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comic-sans-chan · 2 months

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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 #fics I'll never write #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

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fairy-hub · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚, 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮, 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮/ 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dealer!toji, dealer!sukuna, dealer!suguru, dealer!satoru, gun play, oral (giving and receiving) light embarrassment, teasing, reader more into than she is scared of it, hints of a size kink, hint of reader being shy, light fingering, satoru plays with your clit, praise, praising degradation, jerking off, squirting, gun play - toji rubs it on your cunt - lightly fucks you with the tip before having you lick it clean

It was a choice to come alone. Good or bad? You’re teetering between the two. Glancing at the gun resting on the table next two thin white lines of ketamine, a rolled up dollar bill and some previous weight out bud.

He grabs the gun off the coffee table you keep glancing at. Checking the chamber, then clicking it back into place, spinning it. Slipping the cool tip of the barrel beneath your chin, tilting your head up.

The scared corner of his lip twists up into a smirk. “Does my gun scare ya princess?” There a snicker from one of his friends.

You press your tights together, shifting beneath Toji’s unwavering, cold gaze. His dark forest green eyes captivating yet hard to maintain eye content with. He’s looming over you, standing up whilst your sitting on the edge of his sofa. Hands clasp together in your lap.

Toji is blocking out the rest of the room with his large tattooed body. Doing everything he can to keep your attention solely on him instead of his friends in the room. You are so small beneath him, and it’s exciting.

Taking a breathe, impatience trickling into his eyes covering up the amusement. “Don’t have all night, other customers should be coming by soon. Answer honestly and for tonight I’ll play nice. Well as nice as a dirty beautiful slut deserves.” He drops the gun, leaning forward whilst you press yourself back into the sofa he grabs a hold of.

Partly caging you in, he taps the gun on your knees and your part your legs without a thought. Watching him drag the gun up your leg is surreal. Your body flushing with the heat of embarrassment and want, the coolness of the metal is welcoming.

“Yes and no? And…” closing your eyes, rushing out, “what if I don’t want you to be nice?” Your heart thuds in your chest, more heat rushing into your face. He slaps the gun on your thigh and you jolt.

Opening your eyes whining, spreading your legs wider, showing him your wet panties. He groans, “Oh?” a predatory, hungry smirk stretches across his lips. “Our princess wants me to bully her?” He nudges the gun lightly against your soaking wet cunt.

Twisting your hips down, grinding your clit, not caring there are other men in the room watching you. With your legs spread open and your one of your dealer’s gun pressed to your needy cunt. You want them to watch, to touch themselves and want a turn.

Pleading with Toji, “Please? My safeword is cherry.” He fondles himself through his sweats. His large fist wrapping around this thick cock, tightening the fabric over his head, highlighting it. He kneels in front of you, glancing past Toji’s broad shoulders.

A beautiful man with soft pastel pink hair and a black shadow root catches your attention first. He has a large cohesive, continuous tattoo on his face, neck, arms and chest. The ink along his v line hinting at more on his cock or thighs. You want to trace the line with your tongue to find which it would be.

Toji rips your panties off, lifting it to his nose, staring you in the eyes as he takes a deep breath. “Sweet ass cunt, I could tell from the moment I saw ya, you would have a beautiful slutty little cunt.” He licks the damp part, groaning then dropping the useless fabric.

He lines the barrel of the gun up with lips, parting them, smearing your slick. Gliding the gun up to your clit, swirling it around. The cool metal heating up from the warmth of your cunt. It shouldn’t feel so good.

The pretty one with white hair, and striking blue eyes and a playful smirk on his glossy pale pink lips stands up. Taking the seat next to you, grabbing your thigh, pulling your leg onto his lap. “I'm Satoru. It’s cute seeing you try to collect your nerves. Makes me want to fuck the shyness outta you princess.”

Furrowing your brows, huffing, “Im not that shy! Just awkward, I dunno any of you. And…and! All of you are so big, I don't know any of you. I-I-ah! Ngg!” You can’t get the words out when Toji tries to nudge the gun inside you.

Erupting between your legs is a fiery sweet, pleasurable pain of getting roughly stretched erupting between your legs startling but satisfying. Tensing up and jerking your hips away.

Relaxing whilst Satoru rubs your clit, testing the pressure to see what makes you squirm. "Aw we're too big and scary?" He quickens the pace, whilst Toji glides the tip of his gun out.

Dipping his head between your legs, slipping his tongue inside you. Moaning into your cunt, I'm going to make sure you can't walk out of here." Shivering, his words, his voice, watching his lips move. How could you be this turned on by someone?

The others are going to be upset they aren't getting their shit till the morning. But they shouldn't have ditched you. Forgetting about making it back to the apartment till tomorrow morning.

Dumbly stating, "Till I can't walk!" The sweet pleasure building an intense pressure between your legs. Toji’s tongue moves faster. The pleasure of having your soaking wet cunt played with by two meaning hampering your previous nervousness beneath thick layers of horniness.

You want to cum till your loose count, drench their cock in balls with your slick whilst they fucked you stupid.

You're even craving the intimate aftercare you neglect with others to avoid any attachment. The thought of not having a worry or thought afterward when you're being held close in the afterglow is too tempting.

One of the guys, chastises Satoru, “Toru don't pick on her too much, Toj has been doing enough of that. You are going to chase her off before we all get a taste of her sweet cunt.” He is carefully gathering his long, silky, shiny dark hair into a neat bun. Some of his long bangs fall into his handsome face.

There is a gentle, calm smile on his soft lips that don’t meet his tired, disapproving eyes. And in an instant your too eager to for validation and praise more so from him. He is staring at you, whilst not actually looking at you. But more so what he could get from you.

You want to give him everything your body can give and then some. This is only going to be sex anyway, so why not make the most of it. It’s a night that you dream about when touching yourself and maybe tell some trusted friends about a wild night you had at your dealers.

Your cunt spasms on Toji’s tongue, your thighs trembling. Your cumming too quickly, the intensity of it washing over you before you can realizing how close you are.

The pink hair one stripping himself of his gym shorts. Walking up next to Toji, grabbing your hair, yanking you forward toward his cock. Prompting Toji to pull away and glare up him. Your slick dripping down his chin.

He stands up grumbling, “Sukana you fuckin' asshole lemme me move.” Whilst pushing his sweatpants below his balls. Beautiful, thick heavy balls full of cum you wanting fucked into your cunt by his friends.

Cocking the gun, pointing it at your head whilst saying, “You heard her, she wants to be bullied why not give the slut what she wants.” Sukuna picks up where Toji left off,

“See how much she can take before she's a cock drunken whore with not a single thought behind her pretty eyes.” Your eyes widen, your mouth watering. His cock is beautiful with the tattoos on the side and the three barbells beneath his tan-pink head. They would feel so good inside you, rubbing your sweet spot.

He’s longer than Toji, but thinner, with more veins. Whilst the skin on Toji’s cock is smoother. Toji is pale with a soft pink hue at the base of his cock. He is dripping so much thick pre-cum. You can't pick who had the better-looking cock. Or balls.

The last unnamed guy points out, “If we start off too harsh too quickly she might bolt. But if we ease her into it before she knows it she’s taking everything we give without a thought like a good whore.” He slips his shirt off, making quick work of his jeans and underwear. Taking up the seat next to you.

"I'm Suguru, tonight we’ll see if you can keep up with us and be the new group slut. Hold your arms up." You do as told, Toji pulls the gun away for Satoru and Suguru to slip your shirt off together. Whilst Satoru croons,

"Good girl. Did you come dressed up hoping to catch Toji’s attention? With a mini skirt that barely covers your sexy ass." The moment Suguru tosses your shirt to the side Toji holds his gun in front of your lips.

Licking Toji’s gun clean. Toji praises you, “Good girl didn’t have to say shit. I knew you’d be the perfect whore for us. The way you looked at me I could tell you were a freaky little slut.” Grabbing a handful of your hair guiding you to Sukuna's and his cock.

Taking Sukuna's first, swirling your tongue around him. The strange yet pleasurable feeling of his barbells on your tongue. Bobbing your head, taking him deep into your throat, groaning happily.

Slipping Sukuna's cock out with a pop, switching to Toji's. Whilst Satoru grabs your hand and spits in your palm. Wrapping your hand around his cock, guiding your fist. Satoru moans are so beautiful, and breathy.

“Your hand is so damn soft.” Pumping your hand at a quicker pace, Satoru lets your go, letting you take the lead. Rutting his hips up, “That’s it, jerk my pretty cock off. You can drink the cum after as a reward.” You reach over and fondle Suguru's heavy balls. His fat cock resting on top of your hand.

Gliding Toji’s cock out of your mouth, “Please, want every hole filled with cum. Let me be your favorite cum slut, want all of you to use my holes like a flesh light.” Kissing Toji’s balls, his fat cock on your face smearing your spit. Switching to Sukuna balls, sucking one into your mouth gently. Letting him go and taking Toji’s cock into your mouth.

Toji presses your head down not letting you pull away. He sets a quick past whilst Sukuna strokes his cock. The slick sounds of his hand sliding along his cock and his groans pushing you closer to cumming.

Sukuna follows Satoru's line of teasing with, "Did you plan to bend over in front of him and show him your pretty panties in hopes he would use your cunt as a fleshlight?" Toji's lets up, gliding his cock out, looking up at him.

"He took his sweet ass time catching on." Kissing Sukuna's cock as he pauses stoking himself. Holding his heavy cock up for your to kiss his head. Licking the pre-cum off him, then taking Toji's cock into your mouth. Sucking whilst pulling away, your cheeks hallowing in. Whilst Toji groans.

You spit on your other hand and smear it on Suguru's cock. Whilst pointing out, "I've been here twice already, and both times you were serving manwhore along with your drugs." Toji's smirk widens showing a sharp tooth on the right side of his mouth.

He fires back, "Say the one about to serve cunt to four guys." Suguru swipes two fingers between your legs. You're already too close to Satoru playing with your clit. You’re squirting from the anticipation of Suguru finger fucking you whilst he traces your dripping cunt.

Satoru suggests, "Let's take her to the playroom. It will be easier to stuff all three of her holes." Your pussy juices soaking into Toji’s sofa.

strawberry brat

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ygslvr · 2 months

Text

Jealousy, that shit gon' eat your heart out

Ony x Afab Reader

Word Count: 2,015

Just me talkin: This a “lil short” sumsum i thought of while making my gojo ff and this is also the first ever thing imma put on this platform so treat this shit with love and be nice bc ian scared to cuss a ho out okiii byyeeee hugs and mfkn kisses

Warings: Language, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP and uhhh just alot of shit read with caution fuck 🧍🏽‍♀️

Summary: You And Ony go to his neighborhood to visit his grandma and him to hang around his fam just for a bitch to be all up on him and grind on him and he don't do nun bout it but thats okay you will

“Alright Ma we almost there,i need you need you to please be on your best behavior” He squeezes your thigh to emphasize his please

If youre being honest you hardly heard him bc you were too busy staring at how FINE and DIVINE your man looked i mean cmonnn now he had on his jewelry,chains and studs, look so good on his ass. And he was in a white tee with a black jacket and black sweatpants and made that shit look good asl. Ou the things you could do to him ouuuu the things the things mannnn you can just su-

“BAE”

You snap out of you lil trance you was in “huh, oh yeah yeah you know i got class i could neverrrr”

“Mhm” he rubs your thigh and pulls into the neighborhood

“You're the one i need to be telling that” you say as you pull down the mirror to check out your hair and makeup before yall get there. Ony looks over at you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Dont what me bitch yk i look good” You look over and start caressing yourself and moving your hair out the way so he can see your outfit

“Chill out with that bitch shit yk how i feel bout dat shit” He lowers his voice on the last part

“Mhm i know baby can get sensitivveee” you say in a baby voice making a concerned face while patting his shoulder

You arrive at his folks house and they is boominggg. I mean,lil kids running around in the front yard, old heads on the porch watching the kids and cars that pass by, a bouncy house for the kids, and you can just smell the good ass food from the driveway. Ony watch you get out the car and you both start walking to the house.

-Imma skip some bc while i was editing I noticed half of this was useless talking making my word count go up so I deleted it..🤭-

You're sat down by Ony’s Aunts and female cousins talking about any and everyone. You can see where he gets his chill demeanor from all of his fam is cool asfk. Ony is sitting next to you with his hand firmly on your thigh,chopping it up with his uncles cousins and friends. Somehow their convo gets to dice and they get up and go to shoot some. As ony is leaving he kisses you on the cheek and tells you he’ll be back and after that y'all could go then he kisses you on the lips and leaves.

“Oooo you got him hooked in lovee honey i never saw him this tranced” One of his aunts say as she pats your arm

You giggle and turn towards them “I dont get what you guys mean, does he seem that in love with me?”You smile

They all collectively say ‘Hell Yeah’

Everyone was vibin and you and his family just choppin it up talking about everything and anything. Ony and his people back there loud playing dice, dominos, and spades just cursing,slamming stuff , and loud. But it aint mind yall it was just a cozy time bonding with his family that's until as one if his aunts is talking she looks behind you and just trails off then the rest of his people turn around and looks and all collectively start to gape in that direction , so you decide to turn around and see what's happening. You turn back when you don't see anything but people, you give them a confused look and one of his Cousins explains “You see that girl with red highlights that just walked in and making her way to ony? Well that was one of ony coulda been girls they talked and prolly even hooked up we dont know but they was close as fuck people thought they were dating but ony hard denied it thats how close.” You turn around and look and by the time you do she alr made her way to the table they was at, you turn back “Not to be rude but they used to be close so why yall so shocked she here” you said smiling.

The worst that could happen is that they still talk just recently stopped talking or he crazy about her or sumn but nahhhh ony aint stupid he know you batshit crazy like yo mama

Another cousin of his continues “He aint tell you girl? That bitch is bat shit crazy but Ony being the nice boy he is never told the hoe about herself, like he should of but hey imma hold my ones with that.”

You give a confused look

“GIRL HE REALLY AINT TELL YOU?! Well miss thang be all up on facebook and instagram posting him claiming they still together using pictures from like 3 years ago even said they got a baby together the baby is one…. girl….like give it up”

One of his other cousins chime in “And ony being a lil bitch dont tell her shit telling us to ignore it and she gon shut up but nu uh that hoe is still going and ion think she gon sto- uh oh?” She stopped when she looked behind you and everyone eyes followed including yours just to see the girl all up ony in the seat right next to him. Like she had her leg over one of his and touching his arm they whole package and wtf was ony doing? Smilin and telling her chill … this nigga want you to be on first 48…

Like him having an old fling? Ok as long as they not still doing shit, especially behind yo back. The old fling came to his family function after he cut her off? She crossed a line not a thick one but its whatever don’t cross the thick line and you good. Being all up on my nigga and feeling on him like he yours and y’all engaged. Bitch you need to move immediately. THAT GOOD FOR NUN ASS NIGGA JUST SITTING THERE SMILING??? Ok bitch you think im stupid and ima a soft ass hoe playing on my fucking top.

You turn back, dig in your purse for your perfume spray sum on you and tell his family to excuse you and that you'd be back. As you get up you grab your drink in case that bitch try sum. You sip on it as you make your way to the table ony. As you're making your way to him you don't take your eyes off him and eventually he looks at you and the look in your eyes makes him have a confused expression. You dont know if this nigga confused on what you finna do or if he confused why you looking at him like that. And you dont know why his good for nun ass is confused, unless he acting dumb…. Ouuu you finna fuck this nigga UP

You make it over to his seat and kick that roach’s leg off your husband and ever so politely sit on his lap. You hear the girls in the back CACKLING , you don't mind that the Ony wanted you to behave oh so bad before yall pulled up giving you that bitch ass speech in the car just to come act like this. So you do what your man said and behave. And you look over to that fishy ass tramp next to him.

“ Hi, I’m Ony’s Girlfriend, Soon to be fiance . I SEE y'all are pretty close so i decided to come over to introduce myself”You smile big and hold out your hand to shake hers making sure to show off the big ass promise ring he got you that can practically be an engagement ring.

Bet he aint get yo cricket booty ass nun like that before huh bitch?

The bitch is looking at you like you took her granny cane, slapped her mama, and hexed her whole family line down to the newborns. “Uhhh…” You say as you look at your hand waiting for her to acknowledge it. After 2 more seconds you put it back in your lap not bothered by her, fixing yourself on Ony lap. The aura is still tight but his family try to loosen the vibe and start back their dice game. “Nu uh bitch you gon have to get the fuck up.” The whole backyard went dead. You look at the ho then start looking around because she couldn't possibly be talking to you. Nahhhh she was talking to someone else. She needed to be talking to someone else because this bitch was playing with water and electricity. Because you finna light her ass up, nah she wasn't talking to you impossible nahhhhh. Then she grips your arm and snatch you up, “ i dont know why yo ass looking around im talking to you get off my fucking husband”

This bitch don lost her fucking mind… NAH FUCK DAT SHE WASNT BORN WITH ONE OBVIOUSLY.“Listen here trick if yo sour pussy ass don't let go off me i know sum”

Ony soft bitch ass in the back talm bout sum “Chillout, sit yall ass down” He makin you mad the more his ass does sum. But you ain't even worried about that. You take one last sip of your drink and chuck it at that tramp. Beaucoup people jump up and others watch making noises. But nah fuck dat you finna handle this ho. You cock back and punch that bitch just throwing hits not even caring if you hit the ho or not, but you are TRUST. She start hitting back and yall end up on the ground, you ain't gon lie this bitch hitting hard so you make sure to hit harder. You just thowin the bitches hitting her in the titty and her face. Until you get pulled off and yall get broken up and Ony holding you, as one more rebellion you kick the bitch and spit on her. “ ALRIGHT CHILLOUT. STOP” Ony say as he start to carry yo ass out. You think you did too much til you hear his aunts and cousins hyping you up and tellin the rest of the fam to let that bitch stay on the ground. You don't get to hear it for long as ony throw you in the back seat and lock the car as he go back to get y'all shit.

You just sit there bc aint no point in running back and finishing that hoe you already don showed her ass a whole new world. It's over now so you just sit back and fix yourself. After a good 5 mins you finally hear Ony come back and hear him apologizing for your behavior over and over again. He gets in the car and looks at you through the rear view mirror. He sighs and starts the car and pulls off to take yall home.

It’s been a good 15 minutes of silence before you decide to speak up. “Yo punk ass had her all over you so don’t blame me.” You say looking in the mirror for his reaction. He looked up and started pulling the car over.

OKKKKK IMMA END IT HEREEEE BC IM TOO SCARED WHEN I WRITE SMUT ITS GON BE BAD BUT IMMA LET YALL IMAGINATION RUN WILD and if i get free time this week maybe a part twoo???

#onyankopon x black!reader #aot onyankopon #aot #aot fanfiction #onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #aot x black reader #black plus size reader #𝐋𝐕𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

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milaisreading · 10 months

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HIIII i love ur posts!!

Can i request a tired or mentally drained and at one point she breaks down on front of the bllk boys and all of them start panicking or trying to comfort her? 😭😅

I've been tired cuz exam season ( >:p ) "and i wanna cry but i physically can't ( idk why? ) and i want some comfort sooooo.... yeah!

if u dont wanna its cool :)

byeeee❤️❤️

Author: I FEEL U! I have been feeling soo drained and useless ever since my exams finished. Literally can't even relax during this small break I got:// Anyways, I hope u like this! Thanks for the request🩷

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

On any normal day (Y/n) didn't mind the chaos the boys caused her, after all they were under a lot of pressure, so she let them unwind while cleaning up after them. But today was not one of those days. Ever since the preparations for the next Blue Lock phase started she felt like they were more and more chaotic, while she was losing herself more and more in all of her work. The whole week was just a whole mess for her, from running errands for Anri and Ego, to breaking up fights between the teammates, she just felt like giving up. Right now, she was enjoying some quiet time in the lunch hall, just drinking some tea while fighting back sleep.

"This morning was so tiring...." She winced while grabbing her stomach. This morning, Rin accidentally kicked the football past the goal, which ended up hitting (Y/n) in the stomach. This caused a loud argument between the captain, Isagi and Barou. (Y/n) tried to stop them, but the fussing coming from Aryu and Hiori stopped her. She was annoyed that they didn't let her handle the issue, instead Kurona and Yukimiya ended up dragging her toward the infirmary.

Next thing that happened was an hour after the first incident. Karasu and Otoya were practicing with Bachira and Aryu, (Y/n) was as usually sitting and taking down the stats of the 4. Nothing unusual. Until Bachira decided to goof around with the football and yell at (Y/n) to watch him do some tricks. She admitted, they were impressive, and she commented on how great they are. Her comments along with the impressed look on her face caused the other three to start doing the same. The problem was that there were 4 of them and (Y/n) would have to look every 2 seconds at a different player, which did make her dizzy. Ego had noticed the commotion and yelled at all 5 of them to get back to training.

The 3rd incident happened barely an hour ago at lunch time. (Y/n) was sitting with Gagamaru, Isagi and Chigiri during the time, and while talking with the 3, she didn't notice an argument between Kunigami and Nagi unfolding. Everyone knew that (Y/n) barely ever ate her dessert, it had too much protein, so she would always left it to one of the players to eat. The dessert was pretty much the highlight of their day and the team agreed on whoever got the most points for the day, will get the sweet treat. This arrangement worked for 2 months, but today was the first time that two players were tied in points.

Kunigami and Nagi were both known to be level headed and somewhat apathetic towards everything, except when it comes to their manager and her attention, that's when both are pretty much irrational.

"I think you seem to misunderstood me, Nagi. I am getting it today." Kunigami said, sending a tight smile towards the albino.

"And you seemed to have misunderstood me, Kunigami. But that pudding is mine."

"Calm down, you two." Niko rolled his eyes, still mad that he lost this time.

(Y/n), blissfully unaware of that whole agreement, noticed Gagamaru staring at her dessert. Knowing she won't eat it anyways, she decided to give it to him.

"Here. I won't eat. Hope you like strawberry flavor." She said, handing the surprised Gagamaru her food.

Chigiri and Isagi gasped silently. They shortly sent the flustered goalie jealous glares before looking at Kunigami and Nagi, who were staring degers at Gagamaru.

"A-are you sure?" The boy asked as (Y/n) nodded her head, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Of course-"

"Gagamaru, you traitor!" The two flinched and looked in surprise at Nagi.

"Ha?" (Y/n) panicked a little as she saw Kunigami and Nagi glaring at the duo.

"Keep it down, you two." Reo rolled his eyes, earning a nod from Tokimitsu.

"M-maybe we should let Gagamaru have-"

"Shut it, Tokimitsu!" Kunigami and Nagi yelled and then started arguing with Gagamaru. It eventually spread across the whole lunch room, and (Y/n) started twitching a little. Nobody was listening to her as she tried to calm it down. Was it the exhaustion or pure desperation to shut everyone up, but (Y/n) eventually started crying silently. Lost in her own thoughts while crying, she wasn't paying attention to what the rest were saying.

"I am the fastest. The dessert is mine!" Chigiri earned a show from Aryu at that.

"You forget I was in the top3 and I am the one with the better hair."

"Oh, shut up you peasants! You all are beneath me and (Y/n), therefore the pudding is mine."

"Says who? You, Barou? You do not have the charm to be anywhere near (Y/n)."

"Otoya, you cheated on your girlfriends. What makes you think you are worthy?" Yukimiya sighed.

"And what about you, Yukimiya? You are so plain, there is no way she will fall for you. Now me on the other hand-"

"Oh, shut up Karasu. Your charms are below Antarctica's temperatures." Niko groaned.

"I think the cutest one of us should get the pudding. So me-"

"Bachira, that would be me. I am also the ace, so that's just a bonus." Isagi smiled, earning a glare from Rin

"Pipe it down, you two can barely pick up a 2nd language." The captain added in.

"English is hard." The two protested.

"I think the richest one should have a say in the dessert." Reo smirked, earning louder protests.

Tokimitsu shivered a little in fright and looked over at (Y/n), freezing for a moment as he saw her crying.

"What's up, Tokimitsu?" Hiori wondered, one of the few who decided not to argue. Kurona looked over to where Tokimitsu was looking, and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw her crying too. He nudged Hiori.

"Look." Kurona said and the cyan-haired boy looked at (Y/n). He wasted no time and ran to her side, followed by Tokimitsu and Kurona.

"He-hey, don't take it to heart. They are stupid like that." Tokimitsu said as he patted the sobbing girl's back. Kurona and Hiori moved closer, both trying to calm her down, all three felt their hearts breaking as they watched her cry. The room grew slowly quiet too, as the rest looked at (Y/n) in concern and guilt.

"(Y/n)...." Chigiri gulped.

"It's just hard to keep up with you all. You keep arguing and destroying things at times... and it's just hard to keep up... I can usually take it, but I guess today isn't my day." A wave of guilt hit the team as they quickly scrambled for the right words. The last thing they wanted was for their (Y/n) to cry, or worse, contemplate on leaving them.

"Tokimitsu, go and take (Y/n) somewhere quiet to calm down. The rest of you stay here." Rin said, quickly getting unto his captain mode. The rest said nothing, deciding not to make things worse, and they watched with guilt and sadness as (Y/n) got dragged out by Tokimitsu.

"Alright, listen up." Rin spoke up, causing the rest to look at him.

"We need to pull our shit together, unless we want (Y/n) to leave and for some other manager to replace her. The team pretty much shuddered at the idea, there was no way someone will replace her!

"So, what's your idea, captain?" Barou wondered.

"I will tell you, but first... Reo, I need you to do some calls." The billionaire heir raised his eyebrow and slowly nodded his head.

And soo, that was what had happened. (Y/n) ended up crying for about 30 minutes as Tokimitsu stayed around, just in case. The boy was collected and calm, no sign of his previous fidgety demeanor. After she calmed down, she apologized to Tokimitsu for inconveniencing him, but the boy didn't mind.

"If you feel down again, don't be afraid to tell us. We will listen." The boy said with a smile, which calmed her down a lot.

After lunch, she went back to her normal duties, helping the other staff members and the team out. To her surprise, they didn't cause any ruckus, they were calm and friendly. Even Rin, Isagi and Barou stayed away from arguing with each other. Unbeknownst to her, whenever a staff member tried to scold her, Karasu, Aryu and Nagi would send them warning glares. They alone caused them to back off quickly. All in all, the day went pretty well, and (Y/n) felt a lot lighter now. She slowly walked into her bedroom, and stopped at the entrance as she noticed a box on her bed. Slowly walking towards it, she looked at the note on the box and slowly started reading it. (Y/n)'s eyes widened a little as she read it through, realizing that the team sent her this, and her heart melted at the apology they wrote out.

'They are chaotic... but I love them like that.' She smiled and slowly opened the box, only to find various treats that she could only buy outside of Blue Lock's facility, she even got a small (f/c) bear.

'They probably made Reo get this...' She chuckled and plopped on the bed, hugging the bear close to herself.

'I will make it up to them... maybe Teieri-san can help me get them some small gift next week.' She thought, slowly falling asleep.

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mseirtaku · 2 months

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Me watching travesty that was Kung Fu Panda 4.

Under 'read more', I have my full (unsolicited) thoughts on the fourth film - warning, I don't have much good to say about it 〔´∇｀〕;;

SPOILERS! + LONG ASS POST!

So... I'll start with the positives, because honestly, I do love aspects of this movie.

Any scenes featuring Li and Mr. Ping are the absolute highlights of this film. Love them, ship them, hilarious chemistry between them. I'd watch a whole film dedicated to just them.

Though not as funny as the previous films, it’s genuinely funny, like, some jokes are deadass hilarious. (See above for example lol)

Genuinely, the main villainess, the chameleon, has such a cool design and Viola Davis provides such a good voice for her. The animation whenever she transforms is so cool.

Jack Black as Po is just so charming, you can't help but find Po so likeable.

For what little we saw of Tai Lung, he was a treat to see.

Great animation, lovely scenery, love the little animation flairs during the action scenes

Alright, now time for the negatives... Which unfortunately there is a lot of. I’ll go step by step and build up to the bigger picture I’m trying to visualise here.

The Kung Fu Panda

Po’s character arc was pretty much complete at the end of KFP3, when he has his epiphany and finds that his true self lies in not restricting himself to one label, but by embracing everything that makes him Po. His identity by this point is very well realised. Unfortunately in KFP4, the tacked on conflict of him needing to retire the Dragon Warrior title and choose a successor just… Doesn’t make sense for his character at this point. Not to mention, the movie repeats a joke ad nauseam where no one knows who Po is, or of his adventures, jokingly chalking it down to a ‘regional’ tale. You’d think the literal saviour of China would be well known. The world-building feels so much smaller for it. Unfortunately, this movie is very determined to undermine the impact of the last three movies, all to prop up the wisecracking and super cool shitass Awkafina character. Sorry, not sorry, but Zhen is a terrible character just for that reason alone. If Kung Fu Panda wanted to pass the torch down, Tigress or even Tai Lung would have been a much more compelling option, seeing as both were telegraphed to be potential Dragon Warriors in the past. Speaking of…

Tai Lung

Man… The trailers got my hopes up that KFP4 would feature a long awaited redemption arc for the OG villain of the KFP films. Instead, he’s delegated to a cage for half his scenes, and received the barest minimum of character arcs in the finale. Granted, he was still entertaining to watch, but he was totally under-utilised.

To continue the topic of identity, the film missed the chance to ask this: “Who is Tai Lung without his kung fu?” All his life he’d been raised with huge aspirations to become the best kung fu master, and to eventually gain the dragon scroll (which he was denied.) In KFP4, the chameleon summons him from the spirit realm, and drains him of all his kung fu skill. Therein lies the missed opportunity for a compelling character arc, now that he’s been cast out as a supposedly useless body into the real world. And who better to help him figure out his identity other than Po himself?

I could go on forever about the various fanficy rewrites and plot ideas, but I don’t want to let this get any longer. So I’ll talk about one more topic.

The Chameleon

I love her design, I love her voice acting, but compared to Tai Lung, Lord Shen and even General Kai… She’s simply a weak villain. (Too small to learn kung fu… Really?? With characters like Mantis and Viper who deadass exist in the same franchise???)

‘I’m the Chameleon! I do nothing but change!’ holds such potential for a far more interesting backstory. Instead of being rejected for her size, suppose that it was seen by many king fu masters that she simply didn’t possess a true spirit of a kung fu warrior. As explained in this film, their abilities are harnessed in the spirit/soul, not just the physical body. Perhaps she didn’t want to work for those abilities properly. She wanted the easy way forwards. She didn’t want to put in the proper time and effort to become a master of the craft. Spurred on by what she sees as rejection, she learns sorcery to take on any number of identities of kung fu masters. So many identities she could use to fool herself into believing she was someone talented and gifted in the art of kung fu. But it’s only a lie she tells herself. And so, she takes the drastic action, and decides to start summoning these masters from the spirit realm. But even as she slowly grows in power through the course of this film, maybe a strong sense of imposter syndrome starts to set in. These powers aren’t truly hers - what value does a carbon copy of something original have? Nothing. She never properly worked for them and made them her own.

Anyways. I’m almost done writing.

Quick fire round of criticism;

Akwafina’s shitass character

Furious five just tossed aside except for a non speaking cameo. Tigress got done so dirty - if there are gonna be like three more films, they should have been about her

WHAT DID THEY DO TO LORD SHEN’S CHARACTER MODEL

The goofy-ass way he was attacked and then thrown into the cage, the disrespect lol

Li (the victim) and Lord Shen (the genocidal maniac who destroyed his village and killed his wife) somehow existed in the same space and did not get into a conflict.

Why does Kai still exist in the spirit realm? I thought he was literally skadooshed to be extra double dead lol. Like spirit literally eradicated

Akwafina’s shitass character

The villains bowing to Po feels super unearned given how under-utilised they were. I can see it working, just not in the plot we got in the end

Po’s character feels weirdly dumbed down, it’s hard to put my finger on it

Fart joke :(

The innocent and cute but secretly psycho baby bunnies are the definition of anti humour. They’re so fucking obnoxious and cringey

For some reason, the character designs of new characters feels super incongruous and out of place.

The Dragon Warrior isn’t an inherited title, it was given during a time where China needed a hero. Why does it need to be passed down?

Ȁ̸̺͚̮̘̔̌̇̋͛̀́́̒̉̅̐ķ̶̲͍̘̖͈̭̮̝̩͐̃̎̕w̴̙̖̫̿̿͜a̸̧̠͎̰̲̠̮͇̰̼̱͂̋̃̇̑̍̊̂̎̾̓͝f̶̛̼͓̱͖̖̭͓͍͚͋͛̍ḯ̶͕̈́͛̀̎̆͛n̶͖͓̻̉̆̎́͆̌͌͂̾̉̚a̷̡̻̟̟͍̳̙̰͔̬̜̐̏̾̍̊̎́͂͊͝’̷̢̢̭̬̹̪̟̰̣́̈́̌̈̑̄̔͗̓̃̄̐s̶̹̙̖̲̝͎̳̍͑́��̡ ̷̢̤̈͊͛̚s̸͓̪̠̼̪̤͈̜̎ȟ̵͇̥͈̟͖͈̣̞͚̘̩͍̓̅̀͐͗͛̏̉̀̒͘͜i̸̛̦͕̖̙̲͔̗̙̘̥̣̰̖͖̭̓̄͂̋́̍̓̃͘t̴̯̯̔̑̈̽̇̋̈́͌͛á̴̡͍͓͎͍͈̖͖͎̼̀́̅̿͌̂̌̆͠s̷̢̳̙̦̯̥̮͕͍̃̃͑̂̎̑̍̀͒̊͘̚͝͠͠s̴̪͖̼͈͂̏̚ͅ ̶͕̺̟̙̲͓̘̟̠͇̩̖̠̦̫̄̅̋̓̈́̓̆͋͝͝c̴͕̤̮̎̿̎͐̀̐̊̆̓̍̾̈́͠h̵̛̝̑̋̎̃̈́̆͋͒̅͊́͑͠͝a̷̡̹͍̳̘̪̰̰̤̼̎̄̈́̚ͅŗ̷̝̲͚̻͚̮͕̳̙̭̻̄͆̇̐̄̐͂͘a̴̡̢̯̩͓͓͂̄͑͗́́͂͠͠c̸̨̺̖̪̙͖̯̟̠͙͐́͊̾̅̎̏͠͝t̸̛̗̣̳̠̯͎̫͔̣̱̞̂̅͑̀̈̄͋̈́̆͘͝e̸̢͎͙̻̩̦̹̜̩̦̖̫͍͂́̌ͅr̵̨̄̅͐̍̏̅̀̃́̇̇̅̕͝

That’s all I have really. Sorry for straying so much into fanfiction territory, but it’s an integral part of my criticisms. I could honestly write forever, but I mainly wanted to share this silly redraw of the Tai Lung meme using Lobster and I’s silly Kung Fu Panda Hetalia gijinka crossover AU nonsense lol

If you read this all the way to the end, congrats! And sorry - I never do long text posts like this lol

#hetalia #hws thailand #crossover au #kung fu panda #kfp 4 #kfp 4 spoilers

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anti-katsuki-lounge · 1 year

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If you stop to think about it, the second MHA movie actually highlights how god awful Bakugou is at being a hero.

As pointed out by Mineta,he doesn’t lift a finger to help the denizens of the island. Not only is this a huge red flag for someone that’s going into a job where you have to interact with people, it’s also a spit in the face to Aizawa, who has only stuck his neck out for Bakugou on multiple occasions to cover up his shit behavior. You’d think at the very least he would make some kind of effort to try to make his quirk useful in ways not used for combat. But nope, be the lazy asshole and simply let everyone else do the work for you. That’s how All Might got to be the number one hero, right? And you’d think the other students would grill him harder. But nah, let’s only lightly reprimand and laugh about him being a freeloader.

After realizing Mahoro’s illusion quirk, he goes into a screaming tangent about him being the number one hero, and gets confrontational to both kids. Yes, a high schooler is pounding his chest at two children. Anyone that thinks this man baby is still pro hero material is kidding themselves. I feel bad for Gang Orca, he suffers from coming across as an ineffective teacher where it’s simply Bakugou jumping back to his old ways.

Hagakure, Aoyama and Mineta encounter Mummy, with the two boys holding him and his creations back the best they can and Hagakure placed in the role of bystander. Remember, Aoyama and Mineta’s quirks are not well suited for prolonged fighting, and we see the effects the quirks have on them. (Aoyama gets stomach pains and Mineta bleeds from the head). Then along comes Bakugou, whose quirk we never see have any drawbacks and his equipment is designed so he doesn’t experience said “drawbacks” and is fantastic for offensive capabilities, and he calls the previous group pathetic. And ten seconds jumping into the fray, HE GETS CAPTURED. The joke characters lasted LONGER IN A FIGHT than “The Symbol of Victory” and the guy that’s supposed to be Midoriya’s equal or personal hurdle.

The second half of the movie is Bakugou’s only area of expertise: fighting, big explosions and cool visuals. The fact this happens in the first half of the movie, along with Bakugou always constantly saying he doesn’t need help, especially not Izuku’s, only to be proven how wrong he is and that he doesn’t own up to it afterwards, makes it extremely difficult to see him as a good candidate for OFA or for me to ever take him seriously or care about him throughout the movie.

Lol you pretty much highlight why Katsuki’s a useless character. Those are the only three things he contributes to the series.

#anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugo #anti bakugou

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 3 months

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HELLOOOOO would love to know about human incarnate. AND history's flowers. AND 13 for the fic writer questions. goodbye

OKAY OKAY OKAY IM SO EXCITED I LOVE THESE FUCK ASS THINGS!!!!! let me divide them….

13) your strengths as an author

i love writing prose. imagery my betrothed. connecting tiny threads into one useless piece is my bit on the side. basic dialogue when ik what theyre gonna talk about, but making it SOUND like them is a wholeeeeee other ordeal. so yeah, i'd say Prose. i like those, and people have said i use good word :)

history’s flowers

so you know the song bouquet by itchiko aoba ? well a good chunk of the song is mainly flowers, so ended up a fic like “crowley and aziraphale through history, but a flower that is mentioned in the song is present in an encounter we see”. like ‘plumeria’—its a ficlet in the garden and a bush of plumerias happens to be nearby or part of the scene ! its mostly chrono, but i tried to keep it as close as possible. not too much has been written yet other than the garden of eden example i gave you, and there’s a lot of flowers, but im gonna dew it all 😌

human incarnate (under cut due 2 length)

okay THIS one’s a bit more complex and infinitely longer. its a reincarnation story ! but of course, not exactly what you might have seen before. now, bit of context, i’ve mever really liked human aus—they are some amazing works out there and i’ve read a good chunk dont get me wrong, but its not exactly something i seek out—im there for the mystical, the immortal dance, etc etc. but one day this story just came up, and i COULDNT let it go. so: human aziraphale and crowley trying to stop the apocalypse but theyre actually an angel/demon duo but reincarnating every few decades. so one day they died (this if ofc plot relevant but if i explain it its ANOTHER long ass paragraph, so lets just say it involves fire and one of my favorite historical events *not alexandria*), and they started incarnating together, some lives never meeting and others meeting once or others changing them entirely, only to eventually truly converge in the present day (like 2008) in time for heaven and hell to realize the trick and the apocalypse on the brink of beginning. easy no memory shtick and stuff, and the appeal is 1) trying to stop armageddon without their respective powers/knowledge, and 2) relearning their love story one life at a time. its the exact balance of Supernatural and Human i would love to read, but never have seen. there might be fic like that out there (and i’d love to read it) but this is hopefully something I can execute nicely. some highlights:

- raising warlock is a such a funnier ordeal becayse they dont have powers to help them out. its a DISASTER

- them figuring out their miracles and their limitations when their powers slowly start tricking back (they're not yet where they're supposed to be, but after heaven and hell's first contact, they arent exactly human anymore, are they?) like warlock's birthday ! its just funny to me..

- crowley and aziraphale's limited contact before armageddon is about. its just a neighborhood crush, nothing more, but then it escalates like THAT ? imagine the guy who curates your flower bouquets you bring to your grandpa's grave (he's not related to you) (and he also happens to be you) and looks kinda pretty ngl is actually your immortal enemy you've been locked in a homoerotic relationship with since the beginning of time. and is a DEMON. of HELL. woah

- hell and heaven don’t really frighten aziraphale and crowley most of the narrative, until the plot ramps up. at first, theyre just Fuckin Weird to them, and seeing a few chapters of them just ridiculing their HEAD OFFICES without knowing just how powerful they can be makes me crack up

- crowley's tattoos (including the snake, which he has NO IDEA where it came from)

- aziraphale's bible and prophecy collection (inherited from his grandpa) (whom he is not related to) (who is also him)

- theyre both trans. one cool thing about this is that aziraphale intentionally chose his name based on the angel who guarded eden, which is HIM. for some odd reason, his name never did fade from the bible editions, and he is still known to this day. Cough Cough Crowley Cough Cough anyway also he and crowley both cycled through some other names before reaching their final ones, which are all names they’ve had in past lices :) because while their past lives have been connected to their old identities in some ways, it wasnt until 2008 where it really became similar. its almost like they knew things were coming…..

- (this trans fact is revealed during the six hours of drinking after adam is delivered <3)

- the bookshop fire

- holding hands at the end of the world

- no stars to run to, because crowley doesnt even know he built that one. but he still fucking loved astronomy anyway!!! he used to want to be an astronaut, you know. before the world tore him down

- aziraphale, on the other hand, never knew what he wanted to be. Good, that he knew, but Good at what?

- all of the fcuking.... scenes.... hittinf anathema, tadfield manor, I JUST!!!!

- some of their cliched past lives being the following: pirate/naval captain, bodysnatcher/cemetery caretaker, brandy spy/allied bookseller, 17th century witches, fugitive/aristocrat, and ofc, present day: struggling florist/bookseller who doesnt really sell any books and lives off of his grandpa's fortunes (again, not related) (who is also him)

- crowley growing up on the velvet underground and aziraphale growing up UNDER A ROCK. queen plagues them both...

and yeah ! its gonna be pretty long, i think. thanks 4 the ask, and happy timezone 💗

#ask game

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tothepointofinsanity · 9 months

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the new pmmm movie trailer has brought back my Brainrot for the show so ive been re-exploring the pmmm corner of tumblr and

oh my god???? oh my fucking god???? oh holy shit???? oh my goodness gracious your art is so pretty??????? hello???????????

the way you draw sayaka is just fhfhfhfhhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhhfhf. yk? the english language does not have the words to articulate how much i love you art and the style of your art. i am going insane. i am losing my mind. every piece you've made featuring sayaka just captures her essence so well and it makes me feral.

sayaka's not my main favorite of the show (sorry sayaka, you rock but kyoko is just too cool with her Christian Guilt) she's a very close second and it makes me so happy to see an artist who just understands her character so well. she's a foolish girl blind to her own fate, desperate to do something special and be someone worthwhile but she's ultimately just a footnote in the grand plan of the universe, she wants to be just and righteous and kind so badly but she's too wrapped up in her own despair to truly be selfless, she can be selfish and callous but that's just because she's human, a human who realized her existence is ultimately an exercise in futility and that fact burns and it hurts so she does whatever she can to make the pain go away but it never does because she's just A Normal, Flawed Girl and that hurts so goddamn much-

i have so many Thoughts about sayaka. she makes me insane on a daily basis and your art just feels like it captures all the screeching in my brain and puts it in the form of some beautiful images. they're so great. you're doing great.

Ah, thank you for the kind words [♡] I appreciate the time you had taken out to write and send this long scroll of a compliment.

I have been told by others that the way I depict Sayaka is "so real" and that it captures her essence most of the time, even though I am not sure what particular elements about her that people in the audience like unless specified. I suppose, personally, whenever I am drawing her, I have to enter her shoes of not just "the frustration of a lovesick teenage girl", "my perceived sense of justice was flawed", but also to accept that resignation is a highlight of her character. A young girl who believes she is unloved despite her desire to do everything Right. A mermaid who cannot swim - futility and uselessness contribute to why Sayaka is a realistic and compelling person to a lot of people watching the show. Whenever I draw her, my brain paints a sketch of her sadness before anything else. The despair of "no matter what I do, this is the outcome" is true to the canon of Sayaka turning into a Witch in every timeline she tries to accomplish this Goodness by being a magical girl, reflecting the reality at large the helplessness girls in general experience on a daily basis.

It is why I find people who hate Sayaka to be...strange, since their prescribed reasons for dislike are mainly how "foolish" her wish and outlook in life was, and how she became irritating to those around her as though Sayaka isn't literally a paragon of not just deteriorating mental health, but to me, people with personality disorders as well, given that there is always a "sense" that the inevitable ending involves everyone actively avoiding you and you will eventually just...fade away into non-existence; a bad memory that no one wants to speak about. It makes me sad. Sayaka is sick, and everyone can smell the rot of magic off her.

Everytime I draw her, I want to capture, perhaps, this exact feeling of resigning to this disease. I don't want to always make the drawings beautiful since her struggles are ugly and difficult and tiresome, and shouldn't be trivialised as a result. She's always trying her best to regain control of her own life, thus being so unmatched in terms of how relatable she is to a lot of people.

I am glad that someone appreciates my works, even if they aren't always consistently quality. •́ ‿ ,•̀

#ASKS 💌#the most girl ever

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nagisasstunningpersonality · 10 months

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Lemme start by saying, I don’t know if someone has said this before. Or if it’s been confirmed by the author/creator of Assassination Classroom (I would love to be informed if it was, though. I need AC content). It’s just something I noticed and thought was cool, so I decided to share:

Korosensei’s tie has a crescent moon design. To be more specific, a waxing crescent moon design.

It’s interesting because the academic year of the Assassination Classroom is widely speculated to be 2014-2015. Since Aguri and Korosensei met a year before, it’s reasonable to say that they met on March 13, 2013.

The moon phase on March 13, 2013 was a waxing crescent moon.

Aguri gifted Korosensei a necktie with a waxing crescent moon embroidered into it on the anniversary of their meeting. She put so much thought into that gift, to the point of incorporating the moon phase from the day they met. And I think that’s beautiful.

I have sad feels now.

Thoughts?

It's a neat idea! The manga was first serialised in Jump July 2012 though, so the speculation is probably a bit off. To me, it's most likely the series is set relatively contemporaneously. So you can take the original moon explosion as 2012 or 2013. There's one very specific part of the manga that does help date it, though.

Prewarning, this turned into niche ramblings.

I do not currently have access to the Japanese version of this scene, but I disagree with the fan translation here. At their own admission, they interpreted him to be talking about a specific earthquake, where in reality he just says "the earthquake". I also went and checked this with the anime, and he does not give a specific event.

I mean, the Great Kanto Earthquake happened in 1923, which would make Karma some kind of time traveller if this was true. As someone who used to live in the same rough area Kunugigaoka is set, I promise you there are a lot of earthquakes. To the point you get used to them. Most certainly wouldn't be a 'state of emergency'. No. If you're saying The Earthquake, the most likely option is the 2011 Tohoku earthquake/tsunami, still by far Japan's most devastating natural disaster in recent times. Sort of like how we might say "the pandemic" and it's pretty obvious what we mean by it.

Two problems with this, though. One is that Karma in this panel looks relatively younger. The youngest Karma could realistically have been for this timescale is 12. We literally see him drawn at that age, and his appearance doesn't differ much in those panels (civil war) - though this could be put down to being before that specific arc. Second issue: the epicentre of the earthquake was quite far north of where Kunugigaoka is set, and Karma would have still been in junior high at this point. And we do see him physically observing... some kind of disaster relief. Considering the lack of destruction (and the fact that the earthquake destroyed a nuclear reactor and caused a massive exclusion zone in the general area), perhaps Karma is somewhere in Tokyo here observing the support measures.

The Japanese government were also specifically criticised for their response to the Fukushima nuclear disaster. It's too complicated to really go into here, but in a nutshell there were some Bad and Illogical Decisions (in Livi's opinion) taken. One highlight being very arbitrary choices on what houses were part of the exclusion zone, but I digress. Point is, this seems like what Karma's referring to by "the politicians were useless".

So anyway, my bet is that Aguri and Koro met in 2012, and the moon went bye bye in March 2013. I'm not going to check myself, but I'll believe you about the moon phase. I'll be honest, I doubt this is intentional, but it's a neat coincidence at least!

#assassination classroom #ass class #ansatsu kyoushitsu #ass class meta

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years

Text

Two Sides of The Same Coin - Chapter 37: "Evermore"

"And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn't be for evermore..."

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

“We have half a mind to throw you on The Raft after what you did," the first old man on the council sneers down at you. You refuse to shrink to his glare, instead shifting forward so your elbows rest on the small desk. As they played it all back, highlighted the worst and best moments of the last year of your life, you just continued reminding yourself of what you were fighting for, who you were fighting to get back.

“It was an accident!” Sam fumes from beside you. He'd mostly managed to maintain his composure during this whole affair, but slowly but surely the whole thing was getting out of hand. You huffed, squirming in your chair as the heavy restraints tugged on your neck and wrists. “An accident that you could’ve prevented if you hadn’t separated her from every single person that knows her.”

"You shot a SHIELD agent. How is that an accident?"

"He's lucky I shot him in the leg. The situation was already diffused and under control. She was already calm."

"According to you," he man retorts, clearing not believing a word Sam is saying.

"It was unnecessary and excessive force. I did what I had to do."

This had already been going on for several hours, this weird semi-trial about what your future was going to look like. All while you were barely able to squeeze in a word. When you did, they spoke over you, berated you and Sam for the mistakes that were made. It wasn't pretty to watch.

The only consolation was Sam. It had been almost 8 hours and he was fighting for you with every fiber of his being. He'd given them snippets of his reports, reports you'd never even heard of let alone seen, and the way he spoke about you- it made it that much easier to believe him when he said he cared about you.

You were given only a few minutes to talk to Sam, and only Sam, before these 'proceedings' started. He told you to that he'd take care of it this time. You were to show them the best version of you, the side the won over Nick Fury and the Avengers. That was your only role to play- SHIELD's good little asset.

But for better or worse, that role was getting harder and harder to play. It was constricting like the metaphorical costume no longer fit you.

The men on this pseudo-council all sat on a platform, very literally talking down to you while you and Sam sat in front of them at a wooden table, listening as they all stated things that the two of you already knew, but phrased in a way that made it seem like you two were crazy.

And as you sat there, at least 10 pounds worth of chains around your wrists and ankles in tandem with the same collar used in your kidnapping to render you powerless, you felt a little crazy.

“You’ve made the asset completely reliant upon you," Man in Suit #2 pipes in. You didn't even bother learning their names, since they didn't bother to learn your's- they just kept referring to you as 'The Asset'. In the first few hours, you tried to reconcile it, at least it was a cool nickname, but now it was agitating you in a way you didn't completely understand. "That’s not a good thing.”

“I’m not an asset,” you interject.

“Excuse me?” Man in Suit #5 scoffs.

“My name is not ‘the asset’," you repeat, this time louder. "I’m a person- a real person.”

“We understand that, Miss,” the same man condescendingly sighs, rolling his eyes as if that information is completely useless to him.

“No, you don’t. You don’t understand. I don’t want a new handler. I don't want to relocate. I want Sam. I want to live in New York,” you state, making no attempt to hide your irritation and frustration at the whole situation.

Man #3 sighs at you like a petulant child, very clearly annoyed at having to explain anything to you, “We believe that Mr. Wilson’s emotional attachment is clouding his judgment, which is proven by the numerous, very serious incidents which have occurred in recent time. He’s made it very clear that he’s not fit to handle such a valuable asset. It's for your own good.”

“Don't I get to decide that? Doesn’t it matter what I want?" you continue. "I’m right here, have you any of you ever thought to ask me if I think Sam’s doing a good job?”

“You’ve been kidnapped. You’ve been nearly killed. What more evidence do we need of Mr. Wilson’s incompetence?”

“Has anyone bothered to learn anything about her beyond her abilities?” Bucky asks from behind you with Steve and Tony seated right behind you.

Steve and Tony, unlike Bucky, were both already privy to these 'proceedings' as they called them, and both of them had already given their own insight as the unofficial leaders of the Avengers.

But Bucky was adamant about attending. You huffed in annoyance when they allowed him to, not because you didn't want him to be there, but they were willing to listen to him, to concede to him, but they had still yet to hear a word you were saying. And this was about you, about your future, and you hadn't squeezed in a word otherwise.

You didn't see the way Steve had to continuously hold Bucky down in his seat. Every time they said something awful about you, every time you flinched as they hurled accusation left and right, he wanted to jump out of his seat. And he would've, if it weren't for Steve's firm grip on his shoulder and Steve's many reminders to him that any outburst from him could make things worse for you.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Man in Suit #2 curtly warns. "You're here because we allowed it, we can also remove you."

"Yeah, okay," you scoff sarcastically. "Try and remove the super soldier."

Sam stifles a chuckle from beside you, clearly wanting to be amused at seeing the rebellious side of you, but he knew that defiance wouldn't serve you here.

“I have her file- right here.” Bucky holds up the folder. You can't turn around to look at him because of the restraints but you silently thank him anyway. “And if anyone had done their due diligence, they’d see that Sam’s always done what was best for her. I met her six months into her acclimation period. Six months is absolutely nothing compared to the lifetime she spent in captivity. And when I met her she was well-adjusted, happy, healthy, and a freaking good person. A good person ready to jump into a lifetime of service, do you realize how incredible that is? Do you realize what it took for the two of them to get to that point? And to disregard all that progress is…it’s stupid.”

“We know about the progress she’s made, Sergeant Barnes. That doesn’t change the events that have occurred.”

“What exactly do you want from her? To be your little asset for the rest of your life?” Sam scoffs. “Keep her contained and free from emotional attachments? Good luck. I know it’s not perfect, but we do our best. You can blame me for everything that’s happened, but you know as well as I do that no matter what you do with her there is going to be danger. At least with us, we have her back. We know her limits. We care if she’s happy. Can you guarantee the same if you ship her off to whatever remote location you feel like?”

"We feel that it's best to separate before you get her killed. We're trying to keep her alive," the man reminds Sam, you can see the way Sam's jaw clenches at the verbal jab.

"Even if it makes her miserable?" Sam counters, the conviction in his words clear as day.

"Yes," Man #3 answers simply.

"I won't," you bluntly interrupt, getting more irate at everyone else being able to speak for you when they wouldn't allow you to do that for yourself. "I won't do it."

"Excuse me?" Man #1 scoffs.

"I won't do it," you repeat this time with more force.

"What are you doing?" Sam quietly hisses as you deviate from your previously discussed strategy. You knew the strategy was to show them that you were still the well-adjusted asset that was still fully in control of yourself. But you couldn't take it anymore, you couldn't be this thing anymore.

You apologetically look at him, knowing that if this doesn't work you very well could end up on the Raft. You take a deep breath and sit up in spite of all the restraints on you. Your eyes flicker to each individual man as you speak, "You can throw me on The Raft. You can keep this collar on me, which by the way- kind of messed up to put on a person. But I will never help you again. Ever. Unless you start listening to me- Unless you send me back to New York with Sam as my handler. And if you can't do that, then I can't help you anymore. The ball is in your net."

"Court," Sam coughs to hide his correction.

"Court," you quickly amend.

"It's not up to you," the man seethes.

You shrug, offering only a remorseful smile, "Then I can't help you anymore."

"Do you understand what you're saying right now? Assets that refuse to comply-"

"I know exactly what I'm saying," you state defiantly. "It's my life, and I want to live it the way I want. Now we can- uh..."

"Compromise?" Sam offers, trying and failing to hide his proud smile.

"Thank you," you smile back at him. "We can compromise or I'm done helping you. It's your choice."

The entire council sits stone-face, though their eyes flicker to each other at the unexpected turn of events. "We'll take a recess. We'll reconvene in an hour."

You nod, settling back in your chair until a guard walks up next to you to escort you out of the make-shift courtroom. He pulls you up out of your seat, looking irritated at your limited range of movement. Sam scowls at the man, grabbing your other arm to help you up.

You and Sam are silently walked down the corridor to a small legal library. Once you both are in the room, the door slams behind you, the lock clicking as you two take your seats at the small table.

And then you just have to wait.

Both of you swiveling back and forth in your chairs as you wait to hear anything. Neither of you really say anything, the both of you completely unsure of what came next. You'd taken a big risk in there, they could walk in at any moment and ship you off to the Raft or any other location that they felt like.

And then there was the fact that you had no clue what to say to each other. You tore down a building because you thought he betrayed you. You thought that you didn't matter to him. He told you that it wasn't a betrayal. He shot a man for you. Fought like hell for the last 8 hours trying to win you back your freedom. To say it was a lot was a massive understatement.

"Has it been an hour yet?" you sigh, breaking the silence as the two of you sit slumped back in your chairs.

Sam dramatically sighs in boredom. "Don't know. They took my phone and my watch. And my tie."

"How would a watch or tie help me escape?" you scoff, sliding further down in your chair.

"No clue," he shrugs. "You know, you were really brave in there."

"Brave or reckless?" you chuckle, turning your thrown back head to look at him.

"Depends on the answer we get," Sam snickers, adjusting the collar of his shirt for the dozenth time. "I hate being in this suit. It's so uncomfortable."

"Your suit's uncomfortable?" you ask with a raised eyebrow, rattling the heavy chains you're still in.

"I talked them out of the straitjacket if that makes you feel better."

"I know it shouldn't, but it kinda does."

It's well into hour two when you hear footsteps outside the doorway. The two of you sit up straight when you hear the doorknob jingle.

And in walked Nick Fury. For a moment, his eyes flicker to the two of you. And with the slightest of nods and smile, he tells you everything you need to know. You'd called them on their bluff, they didn't even reconvene to tell you that you were going back to New York with Sam.

Another guard walked in behind him and one by one took off all the heavy shackles and restraints. As the guard walked out, you smiled gleefully, throwing your arms around Nick. He briefly returned the embrace and told you he'd see you back at the Compound.

"I'm sorry," Sam sighs as Nick walks out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

You turn away from the door and back to Sam, relishing in the feeling of being unrestrained for the first time in days. "You're sorry, for what? We did it! I can go home."

He nods with a small, apologetic smile. "But I should've told you in the first place."

You smile at him and nod- he's right, he should've told you. But how could you possibly be mad after everything that he'd done for you, things you didn't even know up until today. You can't, you decide. Not really- but maybe just a little. If only for breaking rule number one. Then you punch him in the shoulder as hard as you can.

"Ow?" he enunciates, rubbing at his shoulder.

"That was for lying to me," you huff. And in the next moment, you throw your arms around him, "And this is for being my incredibly overprotective, overbearing brother."

He smiles and nods as he pulls away from you. "Now let's get out of here, it's smells like bitter government officials and dust in here."

You nod in agreement, excited to be going back home. Back to the people you loved. To your family.

Bucky stands up from the bench outside the makeshift court room as soon as he sees you walking down the hall.

It pissed him off to no end that they shackled you down like some super-villain, he hated the sight of your neck and wrists shackled like you were some unhinged criminal. He knew they didn't see it, but the way they treated you rivaled the way HYDRA treated him. But now you were walking down the hall without a single restraint.

He, Steve, and Tony all sat there waiting to hear something, anything. They'd been anxiously waiting with bated breath for over two hours, and suddenly you were just there, walking down the hall with Sam like you didn't have a care in the world.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the mirage he'd evidently created in his head out of desperation.

He violently rubs his eyes, only to open them and see that you're still there, walking down the hallway. Back to him.

"Doll?" he calls, briskly jogging down the hall trying to figure out what's going on, desperately trying not to get his hopes up.

He faltered just about a foot in front of you, he couldn't touch you, he couldn't pull you into his arms if you were just going to be taken away again. His hands shook from all of the pining in anticipation and desperately waiting, but he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides anyway. He can hardly pay attention to anything but you as Sam explains the situation.

Releasing, New York, Compound...and then asset.

God, he hated that word. Loathed it.

"Basically, we did it!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around Bucky's waist. "It's over," you repeat. "Sam's back as my handler and I get to back to New York."

"It's not," he sighs into the top of your head. He breathes a sigh of relief that you're right there in front of him, but you're no better off than when you first started. "You're still an asset, you're still under SHIELD's thumb."

"Maybe," you shrug, mostly because you know he's right, but the glimmer of hope and endless possibility was once again on the horizon. As you pull away from his embrace, you optimistically smile up at him, "But I get to go back home. That's enough for me for now."

Next Chapter

"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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nostalgebraist · 2 years

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IMO, generative ML models are overhyped right now.

(Generative ML models are things like GPT, PaLM, DALLE-2, Imagen, etc. -- the models that make what people call “AI generated” content.)

I find myself almost wanting to “short” them, in the financial sense. Maybe I should? Like, on prediction markets, or just in personal bets.

----

These models tend to have a large “impressiveness-to-usefulness gap.”

Remember the GPT-2 staged release? OpenAI claimed they were worried about people using it to automatically generate disinformation, and things like that. And other people worried about this too.

But when it finally did get released, even the scary full GPT-2 just . . . wasn’t very useful for anything?

It was really cool, and did get used for lots of internet art-and/or-comedy projects.

But those are exceptions that prove the rule, because they always hinge on “hey, look at this thing that an ‘AI’ made!” If you stop caring whether the text was machine-generated or not, and just ask whether it works on its own for some practical purpose -- then the magic disappears.

Likewise for GPT-3. For the amount of buzz it got when it came out, it’s pretty striking how little effect it’s had on the world in the two years since then. There are a bunch of GPT-3 startups, but unless you use one of their relatively niche products (you probably don’t), none of the text you read in your everyday life was written by GPT-3. Except the stuff where the point is that it was written by GPT-3.

(And even some of those startups are doing the “hey, an AI made this!” approach, like AI Dungeon. In OpenAI’s 2021 blog post about GPT-3 apps, one of the two examples they chose to highlight was Fable Studio, a company making AI for VR characters -- an application where “wow, this AI is so advanced!” can do a lot of the work.

...and where is Fable Studio now? They’ve, uh, pivoted to NFTs. Specifically AI for NFTs, and more specifically a behavioral, non-linguistic kind of AI inspired by The Sims. “GPT-3 is frustratingly useless” is a core part of their pitch for the new project.)

And now people are freaking out about the idea that DALLE-2 will replace human artists, and it just feels like the same story again.

The pictures are pretty. They’re technically competent by human standards, as GPT-3 output often is. Yet they’re rarely actually good by human standards: I haven’t seen a single one that would make me click “follow” if it had been posted by a human artist on tumblr.

And as with GPT-3, it’s virtually impossible to tell the system what to create in the fine-grained way you would expect when collaborating with another human. Mostly, it just makes a competent version of whatever thing it randomly happens to end up making.

----

Most of the impressiveness-to-usefulness gap is about that last point. Collaboration is crucial in creative work, and these models can only collaborate with us in a very primitive way.

You can’t impose a house style on them. You can’t tell them “this is a good start, now here’s what I want in the next draft.” (Although you kinda can with GPT-3 now, but that raises the meta version of the issue -- can you rely on it to respond to your feedback in a predictable way?)

You can’t ask them to make 500 different video game objects that all look the way the objects in your game are supposed to look. They can only make 500 objects that look convincingly like they’re from some video game.

If models like DALLE-2 could be told “this is a great art style, now hold it fixed,” and then told to generate many pictures in the same style, then IMO they would be much closer to doing the work of human artists.

But it’s hard to do this kind of thing with generative models without spoiling their magic.

The models get their magic by learning from immense amounts of data, mostly scraped from the internet. What they are good at is imitating the structure of information that already exists ubiquitously on the internet.

When we “tell them to do things,” what we’re really doing is filling in a piece of some kind of information-structure that can be found all over the internet. When you prompt DALLE-2 or Imagen, you’re saying something like “make a picture that would have this alt-text,” or “make a picture that would have this caption on Instagram.”

The reason you get such coarse-grained control is because real stuff-on-the-internet is only coarsely predictable from its constituent pieces.

And what’s on the internet is simply what it is. You can’t just go out and tell millions of Instagrammers to write captions that are more informative in some specific way. If people are making the data with you in mind, the data isn’t big enough to be relevant.

So with something like varying the style and content independently, there are 2 basic approaches:

- Reify “style” as some specific thing about the image that can be computed automatically, as in the style transfer literature. This works reliably, but loses the magic: you can control “style” very precisely, but at the cost of using a limited, hardcoded notion of “style” that can’t make itself less limited by learning from massive data.

- Use the model’s innate conditioning mechanism, adding “in the style of Salvidor Dali” or whatever to your prompt. This gets you a much more nuanced, impressive concept of “style” that gets only more so with more data . . . except that you can’t put anything in that wasn’t in the data to begin with. You get the information-structures that the Instagrammers (et. al.) gave you, and you get only that, and no more.

I think some narrow versions of the problem will get resolved over time, like the one that is the topic of the Scott-Vitor bet.

But the “Instagram bound,” so to speak, seems like a fundamental limit. We might overcome it, but only by doing something fundamentally different from anything you’ve seen yet.

#ai tag

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blasphemecel · 2 years

Text

Teruhashi Kokomi ― Schemes

PAIRING: Teruhashi Kokomi/Reader WORD COUNT: 5.8k TYPE: Humorous, Fluff, Light Angst, Fake Dating trope WARNING: Teruhashi’s brother’s creepy behavior is acknowledged and depicted

Kokomi stares at you from across the library while you're cluelessly waiting for her, scrolling through your phone. She smiles to herself in her usual kind way as she thinks how perfect you're going to be for this role. But she's getting too far ahead of herself ― she should start the motions on her plan if she wants to see it succeed, instead of being smug about it beforehand.

Teruhashi clears her throat to get your attention, taking the seat in front of you. "Hi." Ok, that was very bland, but somehow in-character for the image she tries to portray daily.

"Hold on Teruhashi, I'm picking the perfect filter for my selfie." She blinks at your disinterest, in a way mirroring it since she couldn't give less of a shit about your selfie and what filter you were debating on using. Regardless, you flash her the screen and address her in the deadest voice possible. "Do you think this one makes me look hot? Like if you saw it on your Instagram story, would you wanna bang? Be honest."

She usually has a hard time telling whether you're being serious, since you say the dumbest things in the most monotone voice possible. You could be a stoic comedian or moronic enough to embarrass Nendou for all she knows, but either way, she persists in this interaction. "Looks great, you should go with that one! But I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What could possibly be more pressing than my next post?"

A lot, you buffoon, she wants to say, but holds back. "I... need a favor from you," she settles on instead, with her best impression of fake meekness.

To signal that she has your attention, you put your phone away.

"You know how I have a crush on Saiki, right?" She pouts for good measure.

This again. You roll your eyes, much less careful about hiding your callous habits than she is. "Listen, if you want me to throw in a good word for you, I'm telling you the guy would rather watch paint dry than take anything I have to say into consideration."

"No, no! I have something else in mind. I think you'll like it."

Of course you would. She has to memorize and understand everyone in school to keep up with her reputation, and you're someone she speaks to on a more than regular basis, anyway. You like getting involved in useless antics. There's no way you'll turn down something mischievous, like what she's thinking of. Plus, that'd probably be the highlight of your year. You're lucky she chose you, of all people-

"Well?"

Oh right, she's getting ahead of herself again. She has to tell you first. "I want you to help me make him jealous."

You're the perfect candidate for this. Everyone around PK. Academy thinks you're cool because of your 'I'm-too-good-to-react-to-anything' attitude and you're attractive, so it wouldn't be a major hit on her reputation. You already know how she feels about Saiki, so you wouldn't get the wrong idea, though she's sure you'd be happy to date her for real (everyone would be). The students know you two are good friends too, so it wouldn't be out-of-the-blue random.

"... In what world?"

"Fake date me so I can make Saiki jealous," she clarifies, all sunshine and rainbows.

You don't particularly say anything for a while. You just stare at her, but your face is so absent, it borders on judgemental. Instead of picking up on the offense she's supposed to feel, Teruhashi interprets this as you being stunned into silence by her generous offer.

Except you're not good for much, apart from bursting bubbles with your honesty. "What fanfic ass plan is that, huh?"

She puffs her cheeks and frowns in a way she hopes is more endearing than threatening. How dare you find out that she got that idea from a fanfiction! And so what? She could pull it off. However, instead of trying to convince you, she figures she'd have better luck trying to appeal to your desire for chaos. "Come on! It'd be kind of fun, like a conspiracy between us."

"What do you think is going to happen if we do that?"

"Saiki will get jealous."

"No. I'll get death threats from half the people who attend here," you say, unimpressed by her delusions.

"So what? You can't handle it?"

"You're unhinged." By now, though, you're thinking about the potential clownery that could come from this more than you're fearing for your safety. You know Saiki won't care about any of it, but the entertainment? The drama? She has you hooked on this weird idea.

"I'm not unhinged, you know that," she shoots back, giving you a faux innocent look.

You pretend to think about it for a bit. "Alright, fine. I'll help you," in this absolutely unproductive endeavor, but you don't care to finish your sentence either.

"Yay! You're the best," Teruhashi exclaims, despite knowing damn well things would go her way from the very beginning. She makes a show out of giving you a hug, earning stares from the nearby students as you awkwardly pat her on the back like she's a part of your crew or something. You two will work on your acting later.

Well, if some random nobodies were already envious, how challenging could Saiki really be?

___

The plan goes in effect a few days after that. Teruhashi struts up to her two friends in her usual cheerful fashion, except more intense. She's glowing too; well, she always is, but this time, it's too blinding.

The good mood wasn't a farce. However, she would have to lie about what she was really excited about.

"Something good happen to you, Kokomi? Your smile is brighter than usual."

Mera squints her eyes at her friend, struggling to see. "A bit too bright."

"Yes! [L/n] asked me out, so we're dating now." She gives a happy sigh to seal the deal.

"Oh ok," Mera responds with an impressive lack of enthusiasm.

Chiyo squeals, but her response is not what Teruhashi was expecting, if anything at all. "Really?! I always thought you two would be cute together."

"What?" she asks, hoping not to betray any shock or repulsion she may be feeling.

"Well, obviously you and Saiki would've been cute too, but I think you two get along really well, so I'm glad you ended up dating. I feel like you bring out a different side out of that menace. It's kind of like a bad cliche book, but more adorable."

Teruhashi holds herself back from letting her eye twitch. Mera still doesn't care, apart from saying she likes you because you let her eat your leftovers from time to time. Neither of the other two can decide if that's mean or preferable compared to food waste.

___

"I'm just saying, a good fake partner would walk me to my class and kiss me on the cheek and tell me to be safe," Teruhashi says through gritted teeth. She doesn't know if you're being difficult on purpose or if you're just denser than lead, but either way, she wants to kill you right now.

"But why? It's like, just a few doors away from my class. Plus, that's so corny and disgusting," you counter. So much for 'bringing a different side out of that menace'. You're horrible.

"Because what's the point of fake dating if Saiki can't see it, you dunce?!" The words make it out of her mouth before she can even think about it. To play it off, she giggles and looks to the side, trying her best to be cute. Her cheeks redden in embarrassment ― Kokomi hates it when she catches her mask slip. "S-Sorry, I don't know where that came from."

"Whatever," you dismiss, picking your ear with your pinky, though you're grinning at her as if her brief freakout made you proud or something. "I'll do it, but I'm not telling you to be safe in front of everyone. I've got an image too, y'know?"

"Little asshole," she mumbles under her breath, turning away from you.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Anyway, let's go to class before I'm late."

You're casual when you stroll in the classroom, noticing a few familiar faces, along with Saiki's. His attempts at not glancing in either of your directions are very blatant to you, but you're sure Teruhashi is too deep into la-land to notice that this won't ever work. You're just here for a free ride to the circus at this point.

You make a big deal out of it too, pulling out her chair for her. She sits down with as much practiced grace as she does everything else, though she's a bit taken aback by the gesture, even if she's aware you're doing it in a taunting way. Not that anyone else would understand that, anyway. Truth to be told, she hadn't expected you to double down on the obnoxious public displays of affection.

Kissing her on the cheek earns you a few glares from the losers in her class. Teruhashi swoons fakely despite this being what she commanded you to do earlier. You lean to whisper in her ear so only she can hear, "Be safe, Kokomi."

She raises her eyebrow and flushes a little again when you give her a second peck and leave the room to your own class. Trying not to dwell on it, she appreciates that you're willing to commit to the act in front of everyone, at least, even if the last part was unnecessary. Especially your use of her first name.

___

"That Class-2 bastard sure is lucky, dating Teruhashi," Nendou says, regarding you, because anything involving the school's resident idol is news, apparently. "I'd kill to be one of them."

"Wait, what?" Kaidou asks in response to the last part of that spiel.

"Trust me, there's so many things I'd rather be doing than be either of them right now." Saiki rolls his eyes. Obviously, the entire ordeal has been transparent to him, but reading both of your minds has only made it worse.

He looks in your direction and hears the riveting inner dialogue, Man. I need to scratch me bumhole right now. Haha, in a fake Irish accent you had no reason to be putting on in your head.

"Really? That's what you think about while eating lunch with your fake girlfriend?"

Saiki hadn't given you much consideration before, apart from hearing an out-of-pocket thought here and there. You're the only insane person in this school that's immune to him, not at all fascinated by him, and he's been happy to be away from your radar. On a very surface level, it offended him you found him so bleak since he got used to getting attention by the colorful characters around the school by now, but concluded it was for the best. Except now with Teruhashi's plan, your introduction into his life seems inevitable.

He's not sure if he prefers the dim-witted shit that goes through your head over Kokomi's. Is Saiki looking? Is he looking? He has to be looking right now. Am I eating this cute?

He sighs. "Good grief. It's going to be a long year."

___

"You should start walking me home," she suggests.

"Why? No one can see," you say.

"Well, some members of my fan club follow me home, so I think it'd be suspicious if you didn't. They'd notice," she tells you with a beam on her face.

Your eyes almost bug out from their rightful placement. "Incels follow you home?!"

"They're not incels."

"And what are they? Kokomincels?"

"Don't be rude," she chastises.

"I really think there are other things you should worry about. Like how these strange men from school know where you live, for example." You tilt your head innocently, though you find it funny how protective she is of those weirdos, obviously in case any of them overhear your trash-talking them.

"Shut up!" She punches your shoulder with a bit too much force, causing you to laugh. "Sorry."

"Shiver me timbers, you actually have a personality."

Teruhashi furrows her eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Anyway, I don't mind walking you home now that I know you have stalkers prowling the streets or whatever."

"They're not stalkers. They're just preoccupied with me." She smiles at what she just spouted, too, like she believes it.

You shrug after the two of you put on your shoes and prepare to head out of the school. "If that helps you sleep at night. I figure you need some relief because, y'know, creeps-"

"Screw you! Stop that."

Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards her. "Damn girl, where'd you learn that word?"

"I don't want to think of anyone around me in that way. I'd be paranoid all the time," she whispers, scowling at you before trying to force her face into a more neutral position.

"Fairs."

"I wish you wouldn't say 'fairs'. It makes me wanna punt you." You're not that concerned about how happy she seems to reveal her plans of committing atrocities against you, if you have to be honest.

"There, there, I'm sorry," you say, probably disingenuously, before giving her a half-hug while you wrap your arm around her shoulder. "I think Saiki's behind us now and we're in his direct line of sight too, so major win for you."

"These two have to be the most indiscreet fake couple ever. I'm surprised no one has heard them have these conversations yet. Apart from me, the unwillingly omnipresent."

Right, Saiki. She forgot about that for a moment, so she hopes he didn't notice her acting strange earlier. You should stop provoking her. What's the point of this if you're making her look bad? Teruhashi makes a half-hearted attempt at convincing herself that she's mad at you for it, but she can't. "Well, did he seem upset?"

"No, I don't think he paid attention," you say, laughing.

"I did, but it doesn't matter. You're performing a 2.5/10 script in front of a mediocre audience of a single person who's on the brink of falling asleep. Nothing about it is salvageable at this point."

"Try harder to make him jealous, then. I want him to act on his feelings."

"You're kinda out of your mind, but whatever. I like that."

"I'm not! He just needs a push in the right direction... Saiki's a shy guy, but maybe you dating me can awaken his manly rage."

You snort out your nose at her wording. Manly rage? Saiki? That could happen in her dreams, you figure, but it's too unrealistic. "How can you read twenty-four books but not read the room?"

She waves you off with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "I don't read that much." Maybe being kind and perfect isn't that pressing at the moment.

___

"Hey, Kokomi, look," you drawl out, shifting while you're hiding something behind your back.

"What?" she asks, trying to peer at it.

You raise your hand and wait for a second before finding it fit to reveal whatever you're hiding, perhaps to raise the tension. Teruhashi almost scowls and calls you dramatic, but decides against it. Instead, she's left to frown at what you pulled out.

A piece of paper with LEAVE HER ALONE SHITHEAD!!! written in chicken scratch. There's a little red smeared on it, like the person's finger was bleeding, and they wiped it on their message for good measure.

"Do you likey?"

"No, I don't 'likey'," she replies, crossing her arms. Kokomi leans down and adjusts herself, narrowing her eyes like she's analyzing this literature you've presented her. "I don't recognize the handwriting."

You rise an eyebrow. "I didn't figure you would-"

"Well, why wouldn't I? I know almost everyone's handwriting. Even yours," she says, pridefully flipping her hair as a smug smile overtakes her expression.

"That's... interesting." Pretending to not feel weirded out is not your strongest forte. Why does she put so much effort into things that are virtually useless? "Anyway, I just thought it was funny."

"How's that funny?"

"I told you I'd get some kind of threat before Saiki ever gets jealous." You smirk. "So I was right."

"Oh, buzz off! This isn't even a proper threat."

"You should try saying fuck next. The look on the teacher's face will be epic."

Teruhashi pouts and glances away from you. "Hmph. No way."

___

Teruhashi has already instructed you to 'accidentally' meet up with Saiki and his goons once or twice, making it look like you two were already on a date and 'happened' to see them ― which miraculously turned out to be extremely boring and uneventful. You walk her to her house every day (more so on account of your concern rather than the time she requested it), and you've been up to some really annoying antics in school just to appease her. Nothing has worked. You want to girl-he-doesn't-care your way out of this one, but you can feel that she's giving up on the plan too. So when she calls you on a Saturday, you figure it's time for you two to plan out your break up.

However, she just stuns you into silence by saying, "I'm going to the shopping center. We need to go out."

"What, do you have Kokomincels at the shopping center too? Do I have to ward them off with my partner-ly rage?"

"Oh my god, let it go! I was just thinking we could take some cute pictures and hang out." Great, now Teruhashi's whining at you on the phone.

"Eh, I don't know. This is becoming more than a 9-5 job. Now you want me to do this on my free day? Does Saiki even have social media for him to see the pictures?"

Are you immune to her charm or something? She's in disbelief at what she's hearing. Furrowing her brows, she continues, "Don't act like you have something better to do."

You turn back towards your laptop and blink at the empty Google search bar glaring in your direction. Knowing she's right, you decide to lie. "Maybe I do."

"And what is it?"

"Playing... a... a game on the computer?"

"Go outside. Touch grass. How about that?"

"Uh, with my auntie? I'm playing with my auntie."

"If you don't wanna hang out with me, just say so," Teruhashi says, letting out a fake sniffle, activating her trap card labelled manipulation.

Usually such cheap tricks don't work on you and you'd rather laugh at crybabies than sympathize, but you fall for it this time. "No, not like that. We can go out if you want to, I guess."

"Thanks," she sings, joyful all of a sudden, the actress. "You're the best, [Y/n]! Meet me there in an hour."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. To my haters: keep sucking. I'm about to cum."

"Oh my god, EW." With this last shriek, Teruhashi hangs up, and you bask in the moment to feel superior for your own stupidity. Once it turns less amusing though, you stand up from your numbness inducing position and figure it's time to get ready.

___

"This one looks like you," you say, pointing at some weird trinket on display. It's kind of like an old man's head over a centipede's body. You wonder how it got conceived in this world and whose sick mind came up with it, but you appreciate the ugliness.

The shopping center can be occasionally interesting, though neither of you has bought anything. You're broke, but you don't know what Teruhashi's deal is. Everyone offers her discounts and then tells you that you'll have to pay more for hanging around her. As if.

"Shut up. I look like this one," she insists, directing her attention towards a cute bear figurine. She coos at it too, but you're making a face like you couldn't care less.

"Boooring."

"And you're this one." Slyly, she picks up the one that resembles a miscarriage, with a giant head thrice the size of its body.

You tilt your head. "Damn, you really did me like that. But it's true, my mind is quite huge."

"First of all, you did me way worse. And more inaccurate! Ugh... I've had enough of this." Figuring that she won't get any fun out of tormenting you since you always flip her insults to your advantage or brush them off, Teruhashi decides it's time to change locations. "Wanna get some coffee?"

"In the afternoon-"

"Don't be a wuss."

"-as per my schedule."

"I'll have a gingerbread latte," she announces, looking quite happy with her choice.

"Of course you have blue hair and drink that." Your tone borders on condescending, even though she knows damn well you don't even mind her pick.

"Oh my god, do you have to be so smug about everything? What does that even mean? Pretty girls drink pretty drinks."

Ignoring how redundant her last sentence was, you let out a burp that's been building up for a while and Kokomi rolls her eyes and pushes you away. "You ever drank a death cocktail?"

"No?" she answers, scratching her eyebrow.

"Like, uh, monster, coffee, shaved ice and lemonade thrown in together?"

Kokomi shakes her head in disapproval. "That sounds horrible."

"It tastes like horseshit and gives you explosive diarrhea, too," you explain. "That's why it's a cocktail of death. It kills your taste buds."

"Umm, alright."

"Wanna try it?"

"No way!"

"Live a little."

"Don't tell me to live when you're offering me a death cocktail," Teruhashi retorts, obviously irked. You grin at her. "What's so funny, huh?"

"I like it when you relax," you say, taking a strand of her hair to twirl around.

"I'm always relaxed."

This time, your offending finger points at her features rather than a disfigured statuette. "My face when I lie."

She sticks out her tongue. "Would be a beautiful lying face."

____

After taking a few pictures together at the coffee shop, you head towards Kokomi's house, since you still insist on being a decent person. What surprises you, though, is that she pretends to be bashful ― she knows you'll agree because who wouldn't? ― and asks you to hang out at her place for a bit.

When you hear him, you have barely taken off your shoes. "You've got some nerve coming here." You see his feet first, and you recall Teruhashi telling you her parents aren't home, so you're startled by the intrusion.

Scowling, you figure you should ask what this guy's problem is. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can we not do this right now?" Kokomi whines, turning towards him.

"Who's this tool?" you say, facing away from him like he's not even there and pointing your thumb at him. "He looks kinda familiar."

"Just my annoying brother Makoto-"

He grabs your... finger? And lowers it. You stare at him like he has committed a war crime before he continues his speech from earlier. "The meaning of that is," he starts, switching his mocking grin to a glare, "you have a lot of nerve coming here after I've had to watch you walk with my Kokomi, bringing your disgusting lips to her ear," at this he has the nerve to tap you, "and whispering things that make her laugh."

You shake him off of you with disgust. "Dude, that's your sister. You can't... talk about her like that."

"You've been watching us?" Kokomi yells, shaking a little. Sure, she knew he sneaks into her room when she's not there by now, but this? Doesn't he literally have a job? For how long has this been going on?

"She might be my sister, but I'm tired of pretending there's anyone out here worthy of her besides me," he says with a laugh, then faces Kokomi like she's going to agree with him. She doesn't respond apart from gagging.

It’s reasonable that you want to give his ass a beating, but you're frozen in place. You're not sure what's stopping you; you're so bewildered that he's comfortable enough acting like this in front of both of you. It's like you can't move. So you continue looking at him with repugnance, all your facial muscles tense.

"Well!" Kokomi exclaims with strange cheerfulness. Then she talks a bit too hastily. "Since you're already here and it'd be rude to send you away, let's go make popcorn and watch a movie!"

You're about to go along with what she suggested since it'd probably the best way to deescalate the situation without causing a scene, but you see Makoto reach out to grab her by the forearm, and you finally do the right thing and push him off.

"Come on," you grunt. "Knock that shit off."

In the blink of an eye, it escalates into a tussle. Makoto punches you and you punch him back before kneeing him in the balls, leaving him kinda useless. Kokomi gasps in shock and runs to where you assume the kitchen is, and you make it a point to step over his hunching body carelessly before kicking him in the ribs while he groans in pain in the background.

"The fuck is up with him?" you ask. "Dude's creepy as hell."

"I don't know. He's just kinda weird."

"That goes beyond kinda weird. You do realize that, right?"

"He's pretty much always been like this," she explains with a nervous giggle. "It's better if you ignore him."

"Then you're not mad at me for kicking him in his dick, right?"

"No. You could've stomped on it, and I wouldn't have said anything!"

Leaning against the counter, you tilt your head curiously. She would have let it go, for whatever reason, but now she's telling you she wouldn't have minded whatever consequences you bring onto him.

Like she sensed your confusion, she smiles and says, “Good girls don't snitch."

"Kokomi." Your expression is somber when you address her, and she hasn't seen you look so serious before. It's making her nervous. "You don't need to pretend everything's fine. He was overstepping, like, twelve thousand boundaries."

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's not that big of a deal, really." Despite her insistence, you can see that her lips are quivering already.

“I won’t pry, but you don't need to pretend-"

Before you can even finish your sentence, Teruhashi's whole body trembles as she starts full-on sobbing. Though it does nothing to hide her crying, she brings her hands to her eyes and tries to turn away from you. It's too late though. You already saw her boogers.

"Do you want a hug or something?"

You're not good at this, but that doesn't surprise her. She still finds comfort in your embrace while you draw patterns on her back.

"I do need to pretend, though," she mumbles, stopping you right there.

"And why do you think that?"

"Are you serious?! Would a perfect girl overreact to something so silly, or turn her back on her brother?"

You frown against her forehead. "It's not silly, though. Do your parents know about this?"

"You know, I feel like you're not taking my reasons into consideration right now," she says, pushing you away, balled fists resting against your chest. Then she tries to rub the tears out of her eyes, but it doesn't accomplish anything more than irritate them further.

"I am, I just don't understand why you'd think that," you say. "I mean, I know you like playing a role or whatever. And that this is probably scary to confront, and you'd want to do it on your own time, but being perfect doesn't really include letting someone walk over you, anyway."

"Yes, it does!" she argues, raising her voice. "If you- If you look a certain way and start r-reprimanding people or turning them down, everyone thinks you're a stuck-up bitch! And that you think you can get away with everything just because of your appearance!"

"Yeah, but that shouldn't count when you didn't even do anything wrong." Seeing this conversation isn't coming out all that productive, you switch to admitting something else. "Plus, you're Teruhashi Kokomi. You're the perfect girl no matter what you do, right? I mean, at least, you're perfect to me either way."

You swallow dryly, realizing this is a much more loaded thing to say than you initially thought it would be. As long as it helps, you just hope it isn't too much of a problem.

After wiping one more tear with the back of her hand, Kokomi inhales and leans into you again, circling your waist with her arms. After a while of silence, she speaks again. "Thank you for today."

"Well, are you still down to watch a movie? Or, are you even ok with staying here? We can go somewhere-"

"No. Here's fine," she cuts off your rambling. "I just want you... to hold me like this for a little longer." She sounds so tired.

"Alright."

___

Next week at school, Saiki almost trips over nothing. While he's sitting.

Because he overhears Kokomi think, I wonder if [Y/n] will like what I did with my hair today?

Does that mean he's free from her affections?

Still, she's quick to shake her head and slap her cheeks. [Y/n]?! I meant Saiki. I'm just thinking weird stuff because I'm vulnerable after what happened over the weekend-

"No, you're not. You haven't thought about me at all in two weeks, and when you crashed our get-together a while ago, you were hoping [L/n] would do something stupid the entire time because you were so unengaged in what was going on."

-and then [Y/n] said all those nice things.

You told her nice things? He must be delirious and hallucinating. These can't be real events.

Teruhashi forces herself to throw him a glance, though she gets bored with it quickly enough and her thoughts trail off towards you again. She replays the moment you said 'You're perfect to me either way' in her head over and over while ignoring the whole context behind it because if she even thinks about all that again, she'll probably burst out into tears in class. Swings her legs back-and-forth like a lovesick teenager, even.

Then she realizes what she's doing and snaps out of it like a trance before a terrified, if not grossed out, expression overtakes her. You? She likes you? The same person who talks to her about farting and loogies (she's still too scared to search up what that means) while eating, just to inconvenience her?

The you who definitely doesn't see her in any romantic sense. You've never treated her as anything different from a friend, and you're one of the few people she has met who aren't embarrassingly desperate. And you've seen bits of her real self one too many times. There's no way you would want her.

Despite your abrasive personality, you've been helping her through both ridiculous exploits and legitimate issues. You've been supportive of her in your own strange way all this time, though she didn't realize it. Going as far as to tell her you don't mind her flaws, but then again, you probably just said that to make her feel better.

Kokomi slumps in her seat. It’s too complicated. She shouldn't have proposed this fake dating idea at all.

(Briefly, Saiki wonders if he should interfere. Then he decides it'll be better to let his acquaintances solve their problems without his help for once.)

___

"Hey," you call out with a wave, rising your eyebrows. "You're not being a very good fake girlfriend by avoiding me for over a week."

"Speaking of that," Kokomi replies. "Don't you think it's about time we stop this?"

"Oh? Did you realize Saiki doesn't and will never care? Hallelujah." You make congratulatory jazz hands at her, which she slaps away.

Then she looks at your grin, and her mood worsens. "I don't care about what Saiki thinks anymore, too!"

"That's good for you. So, what's our story? I farted in your face and you had enough? Or maybe we can make up something dramatic, like, you found out I have a negative credit score and kicked me to the curb?"

"You seem happy. Are you that excited about stopping hanging out with me?"

"We've hung out before that," you counter, dismissing her point with a wave of your hand. "I don't need fake dating to do that with you. I don't see why you're mad, anyway. You're the one who wants to stage a break-up for our fictitious relationship. I couldn't care less."

Settling her lips into a tight line, Kokomi tries not to sniffle or react in any other unsavoury way. The harsh reality is, she has gotten too comfortable around you, her mask slipping off more and more ― be it the anger, or the crying, or saying what she means without calculating it beforehand.

You still notice that she's acting off. "What's up?"

"Did you ever want it to be real?" After she drops this question on you, she closes her eyes like it'll prevent you from hearing it, or like it'll save her from ever witnessing your reaction.

"Well, you don't need to tease me."

Her eyes snap open again, widening. You're just standing there, slouching with a frown on your face.

"What? Tease you?" she asks, irritation lacing her tone.

With a vague hand gesture, you continue. "I don't see what else this would be."

"I'm not teasing you! I'm trying to tell you my feelings! This is the first time I've even attempted that, so maybe you could be a little more appreciative." Belatedly, Kokomi realizes what came out of her mouth and clasps her hands over it. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to snivel and pretend to be sorry around me."

Her face is very red, so you suppose you should spare her, but the other part of you that's a terrible person wants to prolong it.

"Well-"

"Silly. I've always had a crush on you. That's why I thought you were mocking me."

"You did? Or, I mean, do?" It's like she just short-circuited. Though, she realizes she could’ve avoided a sizeable chunk of this mess if she knew this information beforehand. "You should've told me."

"You always brag about how everyone loves you. I figured you'd be able to tell."

"You never expressed any interest in me! And, for the record, a nice girl like me would never mock you for your feelings."

"Sure." You roll your eyes. "Just 'cause I don't act like my life revolves around you?"

"Um. Yes," she deadpans.

You burst out into laughter. "You're so weird, Kokomi."

She averts her gaze to the side. "You really like me? Even though you know I'm two-faced?"

"I don't care, you do you. Do you still like me even when I scratch my ass by rubbing it on the edge of my desk? Exactly."

"Oh my god, ew," she says, backing away from you, though her chuckles betray her.

You smile at her and Teruhashi smiles back, for the first time in a way that seems genuine rather than intending to charm. It's looser around the edges, and she squints her eyes further, and it looks more broken, but honestly? She's never been as beautiful.

#tdlosk x reader #teruhashi kokomi x reader #teruhashi x reader #tdlosk imagine #tdlosk imagines #one shot

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braveclementine · 1 day

Text

Chapter 35

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

THE AVENGERS TOWER SLOWLY BECAME less and less awkward as the time passed. Everyone had settled into their daily schedules. Everyone rotated out on missions, including Hogun. Loki, Thor, and Hogun also commuted back and forth to Asgard for certain necessities. Sometimes they took you and Elizabeth along with them. It really just depended on why they were going to Asgard, and for how long.

Stephen and Tony had slowly shifted back into the library and his lab, though they were doing much better about coming out, if not for dinner, than at least for bed.

Bruce was also working in his lab as well and sometimes Elizabeth was down there with him. She was also often in the lab with Tony, helping both of them on different projects.

Clint, Natasha, and some of the other Avengers were on training programs, which you joined in occasionally- but only one days where weapons weren't in use.

You also kept in contact with your mother, who wasn't showing- Natasha had actually started to show surprisingly- and your mother was much happier and wished every pregnancy could go like this.

"Of course," your mother added as the time was coming to get off the phone and go eat dinner, "I think after its' born, I'm going to have to get my tubes tied."

You smiled awkwardly, said something like 'yeah' or 'uh huh' and then headed downstairs for dinner. You said nothing to Elizabeth.

She'd been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you'd returned back from Asgard.

Much to your disappointment, you didn't have any cool ability. No fireballs, no laser eyes, no invisibility or teleportation or anything cool.

No, your ability was with the Earth. Making plants grow.

It was an utterly useless skill.

And you were almost certain that the reason Elizabeth was giving you the cold shoulder was because she was jealous.

You had also noticed that there was a distinct chill between Sam and Steve, though neither of them said anything about it. You also could tell that Bucky was more and more upset with each passing day, though you had no idea what the problem could possibly be.

Wanda had been rather cheerful on the other hand, which made most of the others cheerful as well. Pietro was also a cheerful, happy person to be around, and he made you laugh a lot.

Wanda danced into the kitchen now, where you were sitting, working on a wordsearch. You had a green highlighter in your hand and Sam was sitting next to you, a blue highlighter in his hand. The two of you were racing to see who could find more words in the wordsearch. So far, you were tied five to five, but you had to keep on your toes because there were only seven more words left.

Elizabeth was being very quiet in the corner of the kitchen, talking in undertones to Clint. He was sipping a cup of hot milk with cinnamon, which he had taken a liking to recently, though you weren't sure when.

"We're having a movie night!" Wanda sang as she danced in the room, and then threw her arms around Elizabeth's neck. It distracted you long enough for Sam to find two more words and you quickly turned back to the search.

"Can I have some milk too Кролик?" Wanda asked excitedly.

"Sure." Elizabeth said softly and poured her some, topping it with cinnamon was well.

"Yay! Thanks!" Wanda cheered, sitting down at the table.

"I've just finished the cinnamon rolls as well." Elizabeth said, pulling them out of the oven without oven mitts on her hands. Clint choked on his milk and then gasped out, "W-why aren't you w-wearing g-gloves?"

"Oh, because the coldness in my hands prevents me from burning myself." Elizabeth said with a smile.

"Nice." Clint murmured, picking up a cinnamon roll and shoving the entire thing into his mouth.

You found another word.

"Don't eat them hot! You'll burn your throat on the way down!" Elizabeth protested, moving the pan away from Clint. "Besides, they're not finished. I still have to add the icing!"

Clint laughed, "Alright, alright. But hurry, I'm hungry." Then he took a seat at the table and wrinkled his nose. "A wordsearch? Why do you want to work your brain so hard?"

"If I wanted a brain challenge, I would've down a crossword." Sam muttered before finding the last two words and winning.

You cursed and then muttered, "good game, but I will beat you next round."

"Bring it sugar." Sam said, grinning at you.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

ELIZABETH WAS STILL EXTREMELY ANGRY with her sister, but things had settled down now. She had made huge bowls of buttery popcorn- resorting to packaged since she didn't know how to make it herself- and rootbeer floats. The rootbeer as also store bought, but the vanilla ice-cream was homemade.

Wanda helped her bring in the trays of food and helped hand everything out. Y/N was curled up between Steve and Bucky. When Elizabeth finally settled down, she sat between Loki and Clint. Both of them looked utterly bored.

Tony and Stephen did finally show up, sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch. Occasionally, Elizabeth leaned forward to rest her arms on their heads. Stephen always smirked when Tony pretended to collapse under her weight, which made her laugh as well.

Finally, once everyone had settled in, Wanda put the movie on, which was The Lion King.

"Budge over." Sam wiggled over between Clint and Elizabeth. Clint groaned, but moved over as much space as there was between Bucky and himself. Sam sat down next to Elizabeth, resting his head on her shoulder.

Elizabeth kissed him and let their heads rest together as the movie started out.

As always, the opening scene with the Circle of Life song sent pleasant chills over Elizabeth's body. The Lion King was one of her favorite movies.

She was feeling restless though, eventually curling into Loki while Sam laid his head in her lap. That was finally the position she decided to stay in.

As the movie progressed however, she started to feel a sense of foreboding as the stampede scene came up, something prodding in the back of her mind.

She watched Scar run to get Mufasa, watched Mufasa save Simba, and then watched Simba get to safety. She froze, as she was Mufasa grab the cliff end, watch as Scar dug his claws into Mufasa's paws.

"Long live the King." Scar said, before tossing Mufasa off the cliff.

Elizabeth jolted upright, dislodging Sam off her lap and slamming her knees into the back of Tony's head. "I feel sick." She announced while rushing from the room.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

YOU FELT SICK YOURSELF, WATCHING the scene in front of you and then Elizabeth running from the room. You knew immediately what she was thinking of, and the guilt decided to eat you up on the inside.

"What just happened?" Tony asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"The scene triggered her." Hogun sighed, getting up. He paused, though he looked like he was going to follow her. "She doesn't tell me the details, but she has nightmares about getting thrown off cliffs." He left immediately to go after her.

Your stomach turned unpleasantly. You'd never even known she had nightmares.

"She has nightmares?" Bucky asked hoarsely.

"All the time." Tony said and for some reason, he looked pointedly at Steve. But you had no time to wonder over that.

"Y/N, are you alright? You look pale." Natasha asked softly.

Now everyone looked at you. You were trembling. You'd never thought it would come to this. You could lie, but then if the truth ever came out again, they'd know you lied.

But you could lose them. Just because Elizabeth forgave you didn't mean anything compared to your soulmates. Especially as many of them were hers as well. But it had been years ago, so would it matter?

Tears slipped down her cheeks and you turned away to wipe them, but they'd already seen it.

"Y/N, is there a reason for Elizabeth's nightmares?" Bruce asked softly.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your legs. You wished you hadn't cut your hair so that you had a curtain to hide behind. You took in a shuddering breath and said, "When Elizabeth was eight. . . she. . . we were on a horse riding trip. And. . . and we were talking about. . . about soulmates. . . .

Originally, you had been laughing at Elizabeth because of what she had decided to wear. Your mother was always telling her what girls wore, that they dressed like princesses. And your father was always talking about practical wear around the farm. So that day, she'd worn her usual blue jeans, but she'd worn a small pink tutu over it. She'd looked ridiculous.

She'd also pulled her hair into pigtails with huge ribbons in her hair, which she never did.

You yourself was wearing a princess skirt as well, though it was blue like Cinderella's. But you were also wearing a cute princess top and your long hair had been curled in 1800's ringlets with a set your mother had gotten you for Valentine's day.

The two of you had gone out horseback riding, because the two of you were going out to the clearing to pick flowers to make crowns.

You could never really remember how the topic of soulmates had come up. But you did remember what had triggered you. What had caused you to snap.

"I can't believe we have to share soulmates." You complained as Buttercup trotted along.

"It is strange." Elizabeth agreed. "Though you do have more than me, and I also have one I don't have to share with you."

Even for an eight year old, her speech, reading, and comprehension were far beyond what they should have been.

Elizabeth, as you had approached the cliff to her right, had said, "You know, I think people have soulmates, because they're missing a piece of themselves. That's why everyone has another person to complete them. So, there must be something wrong with us, to need so many soulmates to complete other parts of ourselves. We must be broken somehow."

And because you'd had more soulmates than her, you had immediately- in your ten year old brain- thought she was insulting you even more. Because if what she was saying was true, than you were more broken than her.

You swung your horse around so that hers skidded to a stop. Elizabeth was upended and as you hopped off your horse, you shoved her hard. "I'M NOT BROKEN!" You screamed tears already falling down your face. You pushed her again. "I'M NOT! I'M NOT! YOU'RE THE ONE THEY'LL HATE! YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH! YOU'LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH! I'M THE FIRST BORN! NOT YOU! NEVER YOU!"

You still had no idea how it happened exactly, the tears obstructing your vision, but the next thing you knew, you heard Elizabeth screaming in pain and you were running back to the farmhouse, still crying.

You couldn't remember how they found Elizabeth, just that you blubbered and pointed. Your father came back, carrying Elizabeth in his arms and took her to the hospital. Once you calmed down, your father came home and told you that Elizabeth said she'd fallen off her horse and had fallen down the cliff. He asked you if this was true. You nodded and started to cry again.

You were never sure that your father actually believed you. Elizabeth had come back and you'd waited, waited like there was a bomb to go off. You didn't dare step a toe out of line in front of her, sure that the moment you did something bad, she'd go and tell and you wouldn't be able to say anything against her because then she'd reveal what happened.

And yet, only a week later Elizabeth made tea cookies and a pot of tea and had invited you for a tea party. And even though she couldn't use her arm, she still managed to dress like a proper princess and was completely cheerful. When you cried and asked why she was being nice to you, her reply was, "It was a mistake. You were angry. I know you'd never actually hurt me Y/N!"

And eventually the event faded. The two of you had grown apart. The nightmares had started.

There was silence as you finished your story. You couldn't look at anyone.

Thor was the one to break the silence, "Well, this is just a part of growing up. I can't even remember the amount of times Loki has tried to kill me! And we have grown closer in our brother ship!"

"Adopted." Loki quipped.

"God Y/N." Elizabeth's voice said softly at the door. You snapped your head up as everyone in the room looked at her.

She crossed without looking at any of the others and knelt before you. "God I already forgave you a long time ago. It wasn't your fault. I said something stupid and you were so young. It was understandable that you were angry. And I'm fine!"

"God." Tony snapped and everyone looked at him. You shrunk back, waiting for his rebuke, but he wasn't staring at you with anger- but Steve. "You're an idiot."

You looked over at Steve you looked extremely, extremely upset. He was white faced and tight lipped, but he moved to glare at Tony. "I don't need you to tell me that Stark."

He got up and left the room immediately. You glanced at Bucky, but he looked absolutely lost and more depressed than before. Sam was frowning, staring at Bucky, before looking at Tony.

"What the hell was that about?" Sam asked.

Tony scoffed, "It's not my place to say. It's Rogers."

Sam got up, leaving the room after Steve, calling for him to stop walking away.

"Alright well, I think we should wrap up movie night and head off to bed." Stephen commanded, using quick magic to make the dishes disappear.

Elizabeth squeezed your hand and then moved back and out of the room.

You got up, feeling completely drained. "C'mon, let's go to bed sweetheart." Tony murmured, putting an arm around your shoulder.

"Aren't. . . aren't you mad at me?" You whisper asked as the three of you left the room.

"Y/N, sweetheart, we all came from screwed up, jacked up families." Tony chuckled. "Elizabeth's right. You were young. You never meant to hurt her. And. . . well she's already forgiven you. And hating you for something you've done when you were ten and never did again? If you continued to hurt her, continued to bully her, pushed her down a cliff every year, well that would be different. But you didn't. It was an accident. You're twenty-one. It's been eleven years. I mean, Bucky killed my father and we live in the same tower and I've forgiven him. We're not going to hold it against you."

"Why. . . why did you tell Steve he's an idiot?" You asked as Stephen opened up the bedroom door for the two of you.

Tony hesitated and Stephen said, "I'm curious as well."

"Well. . ." Tony looked at you sheepishly. "Before your sister got here, you had a nightmare in Clint's room, right?"

"Yeah. . . " You said slowly, frowning.

"Apparently you told Clint that Elizabeth was trying to kill you?" Tony continued, clearly bent on dragging this out.

"Yes." You said with another frown.

"Well, Clint told us about the nightmare and Steve thought. . . Steve thought that you had a reason to be scared of Elizabeth and that's why you had the nightmares. And so that's why-"

"Oh my god." You interrupted, feeling like shit all of a sudden, "That's why he's been so rude to her. He thinks he's protecting me." You started to cry again.

"That idiot." Stephen seethed. "Why didn't he just ask Wanda or Loki about her?"

Tony shrugged, looking tired. He pulled you into a tight hug against his chest. "Shh, it's not your fault."

"Steve asked me the other day if I had a reason to fear her. He thought I was protecting her because I was scared of her." You sniffled, wiping your eyes and nose. "And the entire time, it should've been me he was protecting her from."

"No baby." Tony said, putting his hands on either side of your face, wiping your eyes. "Steve meant well, he did. But he had a stupid way of going about it."

"I need to talk to hi-"

Tony shook his head. "What's done is done. Elizabeth is never going to accept Steve. He's hurt her way to much. He judged her character without even knowing her."

"That's why Bucky was so upset." You realized. "Because he did want to be with her but Steve convinced him not to."

"Probably." Tony agreed.

You looked at Tony helplessly. "What can I do to fix it?"

Tony smiled at you sadly. "Nothing Y/N. We just let it play out."

You sniffled again, "You two should go and be with Elizabeth tonight."

Stephen shook his head as well, "Hogun will be with her tonight. We'll go with her tomorrow. We're here to comfort you Y/N."

You let the two of them hold you in a tight embrace, before slowly drifting off into a very interrupted and uncomfortable sleep.

⬅️➡️

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