll get out of your hair for a little while, mingi. it seems like you need a little alone time… you’re stressed.” and with that you stand up. mingi lets you, unsure of what to say to you as you grab your wallet from your nightstand and push past him. your hand feels like a hot iron pressed against his shoulder as you side-step him, and he almost, almost, goes to catch it.

before he can, you’re gone, and all he does is stand there as he listens to you open the door and walk out of the apartment.

your apartment.

he sits on your bed, twisting his hands into the comforter as he tries to ground himself. he’d kicked you out of your own apartment because of what? he doesn’t even know himself. he can’t wrap his head around the sudden burst of anger that washed over him like a tsunami. there was no escape from it until it passed, and now he’s left with with aftermath; the pain of upsetting you.

he knew from the moment he stepped in your apartment that you weren’t doing well. the drawn blinds, the pots left over from last night; he’s seen it time and time again and he’s never been upset at you for it. there’s been no anger or frustration there. no cross words or disappointment. nothing except sympathy and the desire to make everything okay for you again.

so, what? he got jealous because you were allowed to sit and wallow in your bad mood and he wasn’t? he got mad that coming to your apartment wasn’t the perfect whirlwind of softness and affection that he’d hoped for? god, he feels pathetic for how he treated you. even more so at the fact that he still feels so desperate for your comfort. he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but holy fuck does he need it.

he lets himself sit there in the pain for just a little while longer. perhaps if he lets himself hurt enough, he might deserve to have you back in his arms. if he repents, everything might be okay again. you’ll forgive him for what he said to you and hold him gently like he needs. you’ll whisper sweet words and kiss his head like he wants. you’ll be kind to him despite the fact that he hasn’t been kind to you. you’ll let him rest…

when he feels enough time has passed, he slips a hand into his pocket to grab his phone. there’s a message or two from his members asking where he went, but he ignores them. they can wait, you can’t. he locates you contact, pressing his thumb against the call button and letting it ring. a few seconds pass before he hears it loud and clear; your phone in the other room. he perks up a little—maybe you’re still here! his legs carry him faster than he can process. he swings the door open with little care about the way it slams against your dresser, and tumbles into the kitchen… where your phone is abandoned… with you nowhere to be seen.

mingi’s heart plummets even further. you’re gone, and now he won’t even have a way to know that you’re safe. it’s still daylight outside but what if you get lost? what if you stay out too long and it gets dark? what if you need him? he lets out a cry of stress, hands flying up to grip his bleached locks tightly in his hands. he feels fucking useless.

for just a moment he lets himself play the blame game with himself. it’s his fault. all of it is. anything could be happening to you and it would be his fault. he upset you and he let you leave! it’s all him, him, him… that makes it his to fix too.

he doesn’t let himself think as he walks over to the door. he doesn’t bother with a jacket, his brain telling him it would take too much time to slip it onto his shoulders. hell, he barely bothers with his shoes! just slips his feet in, not sparing a single thought to the way his feet are currently crushing the backs down. that’s the least of his worries, anyway. he can buy new shoes, he can’t replace you.

his hand reaches out to grab the door handle. it’s just centimetres away, almost close enough to grab it. his fingers begin to curl around the metal, but someone else gets there first. the handle dips down, and the door creeks as it opens just the tiniest bit. mingi gasps, moving at the speed of lighting to pull the door even wider. he knows exactly who’s on the other side, and his desperation to see you can’t be contained. he barely even looks at you before scooping you up into his arms.

“ouch, mingi,” you squirm as he holds you tighter than you think you’ve ever been held before. “you’re trapping my hair! let go, you giant oaf.”

he doesn’t, but he does loosen his grasp just a touch. not enough to let you fully breathe again, but just so you can save your hair from being pulled from your head. you’re grateful for that, at least, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to wriggle free. “let me go,” you reiterate, body still moving as he holds you against his broad chest, “i need to give you something but i can’t when you have me trapped!”

“you don’t need to give me anything,” he pouts as he presses a wet kiss against your hairline. it’s all very sweet, but you can’t help but feel like now is not the time.

“yes i do!” you twist your body in a way that makes it impossible for mingi to keep hold of you, gasping in a dramatic fashion as if you’d been starved of oxygen completely. mingi can’t help but smile at your performance, even if his arms do feel a little too empty now you’re not in them. you are absolutely adorable, after all. “i need to give you this because it’ll melt otherwise.”

that’s when he notices the clear plastic bag in your hand. if he looks carefully, he can just about make out the pint of hazelnut ice cream and the bag of shrimp chips; his favourites. confused, he brings his gaze back up to your face, noticing the shy smile that rests on your lips as you raise the bag up for him to take. “for me?” he asks. you only give him a quick nod in response. “but… why?”

when he doesn’t take the bag, you roll your eyes and stomp past him to the kitchen. it hits the counter with a thud, and mingi flinches. are you angry with him? of course, you have every right to be but if he’s being honest, he’s rather that you weren’t. he really needs you right now. he slinks up behind you, watching as you busy yourself with taking the snacks out of the bag. his arms ache with the desire to be wrapped tightly around your waist, but he somehow manages to hold himself back.

“because you’re obviously not doing good,” you say as you yank the cutlery drawer open to grab two spoons. it doesn’t go unnoticed when you pull out the flat one with the thin handle alongside the deep one with the heavy handle; his and your favourite spoons, respectively. his chest aches with love as you, actually rather violently stab the container with both of them. he always has loved your silly little antics.

“yeah, well you’re not doing good either,” he tries to argue, but you shut him up with a glare.

“me not doing well doesn’t mean i can’t try to help you when you’re not doing well,” you shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “my feelings don’t negate your feelings and i love you, so i want to try and help you.” whether it’s a loaded statement or not, mingi can’t help but understand the irony. either you’re trying to teach him a lesson or the universe is. judging by the look in your eyes, he thinks it’s safe to assume that it’s you.

“i get it,” he nods, “i’m sorry for being a dick, you don’t deserve that.”

“i don’t deserve it, but i do understand it and i’m not going to torture you for it when it’s obvious you’ve been torturing yourself,” you point a finger up to his messed up hair, “what i am going to do is get in bed with you and eat a shit ton of ice cream, capeesh?”

“yeah, baby,” he smiles, “capeesh…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez angst #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #mingi angst

[hugsandharrystyles]

The Chase

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with you (or your pussy).

Harry Styles would not stop following you.

You both had hooked up at a frat party two weeks ago in a dingy bathroom, and ever since, he's been searching for you everywhere.

Somehow, he's outside of all your classes, waiting for you so that he could try and woo you. His persuasions were overlooked because you were not in the mood for anything any college frat boy was trying to pull.

You had only come to this party because your friend had dragged you along with the promise of alcohol.

You seriously needed to get wasted and perhaps make out with a cute boy, but it was proving hard to do because of the chase you were involved in. As soon as you had walked in the door, you were on the run from Harry.

Right now, you were in the crowded kitchen, the room was glowing red from the solo cups taped on the lights, and it was definitely setting the mood for the horny college students.

You were filling your cup when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist in a secure hold.

"Baby, please," You heard begging in your ear, and then his crotch was grinding into your ass.

"Harry-" You begin, but you were cut off by the rolling of his hips again. "You realize how pathetic you are?" You said while laughing. He whined in your ear and squeezed you harder.

"Stop running from me," He counters. "Just come with me outside for bit, hm?" He asks.

"Harry-"

"Please," He begs.

"Fine," You huff and grab his hand to start walking outside. Harry has a shy, yet smug smile on his face as you drag him out of the house. People look and furrow their eyebrows at the two of you, but Harry does not care. He's whipped, and he knows it.

"Over here," He says and points to a lounge chair close to the bonfire. There's a decent amount of people around but not nearly as bad as inside. He sits down first and drags you to sit on his lap.

"Harry- Jesus," You sigh and adjust yourself. He buries his face in your neck and inhales you in.

"I've missed you," He breathes.

"Harry, we had one mediocre hook-up in a trashy frat bathroom," You remind him.

"Mediocre?!" That had gotten his attention. He adjusts you to where he can see your face better. "That was the best sex of my life," He tells you.

"Well, that's sad," You inform him, and he has to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"What in the hell are you talking about? I made you cum," He reminds you, but your face sours. "Didn't I?" You shake your head and suppress the smile that wants to appear on your face from this boy getting humbled. "But- But you told me you came," He questions you.

"Yeah, so I could get out of there," You couldn't hold back the small chuckle that escapes you that time. "Harry, don't get me wrong, you aren't bad and definitely are the biggest I've ever been with, but maybe you need to work on your stamina," You explain and run your fingers through his hair because of his pitiful face.

"Well, it's not my fault you have this magical pussy!" He says a bit too loud. Some people look over with incredulous looks on their faces, and you punch his shoulder. "Couldn't help it when you're so wet, tight, and fucking warm- Oh, God," He groans as if remembering. His nose is back in your neck and arms around your body, squeezing once again. "Smell so good and so soft too," He says as he squeezes the extra plush on your body, something you're usually insecure about but feel super confident with the way this boy is drooling for you.

"You've gone mad," You resort to.

"I don't care," He rebuts. You roll your eyes and pat his back.

"Ay, Styles! Look at you fuckin' whipped," You hear one of his annoying frat brothers call out to the two of you.

"And fucking what about it?" He snaps back, and you see the arrogant meathead cower down in his seat.

"Harry, maybe we should-"

"Go to my room, so I can actually take care of you?" He offers.

"I'll give you one more shot," You sigh, and his head perks up like he didn't expect you to say that.

"Actually?" He says and is about to jump to his feet.

"My clock is ticking," You sigh, and suddenly, you're being thrown over his shoulder, and he's running into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. Hoots, hollers, and whistles are thrown to both of you, but neither of you are paying attention to it. You're immediately thrown on the bed when you get into his room. Harry had locked the door, so no one will be interrupting the two of you.

"I'm going to eat you out," he says breathlessly. "Should punish me for how rude I was to you last time. Didn't eat you out or make you cum- fuck, I'm sorry," He pants and rips your skirt and shoes off your body. His mouth is about to press against your puffy pussy through your underwear when you stop him.

"Wait," you say and hold his hair to stop him.

"What?" He whines and dramatically drops his face into the bed.

"You're right," you tell him and yank on his hair to get his attention.

"About what, baby?" He whines in impatience.

"You should be punished," You agree and sit up, pulling your body away from him. His jaw drops and his face is like you've just stabbed him.

"Are you- are you serious?" He asks and starts to inch his way closer to you.

"I mean, you're the one who said it. I'll be nice and still have sex with you, but I have one rule," you tell him and press your foot against his chest to keep him away.

"Anything. Anything at all- I swear," He assures you, and you smile.

"You're not allowed to touch me," you say, and he scoffs.

"You can't be serious," He pants.

"It's this or nothing," you say and start to get up from the bed.

"No, no, please, I'll do it. I'll do it," He promises.

"You're pathetic," you laugh, and he glares at you. "Wipe that look off your face," You scold him, voice surprisingly dominating, and he immediately does. It's hilarious the power you seem to have over this arrogant frat boy. "Sit against the headboard," you tell him, and he doesn't think twice before doing what you say. You get up and start rummaging through his closet.

"What- what are you doing?" He asks, trying to stay still in his spot, but his curiosity is getting the best of him. Once you have what you were looking for, you turn and approach him, your hands hiding the object behind your back.

"Get up," You command, and he jumps off the bed. "Take your clothes off," you say further. He rips everything off besides his boxers. "I didn't say stop, big boy," you tell him, and he blushes. He sheepishly pulls down his underwear and fights the urge to cover himself. Your smirk deepens as you gaze over his body. "On the bed," You command, and as he leans himself against the headboard, you rid yourself of the rest of your own clothes. Harry's eyes cloud over as his eyes take you in. You're truly the most enthralling woman he's ever met.

"Thank you," He whispers as you straddle his lap, his hands gently rest on your plushy thighs. You almost feel bad for what you are about to do, but your horniness brings you out of it.

"Very sweet," you say and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He moans lightly and tries to turn his head to fully capture your lips, but you move away at the perfect time. You take his hands in yours and tie them together with the tie you found in his closet. His eyes widen and his cheeks flush even deeper. "This okay?" You ask and run your fingers through his hair.

"Y-Yes. Never done something like this before, but it's v-very okay," He assures you and tips his head back when you start kissing at the skin on his neck. His hands that are tied together twitch on his stomach and reach to where his dick lays, playing with himself for some much-needed stimulation. His moans get louder, and he feels cum drip from his thick pink tip.

"The fuck are you doing?" You suddenly ask, straightening yourself in time to see Harry playing with himself.

"I'm- I'm sorry. It's just- I'm really fucking horny, and it hurts," He tries to explain but you roll your eyes and scoff.

"You know, this is why I haven't let you fuck me again. Fuckin' selfish," You mock, and he shakes his head.

"No- No, I'm not. Please," He whines, his hand straining against the tie. "Don't go, please," He begs. You stare down at him intensely, and he has no choice but to cower under your glare. Out of nowhere, you suddenly drop yourself down onto his length, rubbing and sliding against where it lays against his stomach. "Oh!" He gasps as he feels your hot wet pussy slide over him.

"I'm going to take what I want from you," You decide and place your hands against his chest to get a better form. Your tight hole begins to catch itself on his tip when you push down on him, and you see Harry biting his lip so hard you think it might bleed. You continue sliding your pussy over him until his dick is twitching and leaking with cum.

"You got to stop if you don't want me to cum," he says, his voice strained and tight.

"You need to work on your stamina," you remind him and grab his cock, positioning him with your tight entrance.

"Oh, God- Oh, God," He chants as you slide his tip in. His hips stagger, making him slide in a bit deeper, so you press on his stomach to keep him down.

"Easy," You command, and he looks as if he could cry. You fuck yourself on the tip of his cock, getting your entrance to spread, but he's just so fucking big. You look down at him, and he has that same fucked out expression on his face. "Don't you fucking dare," you say and begin to insert more of him into you.

"Then fucking stop!" He whines. He almost cries when he feels your fingers squish into his cheeks, making him look into your eyes.

"You're not making the fucking rules here, frat boy. I told you if I was going to do this again, it was going to be by my terms, not yours, so shut the fuck up and stay still," You command, and you see tears gather in his eyes. You roll your eyes and slide down on him even further, about halfway in now. He chokes on a sob of pleasure and strains his fists in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he says before you feel his hips buck up into yours and his heavy load spurting into your pussy. The sensation almost makes you cum, but you push it away so you can see his pretty face as he orgasms. His body is trembling, and it feels like his high lasts forever. He feels you untie his wrists, and he subconsciously flexes them out of their stiff position. His breathing is rapid as he comes down, and a smile is graced across his lips until he feels you start bouncing on his sensitive cock again. "Oh, fuck! What are you doing-"

"I didn't come, asshole," You spit and grind yourself on his hardening dick.

"I'm too s-sensitive," He slurs, his hips tensing away and his hands coming up to grab your plushy hips. His mouth his dropped, and his head falls back. "I might be in love with you," He gasps, and you laugh.

"Shut up," You giggle, but you are cut off when his hips thrust up into you and his fingers come down to play with your clit. "Fuck, your dick is too good," You moan and don't have time to react before you're shoved onto your back, Harry above you. His hands push your thighs to your chest, and his hips piston into your squelching cunt. "Oh!" You gasp and suddenly feel your own orgasm starting to arrive.

"Cum for me, please cum on my dick," He begs and brings one hand to your mouth to pry it open before spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow," He whispers. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pounds into your pussy like an animal.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," You almost scream and start to shake.

"I'm filling your pussy again," Harry moans and grounds himself into you, basically sitting on you and filling you with all of his fat cock. Your hand instinctually reaches out and pushes at his toned stomach, but the weight of him, and the feeling of him deep inside your body only makes your orgasm so much better.

"So deep," You whisper and squirm.

"Take it, take it," he almost begs as he cums, his own orgasm shooting inside of you and sticking you two together. You're both shaking at the intensity of your orgasms.

Sounds of panting fill the room as you both settle. Harry flops down onto your chest, and you reach around to rub at his back, very well-aware of his half-hard dick still deep inside you.

"You're hard already?" You ask.

"Wanna go again?"

#harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harrystyles #one direction #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot

[walpu]

walp walp hear me out

remember that trailblazer scene with firefly and how she just just gets stabby stabbed by the creature (memory zone meme i think)

and + Aventurine having access to the 'real' dreamscape, combine that with bodyguard! reader who will go through hell and back to make sure Aventurine will. Live.

reader follows aven during the entirety of the Penacony quest, including when Black Swan teleports the both of them to the real memory zone. (also, does anyone else feel like bodyguard! reader and Trailblazer would be besties... no, just me?)

now, keep in mind, Aven and reader have a... complicated bond. IPC workers here and there say their dating, the Trailblazer has straightup asked if they would just get a room (you get their vibe, you can go along with the secret assassin! bodyguard! reader req i sent in)

a little bit more insight on their dynamic (again, going with the assassin reader thing, its already known between the two atp, so this can be set after that period), Aven wants to love reader, wants to hold them close, and wants their affection, but dammit, he just cant bring himself to. Not when he's sure he'll just hurt everyone that comes close to him (his sister, cough cough)

and reader has the same mindset, they love Aven, as a boss, as that annoying but endearing friend, and perhaps as more. But they have blood, the lives of people that they've unlawfully taken, not to mention, they are 100% sure Aven would never love a person who killed just for monetary income.

now, here's where the real show starts. There's also another assassin (seriously, Duke Inferno should save his manpower) following reader and Aven. Safe to say, only one is making it out alive. How the assassin followed the two of them? No fucking clue, but somehow it does.

After i assume beating the living shit out of hordes of memory zone monsters, the assassin appears, and just when Aventurine's unsuspecting?? Boom, goes in for the kill.

Yeah, too bad. Aven's not dying. But reader is! Yeah, in a act of (cliche) protection, reader allowed themselves to be the one to suffer from the attack. (Bonus if they get decapitated, or just stabbed like how Trailblazer was by Cocolia). Aven will never forget the way that he just- watched reader's body fall, the light just gone from their eyes.

Anyways, he doesn't even get to hold their body. You just- poof into bubbles like Firefly did. The last thing he has left of his beloved bodyguard? Just a simple red earring, matching the one he wore. Nothing left.

Okay, im also going to cope here that the whole shitshow with Aven and Acheron did not happen, he returns to the room that reader had, and he just... stands there. He takes in the way that half of the room was messy, half of it was untouched. So much like them, unpredictable and just had a touch of the weirdness he loved so damn much.

(Bonus if you want a happy scenario, reader's alive and well, afterall, dying in the dreamscape doesn't kill anyone. Reader is probably smiling very awkwardly while they stare at a teary eyed Aventurine, then they make out /hj)

yay another rant, i had this idea for days, the decapitation part may or may not have been plaguing me (should i be concerned), anyways, thanks for listening to my word vomit, stay safe and stay healthy <33

feel like falling on my knees and begging to forgive me for taking so long this spring doesn't let me breath istg. I've got this request before 2.1 and only got to it now that's why Aven is ghosting me.

bodyguard!reader "dying" in the dreamscape to protect Aventurine

sort of a sequel to this but can be read as a separate work as well, the main thing you need to know is that reader was originally an assassin sent by Duke Inferno but they've changed their mind and stayed by Aven's side

notes - gn!reader, angst, unestablished relationship, no beta

You both knew the trip to Penacony would be difficult. You, in particular, knew that something big and very sinister is coming, judging by the way Aventurine danced around the subject, not giving you full information.

You may not know all the details of Aventurine's plan but you know him well enough to realize that he's planning on doing something extremely reckless and dangerous.

So you do your best to protect him. To shiels him from any possible danger, to keep him within your reach.

Of course Aventirune notices. How can he not notice when he already keeps his eye on you most of the time anyway. And just as you're trying to look out for him, he wants to looks out for you.

This mission already could be considered suicidal and he doesn't want you to be caught in this. Better to keep you in the dark, away from it.

Yet he can't help but selfishly enjoy your attention, your tenderness. You go out of your ways to make sure he's fine and he feels so undeserving of it. How can you be so kind when he's keeping so much from you?

You've seen him at his worst and you've stayed. You've proven so many times that you care for him not because it's just your job, not because of his money or status but because it's him.

He still struggles to believe in it sometimes. When he feels doubtful , he rubs his cheek against your shoulder in a playful cat-like manner and watches your reaction. Amusement you're trying to hide. Adoration you can't hide.

How can he doubt you? You're the one who should be doubting him.

He wants to melt into you, to be even closer than the two of you already are, but how can he love you without putting you in danger? Without draining your luck, without cursing you?

Sometimes he sees the same struggles in your eyes. When you carefully trace his face with the tips of your gloved fingers, your gaze sometimes lowers and you pull your hand away, as if you're ashamed.

But of what, of what? The blood on your hands? He has it too!

He wants to tell you this, to hold you tight, to never ever let go. The wish is so primal that everyone else can see. The memokeeper giving him a knowing smile as soon as she sees you two together, the masked fool taunting him about the only one willing to listen to him being his loyal dog ("though, judging by the way you look at them, little peacock, you're the one on the leash here~" she says. It feels like even a lower blow than the comments about his past. At least he expected those, but being taunted about his obvious feelings for is new), mx. Stellaron asking you two to get a room with a deadpun expression.

The worst one is the doctor though. Asking Aventurine to focus on the mission, then, in a softer tone, suggesting to tell you more about the plan. "It's foolish to keep it from your most trusted person, gambler. In the end, it may hurt them even more than your obsessive concerns".

If Ratio of all people gives you relationship advice you're doing soooo bad.

Yet Aventurine can't bring himself to listen to his words. He wants you safe and well, and he's sure (he's not sure) he's doing the right thing.

And yet he's wrong. He can't shield you, he can't. One of the richest people in the IPC, one of the Ten Stonehearts, the blessed one, yet he can't protect the one he loves no matter how much he tries. He's cursed, doomed, isn't he?

Damned Duke Inferno. He's dead, annihilated, and yet, somehow, one of his wretched dogs, his sneaky little assassin, finds you two in the depths of the memory zone. Such dedication to the cause!

There are two gunshots. Inferno's little rat and you strike at the same time. Them, aiming at Aventurine, and you, aiming at them. Only one bullet reaches it's target though.

It all happens so fast. You react immediately, covering Aventurine with your body. You move instinctively at the same second you shoot.

When their bullet hits you, you don't even feel it. Maybe because it's still a dreamland? The pain just won't come even though your back feels like it's on fire. You don't understand it yet but your body already starts disappearing.

All you can focus on is Aventurine's wide shocked eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes.

You smile weakly at him. That's all he can see before you're gone. He doesn't even have time to reach out to you, to hold you. As if he ever had the privilege of holding his loved ones in their final moments.

You just poof into the blue bubbles.

He rushes into the real world, in your room, praying to any deity that may here for you to be alive and well. It was a dream, not a real world. You can't die in a dream, not really. You weren't even killed by the memory zone meme, surely you're fine!

Yet you're not. You're not here, not anywhere in the hotel. You're truly gone.

He feels everything and nothing at the same time.

Of course, of course, of course he wasn't able to protect you!

How lucky he is, he has avoided death once again! His beloved died to protect him but he has survived! He's so blessed, truly, so blessed!

He finds himself on his knees, on the verge of hysterical laughter. The only thing you left behind is a small red earring he has gifted. And he clatches it so tightly his hand bleeds. Perhaps the pain is the only thing keeping him sane at this moment.

It feels like a cruel joke. It doesn't feel real, it shouldn't be real.

Wait... That's it! It isn't real. It's impossible to die in a dream! It was his theory all along, after all. It must be true. You just can't be dead, you can't, not you too.

His plan hasn't changed, he tells Ratio when he comes to check on Aventurine. He just needs to reach the real Penacony. To reach it and to find you there. You're strong and brave and so wonderful. You're out there somewhere, he just needs to help you to get back to the real world.

He holds into that idea like a madman. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is. It never did, to be honest. But now it's like he can't focus on anything else.

He hasn't feel so despaired in years. He just needs to find you, everything else is meaningless.

So when it's time for the final act, he gets on stage, fears not and doesn't look back.

He still holds his hand behind his back though. Clutching your earrings for dear life.

#i forgot if the bodies of those who died in the memory zone disappear #if not let's pretend the hounds took it for investigation #hsr #aventurine #reader insert #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #walp's writing #no beta we die like sunday

[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

[treausre-fiction]

Fan Favorite;KHJ

Please Please Listen to this song while reading this chapter the VIBES will be immaculate.

Y/N was a simple girl so to say . She had dreams just like any other girl in her 20s who enjoyed fangirling over different things whether that was the latest makeup release or her favorite KPOP group having a comeback , she lived a more simple life but still dreamed about her name being big in the stars .

With a turn of events with a fan and celebrity line being crossed , Y/N finds herself in a 18 year long situation.

Chapter 7; Strangers

*6 Months Later*

Finding yourself walking the streets of Seoul with (YBSFN) on a quiet midnight afternoon almost felt rare since you’re time here in Korea . You and (YBSFN) had been planning this trip for what felt like years and to finally be here felt so unreal to you almost.

“Soooo….” (YBSFN) speaks breaking the silence between you guys .

Already knowing where this was going you sighed . You had told (YBSFN) what had happened between you Hongjoong, not that she was shocked but what had shocked her what was had followed after . You and Hongjoong had exchanged contact information and were texting each other as much as his schedule and very large time difference had allowed . (YBSFN) wouldn’t say it to your face but she felt like it wasn’t a good idea . On top of that you had two tickets to their showcase they were having in Korea for their comeback that Hongjoong had sent you .

“You still wanna go ? I’m okay going seriously

Y/N if you want I just don’t want ….”

“You don’t want me to look stupid ?” You said with a harsh tone that you didn’t mean to direct towards (YBSFN) . She huffed the air out of lungs as she took another drag of her cigarette and directed you guys towards an empty park bench .

“Y/N…..” she started as she looked at the night sky that glimmered with stars . Taking another drag out her cigarette she looked at you.

“I love you so so much as my friend and only want the best for you , you know that” she softly said as she looked at you . Avoiding eye contact you looked down at the floor .

“It’s just , you guys fucked for one night and yeah you’ve been talking but I just think you guys are on different pages” she said . There was silence as you tried to gather your thoughts . I mean she was partially right but Hongjoong didn’t seem like the type of guy to play someone . Or did you just create that scenario in your head scared to potentially face a truth behind a door that you couldn’t see through.

“Look …. We’ll go okay but Y/N I swear if he acts like he doesn’t know you after all this texting I will personally beat his ass and yours after cause I told you so” she stated. Excited that she finally fully agreed to go you can got up from the bench and gave her a hug.

“AHH I KNEW YOU WOULD COME AROUND” you excitedly squealed .

____

Today was the day of the comeback showcase and while excitement would usually take over you felt different today . Maybe (YBSFN) was right and maybe you guys should’ve done something else , but Hongjoong wouldn’t send the tickets just to send them right ? Regardless it was too late as you guys had already scheduled your taxi to pick you guys up and (YBSFN) was finishing her makeup .

You changed into the new outfit you had got for this day and truly you did feel silly dressing up like it was a date . Except 5,000 other people would be at this date , and your date would be on stage as well . You heard (YBSFN) make her way over to you as she was dressed and ready to go .

“You look beautiful Y/N” she voiced as she stared at the reflection of you guys in the mirror together.

—-

You guys had arrived to the showcase a little later than expected but right in time before they had started . You made your way to the two front seats that were empty and soon would be filled with the placement of you and (YBSFN) . It wasn’t too long after you guys had got comfortable and settled that the lights dimmed and the music blared out from the speakers . There you saw him, his bright crimson red hair almost reflecting off the lights , his shirt hung low revealing his chest that sparked memories of him above you . Maybe (YBSFN) was right and maybe coming was too much as you felt him stare you down , eyes stopping at the button of your shirt that revealed your chest over so slightly .

Taking his position in the middle of the stage you now realized why he had gave you center stage tickets , he was going to be center the whole show . He had again calculated exactly how and where he wanted you and managed to sneak any suspicion from his members or company away. Slick

The final members took their place and the lights once again went dark. Even through the darkness and cheers of fans you could feel Hongjoong staring you down never breaking contact even if you fully couldn’t see him .

Fuck, he looked like the definition of sex and god you wanted him so bad. It almost felt like your brain chemistry had changed from how dirty and nonchalant you had become in this moment . All you wanted was for Kim Hongjoong to bend you over and fuck you until your legs became numb and he knew it too .

#hongjoong #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #seonghwa #angst #ateez smut #ateez x reader #choisan #hongjoong fanfic #jeong yunho #san #yunho #kang yeosang #yeosang #song mingi #mingi #jungwooyoung #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #jongho #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #hongjoong angst #Spotify

[totheseok]

home is where the heart is

Jung Sungchan x reader

trope?: friends to strangers, strangers to lovers, childhood friends, college au?

requested: yes?? but I'm turning it into a series??

req by: @melokoyy

warnings: swearing?

stage one: damn those theatre kids

words: 1.3k

Jung Sungchan and L/N Y/N grew up together but this didn't mean they were best friends. Nor did it mean they hated each other. Simply put the two of them were friends.

Sungchan and Y/N's parents were good friends but the two never found themselves hanging out with each other besides the times their families were together. They went to the same school but hung out with different people, they were in the same class but sat at different ends. Outside their homes, they were mere acquaintances.

When they were six Sungchan's family moved into the house across the street from Y/N's. It was then that they started hanging out more. Walking to and from school together, doing homework together, and sometimes going over to each other's house to play games when bored. The pair's newly formed friendship, however, was sadly cut short when Y/N's mother got a job offer abroad and the family decided to move. When you're six years old and are told that you're moving to a new country it's exciting, but then you realize you have to leave your friends behind and suddenly your whole world gets crushed. And that's exactly what happened to Y/N. The idea of exploring new places was amazing but what fun would it be if she didn't have Sungchan to do it with her.

Yet the move was inevitable, they were six what could they possibly do to stop it.

As the day of the flight approached the kids spent more and more time with each other and the night before Y/N's flight Sungchan handed her his favorite puppy plushie Haru and told her to remember him with it. In return, Y/N handed the young boy her beloved Eeyore (Winnie the Pooh) stuffed toy.

And with that, they bade farewell to each other and Sungchan walked home crying as Y/N stood outside her door hugging Haru tightly to her chest.

Considering Y/N was only seven when she moved to Canada with her parents, the adjustment wasn't too difficult. She knew English because she was sent to an international school in Korea, and being only seven fitting in with other kids wasn't too hard.

She soon became friends with a girl named Somi and a guy named keeho and they became pretty much inseparable due to their korean backgrounds (a/n: reader doesn't have to be korean she was just raised there).

Surprisingly, the friendship lasted, even through middle school and high school and soon enough, senior year of high school rolled around.

"Girl, did you apply?"

Keeho has a habit of whispering to y/n during classes, especially if she's zoned out. She should be used to it by now but being broken out of your thoughts is always a bit surprising.

"Fuck! KEEHO! What the hell man?" Y/n replied not bothering to look at him.

"Did you apply to SNU, dumbass?" he quipped at her, pinching her arm to fully bring her back to reality.

"Oh. Oh, wait, oh shit I forgot." she started switching tabs on her laptop, making sure the teacher didn't notice and quickly opened Seoul National University's website. "When's the deadline to apply for the September semesters?"

"In two hours..." Keeho sighed."I swear to god y/n you're hopeless. HOW are you maintaining your GPA!?!?!"

Now y/n's GPA isn't a 4.0, but it's still good at a 3.79, keeping her at an A. Along with that, she actively takes part in extracurriculars and has won a few competitions for her society. So she was definitely HOPING to get accepted by SNU, preferably on scholarship, but hey, she'll take what she can get.

"When does this class end?" she asks him opening the application form and started filling it out, let's hope Mrs. Anderson doesn't notice she's not taking notes.

"Well considering its been about an hour and fifteen minutes, that means there's an hour and forty-five minutes left. Seriously WHY are our classes THIS long?!?!"

"Ugh, I get you," the girl mumbles, "So I either do this right now and risk getting caught by Mrs. Anderson OR I wait until class ends and try to write an application for my dream uni in fifteen minutes?"

"Basically."

"You know what? I'll take my chances, what's Mrs . Anderson going to do, give me detention for applying to uni in her class?" and she starts typing, looking up at the board every few minutes to make it seem like she's taking notes and not doing something her entire future relies on.

"Wait so you JUST applied?" Somi stops in her tracks and turns to Y/n as they walk out of the campus towards the closest 7/11.

Keeho replies for her, "Yeah, that too during Mrs. Anderson's class."

"Damn I knew you were crazy but Mrs. Anderson's class is just wild."

"Hey, atleast my application went through before the deadline," Y/n finally speaks up "Now we just have to hope all three of us get accepted together."

"Damn right, I still applied to a couple other unis in Seoul, just in case you know?" Somi comments, opening the door to the convenience store.

"Same. I applied to Yonsei, Hanyang, and a couple of others." Keeho agrees, following her.

"Other than SNU I just applied to Yonsei but no where else in Korea, if I get into SNU great, Yonsei's my backup option, the other unis I applied to are in the Middle East and Europe." Y/N adds.

"Hmm, you're just going to leave us to rot in Seoul I can't beleive this, but if you do end up going to the Middle East fuck learning, find a rich prince and marry him."

"KEEHO!" both the girls exclaim.

"ANYWAYS, let's hope all three of end up in SNU, I mean how could SNU possibly turn down a trio as amazing as us." he continues.

"Yeah, let's do this together." Y/N adds while she waits for her hotdog.

Summer after high school came sooner than expected, and suddenly life slowed down, highschool was over and the little group of friends were on there way to be adults.

The only thing they were worried about now?

University acceptance emails.

The three hung out almost every day and every two hours they'd refresh their emails hoping to see an email from SNU.

"What if they accidentally sent our letters to the wrong emails? Is that possible?"

"Keeho I highly doubt a university as established as Seoul National University would send acceptances to the wrong emails..." Somi responds.

"Yeah and even if they did I doubt it'd happen to all three of us, plus apparently acceptes don't come until like June or something idk." Y/N adds to Somi's point.

"Damn, I just want the stress to end man, I don't like not knowing." the boy mumbles.

"I get you," Somi agrees, "Plus its already the end of May so anytime now I guess."

"Oh my god Somi I think you just manifested something, I got an email !" Y/N frantically opens the mail app on her phone and sure enough there was an email from Seoul National University. "Quick both of you check yours."

As she waits, she looks around her bed to find a worn-out puppy plushie, Haru. Once she finds him, she holds onto him, hugging him with her left arm while her right holds her phone.

"I got one too!"

"Same! oh my god oh my god I'm going to shit my pants!"

"OK on three we open them together and remember no matter what happens, we support each other through it."

"Alright one, two, two and a half, two and and three-"

"Y/N FOR FUCKS SAKE, ONE"

And que silence.

The first one to break the silence was Somi, "I GOT IN!"

"I DID TOO!" Keeho jumps in his seat.

The two friends realise the third hasn't spoken yet, and so they turn to her, only to see her sitting with a grim face, tears gathering in her eyes. Grip on her plushie tighter than ever as she hugs it to her chest.

She looks up, looks at Keeho, then at Somi, one singular tear slipping out of her eye.

"Oh Y/N-"

"SNU is overrated any -"

Just as her friends are about to comfort her, a smile overtakes her face.

"I GOT IN TOO!!!"

Damn those theatre kids.

synopsis: Sungchan and y/n are family friends but y/n moved abroad and they lost touch, now y/n is back in Korea for uni and it's just so happens sungchan is attending too and now he's helping her readjust and navigate through life in Korea. What could possibly go wrong?

a/n: So originally, this was supposed to be a oneshot, but I'm turning it into a series, first ACTUAL fic!!! I hope you all like it :)))

and special thank you to @ywnzn for helping me with the name for this series ❗️❗️❗️

taglist open: @seungzzzz @wccycc

#riize #riize x reader #riize fluff #riize imagines #sungchan #sungchan x reader #jung sungchan #sungchan fanfic #sungchan fluff #jsc #riize fics #riize fanfic #riize sungchan #nct sungchan #nct u #riize smau #riize texts #riize fake texts

[anti-endo-haven]

The concept of selling your alters is insanely funny but in such a fucked up way, like, I swear to god it sounds like some skit made by and for specific alters in a system (i.e. headmate A gets so tired of headmate B's bullshit that every interaction they have after is "I'm selling you on Etsy for $2 you wench")

But IT'S NOT!!! I never took endos seriously but I am certainly not now after this bullshit like!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE SELLING ALTERS??? It's like the EBay soul selling thing that happened in like 2019

I never saw any post by endos describing how they sell alters and whatever thank god, but this is what I think they look like:

We have 1 Party Poison on sale for $522, he's 17, autistic and has an irrational fear of soap bars. He really likes milk mixed with soda and he specializes in clown makeup. We used to love him dearly but now we are selling him after he eated all of July's lasagna. No lowballers, we know what we have.

-- Umbrella, 💊 (this may the last time we use the signoff "-- umbrella" since we finally have an account where we can openly be a sys, who knows)

[p.s. I partly used myself for this "ebay listing", but all other information is false, I do not like milk mixed with soda trust]

Yeah, endos are… strange. And selling alters isn’t as “funny” and “quirky” as they may think.

I’ve seen many people equate it to trafficking as you’re being sold.

Endos are vile and I firmly believe that they just want to make up things so they can further demonize a disorder they “wish they had” while telling survivors (of any kind) they “wish they had gone through it” and said survivors are “privileged “ (<- things I’ve seen & been told).

I hate endos for reasons far beyond what people could think.

#umbrella #anti endo #did system #endos dni #system #osddid #traumagenic system #actually did #endos not for you #actually traumagenic #did plural #did plurality #osdd plural #osdd plurality #tw trafficking mention

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Posting this on behalf of some friends, who are too damn kind to say what needs to be said.

I find it interesting that you say you used to be friends with us. You’ve done nothing but make others feel terrible by gaslighting, manipulating, insulting and spreading gossip to an entire circle of people, and those you keep in your own circle have admitted—and there’s hard PROOF of this, directly from the mouths (or, well, IPs, I guess?) of those responsible—to having bullied another user off Tumblr in the first place.

If an entire group of individuals have blocked you, it’s not because they’re 'twisting your words' and 'making you the villain'. It’s because you’ve shown yourself to be the villain. Word to the wise: if you’re going to treat people like shit, make sure they don’t have a way to communicate with each other about the things you're doing. Because, at the end of the day, it doesn’t take long for the pieces to add up.

The math doesn’t lie.

#em rants sometimes #this is directed at a very specific pair of people on this site #a.k.a. the ACTUAL confirmed sources of the 'drama' people have been going on and on about #the last few weeks have been insane #seriously? #getting into EVERYONE'S DMs to bitch about my friends? #and I DO mean everyone #encouraging people to block them??? ME????? #where the hell are you finding the time to stir all this bullshit? #I'm BARELY involved except for being friends with your victims and I've had people invading MY DMs demanding 'a reason' for blocking you #my choice to block you wasn't a personal one - it was because you made me fucking uncomfortable #i can block whoever #and seems like I was right if the harassment is anything to go by #you've been stirring up shit throughout the ENTIRE fandom because you can't cope that people are finally seeing through your crap #and the 'poor me' shtick is REAL unflattering on you #get off Tumblr and touch some grass #i'm sorry guys #i know this isn't what you're all here for #but i'm really furious about this #i DESPISE bullies and liars #and watching these two try to rip my happy place apart in one of their tantrums is so so so upsetting #they've left me no choice seriously #but they won't leave my mutuals the FUCK ALONE #STOP HARASSING PEOPLE #if they'd admit to hate anon-ing another user so badly they LEFT Tumblr #what the hell else are these people capable of???

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

25.

Epilogue

Roy called her in the evening, as Keeley was carefully removing her make-up in front of the bathroom mirror. It had been a long day, a stifled Christmas lunch with her mother followed by Richmond’s home game against Norwich in the afternoon. At least Richmond had won, managing a by the skin of their teeth 1-0 after a late and defiant goal by Jamie.

She thought she’d seen him looking up at the VIP box as the team celebrated around him, and she’d blown him a little kiss, even if she knew the distance was too far for him to catch it.

Next to her, Rebecca had raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow in a perfect expression of slightly sceptical interest. “And here I thought you were here to support me.”

“I am here to support you,” Keeley had said firmly. “Because I’m an amazing friend and I’d show up to support you with chants and balloons of cute animals and stuff at your murder trial, especially if Rupar’s the victim. But I told you, he’s been having a rough time of it.”

Not telling Rebecca about what had gone down with Jamie and Roy the other day had never been an option. Rebecca had listened with a frown, and asked if she needed to do anything about James Tartt. Keeley had said no, for the moment: Jamie needed to be the one to make the call on that.

“Hey you,” Roy said now, looking properly fit in the black suit he usually put on for his pundit appearances (and which, to the untrained eye, looked identical to all his other black suits, but Keeley knew him and fashion better than most, and thought the Hugo Boss was a particularly nice look on him).

“Hi, babe.” Keeley propped the phone against a moisturiser bottle, so she could continue her routine while they talked. “You back from work then?”

“Yeah. Took fucking ages, because Cartrick wouldn’t fucking shut up. You’d think he’d run out of things to be wrong about after six hours, but no, if the filming crew hadn’t started making noises about needing to go home to their families, we’d still be there.”

Keeley hummed in agreement, even though she suspected Roy was maybe exaggerating things a little. Sometimes it was best to just let him vent belligerently for a bit, get it out of his system. Besides, it was lovely to have him care about things enough to be pissed about them again. Roy was a passionate man, and Keeley loved him for it; having seen him go through the motions with nary a flicker of true feeling throughout the autumn had been awful.

Speaking of caring… “You catch any of the Richmond game?” she asked.

He grunted. “We didn’t really cover any of the Championship games, but yeah, saw some of the highlights.”

“Jamie played well, didn’t he? Seemed a little more aggressive than he’s been lately.”

Roy grunted again, but kept his mouth stubbornly shut. Not ready to talk about the advice he’d given Jamie last night, then. Fair enough; it’d keep.  

Roy kept on saying nothing, though, when normally he would have tried to move on by changing the subject or asking her about her day. When Keeley glanced over at the screen she saw that he was looking unhappy, dark eyebrows furrowed.

Keeley cocked her head to the side. “You all right, babe? Something on your mind?”

“No, it’s… “ He paused, and she waited, until finally he let out a frustrated huff. “It’s just Jamie’s fucking dad, right?” His lips curled. “I can’t stop thinking— Jamie was in a right fucking mess when I walked in on them. Not physically, it was just scrapes, but he was so fucking quiet. It wasn’t natural, not having the little muppet run his mouth like he was getting paid for it.”

“He seemed all right after,” Keeley said hesitantly, because Jamie had, when he left them on the morning of Christmas Eve and when they talked to him yesterday. Happier than normally, even. But Roy was right, it seemed a little strange in retrospect, that he had shaken it off so completely, given the state of him when she first arrived at Roy’s three nights ago. “You think he’s used to it,” she realised aloud. “That’s why he bounced back so quickly.”

“I know arseholes like that, okay? My sister fucking married one. So yeah, I don’t think it’s the first time it happened, and it probably won’t be the last either, and I keep on fucking wondering if his dad’s the reason he walked out on City, and City’s playing Chelsea in a couple of week s and I—“ He paused again. “I know it’s fucking stupid, it’s none of my business. I don’t even like the prick.”

Keeley had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn’t quite as true as it once had been, but she didn’t mention that. Let Roy reach that conclusion when he was ready to. “I think it’s sweet,” she said instead. “The way you stepped in when he needed you to, and took care of him. I mean it,” she added off his predictable eye-roll. “I’m really proud of you, babe. And,” she pressed on, because it was true and because she knew he tended to get a little uncomfortable when things got too earnest, “it was kind of sexy, too.”

Roy’s eyebrows rose at that. “You thought me taking care of Jamie was sexy? What happened to your thing being me crying pathetically?”

“Girls have deep and complex tastes, Royo. So yeah, you being vulnerable and passionate is really hot, but as it turns out, you being all caring and protective and fetching tea really gets me going as well.” She smiled at him and he scoffed, but smiled back. “Seriously, though,” she continued, “I was thinking we should ask Jamie over some day. Just hang out a little, make sure he’s all right.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “You better not be suggesting we invite him to Sexy Christmas.”

“No,” Keeley said with a small a laugh, even as the thought of it sent a pleasant shiver through her. Sex with Roy was fantastic. Sex with Jamie had always been amazing. Both of them, and with the way she suspected their tastes would run exceedingly compatible, with her and with each other… Well. A girl could dream (and maybe have a wank once she got of the phone with Roy). “But dinner sometime soon, yeah?

“Fine,” Roy said, sounding like he was only reluctantly agreeing to do her a favour, but she knew him well enough to see the relief in his dark eyes.

Fuck, but she loved him. The way he cared so deeply, even when he didn’t want to, and even when he would sneer at the assertion.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she told him. “I can’t wait for the 28:th.”

He smiled for real then, that wide grin he reserved for just her and sometimes Phoebe and his sister. “Me neither,” he agreed. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”

“Love you.”

They hung up, and Keeley yawned. It was getting late, and she had to be up early tomorrow, for an entire day of what was supposedly just a bit of informal mingling for publicists, a little holiday get together on Jace Asthon’s country house, but which was in actuality the networking opportunity of the year for people in her line of business. She needed to be well-rested and looking ready to slay for this one, and had a bunch of people and business to read up on, potential sponsors and partners for Richmond.

She still took the time to send a couple of texts before turning out the lights.

hey jamie

got any plans for new year’s eve?

She hardly had time to set the phone down before it pinged with his reply.

Doesn’t really give a shit if I’m not playing for City.

Something slid into place then. “Is that why you did Lust Conquers All?” Roy asked. “To get away from you dad?”

Jamie didn’t answer, but that just said it all, didn’t it?

#THE END #THIS IS IT WE ARE HERE IT IS OVER #not gonna lie there were times where i SERIOUSLY doubted we'd ever get to this point #doing this might not have been one of my better ideas #but i am actually REALLY fucking proud i made it #warts and all #lots of love to the sweet people who have cheered me on and liked and reblogged or interacted over a ao3 #you guys are the best and quite frankly the only reason i managed to see this through #jamie's christmas carol #fic #my stuff #jamie tartt #keeley jones #roy kent

[dazais-guardian-angel]

honestly, episodes like this that are so stellar in almost every way just make it all the more frustrating when bones fucks up so bad other times. Like the quality of season 4 has probably been the most consistently good the anime has been since season 2, and yet the entire series still on average just reeks of tonal issues, pacing issues, wonky expressions that don’t do Harukawa’s art justice, cutting of crucial scenes or internal dialogue, and straight-up just completely missing the point and nuances of so many moments in the manga/light novels.

BSD has always been dark and gritty to an extent, but the anime has always been too “fluffy” (for lack of a better word, or I guess shounen-y) to truly understand and capture that, and it’s so frustrating when episodes like this one and Mushitarou’s episodes clearly DID have a lot of love and understanding and attention to detail put into them. Even the Dark Era episodes, which is my favorite and what I consider to be the best story content in the entire franchise, are imo honestly outclassed by the aforementioned episodes purely in terms of adaptation. But then episode 6 this season was incredibly rushed, and Dazai’s arrest scene completely butchered (and Nikolai’s bird speech, to an extent). Atsushi hallucinating Dazai in episode 8 was mediocre as well. Kunikida always has his core character moments shafted. Dazai is never allowed to be vulnerable or “uncool”. Season 3 had “Portrait of a Father” aka arguably one of the most important and most powerful chapters in the entire manga up there with Yosano’s backstory chapters, and yet it’s absolutely the most pathetic, hollow shell of an “adaptation” I’ve ever seen in my life and yes I WILL forever be salty about it.

But then they pull an episode like this out of their asses, where they actually tried. It’s so frustrating. </3

#bsd deserves so much better and i will always lament what we could have had #i fully believe that the anime is to blame for why so many people don't really take it seriously/understand its true depth #......i mean a lot of manga readers don't either lol but #the anime is a lot of peoples' first impressions of bsd and it just makes them go 'yeah its okay i guess' #but this season it feels like for the first time in a long time it feels like bones actually gives a fuck #and yet there's still so many 'bonesisms' throughout that remind you that this is still bones lmao #i kinda just think that since these chapters are so dark and heavy they really COULDN'T get away with making light of it/misinterpreting it #like they could with other much more subtle but still powerful and nuanced moments #it's all really in your face here so they had to do it well or it just would have all been completely godawful #versus other scenes they fuck up in other episodes only a manga reader would take issue with them lmao #anyway put me on the timeline where mappa adapts bsd as grittily as it does aot 👍

[waywardsalt]

i made this a few months ago for a discord and i figured i might as well share it here too

#loz #legend of zelda #phantom hourglass #bellum #bellum is kind of a nothing villain but i like him #this image is basically the framework for how i write bellum's relationship with linebeck a lot of the time #the severity and seriousness of 'ruined your life' varies between aus n shit #ironically post-ph is one of the ones where 'ruined your life' is a bit hyperbolic #im in a talkative mood rn so im gonna have a little tag tangent going on #bellum is fun and like with this image you can take him many different ways depending on your own tastes and readings n stuff #recently i pinpointed some character i mightve accidentally based my take of bellum on and it escapes me rn #but i like to have him come off as a sort of brash young god sort of thing whos been very gung-ho about what hes been created to do and #represent and ive def leaned into him acting differently in different aus but backing it up with the idea that. hes immortal and thinks its #fun to try different things hwne he earnestly interacts with and among mortals. like in my crimson king au (the uh. one where he has a #homoerotic relationship with linebeck) his purpose behind masquerading as human and settling for a decidedly slower and more complicated #method of obtaining food and taking control is because he wants to challenge himself after years of just smashing through and taking what h #wants and because hes more interested in the more minute details of mortal interaction and how he could play along for a while #hes a bit more... whimsical? laid-back? something for the most part with linebeck because he's used to being a fuckin demonic god whos #mostly just playing around and not making attachments bc fuck it if he gets bored he can just eat these people and this one guy gets his #mercy and support because he's interesting and useful as a tool (and eventually as a source of genuine friendship. a common theme i seem to #have with bellum [perhaps as an accidental parallel or smth to the spirits n oshus] is him stumbling into finally understanding why #relationships are worth it? like a lot of the time his interactions with linebeck give him a new understanding of humans and he learns to #care about linebeck despite starting off seeing him as just an interested subject to watch or tinker with idk how to describe it #like in post-ph [ig post ph spoilers] as the fourth member of the main cast his main arc is abt kinda being forced to mingle with mortals #and ends up really caring and supporting these people and considering his own role and place in the world after kind of isolating and #surrounding himself with effectively a literal hivemind and loyal monsters and just reacting to outside forces with the intent to consume #and eradicate all danger so ig theres some parallel with linebeck too? bellum is a work in progress he's kinda a weird oc at this point? #when does an existing character stop being that and starts becoming an oc idk. its a weird line here bc bellum has minimal characterization #) anyways. funny meme or whatever. the discord seemed to like it im not used to sharing memes or whatever. #my post

[hlvrai-stuck-together]

((OOC))

Sorry I keep updating at like. midnight. I honestly dont have an excuse besides i go to work and i get home and i'm tired fghsdajk

Gonna take me a little while to get into the swing of this. I've never done an askblog like this before (though I have hosted... technically 3 in the past? (EDIT: no, 4 actually.) But never like this, and none of them went anywhere), so trying to get into the swing of it has been weird.

Glad people seem to be enjoying it, though! I had no idea it'd take off like this, aha. Hopefully I can get a bit more consistent and stop uploading at 2 AM, lol.

That said, I don't know what my schedule's gonna be (if I even start one). So if there's a couple days where I don't upload, it's not because I abandoned the AU or anything, it's probably just because I'm busy IRL.

Feel free to keep sending in asks even if I'm not online! I've already got a lot of really good ones sitting there that I'm gonna hold onto for a bit (for. reasons).

This has been really fun so far, and I hope everyone's having fun, too! Just bear with me while I figure this out. I'm hoping to get out a ref of [ERROR] soon, and also stop calling him that soon, but getting into character is proving to be a challenge when you do it on and off like this. But that's never stopped me before and it won't now. Like I said, this has been fun so far!

That said, if anyone has any suggestions on a meta level, I'm all ears. I realize now that I've run into this basically blind, so even though I did a couple week's worth of preparation in advance for this blog, I'm also still floundering a bit. Learning more every day, though! And I'm hoping I can pick up the pace soon as well. After Day 1's rapidfire replies, going at a more leisurely pace feels really slow, and I both wanna fix that but also don't know how because, like I said, I keep uploading at midnight gfdshjk

TL;DR I'm working on it dw lol

-Mod Dimonds

#dimond speaks #ooc #i have many plans for this au and i've realized that figuring out how to connect the dots to get us there is the hard part #i'm used to writing fanfic where i as a writer would be able to brainstorm a way to connect those pieces #but since i've decided to host this as an askblog instead a part of that control has been taken away from me #it's like im DMing D&D instead of what i'm used to #which i don't mind- like i said i'm having fun- it's just a huge change from the norm on my end #and i don't wanna make the story twist unnaturally in a different direction because i want one thing and the askers want another #but on the other hand to there is a story here i want to tell #so finding the balance is gonna be hard #but i think it'll also be really fun #at best i'll write a story i'm proud of and people can be along for the ride and we'll all have a good time #and at worst? Day 1 was fucking awesome and one of my favorite memories of being in this fandom #so even if this thing crashes and burns i'll always have that to hold on to #so basically just thank you for reading. both my lil blurb here and the au in general #like seriously i cannot thank you enough for wanting to see where this goes #and something i'm super proud of so far is that everyone's brought their thinking caps too! #i have at least 6 asks sitting in here that i'm saving for later #which is literally half the inbox! #i do wanna state here (in the tags shhh) that i have some massive plans for this au #so the fact that everyone's thinking critically about it has made me really giddy #so proud of this classroom everyone gets A+s for the day /lh #OH ALSO Day 1 here just means the first day the AU was live. this au will be counted in in-story days so i wanna state that now #uhh i dont know how to end this. just... thank you so much for reading. #ily guys i can't wait to keep going and more frequently once i find my footing

[todayisafridaynight]

thinkin back to the rggo story where mine saves daigo after he gets kidnapped because daigo thought kiryu was in danger and mine immediately scolds him for acting recklessly and daigo’s just ‘no one’s ever stood up to me before aside from kashiwagi’ and how that calls back to daigo’s Y0 substory where kiryu tells him only true friends will stand up to him and put him in his place and im--

#snap chats #'i'm going to be normal' WELL I WAS LYING. LIKE A LIAR. WHO LIES. #ill go in my kitchen in a sec im just. I'm Just. #*gross sobbing* #rgg really made up for Y3's Everything by giving the rggo stories and im so serious about this #people I Am Also A Part Of People complained about not being able to see mine and daigo together much and see their friendship #and.... the rggo stories..... bro theyve been fueling me for months..... im so ill...... #BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH THATS WHY I GET INSANE OVER DAIGO'S Y0 SUBSTORY TOO #like daigo just wanted- NEEDED real friends who would ACTUALLY be there for him for him #not for his status or money or any of that superficial shit #it genuinely makes me happy how dedicated mine is to daigo like No Shit but it's just. *crying* #i love how mine does tell daigo when he fucks up though i love that so much #like mine's such a funny character... he's so cynical yet when he gets the chance to pour his heart out he does #he meant it when he said he didn't take sharing a cup lightly and /i/ want to eat a cup because of it #THIS IS THE SAME SUBSTORY WHERE MINE BUYS A STOCK IN EVERY TAXI COMPANY LIKE DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN #ALL OF THAT JUST TO BE ABLE TO FIND DAIGO #dear god dont get me started on the hamazaki/mine rggo story. oh my god it's THAT but 10 billion i'm going to throw up #i'm just. i HAVE to go into my kitchen or i'll end up typing another essay jesus CHRIST #LIKE AGAIN I FEEL LIKE IM NOT SAYING WHAT I WANT OR GETTING MY POINT ACROSS BUT AAAA #i just need everyone to know i AM still ill over them i just havent had time or many ideas to sit and draw/write something