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#Bill's reaction was my exact same reaction

sttoru · 19 days

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your roommate, toji, can’t pay rent - again. he promises to pay you back soon, but you’re tired of his behaviour.

tags. (perv) roommate!toji fushiguro x female reader. smut, pōrn with plot kinda. dirty talk. rough. p in v -> unprotected. crēampie. fīngering. praise. reader gets called ‘princess, girl’. degrādation. toji’s a womaniser and asshole, like i’m talking dusty, manipulative asshole. unestablished relationship.

“that shit again?” toji rolls his eyes as he lazily switches between the channels on the television. he knows exactly what you’re going to say next. your complaining has a certain pattern that he’s picked up on.

he smacks his lips after being done with his snack. your snack - the one you put your name on before putting in the fridge. the dark-haired man shrugs, “i told ya, girl. i ain’t got the money this month.”

your head feels like it’s going to explode with anger. you know toji has the money. you saw him count the bills on his bed just yesterday, when you passed by his room to go to yours. “yeaaaah - gambled it all away, right?”

the usual excuse he uses. you’re sick and tired of hearing that for the nth time. it’s the same story every month. toji’s a lazy bastard. he’s living off your salary at this point. unapologetically.

“yep,” toji yawns, not even attempting to sound convincing, “got that right.” he knows you’re not going to do anything about it, so he takes advantage of that fact. you’re all bark, no bite.

you always tell him that you’re going to kick him out if he doesn’t pay, though you never take the action you swear on doing. toji has you wrapped around his finger and he knows.

even now, he notices the way you try not to look down at his body. his black shirt is slightly lifted, showing his happy trail that stops at the waistband of his boxers. the fact that he’s sitting on the couch with his legs spread only makes the sight more appealing.

“well, pack your bags then,” you cross your arms after succeeding into averting your attention to the problem at hand. you point at the door with a nod of your head, “i want you to leave by tonight.”

toji struggles to hold back a chuckle. he’ll play along for your sake and act upset by the situation. the tall man sighs and throws his hands up in defeat, trying to gain some pity, “aw, c’mon. have some mercy on me, yeah?”

you’re the one rolling your eyes this time. you’re not going to be naive about this anymore. you’re not going to fall into his trap. you stomp your way over to his room and grab the bag he uses for the gym, aggressively filling it with a bunch of his clothes.

“you’re going out,” you hiss as you walk back to your living room. you throw the filled bag at toji’s chest without hesitation. you know that you’re no match to a grown man, but you’re too fired up to care, “out. i don’t need some useless bum like you in my house.”

toji’s grin drops. his jaw clenches as he gets his bag thrown at him. you seem more serious about this. normally, you’d just cuss him out and lock yourself up in your room. you’re slowly breaking out of the helpless cycle you were in.

“move it,” you huff. your patience is wearing thin. you stand close to toji, your legs nearly touching. you’re towering over him as he sits on the couch, which gives you all the needed confidence. though if he were to stand up it’d be the exact opposite.

toji frowns and starts to realise that his usual manipulation tactics won’t work. he’s trying to think of other ways to distract you of your current dissatisfaction. some more… direct ways.

“you don’t mean that,” his voice turns husky. a real deep tone he only uses when he needs something out of a woman. toji’s veiny hand moves to the side of your thigh, slowly crawling up your skin while he gauges your reaction.

he’s never attempted distracting you in a sexual manner. perhaps now is the perfect moment to try out if it works.

your breath hitches as you feel his touch on your bare thigh. such a warm touch. you’re not going to act like toji hasn’t been attractive to you all this time. his cocky attitude is annoying, yes, but the nonchalance is also a huge turn on.

you’re in a daze. your rational mind is screaming at you to kick that man to the curb—to let him suffer the consequences of his actions—but you’re weak. you’ve sworn never to get involved with him intimately. you wouldn’t want to sleep with an asshole like him.

“do not,” your voice is shaky, revealing the truth behind your contradicting words. you can’t resist him and you’re slowly realising it. you don’t want to end up as all the other women toji’s charmed with his words and actions. you promised yourself that you wouldn’t fall for him.

and yet here you are.

“i can repay you in a different way, y’know?” toji hums, his other hand landing on your left thigh. he rubs your plush flesh up and down in a slow manner. his eyes watch yours intently. you’re nervous and it’s painfully obvious to him. he suppresses a victorious grin, “y’ sure you don’t wanna, princess?”

you’re as weak as they come. toji’s toying with you and you’re allowing it. you’re no different than those women he fucks every other day when he needs something from them. be it money or just stress relief.

you tremble as you feel his fingers graze against the insides of your thighs.

“i take the silence as a yes, hm?” toji chuckles haughtily. he cups the back of your thighs, just below your ass, pushing your body closer to his. you’re standing between his legs and his head is close to your chest. he looks up at you, “use y’r words f’me, pretty thing.”

your brain stops working. you’re so easy. all toji has to do is call you by those alluring names and you’re all his. his callused fingers stop at the hem of your shorts. they continue to sensually rub the material, inching closer to your clothed cunt.

“say you want it,” toji whispers, his raspy voice making your knees weak. you want it, but you’re stubborn enough to deny your desires. you’re throbbing, aching and wet for him. your eyes catch a glimpse of the bulge in his grey sweatpants.

“no, i won’t,” you try to keep your dignity, however you’re slowly losing it. it’s inevitable. you’re putty in his hands. you let out a high pitched whine when toji ‘accidentally’ slides his fingertips back and forth over your clothed pussy, “mgh—okay, okay. fuck—i want you. need you.”

you blurt the words out before you can stop them from leaving your mouth. you silently curse at yourself. your bodily desires have fully taken over. you hold onto toji’s broad shoulders, your grip on them so tight that it sends a shiver down his spine.

he knew that you’d give in sooner or later. the dark-haired man watches as you lower your head, placing it in the crook of his neck to hide yourself from him. he coos condescendingly—

“mhm. tha’s more like it,” toji wastes no time to pull your shorts down to your ankles. he licks his lips, breathing heavily against your bare shoulder. he can’t wait to take this further. he groans the moment your wetness makes contact with his hand, “shiiittt, she’s fuckin’ wet. bet you dreamt about this.”

your panties are discarded on the floor not a second later. you whine in embarrassment, though still spread your legs. you feel ashamed because of how quickly you gave in to his charms. you thought you’d be different, but alas.

your roommate is one hell of a womaniser.

“y’ think i don’t see those lewd looks you give me?”toji clicks his tongue. his green irises are shining brightly. he enjoys the feeling of your sloppy cunt against his bare hand. his thick fingers rub between your folds, teasing your entrance, “nasty little girl. got me wanting to fuck you silly every single time.”

the desire has been mutual all this time. you’ve been driving toji crazy since day one. the way you think you’re being subtle when checking him out never fails to make him hard. or when you walk around the apartment in those skimpy clothes—those shorts that define your ass so well.

he’s sure that you are doing it all on purpose. not wearing a bra, staring at him for too long when he comes out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist, sneaking glances at the outline of his fat cock. you’re not as clever as you think you are.

toji finally has you in his grasp and he’s not letting go. he’ll pound you to the mattress, until you’re satisfied and overstimulated.

he’ll get revenge for all those times you’ve (un)intentionally left him hard. all those times you left him sexually frustrated. all those times he had to resort to other things to relieve himself. all those times he had to waste his cum on his hands or on other women.

all those times he couldn’t fuck you—his pretty little roommate.

“you’re a pervert,” you whimper as you feel toji slip two fingers inside you without warning. his eyes nearly roll back from how tight you’re gripping his digits. it’s going to be so worth it once he’s got your pussy wrapped around his cock.

“yeah, but tha’s how you like ‘em,” toji laughs, not taking any offence to the accusation. he is a pervert when it comes to you and you secretly love it. the squelchy sounds echoing through the living space are all the evidence he needs, “no need to deny it. y’r cunt is doing all the talking for ya.”

you weakly punch his chest at his dirty words. he’s riling you up in both the best and worst ways possible. you moan and your hips shake from pleasure, feeling him curl his fingers up inside you. you hiccup and try to silence him, “shut up!”

toji loves seeing you deny your own feelings. it gives him so much power over you. he knows you’ll come back crawling to him when he’s done here.

after all, you’re stuck with him. literally. he’s not leaving this apartment any time soon. not when he’s got a cute roommate like you awaiting him whenever he comes back home.

soon enough, you end up in his bed. it smells like him. you’ve only imagined being in this situation. with him on top of you, between your legs, filling you to the brim with his cock. it’s huge—bigger than you thought it’d be. no wonder those other girls come back for more.

you can’t talk anymore. the only noises leaving your lips are moans—signs of the pleasurable sensations rushing through your body. your vision is blurry and all you can think of is this moment that you’ve waited for. to be dicked down by your roommate.

perhaps you’re the pervert here.

“bratty attitude nowhere to be found, heh,” toji snickers while his hips ram against yours. flop flop flop — it’s embarrassing how much noise your wet cunt is making. you’re dripping on his sheets while he’s splitting you open. he’s doing it so, so well. he grabs both your wrists with one hand and pins them above your head, giving you no chance to touch him.

toji pants as his thrusts increase in speed. he can’t keep his eyes away from you. you’re beautiful underneath him like this, on his bed, your body a piece of art he wishes to admire every single night. he smirks, “all you needed was some dick to shut that mouth of y’rs up, huh?”

you’re humiliated by how cheap you made yourself seem. you don’t respond to the man’s words and just wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in. toji grunts and slaps your thighs with his free hand, surprised by your actions, “fuck—didn’t know my roommate was such a slut in bed.”

your mouth hangs open. you’re sure you’re drooling by now. toji’s voice nearly becomes inaudible with how focused you are on the feeling of his cock. it’s hitting that right spot over and over again, the curve of his pink tip almost kissing your cervix.

“fffnghh, right there!” you moan loudly. you don’t care if the neighbours file noise complaints against you. they should’ve done so before, when toji had other women over. you remember how many times you had to put your earplugs in because your bastard of a roommate couldn’t keep it down.

the same bastard that’s fucking you so good right now. you can’t recall the amount of orgasms you’ve had already. toji didn’t even cum once and that’s only embarrassing you more. your inability to control yourself is pathetic. maybe not to toji though; he enjoys how easily he can make you spasm and squirt underneath him.

“i got’cha,” toji’s voice turns sweet for a split second once he sees how desperate you are for another mind blowing climax. if he knew you’d be this needy for him, he’d have taken you to bed long time ago.

“need you to say smthing f’me, ‘kay?” toji whispers and bites your earlobe, nibbling on it. his husky voice in your ear is like heaven. it makes you want to listen to whatever he has to say. you can hear the smirk in his voice when he increases his pace, “say that i don’t need to pay y’ back no more.”

you nearly choke on your own spit. toji is an asshole—manipulating your moment of weakness and vulnerability for his own benefit—and yet you allow him. you try to fight the urge to give in, but it’s too late.

“y-you don’t have to pay me back anymore,” you repeat with a whine and shake your head. it’s impossible to think rationally when you’ve got a fat dick all the way in your cunt, hitting all the right spots. your eyes roll back as you babble inaudible stuff in between moans, “promise, you don’t have to—mghhh!”

toji hisses at the feeling of you tightening up around him. you’re insatiable, wanting to continue until you’re able to milk every drop of cum out of his heavy balls. he’s never had a girl be so desperate for him. so dumb and easy.

“atta girl,” your roommate hums and moves his hands to lift your thighs. his inhuman pace only seems to increase with the change of positions. toji stares down at you from behind his black bangs, “no more whinin’ about money ‘n stuff, yeah?”

his gaze is a mix of pure lust and intimidation. you nod your head along to all he says, too cockdrunk to resist anything. you’re living the dream and you’re unwilling to ruin it, “y-yes, not gonna do it again.”

toji groans at the sound of your whiny voice. he’s going to make you addicted to him—that’s his ultimate goal. his hips slam against yours repeatedly, a slick trail of your fluids sticking to his pelvis, “shit, pussy’s sucking me in, princess.”

you can’t get enough of him and vice versa. the dark-haired man fails to keep his composure for a second, pushing his body weight on yours, caging you right against the mattress. he can’t stop his cock from throbbing each time it dives into your insides.

“gonna cum real deep in you,” toji grumbles. he’ll give you every drop, all the way into your womb. he’ll make you his woman for tonight and the many nights yet to come. if it’s left up to him, he’ll gladly fuck you like this every day, “be greedy ‘n take it all.”

you gasp and feel toji thrusting harder into your aching cunt. you didn’t think he’d be able to go faster. you mewl and scream about how good he feels, which only feeds toji’s big ego. he grips your thighs tightly, nails digging into the flesh.

“fuck!” white dots appear in your vision as you reach your peak once again. you feel like your heart stops beating for a second. you involuntarily start convulsing, legs shaking and hips bucking up to meet toji’s.

he hisses and closes his eyes, shooting his creamy load all the way inside of you. ropes of warm cum spurt out of his tip, filling your pussy like both of you have always imagined. he sighs and thrusts a couple more times, making sure no drop escapes your messy folds, “mhmmm, there we go, girl.”

you’re still dazed. you’re slack-jawed, your spit dripping down your chin. you’re more sleepy than ever. no one has made you feel this good in a while. toji watches you struggle to stay conscious and huffs proudly.

he rolls off you and lays down on his back, stretching his arms. he yawns—not bothering with aftercare at the moment. he’ll let you cool off first before he gets you a towel to clean up. toji tilts his head to the side and grins, “debt repaid.”

he’s said it so casually. you don’t notice what he’s implying until you’ve calmed down. your rationality comes back to you after a couple seconds, and when it does, your heart sinks to your stomach. your eyes widen as you recall what you’ve basically promised him.

you promised not to ask for the money he owes you ever again. oh, stupid you.

“wait—”

unfortunately for you, toji’s already snoring. his eyes are closed as he lays there like he hasn’t just rearranged your guts and manipulated you to say stuff you can’t take back. you scoff and rub your eyes, kicking your legs in frustration at your own naivety.

what a bastard.

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk x you

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according2thelore · 1 month

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okay so your es/ls verse is making me lose my mind omg!! I check everyday and every little snippet heals a part of my soul I am not even kiddinggg! This last one about es!sam missing was so so so on point, I finally have the courage to send you an ask - what if es!sam or dean or both at the same time see ls!sam and dean uhm...um...doing what they are yearning for, kissing or spooning or straight up boning...what happens then? Does ES!Dean freak out and bolt? Does ES!Sam feel hopeful about the future for the first time since coming? Do ES!Sam&Dean evade each other forever?????? Do they accept it or try to play up their wtf reactions as if they havent been dreaming of this forever???

PS - odd detail but I love how adorably you write "kisses you on both cheeks" - english isnt my first language so forgive me if this comes as weird but this phrase of yours always me laugh because it is so cute haha?! I hope ES!Sam kisses Cas on both cheeks? Did I use it right???

EEK! thank you, anon! MWAH MWAH!

and please send me all the asks in the world! i cradle all of these asks in my hands like a duckling, lol!

OKAY ANON LMAO I TOTALLY READ THIS WHOLE THING COMPLETELY WRONG!!!! i read it as: what if LS!Dean&ES!Sam walk in on LS!Sam&ES!Dean kissing, and wrote this big long terrible thing about it!!!! my mistake!!!!!!! i was about to click publish then read it again and realized my error! if y'all ever want that lesson in angst and torture, lmk lol.

but GAH!!! your BRAIN!!!! i had to write a narrative little thing about it, i hope you enjoy!

sam doesn't know where the hell anyone is.

he checks the kitchen. nope. the armory, no one. the library? empty. he checks everyone's bedrooms, the garage, the war room, the dungeon (still can't believe there's a future where he owns a dungeon), and they're all completely empty.

sam is starting to suspect that they all went out without him, despite the fact that sammy had immediately established the ground rule that no "same" winchesters can go out together without a pretty extensive disguise.

that rule had been established when they all went out to the bar to drink their collective problem away (with the younger winchesters in big-billed trucker hats) and a drunk girl had stumbled straight from older dean's unwilling arms into younger dean's infinitely-more-willing arms and did a double-take. then a triple-take. then she saw The Sams, and they got the hell out of dodge before things could get ugly.

twins exist, for sure, but identical twins separated by 10+ years? not really.

sam's walking down another of the infinite hallways when he spots dean--his dean.

he had given up on finding anyone and gone to do some more archiving work. it was one of the only things that kept him sane in this new reality, and he enjoyed the quiet, satisfying work of logging complicated artifacts in his older self's laptop.

it was outside on of these rooms that he finds dean.

sam is positive there's nothing on these floors but dusty, mostly unopened rooms full of non-sharp, lore-heavy papers and gadgets and pottery, so he's confused why dean is here at all.

(and another, more bitter part of him is surprised to see him here without his precious sammy)

dean's pressed against a door, and sam's steps slow, because he's seen this exact scene in that one movie about the blair witch that terence made him watch at stanford. they had all jumped and laughed and rolled their eyes, but sam had sat straight as a board, beer sweating and unopened in his hand.

dean is clearly not looking at him, face pressed into the doorcrack like he's trying to smell or something. sam creeps forward, listening, but can only dean's quick breathing.

is he hurt? sam picks up his pace.

when he's directly behind him, he leans his head in close. he can smell his own shampoo in dean’s hair.

“dean!” he says suddenly, because it’s his big brother, and sam is legally obligated to be a little shit about it.

dean jumps like he just took a bullet to the kidney, and he slams both hands over his mouth. he whips around with glaring eyes, but he’s clearly shocked by something. something not-sam.

“what the hell?” dean asks, sharply, voice barely above a whisper.

“what are we doing?” sam asks, lowering his voice, too. is something wrong? what’s in the room? sam makes a step forward, but dean reaches a hand out to sam’s chest, keeping him there.

dean raises his other hand to his lips, motioning for sam to be quiet. sam hunches instinctively, and creeps forward quietly.

he and dean are sharing space next to the door, and sam presses even closer so dean’s back brushes his chest with every inhale. there’s a few-centimeter crack in the door, just enough for light to come through, but they can only see a sliver of a shelf from here.

there are voices, sam realizes. behind the door. they’re faint, but one is getting steadily quieter and louder, like they’re pacing back and forth from the door.

"--leave, already?"

a soft laugh. "you don't mean that."

a groan. "yeah, sammy, i kinda do. i don't like this. that we have to hide this."

sam knew it was their older selves, but the confirmation of it shoots a spark of nerves all the way down to his toes. why are they here?

“we’ve hidden this before. we hide literally everywhere. all the time.”

“but it’s us, y’know?”

“even more reason. could you imagine telling dean that this is how we end up?”

“kid’ll wet himself in glee, promise you that.” a silence. “what?”

“nothing. just…”

“d’ah, stop lookin’ at me like that.” dean grumbles. and his voice stops moving back and forth.

“or what?” challengingly. sam flushes, because he knows that tone of voice. he flirts with that voice. keep it together, man, he wants to scream to his older self. dean shifts in front of him.

“or i’ll come over there and make you,” dean says, and sam can feel the dean in front of him tense up.

there’s silence in the room for a second, and sam can feel the ragged inhales of the dean in front of him. sam’s palms are sweating.

“how long have they been here?” sam asks quietly, and if he didn’t know better, he would say dean shudders as his breath hits dean’s scalp.

“i don’t know. i just found them a few minutes ago. they’ve been talking about us.”

sam can feel dean’s voice rumble, and he closes his eyes, tight.

the silence reigns, and sam leans forward even more,

“what are they doing?”

sam reaches forward to push the door open. dean makes a wordless hushed sound of protest, but sam has already knocked the door open an inch. it’s silent on its hinges.

sam leans over dean, and his blood runs cold.

sammy is sitting on a table, facing the door. dean’s waist is pressed between his thighs, and one foot has hooked around dean’s calf to hold them close.

they’re kissing.

sam can hear the wet sounds their mouths make as they part and connect. tongues flash in the yellow over-head lights.

the dean in front of him makes a noise, shocked and…and something else.

“hate that i have to have you here, sammy. want to fuck you on the kitchen table, make them watch.”

sam watches his own face contort into a groan, watches older dean bite kisses down his throat. sammy’s lips are swollen and wet, and sam flushes hot because oh my god oh my fucking god—

“you like that idea, don’t you? spread you open for me, make your little favorite hear what a slut his older brother is? make him know you’re mine?”

younger dean’s hand flies to his mouth. sam desperately has to press a hand to his cock, and does so, praying that dean doesn’t turn around.

“no bites.” sammy pants, and tangles his hand in dean’s hair, pulling him away.

sam is shocked by the pure want and adoration on his older self’s face, and aches down to his very bones.

“can’t believe we wasted so much time.” he says, voice rough. his eyes are soft. older dean’s hand bunches in sammy’s shirt, and sam can see the tips of his ears go pink.

younger dean stumbles back, and slams into sam. sam jerks back with a yelp, throwing his hips away because he is terrified that dean is going to feel the hard swell of his dick in his jeans.

dean is panting, and his hand shakes on his mouth.

“oh my god,” dean whines. “they’re—together—they—“

“they’re fucking.” sam confirms, nodding and not knowing why. “they fuck. they fuck each other.”

“stop saying it!” dean whisper shouts, bending at the waist and standing up again, pacing in frantic little circles.

“together,” he’s muttering. “they’re—they—holy shit.”

sam’s heart is pumping in his ears. he can’t help it—he can’t—his eyes fall to dean’s crotch. there’s a bulge in his jeans. sam’s mouth goes dry. his whole body goes hot.

does…does dean—

“i don’t—“ sam says, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to follow that up with.

“yeah, i know.” dean says, laughing breathlessly. then his eyes get wide and he grabs a fist of his hair. “oh fuck. what are we gonna do?”

“pretend we didn’t see anything?” sam suggests.

“we were going to—y’know! to you!!! y’all!” dean says. he’s panicking. sam’s hope starts to curdle.

“say it—fuck. they’re fucking!” sam hisses. dean groans like he’s going to be sick.

dean put his hand over his mouth and starts muttering again. sam catches a few words. “kiss—how could he do that—little brother—we promised—can’t believe—“

something strange shifts in sam’s chest. since he was freshly 11—hell even before that, when he found out his kindergarten teacher was engaged, and sam found out what “marriage” meant, he had grabbed dean’s hand excitedly when he came to get him from the classroom and elatedly told him “we’re gettin’ married! i’m gonna marry you!” dad had later disabused him of that, and dean had crawled into their bed later that night and kissed sam’s tear-streaked cheeks. “it’s okay sammy,” he said, “i’m gonna be at your weddin’ anyway. standin’ right behind you.” sam’s stomach had curdled. “but if you’re really, super old—like 29–and you’re still not married, we can talk about it.”

sam had thought about it when he was 13 and watching dean press the girl of the month against the side of the impala from the motel window. 16 years to go, he had thought with all the tone and life of someone counting down the years of a terminal diagnosis. he had been rotting with this for years.

and they—future they—did it! are doing it? they…they’re together. in all the ways. in every way.

“i gotta go,” dean mutters, and sam catches one look at his overwhelmed expression before dean takes off. sam blinks after him, still processing.

together. he and dean together.

“dean,” sam calls. he’s shocked by how breathless he is, and clears his throat. “wait up!”

he follows his brother, like he’s been doing since he was six.

but for the first time in his life, his chest swells with a tentative, frantic hope. he’s afraid the weight of it—of them—will choke him. he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. dean probably won’t talk to him. but sam—he—it’s starting. this could go either way, but whatever this is—love, family, whatever—is starting.

and he can’t wait to find out.

~~~

“do you think they’re talking about it?” sammy asks later, washing his face before bed. dean is sitting on their bed with a cleaning cloth, freshly showered. “do you think it was enough of a kick in the ass?”

“knowing us, not a fucking shot.” dean says blandly, cleaning his gun. “at this rate, i think i will actually have to suck your cock in the library four times a day to get it to sink in.”

sam rolls his eyes, and dryly says, “romantic.” he adjusts his collar and his eyes land on a couple of splotchy bruises on his neck. “hey!” he leans out of the bathroom. “i think you actually left bruises.”

dean looks up, face purposefully placid.

“whoops. let’s hope pipsqueak doesn’t see those.”

sam scowls.

“you’ve got issues.”

dean lifts one shoulder up in a coy shrug and tilts his head.

“aw, baby. only for you.”

“you’re an ass!” sam calls as he steps back into the bathroom. he looks at his and dean’s toothbrushes sitting side-by-side.

he smiles. yeah.

they definitely got them.

~~~

PS - aw! thank you so much!!! it’s not weird at all! and yes, that's completely correct, haha! ES!Sam is for sure kissing Cas on both cheeks!

LS!Dean is the guy running up and trying to stop it but the poor fool is too late! they are embracing!

(I DO NOT KNOW WHY THE ONLY OTHER EXAMPLE OF THIS IN TUMBLR'S GIF LIBRARY IS FROM GABRIEL'S INFERNO, PLEASE IGNORE THE CONTEXT OH MY GOD AHAHAH)

anyway!!!

i am kissing you on both cheeks! so now we're both laughing! thank you for this ask, anon, it made me giggle! have a great day! <3

-lizzy

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #anon <3

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ithinkabouttzu · 1 year

Note

A suggestion for BoB reactions.. How would each react to reader asking for a hug? If you want ☺️

BoB reaction to you asking for a hug

Genre: romance; fluff

Warnings: a dangerous amount of fluff; kissing

Description: Easy Co. Reaction to you asking them for a hug

Please like or reblog if you enjoy! :)

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Dick Winters

You are more than welcome to this man a big hug. I feel when you guys do hug, it’s so nice, like he’s so warm and I just know he would smell good when you hug him. I think he would also ask maybe if something had happened or if something changed to where you’d want a hug from him, “Are you okay? If you need me i’m always here”

Lewis Nixon

He’s just like “okay?” at first. He isn’t really sure why you’d want a hug from him out of the blue, The first part of the hug would be low-key so awkward and then towards the end, he would hug you like an actual human being would. The reason of him being so timid is he probably though you were going to prank him of some kind or put something on him while hugging him. But nonetheless he definitely enjoys it, (even if he refuses to tell you that)

Carwood Lipton

“You want a hug? Well sure!” AHHH HES SO NICE OMG. This man would be so kind about it, like you want a hug from him? Then he’s gonna make sure you get that hug. He’s also just glad that you asked for a hug from him, you could’ve asked anyone else, but you asked him, and the thought that you subconsciously picked him over the other guys makes him blush a little

Joe Toye

When you ask for a hug his whole face changes, he goes from 1-100 reallll quick. He knows it’s not a big gesture and you might not even want a hug in a romantic way, but just asking him politely if he can hug you just makes him go nuts “You want a hug y/n?” in his sexy raspy voice OMGGG. And when you hug him, you’d feel his strong muscles around you and it would feel so nice. He’d be so warm and the strong hold he’d have on you would make you WEAK. The rest of the day he would be extra extra close to you.

Joe Liebgott

You know that one photo of him of him looking up with a smirk on his face? Yeah that’s the same exact face he’d make when you ask him for a hug. “C’mere” In his sexy accent oh my goodness. He’d just be there with open arms until you got to him. When you guys did hug he would hold you tight. He’d have his chin resting on your head, just holding you til you let go. After the hug he’d be smirking at you the whole time. “What’s gotten into you, y/n? hmm?” While he looks down at you, still holding you by the waist (omg omg i’m internally screaming thinking abt this rn)

Bill Guarnere

“You want a hug? Well come here!” He’d actually be really chill about it, (unlike Nix LOL) I think he’d be a good hugger tbh, like he’d be one of those types that give you one big big bear hug that takes your breath away for a moment LOL. He would wrap his arms around you as tight as he can and he might even pick you up a bit if he’s feeling extra. After the hug he’d ask you why you wanted one, and you’d be like, “I just wanted one from you” and his heart would MELTTT “Well come get me anytime you want a hug, you know i’ll give you one anytime”

George Luz

When you ask him for a hug his face just lights up with a huge smile on his face, “Of course y/n!” He’d be the one to actually initiate a hug between you two, I feel like he’d be a real passionate hugger, like when you hug him it’d be 100% bliss, he’s warm and soft, and the way he holds you automatically makes you feel safe and calm. It’s honestly so amazing. He’s arguably one of the best huggers in this bunch for sure. “Well did you like it y/n? Because if you did then we could definitely do it again sometime” With the cutest smile on his face omg.

Bull Randleman

Seriously if you get a hug from him you are so lucky. Arguably one of the best huggers #2. When you ask him for a hug he’d be more than happy to give you one. His hugs would feel so nice and secure. Like you’re hugging a giant teddy bear, you’d be fully buried in his chest and I just know he’d be enjoying it 100% He’s so glad that you asked him for a hug, so he’s gotta make SURE it’s his best hug he’s ever given yk. Once you guys were done hugging he’d give you a sweet kiss on the cheek, before leaving to go do whatever he was doing before, leaving you just like 🤭 the whole time to yourself

Eugene Roe

“You’d like one?” OMG HE’D BE SO ADORABLE. Arguably one of the best hugger #3 His hug would be absolute heaven. I just know he would smell good, his hugs would be big and loving, he’d be soft when you hug him and he would be so gentle not to try and he too rough when he hugs you. like one hug from him and you already feel better than ever, “Are you okay y/n?” “Do you need anything else?” (AHH he’s so caring and thoughtful my heart is exploding omg)

Floyd Talbert

This guy is SO ready when you ask him for a hug. He just runs up to you and sweeps you up off of your feet. He makes sure to give you one giant hug, it would catch you off guard so bad, like you were not expecting that at ALL. He would be really swift and strong with the hug so it was over right after it begun. “Why’d you want a hug, y/n?” Of course he asks you AFTER he gives you the hug. He’s giving you that infamous smirk of his while looking into your eyes, “Well did you like it, doll?”

Skip Muck

you want a hug? Ask skip and oh you got it. When you ask him for a hug he would probably make a little funny comment about it before giving you a nice warm hug. “Well I was hoping you’d ask for one actually” His hug would feel sooo good, like his hugs are an ultimate pick-me-up. They make you feel so much better. Plus the warmth and the softness from his chest and arms are a huge plus. “How’d you like it, y/n?”

Don Malarkey

Hugs from Don release a whole other level of stress off of you fr. When you ask him for a hug he wouldn’t even say anything, he’d just get up to you and wrap his body around yours. His hugs would feel absolutely amazing. He would be so comfortable and hugging him would make you feel so loved and happy. He would ask you if you were okay afterwards or why you wanted a hug. “Just cause I wanted one from you” He’d smile so hard. “Me? A hug from me?” you’d hit him on the shoulder “Yes you, silly” He ended up being the one asking for hugs after that.

Babe Heffron

Serotonin boost but times that by a thousand. That’s what he feels like when you ask him to hug you. “You sure, Because you know my hugs are lethal” He’d joke around with you but is kinda freaking out. He lets out an audible sigh that he did NOT mean for you to hear when he hugs you, leaving him super embarrassed but he still tries to play it off as if it didn’t happen. “Are you sure your hugs are any danger again? Because the only person I know who was really enjoying it was you” Of course you had to tease him back about it. Making his face even redder than before.

Frank Perconte

You want a hug? You got it. Just ask the man and he will be more than happy to give you one. “Come here y/n” He’d motion you over to him once you asked if you could get a hug from him. His hug would feel very firm but also comfortable at the same time. Almost like a dad hug if that makes sense? I think when you hug him it would last quite a bit. He’d rock you back and forth a little bit before letting go of you. He would just stare into your eyes before kissing your cheek, “So you’d say i’m a good hugger? Right y/n?”

Shifty Powers

Oh man. He is NERVOUS when you ask him for a hug. Of course he’s gonna give you one, because he cares about you too much to decline your offer, but you also might need to give him a moment before he hugs you because he doesn’t want to mess this hug up at all. When he does hug you it feels like heaven. It’s so warm and it makes you feel so relaxed and peaceful. He is so good at hugging (even though he’d never admit it) and when you guys are done hugging you would tell him, “Dang Shifty, you are one good hugger” Winking at him before walking off. Leaving him with his face fully beet red.

Thank you for your request lovely! This was such a good idea and I hope you enjoy!!! If you have any other ideas or suggestions make sure to let me know <333

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mimisempai · 5 months

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The final step

Summary

Aziraphale and Crowley haven't accepted Metatron's offer and although they feel something has changed in their relationship, something is still missing. Will they be able to take the final step that will change their relationship for good?

Notes

Thank you @larien04 for your donation to Alzheimer's Research UK in exchange for this story.

The prompt : Post S2, getting together, holding hands and T rated kiss… that was so delightful to write another fix-it. I hope you'll enjoy it!

What else can I be when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out with Merry Christmas!

What’s Christmas to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older but not an hour richer. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.

Aziraphale loved A Christmas Carol and even had an 1843 first edition in his bookshop. But right now, as passionate as he was, he couldn't concentrate on the theater stage, and the excellent acting didn't change anything.

It wasn't the first time he and Crowley had been to the theater together, but it was the first time since the day he'd said no to Metatron, severing his ties with Heaven for good.

"He said I could make you an angel. You could go back to heaven and... and everything, just like old times. Only nicer."

Crowley replied in an almost hissing voice, "And you told him

where he could stick it?"

Aziraphale had wanted to be honest and had decided to talk about Metatron's offer without trying to influence Crowley, so he was relieved to see from the demon's reaction that there was really no chance of Crowley accepting the offer.

He replied to the demon with a half-smile, "Well, my dear, he's still my ex-superior, God's right-hand man, so I didn't take the liberty of telling him in those exact words, but the meaning is the same. I don't know what's going to happen, but since neither side is at their best, we'll have time to see what comes."

Crowley had lost his angry expression and slowly smiled at him as he said, "So it's off to an extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz."

Which they had, though this time there had been something different in the air.

An indefinable tension.

As if, now that they had this freedom, they didn't dare take it.

There had been small changes.

Crowley, who had taken over his apartment now that Shax was gone, came to visit the angel more often.

Aziraphale didn't even need an excuse to call him anymore, because often it was the demon who called.

It was often succinct.

"Angel, can I come see you?"

No pretense, no false reasons.

In short, it was both different and the same as before.

Everything could have been perfect, but Aziraphale felt that something was missing.

Aziraphale was jolted from his thoughts when he felt Crowley's hand move next to his on the armrest that separated them.

Then his attention was drawn to the narrator on the stage, who declaimed, “He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!”

Aziraphale chuckled inwardly, for there was only one thing he was aware of at the moment, and that was Crowley's presence. A presence that also connected him to thousands of thoughts, joys, events, so many things, so many emotions that would never, ever be forgotten.

What kept them from taking the final step?

The last step they'd forbidden themselves for so long.

What was stopping them?

Suddenly, for the first time, Aziraphale realized.

Nothing.

Nothing was stopping them.

Nothing but them.

Each of them waiting for the other to make a gesture, something that would allow them to cross that invisible barrier between them.

Aziraphale decided that time was up.

He didn't want to wait any longer.

The angel gently moved his hand closer to the demon's, then, as if drawn to it, no longer holding on, he slid it over and intertwined their fingers, his heart beating wildly, not daring to turn to the demon.

He continued to watch the spectacle on the stage, but he couldn't see anything because the only thing that mattered to him at the moment was his hand on the demon's and his fingers intertwined with his own.

He was aware of the demon turning his head to look at him, and even without seeing him, he could feel his expression of bewilderment and surprise.

Trying to appear calm and confident, he smiled toward the stage and said softly, "Don't you like the show, my dear?"

He knew that his calm exterior was a far cry from his inner turmoil, but he refused to give in to fear.

Those days were over.

Suddenly, he felt the demon lean toward him and whisper in his ear, "The show is excellent, Angel, it's just that something rather extraordinary has distracted me from it."

Aziraphale can't help but swallow.

Something extraordinary.

Crowley had said extraordinary.

That meant he was enjoying it, right?

He felt Crowley sink back into his seat and then his hand turn gently under his own. Palm against palm. His fingertips grazing his own before they intertwined further.

To say that Azirzaphale melted with relief on the spot would have been an understatement.

So he also eased back into his seat before turning his head toward the demon and saying with a raised eyebrow, "Extraordinary, you say?"

Crowley chuckled softly as he looked at him and replied in a velvety voice, "That's what I said, Angel."

Aziraphale let his eyes slide over their intertwined hands and, looking back at Crowley, said softly, "I couldn't agree more."

Crowley pointed to the stage with his chin and murmured, "Come on, let's enjoy the show."

Aziraphale nodded and their eyes both turned to the stage. However, as much as they tried to pretend to be interested in what was going on, neither could concentrate, aware of the shift in their relationship.

Later, as they left the theater, they let go of each other's hands only to put on their coats or, even later, to get into the Bentley.

Even as they walked through the door of the bookshop, they were still holding hands.

Now they stood in the middle of the shop, staring at each other in silence.

Not sure what to do next.

"I..."

"You..."

After speaking at the same time, they stopped and looked at each other again in silence.

"Oh damn it!"

Crowley couldn't stand it any longer, so he placed his hand on the angel's cheek and, leaning over him, dropped a light kiss on the soft lips that had parted in surprise.

Pulling away, he murmured, "There's still time to refuse, Angel."

Aziraphale's lips curved into a gentle smile and he replied softly, "I have no intention of doing so."

That was all the answer the demon needed.

Smiling back, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to the angel's, this time taking the time to taste what he had been denied for so long. Not to be outdone, Aziraphale returned the kiss, parting his inviting lips between which the demon's tongue slipped.

As their tongues touched, the angel couldn't hold back a small moan, and Crowley echoed it as the kiss deepened and they explored each other's mouths, finally giving in to what they had craved for so long.

They were like wanderers in the desert who, after days without water, could finally quench their thirst and could not stop drinking.

So the kiss went on and on.

Much later, still in the middle of the shop, when they parted to catch their breath, Azirapahle gently biting Crowley's lip before slowly releasing it, running his tongue over it to soothe the bite.

When they had kissed, their coats had fallen to the ground and their hands had wrapped around each other's bodies. So even when they broke the kiss, they barely parted, unable to put any distance between them.

Aziraphale murmured softly between gasps, "Finally...finally..."

Crowley nodded and repeated, "Yes, Angel, finally..."

Seeing that both of them were unable to put into words the emotion that was overwhelming them at the moment, the demon pressed the angel against him and as Aziraphale snuggled against him, Crowley rested his chin on the angel's hair.

There would be time for words and explanations.

For now, they just had to feel. That was more than enough.

They stayed like that for a long time, enwrapped in each other, illuminated only by the warm light diffused by the Christmas lights that decorated the bookshop.

Finally, they had crossed the last invisible wall that had separated them.

Finally free, they could begin to live.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2)

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers #christmas #getting together

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ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense · 8 months

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Glad someone acknowledges that what Mabel did is morally reprehensible, and what bothers me is people defend it by saying "she's 12". I mean idk about ya'll but when I was 12 I wasn't risking my family's lives to a nightmare demon for a dude, I was doing my fuckin homework lmfao.

I love Gravity Falls to death but the way they turned Mabel from a silly kid to an actual horrible person speaks to how badly the writers can't write female characters to save their pissholes, and fans defending that shit annoy me to no end. They do the exact same thing when the fucked up shit Princess Bubblegum did is brought up

I’m gonna co-opt this ask because this lets me talk about two things regarding criticism that I find really interesting in the internet world-that being “perception of wrongness” and “heart moments”.

Perception of Wrongness:

I can actually understand why people had a hard time calling Mabel poorly written by the end of series, because this is a trend that happens a lot when talking about media criticism as a whole, and it is the subconscious concern that one is going to be perceived as morally wrong for taking umbrage with a character or product that concerns a well poisoned topic.

Mabel is a girl. And because Mabel is a girl, there was no shortage of bad faith arguments regarding Mabel from episode 1 on as being anything from obnoxious to a Mary Sue to an actively bad person (before doing anything that one could call actually wrong).

So, when a fandom space is poisoned by arguments that boil down to “Mabel is a girl and I hate women”, people have a tendency to overcorrect in the other direction and decide that the character is without flaw.

You actually see this a lot with the infamous movie “Fight Club”, which garnered a fanbase of pathetic Andrew Tate wannabes slobbering on Tyler Durden’s knob. So now if someone (especially a guy) says they like the movie most peoples reaction is immediate disgust even though the movie itself is a blatant critique on toxic masculinity based on a book written by a gay man inspired by a hate crime he was a victim of. Well poisoned arguments made the thing poison, so anyone who touches it must be a poisoner. You don’t want to be perceived as condoning the the former-perceived as morally wrong.

I myself had issues with this actually, leading up to Nathan and I watching through the MCU I had an instinctive reaction to be disdainful of his opinion that Captain Marvel was a bad film even though I know Nathan is one of the most “girl movie” positive people on the planet. When we talked about the movie as we watched it it became clear that the problem was that Carol didn’t get to be a cool superhero because they spent so much of the movie proving she “deserved” a spot in the MCU when none of the other heroes needing such proof. Which I agreed with!

It’s hard to untrained yourself from internet discourse brain, but you’ll be better for the trouble if you do so.

On the other side of the creator/consumer spectrum!

Heart Moments:

Creators love the things they make. That is an obvious and redundant statement. But the love of that creation goes through a lot of changes. We’ve talked before about how creators will often insert characters from early drafts of projects into the final product even if the product doesn’t fit with them anymore (see Hunter from TOH), but we don’t talk as much about a similar phenomenon wherein a creator has a burst of inspiration and they can see so perfectly a moment in time for their art that rests heavy on their heart.

This moment could be a cool shot, an impressive piece of cinematography or animation, an actor giving a specific delivery, or a line you want more than anything. But as you write that moment is no longer viable. It doesn’t fit with the greater piece or writes a character out of character.

This is what happened with Mabel in Sock Opera. Alex saw the ability to have Bill say a line about siblings and sacrifice, which would allow one of the twins to say a big line that when the Stan twist was revealed everyone would go “OHHHHH SHIT SO WHEN HE ASKED WHY SOMEONE WOULD SACRIFICE EVERYTHING FOR A SIBLING AND SHE SAID DIPPER WOULD IT WAS ACTUALLY A PARALLEL AND-“. Mabel and the ramifications of the scene to make that heart moment realized were disregarded in its addition.

I actually noticed this for the first time in a Rooster Teeth show I’m fond of called “Camp Camp”. In the 4th season, fan darling David has a solo adventure in “The Forest” where he’s lost in the woods and struggles to survive leading to a nervous breakdown wherein he near kills a wolf, decides against it, and learns a lesson about the importance of kindness in the face of misery.

Problem being that if you know the show at all, David is literally the worst person to do this episode with. David is not only a skilled and experienced outdoorsman who made it his life goal to become a camp counselor as a child and loves the woods, but he’s also the only character who’s primary trait in unrepentant kindness to anyone no matter the cost. To the point that it’s actually his largest vice as it gets him and his loved ones in dangerous situations.

But nobody cared because David has a breakdown was something that looked good in gif sets. It was an episode built around a “Heart Moment”-this one being everyone’s favorite blorbo screaming and crying while emotionally collapsing. And that was a Rooster Teeth cartoon that’s messy as hell-Gravity Falls is groundbreaking shit! But both still suffered at the same root issue.

It’s hard to let go of the scenes on your heart. When the thing you’re creating means so much to you, and that part of it rests on your heart so heavy, it’s hard to bring yourself to remove the latter. But you have to ask if the character you worked so hard to bring to life is worth potentially sacrificing to get that one moment off your heart.

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vaguely-concerned · 1 month

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A Stitch In Time First Read Reactions & Thoughts Monster Post Part 3

Stumbling over the finish line if not in style then with enthusiasm!

Part 1, Part 2

- Odo looked as if he could use a spell in his bucket; I had rarely seen him looking so run-down.

<3 I love one goo man

“I’d better get this information to Captain Sisko,” Odo decided.

“Would you rather I tell him?” I offered. Odo looked positively drained; he needed to return to his liquid state.

Every time Odo is changeling-sleep deprived Garak starts to hear kill bill sirens and flash back to ‘the die is cast’. It is kind of sweet that he seems to be worried for his friend and not trying to gain an advantage or sneak around here tho.

The ironies of the situation both amused and irritated me. Here I was, the invaluable decoder of Cardassian encryptions containing life-and-death information for the Federation—and they won’t trust me with the code to wake up Captain Sisko. Ah well, it was never easy being a Cardassian on this suspended chunk of desolation. And then I laughed out loud. But what about Odo? The last time I looked he was a changeling, a member of the race of Founders that was determined to destroy the Alpha Quadrant. Not only did he have the captain’s wake-up code, he also slept with the station’s second-in-command.

LMAO you know what fair fucking point garak. Tbf I’m sure there are some people who’ve been assuming you’ve been fucking the chief medical officer too

But if Damar had thrown his support to the rebels … if it wasn’t a ploy… I wanted my revenge on him, yes, but not at the expense of liberating Cardassia. And it wasn’t just liberating the planet from the control of a foreign power. It was closer… more personal. I wanted something that was even more difficult to attain—redemption.

The doors opened, and once again I was alert as I stepped into the deserted corridor and moved past the sleeping quarters to my own. It was time, I kept repeating in my head. It was time to take our place among the planets and peoples of the Alpha Quadrant as a civilized and open society. It was time to repair the damage. “A stitch in time saves….” What? What was that expression?

*pats him very gently and lovingly on the head* This man can unironically fit so much character development in him

“You’re Khon-Ma, aren’t you?” She didn’t respond. “Being the only Cardassian on this station, I expected you a long time ago. What kept you?”

She should shoot you actually just for this

I stopped. What’s the point, I thought. All the stories were beginning to run together and they all had the same ending.

Smoking gun of ‘hm I think there might be some unreliable narration still lingering here’ lol. In a way all but openly admitting that like this is probably more like telling the truth for garak than telling the actual truth would be. From how we see him interact with Toran in the show I buy that the emotional truth about this is basically as he tells it tho — I think he’s angry and disgusted with himself more for having been unable to stop something from happening and taking that as being as responsible for it as the asshole who caused it, rather than actively making it happen himself. That’s the kind of pattern he has in so many other places in his life too, trying to navigate in the very limited space and with the very limited agency being submissive to personalities like Tain and Toran leaves you.

“And they were all killed,” she said even more softly.

“End of story, Remara.” I considered telling her how I had exacted my own revenge upon Toran, and that my only regret was that his death hadn’t come sooner… but what was the point? Another treacherous opportunist dies after tearing another hole in the fabric. What’s gained except the potential for more damage? I rose. The station’s gravity felt like it had increased threefold.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. One way or the other I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Who gave the order?” she asked.

“What difference does it make? I did, if you like.”

Remara just looked at me. She lowered the phaser. Part of me was deeply disappointed.

The ‘has he been thinking with his horny brain this whole time or is he passive-actively suicidal’ conundrum. I suppose there’s nothing saying it can’t be both but I also think it’s more on the second side than he’d like anyone to know. I guess there’s no easy way to tell the guy who saved your life that you don’t really care that much for said life most days, and if you were offered some plausible deniability…

“You’re going to have to leave this station. They’ll keep coming after you until someone succeeds. Goodbye, Elim.” She put her hand against the side of my face, and I felt the heat coming through. Perhaps her passion was a curse as a terrorist, but she was a whole person … and she had found redemption.

Chewing on the idea of being a whole person vs. ‘unfinished man’ and ‘mosaic person’

- Gul Toran is someone Tain has warned me to monitor periodically.

Ah so Four Lubak is the future Gul Toran (the asshole in the Natima Lang ep if I remember correctly)! I see. That also means his snarking about Toran being made Gul is entirely performative he’s known about it for years lmao that was literally just to be a bitch yes wonderful

- The fact that Tain has an evil Romulan twin/soulmate and they hate each other fdskjfhdsa

- So interesting that it does take until middle-age and Palandine’s extended presence in his life before Garak’s sense of humor really emerges fully. It seems such an integral part of him in the show, it sure is Something that it basically had to be carefully tended to and supported like a lil flower by careful gardener’s hands (thank you Palandine I’m sorry your life is a nightmare)

- But I must confess that the toast proposed by proconsul Merrok left me feeling much better about the whole affair.

. . .

“At first I couldn’t think why you hated him,” I confessed.

“I don’t hate anyone, Elim,” he carefully explained. “I have a job to do—and sometimes it’s necessary to eliminate those enemies who can’t otherwise be dissuaded. And he was determined to block our interests at every juncture.”

“I don’t hate anyone” says man composed of about 98% hate per volume

“Oh yes, my boy—yes, you did excellent work. A job well done.” He had never complimented me with such unconditional enthusiasm. It was almost a demonstration of paternal pride.

“You see, I had this planned for a long time, Elim. But Tolan wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t take on the assignment, and he wouldn’t pass on the information. But thankfully he trusted you, Elim.” Tain patted me on the shoulder, which meant I was dismissed.

Weaponizing Tolan’s memory against him. Fucked Up.

- Fear and isolation, Doctor. You can’t have one without the other. Fear isolates and isolation is fear’s natural home. Just as my orchids need carefully prepared soil to protect them against disease and pests, fear needs the isolated circumstances to deepen and grow without connective or relational interference. When fear is allowed to flourish in its dark and lonely medium, then any evil that can be conceived by the fearful imagination will emerge.<

This whole chapter is so fucking good, and it starts slapping right from the beginning. The way this works not only as a description of the larger crimes of Cardassia, but also the shape of his own life.

‘My orchids’ is very sweet, and a phrasing that occurs several times.

My feelings are spent, my moral rationalizations are empty, and I can’t say it’s not my problem when I’m pulling and lifting and throwing bodies of people who once only wanted to go about the business of their lives.

His life has been a series of violent deconstruction followed by reassembly of the broken pieces, and this should have been the most shattering of all but it comes across as almost peaceful. He finally gets to have his soul to himself enough to make something meaningful with it and put it together in his own time and in the shape of his own truth, even in the middle of such a painful realization.

Colonel Kira once told me how many Bajorans died during the Cardassian Occupation, and my mind rejected the figure like a piece of garbage. We’d been in the service of the state, I had told myself, and the state had determined what was necessary. But now I understand why she hated me. More important, I now understand that constant burning, almost insane look in her eyes.

. . .

Most of us who are left, Doctor, are insane. We have to be in order to survive and emerge from our isolation. It’s the only way we can live with the pain of what we did. Or didn’t. Each of us accepts the amount of responsibility we are capable of bearing. Some accept nothing, and these people are quickly swallowed by their isolation, their insanity transformed into a rationalized evil. A smaller group accepts total responsibility, and their insanity is an unbearable burden that cripples and eventually grinds them down. The rest of us carry what we can and leave the rest. For myself, Doctor, when a corpse is too heavy to bury I try to remember to ask someone to help me.

This man can hold so much fucking character development 2 electric boogaloo and HOW!! Imagine early seasons Garak saying anything like this! Even while I’ll also buy that early seasons Garak does have the capacity to get to this point in the end after enough work. AND the way it goes with his dream of Cardassia as a mass grave earlier/later on in the book — which also sort of indicates that the person he’s asked to ‘bury these bodies with’, as it were, before, was specifically Bashir. ‘You taught me to ask for help’. I’m so fucking soft for all the ways Garak is showing him that he touched his life in the very best and most beautiful way anyone could, no matter where they go from here.

- “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just trying to reconcile statistical analysis with Romulan gardens.” We lapsed into a long, stony silence. Usually she knew better than to expect a real answer when she did ask about my working life. We both tried not to venture into certain personal spaces; often the attempt functioned as a barrier. I’m sure she knew that I was more than a data analyst at the Hall of Records. She also understood that the less she knew about what I did the more chance our relationship had to survive. For the same reason I never asked about Lokar. The less information, the less damage if either one of us was betrayed.

Garak that’s kind of sloppy, of course she knows something’s up if you’re making it that easy to figure out lol

Another interesting detail: Palandine seemingly never learns that Tain is Garak’s biological father, then. Very emblematic of the way all those secrets were still getting between them despite their best efforts. And lending even more meaning to the fact that many years later he lets Julian find out in uh perhaps the most direct way possible haha.

“I’m of two minds. I know, that’s just another way of saying that I’m confused.”

Huh. I wonder if the way this is phrased suggests that that’s not a common expression in Cardassian and he’s translating it directly from Standard or something, or that his uh. Mental confusion/dissociation/fragmentation pops up enough that she’s familiar with it already here?

“Yes. What if they’re right? What if they could help us reclaim something noble in ourselves? Where does that leave us?” We stood looking at each other. The night wind gusted through the foliage and I wondered where I’d be if I didn’t have this woman’s friendship.

What a soft way to describe it. Really drives home the like. Wholeness of what she meant to him.

“It was a while ago, Palandine. I don’t know if they’re in the same place … or if they even meet tonight.” Her enthusiasm rendered me as helpless as it did when I first met her.

Julian/Palandine parallels time yet again

I looked at Palandine, and she now radiated with such light that I turned away, inexplicably embarrassed as if I had seen something I shouldn’t.

So sad somehow that they kind of drift apart in this scene, where Palandine finds something that helps her and he mostly seems to come away lost and confused, if cleansed. (and he still can’t cry with someone else in the room)

After Palandine had left, I had spent the rest of the night sitting in the Grounds near the children’s area.

How is this so goddamn sad fhkjshfa. They’re still just children, and no one is going to come pick them up from the playground, no one is going to protect them

- “Yes, of course,” I replied. I took a deep breath, and my disparate parts began to snap back.

Adrift from himseeelf. This is kind of what I meant about Palandine maybe picking up on some of his — this stuff. Which structurally pops back up in The Wire too, with how he tells the stories.

“You look like you’re not eating anything,” Prang observed. If Tain was the father of the Obsidian Order, Prang was its mother.

LMAO. And he’s constantly worried about his saddest son I guess. Tain/Prang most cursed DS9 rarepair idea???

- His other hand was now probing my skull behind the right ear. The man’s ambidexterity was impressive.

Lol diversity win: the mad doctor about to implant you with experimental tech is ambidextrous!

Oh. Oh no it’s the wire time. The fact that he’s one of the first agents fitted with it b/c his hindbrain distress tolerance is too worryingly low for their comfort…

When I tell you that this wire will give you no trouble, as long as you don’t meddle with it, you can believe me. You know that, don’t you, Elim?”

“Yes, I do, Mindur.” The man had never given me anything but superb technology and sound advice. “Please continue,” I submitted.

“Good boy.” Timor thumped my shoulder again.

HORROR SHOW CULTURE ONCE MORE and also. Praise kink revisited and made more interestingly fucked up. Also submission theme thread.

Do you think he’d meddle with the wire eventually even if he hadn’t been exiled. I feel like there’s a non-zero chance of that.

- I remembered the Hebitian frieze and its lush background. Of course we were different people: it was a different world. The more the forests receded, it seems, the more we covered ourselves. Their world didn’t need an agent of the Obsidian Order to investigate a group of prominent Cardassians who “happened” to be spending their vacation together. It didn’t have Enabran Tain targeting one of his bitterest enemies, Procal Dukat, a powerful member of the Central Command. And I’m certain it didn’t have fathers who refused to acknowledge their sons. If we lived on the next spiral of the cycle of life, how did we know it wasn’t going downward?

a) ‘what if the glass is not only half-empty but also leaking’ yes very cheery Garak and b) one of the rare times he lets not just his bitterness with Tain but also his longing to be acknowledged by him fully shine through. To me it seems like that’s the one thing that’s still too raw for him to dwell on in this narrative. He mostly doesn’t get into or sit with the pretty obvious fact that he loved Tain, and desperately wanted Tain to love him too. You can see the traces through the whole thing of just how angry he is with him now that he’s dead (GOOD! HE SHOULD BE! HE SHOULD BE ANGRIER; IF ANYTHING!), but that particular element of it seems too vulnerable to keep in sight most times

- PYTHAS IS BACK BA-BEY!

His grace was even more refined as he moved to the small house that was our assigned base of operations. If anything could have taken my mind off downward spirals it was the appearance of Pythas.

And the mutual crush endures (also with me I love a sneaky little twink)

“What was good for you, Elim, was usually agreeable to me as well,” he wryly observed.

The way Pythas is like Garak’s shadow — except in Garak’s eyes he does everything ‘right’, he doesn’t seem to have that same aching need for connection, he follows his orders easily, he’s perfect and he reaps the rewards Garak never gets. Garak never even resents or begrudges him any of it. And yet they end up in basically the same place when all’s said and done, in the ruins of Cardassia, and Garak might even win out b/c his trials with the mortifying ordeal of being known mean he has some people in his life he’s starting to truly trust, the way Pythas seems to with Nal as well. Thinking. A lot of things.

Over the years, his modest demeanor and quiet ways had turned him into more of a solitary person than I ever was. I had learned to withdraw my presence as a tool, but I was always aware of my need for contact, and that my value as an operative lay in my ability to engage others in a nonthreatening manner that drew them out. Pythas had learned to withdraw his presence as a way of life—and he moved through the world like a shadow. I was not surprised that Tain had recruited him for the “invisibles.” It took a special person to be able to operate in such unrelentingly anonymous circumstances—no family, no fixed base or identity—and there was no doubt in my mind that he was one of the most brilliant agents in the Order. Our relationship picked right up where it had left off at Bamarren. Other than Prang, I have never met anyone where so much was communicated with so few words. His eyes had a depth and eloquence that told me everything I wanted to know. How ironic that my lust for conversation was satisfied by someone who rarely spoke.

Ah, so if Palandine is the proto-Julian, as it were (and Parmak is the silver fox Ersatz Julian), Pythas is definitely the anti-Julian as well as Garak’s shadow hahaha.

- Garak is undeniably a city boy at the end of the day haha. Pythas help him out there in the jungle he doesn’t belong here I understand why you’re so worried

- In a way it was touching: the old man reverting to the mind control exercises he had learned as a child.

Garak. The warning bells. Should they perhaps be ringing merrily in your mind at this combination of words and letters. Oh well.

- “Yes, it’s me.” I squatted so that I was at eye level. I tried to soften myself, round off all the sharp edges.

Yes yes yes this is such a good description of that Thing he does. His ‘just a lil guy/tailor/gardener/funny spy man’ move

‘Carriers of disease’ and spreading poison motifs are back. Dukat Sr. uses it here to describe cowardice/Federation ideals/hashtag the SJWs/the forces that threaten to disrupt the status quo of the fascist state.

- I left the containment field in place and stepped outside to clear my head. No matter how objective I tried to remain, I could never remain totally unaffected by another man’s horror. Fear was a contagious disease.

This seems right to me — I don’t think anyone who could truly shrug off other people’s suffering would have to make up such webs of justification and alienation as Garak does to do what he does. Maybe that empathy is why he’s so good at it and also why it messes him up so bad over time

His *Working 9-5 slowed down & with reverb plays softly in the background* vibe about it is undeniably kind of funny tho

Contagious disease thread cont too, and not the first time fear is spoken of that way

“Who are you?” he asked for the second time, fighting against the toxin’s effect. This was one tough old warrior.

“Your worst nightmare,” I replied.

“Ah,” he croaked. “Then Tain sent you.”

- YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE fhdkjshasjh good for you Pythas isn’t there to hear it that is so embarrassing Garak (affectionate)

- Garak dreaming of being buried with the still-whispering mass grave of Old Cardassia… what the fuck I don’t think I’d sleep ever again after that haha

Of all of the people he dreams of, most of them are dead (or potentially soon about to be dead? Not entirely sure how that works out for Mila in particular. And I guess we technically don’t know if Calyx is dead, but after so long it seems very likely), except as we find out later Pythas. And Palandine isn’t there.

NO. NO YOU CANNOT TELL ME THE FIRST THING HE DOES IS CALL JULIAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT W H A T

“It’s not a medical emergency. Please, I realize this is an imposition.” There was a silence and I heard another voice in the background. Ezri Dax. A muffled conversation. The Doctor cleared his throat again.

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

This is so melancholy I want to disappear into a puddle of quiet yearning and never come back to solid form just put me in a bucket like the Odo.

This is also the first time in this book Garak has asked Julian for help rather than Julian trying to approach him to give him help (and being rebuffed). He’s called for and he comes :’)

He gave me his puzzled look, which wrinkled his brow. I was always amazed at how deep the furrows were for one so young.

Soft little detail time yet again. Garak has been sitting across Julian for years just looking at this face and picking out new details.

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” he quoted.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Shakespeare,” the Doctor replied.

“Hmmh.” I nodded in agreement, surprised that for once the author of the politically misguided Julius Caesar made sense.

Fhdskhfskjdfhsdjak you say that as if you didn’t quote the politically misguided Julius Caesar to your father’s face on a burning spaceship as you for the first time truly saw that he was as fallible as anyone else and invoking Bashir’s name in the process Garak

“Of who we are, Doctor. Our being. Human being. Cardassian being. But we have become these beings—are becoming, always in the process of becoming—on these other dimensional levels that are not limited by the measures of time and space. And the great determining factor of our becoming is relationship. Unrelated, I become unrelated. Alienated. Opposed, I become an antagonist. Unified, I become integrated. A functioning member of the whole.” The Doctor was thoughtful; his previous agitation had dissolved.

“You’re a scientist, Doctor. You have a deep understanding of this level. I don’t mean just the mechanics. You understand about relationship, the laws that attract and repel, the combinations that nurture and poison. Health and disease. Integrity and breakdown.”

“In your dream,” he said, “I presided over the burial of yourself and the people you were most intimately related to. Why?”

“You said, ‘for the good of the quadrant…. they must never be allowed to return.’ Why would you say that?” I asked.

“I can only think that….” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Garak. This is not easy for me. I still can’t help thinking this was your dream. Even if I was invited … you were the playwright.”

“Yes, but put yourself in that part. Why would you bury these people and cover up the pit?” The Doctor looked at me in frustration. “Please. Indulge me. It’s vital that I have your answer.”

“If you and the others were carriers of some disease,” he shrugged. “In our fourteenth century on Earth there was a terrible plague, the Black Plague, which wiped out half of Europe’s population. People believed that the dead bodies had to be destroyed, burned … buried … because it was the only way to prevent the spread of the disease….”

. . .

The Doctor was studying me with an interest in his face I hadn’t seen in years.

“Well? Is it the Black Plague, Doctor? Or just the ramblings of an old spy on the eve of battle?”

“You’re an amazing man, Garak.”

“And my gratitude to you can never be adequately expressed. But I shall try,” I promised.

“Please. What have I done?” he asked genuinely.

“That time you extended yourself so generously and found a way to remove the wire from my brain without killing me …”

“I would have done that for anyone,” the Doctor interrupted.

“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I mean. All during the time the device was deteriorating, I was convinced I was going to die.”

“You were even resigned to it,” he reminded me.

“I was also convinced that it was all a dream, and I kept asking myself what you were doing there.”

The Doctor was puzzled. “But what you just told me, that our dreams are just another way we relate … ?”

“I had forgotten. That point of my life was perhaps the lowest. I had forgotten many things. When I ‘woke up’ and realized that because of you I was going to live—at that moment, I began to recollect some valuable information.”

“About dreams?” he asked.

“Yes. But specifically about relationships, and how they set the course of our lives. You not only ’saved’ my life, you also made it possible for me to live it.” The Doctor’s face darkened.

“What is it, Doctor?”

“The time I wounded you in that holosuite program ….”

“Yes,” I prompted expectantly.

“I never apologized for my action.”

“And you must never apologize!” I urged.

“Please, Garak. This is not the time to give me a lesson on how to behave like a hardened spy….”

“No, no, no. On the contrary, when you shot me, my dear friend, that was the next step in my process of remembering. I was going to sacrifice the others, the people you considered your friends, because that was the only way I could be sure to save myself. You opposed me. Indeed, you would have killed me if necessary.”

“I’m sure it would never have gotten to that point,” the Doctor muttered.

“You would have killed me,” I repeated. “For the greater good.” The cliche suddenly had another meaning for both of us. “This is my last trip to Cardassia. I’m not returning. You were in the dream for a very specific reason. Once again, you helped me remember. Thank you, Julian.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled warmly. “And by the way. It wasn’t the dead bodies that carried the disease. It was later determined that it was the rats feeding on the bodies who were the transmitters.”

“Then I guess we’ll go to Cardassia and look for the rats,” I said.

“Be careful, Garak. And look after my hot-headed friend, will you?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll look after each other,” I answered him. He moved to the door. “Did you really have a dream about Hippocrates?” I asked.

“Yes. Actually I did.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I replied.

First name use…

Disease contagion imagery, and this time it’s very clearly symbolizing y’know the fascism of it all. Weirdly moving that Julian takes a moment to gently imply that the disease isn’t inherent in the people Garak loves and has loved (or in him, for that matter), but in the conditions that created them.

There’s so much going on here idk if I could start to pick it apart yet, I may need to let this percolate in my skull for a while before I know what to say haha. I think part of it is Garak telling Julian to never apologize for showing him the full truth of himself (not least because that also lets Garak see the full truth of himself in turn), and Julian finally relaxing about. Something. He’s been ashamed about something he can finally let go of.

‘I thought it was a dream, and kept asking myself what you were doing there’.......I will never emotionally recover from this I want to write fic specifically about this lord have mercy on me

- *Tain Voice* with your hippie bullshit and your women!

*tiny garak voice* woman…

Over the years we rarely met outside his office; only an emergency or drastic change of plan would alter the routine. Now as we walked through the late morning sun and pedestrians at a leisurely pace I experienced a connection to the surrounding bustle and energy in a way that felt almost normal. A father and his son taking a stroll. Tain was heavier, and I could hear his breathing labor with the effort. He’s an old man, I thought. He’s mortal. I’d never thought about Tain in this way, and I became protective as we approached an aggressive knot of pedestrians at the edge of the Coranum Sector. One man was about to run Tain down when I intercepted his path and bumped him to the side. I ignored his challenge as we continued. “Yes, Elim. I’m getting old.” It wasn’t the first time he picked up my thoughts; this was how our conversations usually went.

HE BECAME PROTECTIVE

You know the way he keeps touching Tain’s arm and shoulder in The Die is Cast, like he’s steadying him or about to step in front of him to protect him or something? Yeah… he burns his hands on this stove over and over and over but he can’t stop trying to touch it :(

This was so typical of his manipulation. Just moments ago I was feeling protective of this benign old man, my father. And now… the irony filled my mouth with a bitter taste.

This is always & forever first and foremost an Enabran Tain hate zone

He moved to the covered seating area, where the sun filtered through the old vegetation. I had never been here with anyone but Palandine. With a long sigh he settled into a patch of sunlight on the low bench.

He’s like a fucking strangle vine he just winds himself into every single part of garak’s existence and chokes the life out of it

“Yes,” I answered. The benign mask was slipping, and I began to see the depth of his anger.

. . .

“You don’t know!” he repeated with a disgust I hadn’t heard since I was a boy and failed to record all the details of one of our walks.

Oof. Ow. Ack.

“And all this while, instead of giving up your life to the work, hardening yourself into a leader who could inspire others and expand the vision, you’re playing out Hebitian fantasies with another man’s wife!”

“Yes. Just like Tolan!” I exploded. “Perhaps he was my real father after all.”

Tain rose like a man many years younger and grabbed my shoulder in a powerful grip. His anger was now a murderous fury and it was all I could do to hold my stance against the pain of his grip. His cold eyes told me I had betrayed him. Worse, I had failed him. He let go of my shoulder and turned away from me. My entire body trembled. When he turned back he had regained his composure.

The biggest sin Garak could commit in Tain’s eyes is to dare to separate himself from him in any way; to be anything but his mirror, to act as if he has any claim to his own soul. I feel like more than what happens with Barkan right after this, this is what Tain considers the real betrayal.

Tain has never needed to hit him or become physically violent with him to keep him under control ever since he was a very small child, he’s relied on the terrorizing force of emotional violence. And as is so often the case with emotional violence, it’s been insidious and hidden enough, kept to private spaces and in the shadows, that Tain can pretend at plausible deniability b/c like. Who’s Garak even going to tell about it, for the longest time, if a miracle happened and he even found he could? Mila, who has joined the war on emotional violence on the side of emotional violence since probably before Garak was even born? (For understandable psychological reasons, but in unforgivable ways in the role of a parent.) I wonder if ‘making him’ lose control and expose himself and his violence for what it is like this (in public, even!) is also part of what he can’t forgive Garak for. This ah ‘slip-up’ is the first big crack we see in Tain’s image of perfect implacable control (which is very much still the impression you’re left with in Garak’s stories in The Wire too), in the same way that Improbable Cause/The Die Is Cast completely breaks that image down. He is getting old. He stayed in the game too long in the end and his iron grip is starting to slip and everything he’s forced to stay in place starts to slip out of that order with it.

Characterizing what Tolan was doing as ‘living with another man’s wife’ is SUCH a subtle burn tho lol like yeah maybe after the strictures of our society you SHOULD have married the mother of your child instead of outsourcing all your decency to the said mother’s BROTHER, Tain

Aside from anything else going on here (and there is a lot going on)... does Tain even know who Garak is at all, just on a personal level? Why, after knowing him for like 40+ years at this point, presumably, would you expect him to have aspirations or the natural inclination towards leadership, have you ever met him??? He’s one of nature’s perfect right hand men (well. Maybe not entirely nature’s, Tain did this to him very deliberately on top of some basic natural tendencies lol), he’ll get you whatever you ask of him and I think organizing a team under him for you could be part of that when need be, but never has he shown the least inclination towards leadership. (In fact, despite longing for the recognition coming out on top would get him from daddy I mean his peers, he seems vaguely relieved each time Pythas gets to sit in the big important chair instead of him.) He isn’t Tain’s mirror, for all he dutifully tries to move in the ways that make it seem like he is. And Tain should be smart enough to know that, if the narcissism didn’t completely blot out his sight in this situation, and/or it’s just the ‘setting him up to fail and then acting outraged when he does’ pure maliciousness reaching its apex.

(In a kinder time and a kinder world I think Garak could have a real nice time being one of nature’s extremely devoted Partners rather than simply right hand man. And I would like to see it please)

“From now on you will report to Corbin Entek.”

Oh, that’s the Entek of Second Skin, probably. Wish you a very ‘get vaporized for not knowing when to quit’ in the future entek

As I watched him leave, I felt completely empty and wondered how I could feel such emptiness. This sudden, wrenching reversal of fortune … everything changed beyond recognition…. And yet … there was no anger, no self-pity … no fear. Only release. Release from the secrets. Release from the limbo where, ever since I was a boy, I had been trapped between imposed obligations and feelings of mysterious longing mixed with shame. I felt empty … and free.

Listen to that voice maybe garak (not that I think there IS any way out at this point or that there ever has been in truth, that’s kind of the tragedy of the whole thing, tain would never ever have let go of him)

- Mila goodbye time:

“I’m afraid we’re not leaving you much,” she said. “The furnishings have already been taken away.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” I tried to keep all irony out of my tone.

“It’s your choice, Elim.” Her voice was just as neutral. “The house is yours to live in.”

Mother and son having a Carefully Extremely Civil conversation lol

“Do you know the circumstances … Mila?”

She looked at me. It was the first real contact we’d had in many years. She nodded slowly.

“Before I make my ‘choice,’ I need your help,” I said, surprised that the request emerged so simply. I wasn’t as angry with her as I wanted to be. Mila saw this and softened perceptibly.

This running thread that almost despite himself he understands and empathizes with her and her situation too much to be as angry with her as he probably should be. He understands her better than she understands him (than she could allow herself to understand him, even if she had the ability to).

I think that these apparently contradictory elements of his personality are part of what makes him feel so real in some ways, too — interpersonally he can be incredibly petty and jealous and judgemental AND almost absurdly forgiving and generous, sometimes seemingly simultaneously, somehow. The classic containing multitudes meme but like forreals tho haha. That is what real people are like too.

“I love her, Mila.”

“You’re a grown man, Elim.” I couldn’t decide whether she thought I didn’t know this or was seeing it for the first time herself.

“And Palandine’s a grown woman,” I replied.

“I don’t care about her. It’s you! You have to learn…” She broke off and passed me a cup which exuded the herbal aroma I’ve always associated with her and Tolan. Bitterbark and sweet groundroot. Moist rich soil.

“To control myself?” Mila blew on her tea. I shrugged at the obvious irony; I didn’t want to get into a fight.

. . .

Mila sat on a bin and sipped her tea. She avoided my look. As I positioned another bin across from her, I experienced a deep pain in my shoulder. It was still throbbing.

“Tain’s angry … with me. He wants me never to see her again and … to kill Barkan.” Still she avoided looking at me. “But you know this, don’t you? And you know what’s possible. Because you have your own … thoughts about this. Don’t you Mila?” I persisted.

Again she jerked away from me. Tea from her cup slopped onto the floor. “There’s no time, Elim.” She put the cup down, wiped her hands on the protective smock she wore, and looked for something to clean the floor with. “There’s no time for this.”

The mother/child relationship here is… y’know I talk a lot about Garak’s daddy issues for obvious reasons, but the fact that his mother recoils in fear when he tries to engage some sliver of real emotional intimacy with her prrrrrobably did some similar amounts of shaping him huh haha. (and he does this too in many ways — that’s partially where his trouble with Julian comes from in this book, whenever Julian tries to get too close Garak flinches away or counterattacks, for all that he clearly longs for it as well.)

The roundabout way you can tell her love for him even so tho. ‘I don’t care about her’. Palandine is not her baby, Elim, you are. Mila hasn’t been left with the luxury of love to spare for someone she doesn’t even know when you’re setting yourself up for destruction right in front of her eyes….

“I mean it, Mila. I would. But I think about her, feel her, all the time. Especially when I’m alone.”

Palandine/Bashir parallels once more and I really mean it!! There used to be a little Palandine in his head the way there’s a little Julian in there now. (and sadly she doesn’t seem to be there anymore, or maybe he’s just integrated what he got from her and let the rest go for both of their sakes, the same way he let Mila the regnar go when it was time.)

“Sacrifices?” In frustration Mila took off her smock to wipe the tea from the floor. “Elim, you amaze me.” Shaking her head, she got down on her knees and began scrubbing vigorously, as if the spilled drops of tea were hostile agents capable of spreading disease and destruction.

“Really? Well, I’m pleased I still have the ability—”

“Sacrifices,” she hissed, her control escaping like steam from a narrow rift. “What was the name of that book you once gave me? When you first came back from Bamarren. The one you proclaimed as the greatest Cardassian novel ever written and insisted that we read it.” Mila was still on her knees, but now I was the offending spot she vigorously rubbed with her words and eyes. “Generations of one family, each faced with the same choice at a crucial moment. Do they serve their personal needs or do they serve future generations? Do they choose the comfort of their own lives over the life of the state and its mission? I read it, Elim. You told me to and I did.”

“The Never-Ending Sacrifice,” I answered.

“Yes. That’s the one.” She made a sighing sound as she stood up. Mila was heavier now, and moved with greater deliberation. She, too, had grown old. “I suggest you reread it.”

“Tain always came first, didn’t he? I suppose that was your never-ending sacrifice.” I no longer reined in the irony.

I’m CRYING this is SUCH a mom thing to do. Her teen son came home with a book he waxed poetic about and she read it to try to understand him and never told him until now.

Also: disease contagion theme thread! To Mila, it seems to be tied in with the sentiment reading of it — the way her child’s suffering stains all her safe stable justifications and rationalizations that she needs to stay alive in this system. The remaining humanity that can’t be completely stamped out, even by Tain and a lifetime of fuckery. The ‘imperfections’ of life that can’t be subsumed completely into order.

Garak I think it’s better if you don’t recommend that book to people it clearly leads to disappointing interpersonal outcomes every time haha

“Tolan understood and accepted his obligations,” Mila said coldly. “But he was sentimental. Like you. That was the one thing Enabran worried about.”

I smiled in sad recognition. Sentimental. Yes, Tain and Mila had definitely shared their confidences and judgments with each other.

“But I don’t blame Tolan. He was a good man.” Mila watched me as I rose.

“Yes. So you keep saying.” I wanted to leave.

“She’s nothing but trouble for you, Elim. End it now. Do what Enabran says and reclaim your rightful place.”

“My place,” I repeated.

“Now, Elim. Otherwise you’re in real danger,” she warned with a certainty that reminded me of the time she’d brought me to Tain after I’d left Bamarren. Mila always knew what was at the heart of the never-ending sacrifice.

“Thank you for your help,” I said, too weary for irony.

“What did you expect from me?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember,” I answered. “Have a pleasant trip.” I smiled and bowed.

“What did you expect from me?”/“To be honest, I can’t remember,” is THE realest description I’ve seen of a mother/child relationship. This might say more about me than I should be comfortable with probably but still.

“Let Limor know if you’ll be living here.” I nodded. Yes, I thought, that would be my answer. My choice. She shook out her smock to determine whether or not to put it back on.

“Mila.” She looked at me and took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for my question.

“Who was Tolan?”

“My brother.” She decided to wear the smock, and I left.

I am SO FUCKING SAD. She puts the smock back on. That’s the closest thing to keeping either of them she gets to have, just the second hand reminder that they were there, small and innocuous enough that no one will know and no one can blame her. In the end Tain takes everything else, and she lets him because it’s the only way to survive him. GET OUT OF THERE ELIM PLEASE

- On an impulse, instead of leaving immediately, I went down the corridor to Tain’s old office. The door was open, and I stopped at the threshold just as Pythas looked up from a now much cleaner desk. He smiled shyly and stood up.

“Please come in, Elim,” he offered. What surprised me was how pleased I was to see him. Just as I had felt he was the only other person who deserved to be One Lubak, I now believed he was the only other person who deserved to occupy this office.

He smiled shyly did he fhskja. Also Garak’s enduring lack of bitterness towards Pythas is amazing. ‘Yeah I would be mad but he really is that good if it had to be anyone it should be him’

- She stopped just short of my covering shrub, and the sight of her face shocked me. It was swollen and bruised. One eye was completely closed, and the other contained enough pain for ten. It took every bit of my willpower not to reach out and hold her. Her one eye held mine, I knew she wanted to tell me something so important that she was willing to wait all night if necessary.

I’m so fucking glad Barkan is about to eat it for good. I only wish it could have gone slower and more painfully for him.

I wanted to laugh, and it took a concerted effort to gather my disparate parts in order to integrate my will.

‘Disparate parts’ motif (dare we say mosaic motif?) detected

“At least the smile’s gone,” the first voice said. I was fully awake now.

Barkan’s life is just being haunted by fifty shades of Garak’s shit eating grin apparently

“Flaunting your ‘relationship’ in public like infatuated schoolchildren.”

“Yes, I suppose it would have been wiser to behave like experienced adulterers,” I replied with a sigh.

“You’re the lowest form of scavenger, Elim. You have no attachments of your own, and so you feed on the emotional vulnerabilities of others.

. . .

“But you’re a failure, Elim. You even failed in your attempt to assassinate me.”

“I didn’t fail with Palandine,” I said quietly.

LMAO gottem

The chemical makeup of Garak’s brain during Barkan’s beating should probably have been studied by science it must be the strangest rave in there

The others were there—my fellow travelers, their voices murmuring tonelessly, producing a steady sound that permeated the medium and intensified our connection. Their voices speaking to me. Their faces, serene and loving, illuminating the darkness as they floated by. Everyone I have ever known. Family. Faces from childhood. Bamarren. People I had known briefly. People I have known forever. Loved. Hated. We were all just together now, sharing the same nurturing medium as we traveled along our currents until we gradually separated.

This… near-death hallucination or spiritual experience or whatever it is vs. his mass grave dream later… very birth vs. death themed

Faces formed and reformed. Each one superimposed on the next in a long line emerging from blackness. Maladek. Merrok…. The molecular structure of one giving way to the next…. Procal Dukat. Tolan. Floating into focus, receding back into the darkness. I shook my head, trying to stop the flow. The Hebitian mask. My face. I grabbed my “face” and screamed into it. The flow stopped. The molecules rushed together and instantly formed Barkan Lokar’s death mask.

I think maybe something came a tiny little bit completely untethered in his head in a way it’s been threatening to for a long time in this moment. It may just be my imagination tho who’s to say

- “Elim Garak. How the mighty have fallen. Welcome to Terok Nor.”

“Oh, I try to visit even our humblest outposts, Dukat.”

“This is going to be more than a visit, trust me. You’ll soon wish that the execution had not been commuted.”

a) ah garak/dukat sniping my old friend b) It seems Tain never spoke to him in that whole process, so that time in the park was probably the last time before ‘Improbable Cause’?. I’m only surprised he didn’t give Dukat the neutral face of displeasure to convey to Garak second hand honestly

- “I’m sure you gave him a more ennobling position,” I said.

“He was executed,” the toady replied.

“A promotion of sorts,” I muttered. “Certainly in this place.”

The passionate enduring Garak/Terok Nor hateship off to an immediate and roaring start

- Real ‘he gave them the heebie jeebies. He had nothing else left to give’ vibes on garak in this part of his life

- He arched his brows in a manner that told me he’d worked long and hard in front of a mirror.

There’s always time to appreciate some good Dukat dunking

“Your life means nothing to me. Just as my father’s meant nothing to you.”

“I beg your pardon? Do I know your father?” Dukat made a move to grab me and immediately stopped himself. I was impressed by his self-control; I knew how much energy fueled his hatred.

“No offense,” I went on, further testing his control. “Of course, Procal Dukat was a famous military figure. We all mourned his passing. But I never had the pleasure personally….”

At his most miserable, but also his funniest. It IS really interesting that his humor only really reaches its current state here, when he’s lost Palandine and everything else in his life. It’s almost like the only remaining way to be close to her.

No, I decided that I was not going to sacrifice myself to Dukat’s desire for revenge. I would do this work; I would do it so well as to become indispensable to the station… and I would survive. I refused to be buried alive in this humiliation.

‘Sort of suicidal: yes; willing to go down in history as one of Dukat’s Ws… fuck no’

- I pick up their garments and mend them flawlessly. When they complain that the price is steep (because I’m treated like a slave doesn’t mean I’m going to start undervaluing my work), I just give them the smile—the smile she taught me.

Fdsahfasj hilarious. You go Garak you know your worth

- (About Pythas and Palandine) At this moment I am almost afraid to discover that they’d survived. A part of me has wanted to bury that part of my life. The defenses I set up to survive my exile are obviously still intact.

I am often joined on my walks by Dr. Parmak. He’s a charming conversationalist, with a first-rate mind. His perspectives are always provocative. He does, however, have a tendency to proselytize for Alon Ghemor and the “Reunion Project” (the name they’ve given their group to remind people of the principles that formed the original Union). Whenever we encounter other pedestrians along our route, Parmak engages them and attempts to win them over to the Reunion side. This often makes for spirited exchanges, and although I am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain, I rather enjoy this peripatetic politicking. It’s something I would never have done on my own. In some respects he is so much like you, Doctor. If I’ve found someone’s opinion insufferably boring, he’ll kindly but sternly lecture me on the value of tolerance.

The wistful longing of ‘in some respects he’s so much like you’. ‘Although i am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain’. ‘Charming conversationalist’, is he. Garak you are a nonsense person and I adore you

One day I asked him how he had been brought to Enabran Tain’s attention. He never struck me as being a dangerous radical. It turns out that he was Tain’s personal physician, and that the great man had him interrogated because, the Doctor assumed, “he was concerned that I was in an ideal position to assassinate him.”

“I think he was more threatened by the fact that you were intimate with his weaknesses,” I pointed out.

“Well, certainly his physical infirmities,” he admitted.

“Which are also a man’s weaknesses,” I reminded him.

“The paranoia, the secrets, the power he held….” The doctor shook his head. “He must have been a difficult man to work for.” I smiled at his understated tact.

“He once tried to have me killed,” I said.

“Really? What did you do, Elim?”

“I survived.” The Doctor gave me a confused look.

“Survived … what?” he asked.

“Working for my father,” I replied. The Doctor stopped and just looked at me. His former fear of my eyes was long gone.

“A father who would murder his own son?” The idea horrified him. We were in the Barvonok Sector, where the tall structures of business and finance once dominated. “Oh, my dear Elim,” he said, this time with an empathy that stripped me of any illusions I had about Enabran Tain as a father. Surrounded by the piles of debris, oppressed by the low leaden sky, I finally began to surrender to the loneliness and loss that has preyed upon my dreams ever since I can remember. Even nothing is better than the ideas that have brought us here.

Go on without me I’ll be over here crying my eyes out

- I wonder if Limor Prang was one of the people killed in Tain’s Obsidian Order purge in Improbable Cause. If he was still alive that seems pretty likely huh. Well. RIP terrifying team mom I guess.

- Garak got his business up and running for real through a deal with Quark! Puts some of their interactions into perspective haha

I don’t do well with the kind of emotional exchanges humans seem to engage in regularly, and I have little sympathy for those who confuse the responsibilities of family with their duty to the state; but I confess that I am deeply moved by this woman’s plight.

Well it’s good the guy you have a thing for was raised British then he’ll probably feel pretty much the same way you’re perfect for each other

At one point she looked at me and asked me to hold her. I did. As I tentatively put my arms around her, I was so afraid of her need that I tried to keep her body at a distance. She would have none of it. She collapsed against me, and the sobs that convulsed and rolled through her body found correspondence in mine. I bit my tongue until I could taste blood in the effort not to surrender. Gratefully, the door to the Promenade was closed.

He keeps claiming he doesn’t care for the human tendency towards displays of emotionality even as we see it draw him in like a stupid horny sentimental moth to the flame repeatedly. The lizard doth protest too much methinks

- Unless I have business I rarely go to Quark’s; I have little tolerance for noise and stupidity. So when he saw me he assumed that I had another proposition, and I observed him shift into his engage mode.

Fun to see how this changes over the years, then! By the ca. Season 7 part of the book he has a few regular tables and everything. Also isn’t it so sweet that his kind of snotty attitude about this has not changed at all since Bamarren haha <3

- “The dead are dead. Those of us left—who believe in the ideals that have guided our race for millennia—are faced with the threat of utter annihilation by the very disease that has brought us to this sad place. Federation ideas will finish the work the Dominion began.”

Disease/contagion imagery (This is Legate Parn speaking, and he’s basically espousing the same view as Dukat Sr. As far as he’s concerned the call is not and never has been coming from inside the house thank you ever so much lol)

On the other side of Madred was Nal Dejar, a sharp-faced, saturnine woman who had been a member of my last cell at the Order. She once came to Deep Space 9 on an assignment with two scientists, and refused to make any contact with me. Judging from her averted look, she was still refusing. Next to her was a man with a severely disfigured face that was still recovering from what appeared to be burns. One eye was completely covered, and I was careful not to be rude in my inspection.

OH so it’s the lady who came along with Gilora and Ulani! The one who does not care for foreign food

Gul Ocett was persuasive in her quiet and reasoned strength. Indeed, the irony, Doctor, is that she was espousing the very argument I had made to you any number of times. Even now there was a part of me that accepted the logic of her argument, especially when coming from someone who was neither a fool nor an opportunist.

While you were stealth mentoring Julian in having enough spysmarts not go and get his beautiful twink ass killed at the first opportunity he was stealth mentoring you in the political and ideological underpinnings of democracy and the possibility of being loved BITCH!!!!

I simply smiled at him, genuinely amused by his amateur attempts to discredit me. I was surprised by my responses. I was here to play the role of double agent, and I found that as the meeting went on I didn’t have the energy for the requisite guile and misdirection.

Fdkjfhdsa ‘Aw. That’s cute’. He just doesn’t have it in him to work up the energy for cloak and dagger bullshit and it’s so good and so funny

And then a strange sensation went through me, Doctor. I looked at the faces of these people. Here we are, I thought, sitting in the basement of a ruined civilization and conducting business as if nothing significant had changed. The enemies were still the same, somewhere “out there,” plotting how to “destroy our character” and colonize us with their political system. And we were down in the basement with our own plots and shifting alliances, tenaciously holding on to the very ideas that had brought us here. But what ideas, Doctor? There’s nothing left. Only fantasies of power. These faces with their masks. With the ironic exception of the disfigured face, the masks hadn’t changed. They reflected the usual range of hidden agendas, each competing for dominance and ascendancy with an energy commensurate to the amount of fear and self-loathing that fueled and motivated that person. I started to laugh.

Amazing showstopping revolutionary good for you Garak

It was him, Doctor. It was Pythas.

EIGHT MY BELOVED WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

“Thank you, Gul Madred, but I can find my way out.” I bowed to the company, and turned my back on them.

I continue to be so proud of him I have no words. And also this is why I don’t like Castellan Garak as a concept AT ALL. Leave him alone to his orchids and sewing and doctor fucking he’s been through enough he doesn’t need that in his life anymore he can do other things to help. Parmak and Julian would stage an intervention.

- Oh my GOD the cardassians literally just left terok nor without him overnight like Sid’s family in Ice Age fhdskjafh

Garak has been combining the wire AND being a barely functional alcoholic all this time. So at any given time in the first two season the chances that he is not only high but also profoundly drunk are overwhelmingly likely. This explains a lot.

Rom had a sensitivity, almost a delicacy that was totally lacking in his brother. Was there such a thing as a typical Ferengi? Most people judged him to be simple, as if simplicity was somehow a substandard quality.

Aw. Also maybe some hints as to his reconciliation with Tolan’s memory.

“Well, Rom, the trousers and tunic fit quite well, don’t you think?” I pulled the tunic down at the back. “Don’t wear it so far up on the neck; it ruins the line. And I’d be grateful if you’d tell any interested parties that indeed I’m still here and very much open for business.”

“Oh, yes … yes! And I like….” Rom made a broad, awkward gesture toward his new ensemble. I thanked him, and we walked out onto the Promenade, as if it were just another business day. We said goodbye, and I watched him march proudly through the ragged celebrants. I had a fondness for him. It was an odd relief, especially at this moment, to converse with someone who literally meant everything he said.

T________________________T surprise most wholesome dynamic continues to wreck me.

He stood for a moment, studying me, trying to divine why I had not been allowed to join the withdrawal. Unlike the others who assumed that because I was a Cardassian I had a choice, Odo knew that I’d been abandoned.

“Was there any damage or theft?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I knew little about Constable Odo, but I was confident that he would never ask me questions that went beyond his function as security chief. He kept his distance and carried himself like someone who understood exile.

Odo appreciation moment as this is his last appearance in the book. Here’s to the small part of the fascist hivemind that harnessed those impulses towards the aim of becoming the world’s best and beigest mall cop. Unproblematic? No. But sometimes you simply love a good problem.

The fact that the narrative of this section ends right before Garak meets Julian. Probably a matter of weeks, max. You big sentimental sap lmao

- Parmak, Ghemor, and I stood silently among the formations, inspecting the results of our work in the first light.“I mean no disrespect, Elim,” the Doctor said, “but the memorial looks even better.” I nodded in agreement.

“Please, Doctor,” I replied. “ ‘Restoration’ is fine for artifacts and museum pieces. When it comes to building a new community, I think what we did tonight is more to the point.”

“And we did it without murdering each other,” Ghemor added.

“How un-Cardassian of us,” I observed.

This all rules btw . Restoration is fine for artifacts and museum pieces it’s not for things that are alive. Gardener vs. architect/collector, Tolan vs. Tain.

Alon said: “I think we should get some rest before the competition begins. We’ve done what we can.” It was a wise suggestion, but each of us knew that we were taking a step into the unknown, and sleep at this point was not really a choice. We had done what we could, and probably it was best if each of us retired to the privacy of his own thoughts. We said our goodnights, and as I watched them leave I felt an enormous gratitude that I had been given the opportunity to work with these men. Once again in my life I felt that I had been resurrected from the dead.

Nodding and crying gif. Yeah. Yeah… you’ve done all you could and no one could ask anything more of you.

- “You know, Elim, I’m neither a soldier nor a politician. I’m a doctor.”

“I do know that. I also know that we’ve been betrayed by our previous leaders. Our only hope is that men like yourself can offer an alternative.”

“But you have the expertise that can….”

“Doctor, I have the expertise that comes from survival and compromise. There’s already plenty of that on the other side … and it’s not an alternative that will create a new and lasting union.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

“You’re a doctor, yes, and that’s your strength. I’ve learned something about your profession over the past several years. Don’t think like a politician. Think of the planet as a patient barely hanging on to life. Think like a doctor. How would you save this planet?” He considered what I’d said in his careful manner.

Just as it is vital for a person like Garak to have a little Julian Bashir who lives in his head, it’s probably also good for the Bashirs and Parmaks of the world to develop a little Garak who lives in their heads to go ‘yeah that sounds real nice in theory but now imagine that there are in fact bad people in this world (I should know) who’ll interact with that theory and then act accordingly’ . Garak realizing where he belongs in this whole process tho…

“Ah, Doctor,” I stopped him. “You can’t go to your meeting like that.”

“Like what?” he asked with a puzzled look. Without explaining, I helped him out of his worn outer coat and showed him a ragged tear in the fabric. Despite his protests, I made him sit down and wait while I gathered my sewing kit and repaired the tear.

“Appearances are very important to these people. You can’t let them think you’re oblivious to details,” I said, as I reunited the torn and separated threads.

The Mila fussing-as-a-love language of it all…

- (About Pythas) The thought occurred to me that perhaps I should include him in a chant for the dead.

DAMN but also YEAH

- I moved to the constructed formation that stood in the space formerly occupied by Tain’s study and almost directly above where Mila’s body had been sadly abandoned in the basement. When I was a boy, I had unending dreams that centered around the memorials of Tarlak. As I lay on my pallet in the basement of Tain’s house, I would plan the scenario that would play out when Tolan took me with him to Tarlak. It would always involve me as the hero paying homage to a comrade fallen in a battle where we had both distinguished ourselves. I would tell the gathered assembly of notables every detail of the battle; people would weep, cheer, listen in stunned amazement as I explained how we had saved the Union from certain destruction. When I had finished, Mila and Tolan would escort me through the adoring crowd. What a terrible irony, Doctor, that those forbidding, impersonal memorials to the heroes of the Cardassian Union should ultimately become transformed into these ragged formations on the grounds of my childhood home … and that I would sit here, a middle-aged man, trying to mourn a fallen comrade who was still standing but barely recognizable. And yet, the irony of a Cardassia reborn with the help of a memorial built from the remains of Tain’s home didn’t escape me either.

Taking immense psychic damage with every word. When do you stop wanting your mom and dad to come pick you up and take you home, even when they’re both dead and kind of not your parents anymore in two different ways even before that? Never, probably

- “What changed your mind?”

“Your friends, Elim. Very impressive people … and persuasive.”

“What had you expected?” I asked.

“The usual amateurs who never understood what was at stake … the hard choices that had to be made,” [Pythas] explained. “To be honest, I had thought your attachment to this Reunion Project was….”

“Sentimental,” I finished. He smiled knowingly at the reference.

CACKLING. All but openly saying ‘yeah I thought it’s was because you’re fucking the doctor and I know exactly what a god-awful simp you are’ fhskdjafhaskjdh

“As I listened to him speak of the responsibility that we had as survivors to the life that remained, I also realized how bitter and hardened I had become.” He stopped and looked back to Nal Dejar, as if he were making sure she was still there. She met his eyes with a communication I couldn’t decipher, and he nodded. “Nal nursed me back to where I could function … part of me wished she hadn’t. Until your doctor spoke about healing … on every level. It’s what the body wants, he told us … unless we choose otherwise.” Pythas sat with his head bowed for a long moment. “I’d become very bitter, Elim.” I sat on a rock across from him and gently put my hand on his. What was it about this place, I wondered.

Hmngh. ‘I’d become very bitter, Elim’. No matter what choices they made along the way, where they fucked up or where they did everything right, they both ended up in basically the same place, embittered and broken, until someone touched their life with kindness. Nal is Pythas’ Julian Bashir. Coming back to life not as an act of will but because there’s someone waiting for you there saying ‘I’ll help you through it’.

“Do you know where Palandine is?” I asked. He just looked at me. “Is she still alive?”

In the darkness, it was difficult to read the expression in his one good eye. The silence that followed my question was broken only by his rasping breath. Behind her mask of disinterest Nal Dejar was studying me carefully. Even when she was a probe I was impressed by the strength of her focus. Pythas was fortunate to have her care and devotion.

I think Pythas and Nal Dejar’s whole deal could make for a really interesting story all on its own. Presumably they’ve known or at least known about each other for a long time now, since Garak has seen Nal around even though they’ve never worked together closely

- Just enough light for lovers; just enough light to begin he says, only to open the next chapter/epilogue with ‘My dear Doctor’ and explaining how he finally decided to send the letter. Healing on every level? Maybe? If we’re real lucky???

- My dear Doctor:

Again, forgive my further tardiness in sending this—I don’t even know what to call it. Memoirs of a Cardassian tailor? I suppose that’s as accurate a description as any. You see, Doctor, I seriously debated whether or not I should send this to you. As I went over it I wondered who this mawkish and self-serving person was. Grow up! I wanted to tell him. Get on with your life.

Well, I am; and sending this to you is going to further that cause. As I said, I’m an unfinished man reassembling the pieces of a broken world, and I have asked you to be a witness because you would never judge me as harshly as I judge myself. You would never deny me the opportunity of a second chance.

I feel like those last two sentences are the most important ones in this whole book — it’s what all the rest of it is built on, what made any of it possible. And also it will haunt me for the rest of my days but like in a good life-affirming way lol

His playful grousing about ugh your vaunted democracy *eyeroll* <3<3<3<3 come down to cardassia so you can have spirited debates turned makeout sessions/foreplay about it already julian please he’s setting you up for so many slam dunks here

I live with my orchids, which have unified and softened the increasingly popular grounds of my home. Their beguiling blooms, and the presence of children who come to play among the structures (as I did in Tarlak), help to dispel the somber mood that initially hung like those clouds of dust over our world. The sounds of their voices as they play function as a music that never fails to lighten my work. The children call it the “tailor’s grounds,” and the name has caught on. Yes, Doctor, I continue to work at my “new” profession. As you can imagine, there’s a good deal of mending to be done.

TAIN’S HOUSE TURNED INTO JUST ‘THE TAILOR’S GROUNDS’ BY THE VOICES OF PLAYING CHILDREN Y_____Y I hope enabran ‘let history be my judge’ tain gets forgotten for anything but his massive fuckup and that garak works some magic with what little fabric he has at his disposal to make the neighbourhood kids like. Stuffed toys he sews clothes for and he’s known as the person to go to when one is damaged so he can patch it back up good as new while teary little faces watch intently and then brighten. Julian seriously pretends to be his medical consultant as they perform teddy bear operations, what with his extensive expertise in the field and excellent bedside manner. No arm is too amputated to be reattached and we can always find a good button to replace Mr. Tinny’s missing eye in fact he’ll see even better now. I have such hopes for them I have such dreams

I have expanded my shed in the never-ending quest to find my place. I feel that I’m getting closer, Doctor, especially as I continue to refine the structures. One, which began as a memorial to Tolan, has a crude but effective representation of the winged creature from the Hebitian sun disc—turned toward the radiating sun, reaching, striving, while the sun-fed filaments stream down from the body and connect with the bodies of people standing on a globe and looking up to the creature for this divine connection…. I’ve attached the recitation mask he gave me to the creature’s face, and somehow it has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.

You are always welcome, Doctor is one of those ‘you could slap that on my gravestone and I’d be happy about it’ lines. What a ride huh

Aside from anything else about this book (I think we can safely let this absolute monster of a three part reaction post be testament to my enjoyment and admiration right I hope I have made no secret of it lol) I want to congratulate Andrew Robinson for getting a novel-length character study written in first person (my beloved) published — as I understand it that’s normally a pretty hard sell in the publishing industry haha he was living the dream I one day fervently hope to as well and the results rule

#a stitch in time #asit #garashir #elim garak #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #julian bashir #The great ASIT first read adventure #ds9 meta #and there we go! now to think about the little julian bashir that lives in garak's head forever probably

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eugeneroehoe · 8 months

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Hi, @mylastresortiswriting! I was your short story gifter for HBO War Daily’s short story event! Thanks for your help in letting me know what you wanted from my anon ask. It was VERY difficult for me to write something within the word count, but I hope you enjoy what I came up with :)

Home

Edward ‘Babe’ Heffron & Eugene Roe

Babe can’t figure out how to deal with the after effects of war, and goes to the only person he knows can help.

Word count: 994

Going home was harder than Babe could’ve ever expected, somehow. War seemed like hell, but it wasn’t until it was over that he realized how used to it he’d become. And he wasn’t even one of the guys who had been in it from the start.

He thought about how this was the last time he’d have any reason to wear this uniform on the train home. Unless Hitler had a brother he didn’t know about, or something.

No more uniform, no more explosions, no more death. That should be a comforting thought. But when he laid back down on his real bed at home the first night, he didn’t sleep at all. He got up and went for a walk around his neighborhood as though floating, just a presence rather than a person. It was his home, and somehow he felt like he no longer belonged to it.

His family wanted to celebrate his safe return, but it only reminded him of Bill’s not-so-safe return, and made him upset. They opted for a special dinner of all of Babe’s favorite foods, but resisted inviting the entirety of Pennsylvania over and kept it to close family only. It was nice, but Babe was mostly quiet.

Anytime someone asked him a question about what he saw while he was gone, he just shook his head. There was no way he was going to ruin the innocence of his loved ones by giving them even a hint of what it really was to feed their imaginations. Imaginations were usually worse than reality when it came to thinking of horrors, but Babe thought this might be the only exception. What he saw was worse than anything a mind could conjure up.

Days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually his family gave up on asking him if he was okay. They knew the answer would always be the same lie.

Working a regular job was weird. He woke up to his mother’s soft voice calling to him instead of screaming or explosions. He’d go in, talk to his coworkers, many of whom were in the exact same situation as him, and pretend like nothing was wrong.

He visited Bill a lot after work, so much so that Bill’s ma stopped asking who was at the door when he knocked, instead just opening it for him with a smile.

Sometimes he and Bill talked, other times they said not much at all. This time had been different, though. Bill wasn’t exactly the most intuitive guy, but even he could tell something was on Babe’s mind.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Have you talked to any of the guys? Since?” Babe mumbled, fumbling with his sleeve to get some of his nervous energy out. He kept his eyes downcast, but he could feel Bill staring holes into his face.

“A little,” Bill answered with a small shrug that Babe couldn’t see. “Mostly Toye. I thought about writing to Winters just to say…well, I don’t know what. Somethin’. But I haven’t yet. Why?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout them. A lot. ‘Specially Gene,” Babe admits quietly, glancing up and then back down quickly, as though afraid of what Bill’s reaction would be.

Bill nodded slowly, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Hard not to. You took a liking to him, I seem to remember.”

Babe doesn’t deny it.

“Well? Didya write to him?”

“No. I don’t know what to say.”

“Then go see him.”

“What?” Babe exclaims, eyes wide. “Unannounced? That’s kinda rude…”

“Oh, Christ, Heffron. I can’t believe you of all people are worryin’ about manners.” Bill rolls his eyes and shifts on his bed.

“But if I don’t know what to say now, how the hell will I when I’m standin’ right in front of him?”

“If you really miss him, you’ll have something to say,” Bill says simply, almost dismissively. Babe knew then that he’d lost.

Then he was on the front steps of Eugene’s house, taking it in as if it were something more grand than it really was. When he’d gotten off his bus and asked the first person he saw for directions, he immediately recognized the accent and only then did he truly know how much he’d wanted to hear it again.

He’d much prefer it coming from the mouth of his friend, which would come true if he could bring himself to knock on the damn door. He sits down on the steps instead.

“Edward.”

Babe nearly jumps out of his skin and turns to look over his shoulder. After the war, he’d been so sensitized to sound, but he hadn’t even heard the door open. Gene was always like that, silent.

“How did you know I was out here?” Babe asks dumbly, too stunned to think of anything a little more touching. He quickly takes in the sight of Gene in civilian clothes, almost stunned by it. Like he’d been expecting him to open the door to his home with that same red cross on his arm.

Gene’s lips pull into one of his almost-smiles, small and subtle, and Babe feels like he might cry. “I saw your shadow through the window. Thought maybe you were a ghost.”

“Funny, I kind of feel like I am.”

“Is that why you’re here? I can’t bring back a dead person.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Gene’s eyes are empty as he says it.

“Gene, I-” Babe’s own throat won’t let him speak, and his eyes burn.

Eugene tilts his head a little, gently closes the door behind him and approaches Babe. When Babe continues to say nothing, he sits down on the step beside him. Babe just looks at him.

Babe inhales sharply. “I thought I’d know what to say.”

“Then maybe you don’t need to say anything at all.”

Babe’s shoulders drop, then he pulls the man into a hug. They stay like that, and for the first time in months, Babe feels okay.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #eugene roe #babe heffron #hbowarshort23

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alister312 · 1 month

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alister… i’ve come to sow trouble…i ask for your spitting hot takes for the character ask game: gregory for 3, 8, 16, 22!! and 25 for funsies <3 (when i first watched the movie i hated him bc i thought he was an asshole. then i discovered gregstophe and he changed my life)

CHAOS INDEED….. but sometimes you gotta keep things real with Hot Takes™!!

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

i have studied Gregory's canon character extensively and it's a huge reason why i love him so much (and why i so despise a certain fanon version that has eclipsed canon) so this is really hard. HOWEVER….. i do hate his canonical reaction to learning Stan failed his mission. i know it's just to make Wendy start to dislike him so she'll get back together with Stan at the end of the movie, but this was such an important mission that Gregory put so much effort into planning! it implies the death of one of his only friends, Christophe! there's no way Gregory in that moment is the same as the Gregory in the rest of the film to me. or i have to believe that's he's just SO upset that he's lashing out and his tone poorly conveys the true depth of his emotions.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

can i say the entirety of Hell//park lmao. lowkey serious. i've spoken often about how HP was a blight on Gregory's characterization, interpreting him as a generic snobbish evil twink. this (or one of the many HP spinoffs that copy-pasted this personality instead of his canon one) was unfortunately a lot of people's introduction to him as a character, which means that i see many Gregory fans taking him one of two directions: 1) they take him the sexy sadist manipulater route, cold and dismissive, hungry only for power 2) they infantalize this version, making him more like a random xD feral wild card silly guy if you were ever in the Gravity Falls fandom, they do to him what people did to Bill Cipher basically. and don't get me wrong, i'm not saying i dislike people doing that! i love how insane the GF fandom goes with Bill but it makes sense for him bc he's a chaos demon. Gregory is a revolutionary freedom fighter with occasionally poor people skills. i feel like barely any active fans remember that.

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

i have one beloved mutual who likes this ship so i hope she understands but….. probably greg/stella. most bc every art i see for it ever is HP-based (designs and personalities) which i am clearly not a fan of lol. also, all the love to the Estella fans out there, but she's just not for me. which makes it hard to care about ships that have her.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

ok this is a little hard to describe but i love when fics show that Gregory actually cares?? whether it be for Christophe (as most of the fics i read are gregstophe lol) or about his job or a cause or whatever. i find a lot of fics are able to show him as a caregiver, but don't always show him caring. to me, that's such a core part of who he is. he fights bc he cares, he helps bc he cares, he gets angry and sometimes flippant about others bc he cares so much about what he believes in that he puts on blinders to others' (and tbh his own) emotions. something i don't like is when people do the exact opposite of this lol.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

i do not fully remember what i thought of Gregory specifically, but i have such a vivid memory, right after i watched BLU for the first time, going onto [social media platform redacted bc my account there is cringe af] and saying how i totally shipped Gregory and Christophe and wanted to RP them with someone lmao now... well, i still ship him with Christophe so not much has changed there i guess. but now i like to think about him much more in depth than i did back then. back when i was younger, i don't think the fic i wrote really explored the actual characters so much as it put two guys through a bunch of tropes. nowadays, i want myself and the reader to really understand the depth of those two guys and why exactly i am putting them through certain tropes.

character ask here for reference!

#thank u for the character ask keno!! :3 i hope these takes aren't TOO scalding #south park #gregory of yardale #sp gregory

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curious-sootball · 4 months

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Rewatching the beginning of a campaign with the Deadlands lore and Q&A in mind is An Experience™️

First, Johnny's hints become increasingly hilarious; they're trying so hard to give the rest of the party hints on what's going on while maintaining the bumbling old man persona its a show in itself (also, is it just me or is Jane hell-bent on not metagaming things? She played Deadlands before, she's clearly aware of the meta, and I had no idea until watching the Q&A)

One big, nay, giant "what if" idea that keeps nagging on my brain is Garnet, Nate and Delacy being more social in Dead Man's Worth(ep. 2 and 3) - what if they talked to the other contestants(more than just Slim Hawkins) and tried to tilt the odds in their favour? Like, Andy straight-up said he had written the backstories for all the contestants, and since I watched a good chunk of "The quick and the dead" thanks to this campaign, I have a big thick suspicion about some of them(especially those of Hattie McGuill, Rosa Conamerania and Big Bill). Imagine if all of them decided to talk and agreed on making Ben Bellows's day an absolute nightmare - how much faster and funnier the contest would've been? Andy could even keep the tone whiplash from planning to troll and trolling Bellows to him still straight up slaughtering his opponents anyway(e.g. Delacy shooting the gun out of Rex Randall's hand to rightfully eliminate him from the contest, and Bellows shooting Rex through the throat in an all-out gunfight later anyway. Bonus points if he would've came back as a Harrowed and complained about the bullet wound fucking up his vocal chords).

Also, other contestants could've had clues that Bellows isn't as human as he'd like to appear to tip the players off about what was really going on, and I'm kinda surprised they hadn't tried that line of investigation. (Also#2 - was the bartender supposed to be suspicious??? Because "The quick and the dead" has both a cowed saloon owner and a guy shot in both hands the exact same way The Jewel's bartender is - except the second guy was a cocky trick shooter who falsely claimed credit to one of the villain's kills while being in said villain's hearing range. That guy fucked around and found out; and while I'm reasonably sure it wasn't the case for The Jewel's bartender, was this detail supposed to be a clue that cast decided to ignore???).

Third thing about Dead Man's Worth - I love how Andy tweaked the contest rules from "The quick and the dead" - Bellows gives contestants a clear reason to fight each other over teaming up and fighting him directly(a pre-drawn elimination brackets instead of anyone challenging anyone else and killing being optional and becoming mandatory halfway through the contest). Combine this with the prize and the only way to sow more discord among the contestants would've been to yeet a gilded apple with "for the sharpest aim" written on its side into the crowd on day 1 of the contest. This absolute motherfucker of a character(also, I strongly suspect that his bodyguards/gunmen are people from his cavalry unit and most of the other population of the town is their families). I can see why Andy brought him back in the finale.

One more thing: after I looked up the lore, Johnny's reaction to the Dishonourable judge M.T. Boudreau became comedy gold(judge himself also became funnier, but he's not in the spotlight now). Like, they played Nate so fucking smart in that arc, I love it. (Also - imagine if judge could actually kinda see demons attached to the characters and tried threatening Garnet's demon with arresting them for swearing/murdering their huckster after the trial?). Also - am I the only one that looked up the official illustrations of Hangin' Judges and found it kinda underwhelming? Those tiny blades really don't fit the "sword-gun things that he's trying to shoot you to death with" description; Andy made them sound so goddamn cool and the official illustration didn't live up to hype (to me).

#oxventure #oxventure deadlands #oxventure deadlands headcanons

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sapphire-weapon · 4 months

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4make player -> Finally into SW as a birthday treat, the sheer joy of Ada having a story of her own story! OG SW was wild, it was literally just the main campaign from a different camera angle lmfao, but she actually has her own thing now and it's very enjoyable.

Re: "Ada didn't mean it when she said to leave Ashley"... ohhh my god, she DID! I wasn't expecting that, especially because it also has context and an understandable (yet unjustified) motive. My interpretation (atm) tells me she's projecting a whole load of shit onto the people around her, Leon especially. She only calls him about her location because Wesker pissed her off lmao! Was surprised that she seemed less than happy when she had first spotted him too, and also not giving a flying shit about saving his life when it came to the amber lmao! Last note: Luis x Ada is going STRONG in my mind rn. I thought it was some meme this whole time but jesus christ the tension, common regrets and bonding??? Tell me there's nothing there, I dare anyone rn. The fact that LUIS, of all people, has had the best sexual and romatic tension with Ada Wong to date is abysmally hilarious to me.

this right here:

was the single most shocking moment in all of RE4make to me.

you know how, at the end of OG, ada pushes the button to activate the timers on the detonators for the bombs around the island? and leon just stands there in shock and is like "she really pushed it"?

me, hearing ada say that ^^ in RE4make had me with the exact same reaction. "they (capcom) really killed it (aeon)."

because in the main campaign, yeah, using knowledge from OG, you think that ada's coldness is insincere and she really does care; you can make a pretty decent case that she's just pushing down her very real feelings for leon just for the sake of her mission.

but when she said THAT^^?

dude, like

lmao

OG ada: we have to get that parasite out of your body. remake ada: why the fuck should i give a shit if he has a parasite lmao don't make his problems my problems he ain't pay my bills

curious to see if your projection interpretation sticks around, because i thought so too at first, but i'm not so sure anymore.

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softguarnere · 7 months

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Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 33: Goodbye, Tommy

Summary: “And how did you come to find yourself in your, uh – “ The major makes a rolling motion with his hand, as if urging her on. “ – situation?” She’s beginning to wonder the same thing herself. A/N: This is either exactly what you expect from me, or the exact opposite - there's no in between. (Either way, I'm so sorry) Warnings: language Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @mrs-murder-daddy @ithinkabouttzu @mads-weasley @lieutenant-speirs @dcyllom

Austria, 1945

It could be a peaceful setting, under different circumstances.

Major Winters’ room has a balcony with a beautiful view. He sits there now, at a small table, with Captain Nixon beside him. The doorway frames them like a painting. But unlike people in a painting, they turn and look up at her as she slowly emerges from the darkness of the bedroom and steps onto the balcony with them.

Nixon looks her up and down. “Well, well, well. There’s the blushing bride.”

Clad in her wedding dress and feeling utterly exposed by the abrupt end to her charade, Zenie fumbles momentarily. Does she salute? Curtsey, maybe, like the debutante this dress makes her feel like?

In the end, she settles for the salute. She is, after all, a soldier. A Toccoa man, at that. She’s done her part for the war effort. Now she just has to hope that they remember that, too.

Major Winters salutes her, and it’s pleasant enough. There’s a beat of silence when he’s done. He glances to Nixon, who’s staring at Zenie with that inscrutable look of his that’s part knowing smirk and part something else that she doesn’t have time to examine. Winters clears his throat, and then it begins. Zenie’s stomach churns with ice water at the realization that this is a very real thing.

“So, Sergeant Driver.” A gingery eyebrow raises in question. “What’s your real name?”

Zenie has to swallow before speaking, the dryness of her mouth making her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. “Zena McGlamery,” she says. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from adding the amendment that she gave all her friends upon their finding out – but most everyone calls me Zenie.

“And how did you come to find yourself in your, uh – “ The major makes a rolling motion with his hand, as if urging her on. “ – situation?”

She’s beginning to wonder the same thing herself. This whole farce began because she wanted to join the war effort. Maybe she should have rolled bandages or become a secretary after all. Then she could have saved everyone all this trouble.

But then she wouldn’t have met Shifty. Or Bill, or Babe, or McClung. She wouldn’t have her friends, or any of the memories she shares with them. She might never have known that she mattered to anyone. She would have done her work, completed her time with the war effort, then returned home. End of story.

Now she knows that there is so much out there in the world, waiting for her. Good things are possible. People are kind. There is more to the world than a stifling bedroom for the forgotten youngest child. Even they have a place in the world. And Zenie has found hers.

She can’t say all of that to Major Winters, of course. “I just wanted to do my part, sir.”

“Why not the Red Cross?” Nixon asks. “Or the WAC? They do their part.”

“I wanted something more.”

The two officers share a glance. Nixon shrugs. Winters turns back to her.

“Fair enough.” He leans forward in his chair, eyes scanning the paper in front of him briefly before they flick back up to her. “Miss McGlamery – “ Zenie can’t ignore the way it stings her heart to hear the backbone of the company refer to her by her real name and not her rank. “ – I think we’re all in agreement that you cannot join Easy Company in the next jump into the Pacific. For obvious reasons. The most important being your own safety.”

This she suspected. That was why she had planned to get out of here. But the major is watching her, expecting a reaction, so she nods in agreement.

“Everyone would like for this to be solved as quickly and quietly as possible. So after our meeting, you will take your final paycheck, and be escorted to a civilian ship that will carry you back to the States.” One of Winters’ eyebrows quirks as he glances at his notes again. “It would appear that, uh, you and Shifty are married now?”

She swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Winters nods. “Well, I guess that worked out well for the two of you.”

Just an observation, or a joke that fell flat? Either way, a beat of silence passes. When no one speaks, Zenie takes advantage of the silence to ask what’s been bothering her most.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how did I get caught?” Both she and the major automatically glance at Nixon. If there was ever a time for the intelligence officer to offer up information, it would be now.

He slides into his role easily. “From what I can piece together, people were looking for Shifty to congratulate him before he took off, but no one could find him. Someone thought that they saw him go off toward the town. But then someone heard a few residents saying something about a GI getting married. And since you’re supposed to get permission from your commanding officer for that, Speirs went to check it out. Somehow or other, he stumbled across the two of you.”

“Oh.” Speirs, who was impressed with her for not being afraid of him when he offered her a cigarette. Speirs, who stuck up for her by transferring a man to another company because of rumors he spread about her. She should apologize, if she gets the chance.

Before her mood can sink any lower, Winters stands and extends his hand to her.

“You were a good soldier, Tommy,” he says.

For a split second, she’s back to being the man she’s pretended to be for years now. “Thank you, sir.”

When she’s dismissed, Winters hands her an envelope with her final pay in it. Probably the last time the Army will ever pay her, if she had to guess. If they’re so keen on getting rid of her without causing a fuss, they probably won’t be doing much to thank her for her service or anything of the sort past this point.

As she nears the door, she hears Winters ask, “Did you know? I mean, would you have guessed?”

Nixon scoffs. “Of course I knew. I’m an intelligence officer, Dick – I know everything.”

The door shuts behind her, and they’re gone.

Shifty jumps as the door closes. He’s by her side in an instant, seemingly appearing from nowhere, although Zenie knew he was waiting somewhere out here for his turn to speak with the officers. She falls into his embrace. “How did it go?”

She knows what he’s really asking. “I don’t think I’m in trouble. I don’t think you are either.”

His forehead is scrunched with worry, making Zenie wish that she could reach out and smooth it, taking all the worries about their current circumstances away, too. “So . . . no court martial?”

“They want me to leave,” she explains, holding up the envelope with her final paycheck and her ticket for the ship. “Quickly and quietly. I guess if I just . . . slide back into my old self, they think we can avoid a lot of trouble.”

“Hmm.” Shifty glances at the door. “I’m guessin’ they’ll tell me the same.”

“So what do we do?”

“Your stuff is packed?” When Zenie nods, he mirrors the motion. “Good. You go ahead and get it. Get to the ship, if you can. I’ll meet you there when they’re done with me.”

“And then what?”

“We can figure it out on the ship, but I was thinkin’ we could go see your Mama, like we talked about. Then we can head up to Virginia, if that’s still what you want.” It all sounds so simple coming from him. Like they can just sail away and start their lives together, like they haven’t caused loads of trouble in one afternoon. He squeezes her hand, but she takes firm hold of it before he can pull away.

She holds Shifty’s hand in both of hers. “You really think that you’ll be let go as easily?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He’s right. Zenie created a fake identity for herself and lied to the military. All Shifty did was keep her secret and marry her. That’s a far less punishable offense. Or it seems like it should be, anyway.

The officers are probably wondering where he is. Zenie frees her husband’s hands but stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you at the ship.”

Shifty caresses her cheek, turning her face back towards him and planting a gentle kiss on her lips. “Donadagohvi”

When the door shuts behind him, Zenie goes. Still in her evening gown, lipstick, and too small shoes, she no longer feels like the blushing bride who seemed so elegant making her way into the town and down the aisle. Soldiers turn to look at her as she passes, and she can’t be sure if it’s because she’s a woman, or because they’ve heard about what happened. She holds her chin up all the way back to where she’s billeted. It’s one last show, and she’s going to perform with what’s left of Tommy’s confidence.

Grim faces greet her when she enters the house. Her friends all pause, like they were in the middle of a conversation, only to have her barge in and announce the worst. Gene stands tentatively, biting his lip. The first man in Toccoa who she ever trusted with her secret, worrying for her again. She tries to smile, to assure him that it’s fine.

“Well fellas,” she begins. “I guess I’ve beat y’all back to the States.”

George jumps up from his seat. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! So, no trouble?”

“No trouble. They just want me out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Damn.” George snaps his fingers, shakes his head. “I guess that ruins the whole party I had planned for you. Probably too late to get a refund for the marching band. I’m crushed.”

“How about you come visit me and Shifty in Virginia, and we’ll have a slice of pie to celebrate instead?”

“That invitation extends to all of us, I hope.” Babe quirks an eyebrow. “Because I’ve heard things about the pies that Shifty’s ma makes, and I don’t wanna be left out.”

Zenie squeezes his hand. “Of course.”

There’s so little time to say all that she wants to say. Gene produces several scraps of paper, and they all write down names and addresses, extending invitations to visit, promising to write. (And Zenie does promise this time. Not like with Bobby, where she only pledged to do her best. She’s not like Beckie; when Zenie promises something to the ones she loves, she will fulfil that duty. No one here will be eagerly checking their mailboxes and find nothing but disappointment the way her old friend did to her.)

Wrapping them all in hugs, Zenie presses a kiss to each of the boys’ cheeks, thanking them, telling them how much she cares about them. Now that she’s about to be apart from them for the first time in three years, whatever it is that exists between them all feels very heavy, very present, very real. This isn’t simple friendship – that’s too light a name to describe this bond. They’ve seen each other wounded, physically and emotionally. They froze together, starved together, and laughed together. These men risked everything for her. What is the proper word to describe how they all fit into each other’s lives now?

With no time to spare, Zenie takes her bag and calls goodbyes over her shoulder all the way down the street as her friends wait on the steps, waving her goodbye. This is what Cinderella must have felt like when she left for the ball, seen off by all her true friends who helped her get there.

A small convoy of trucks and jeeps are waiting when Zenie arrives. She doesn’t get the time to wonder where she’s supposed to go, where she might find Shifty, before one of the Jeep drivers recognizes her. His eyes go wide. He jumps out of his seat and approaches Zenie.

He glances at a slip of paper in his hand. “Sergeant . . . Uh, Miss . . . ?”

“You’re my driver,” Zenie guesses.

He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her bags stowed in the back of the Jeep, the driver helps Zenie into the passenger seat. As soon as he returns to his seat, the engine roars to life, and they take off down the road.

Zenie starts. She glances behind them, but no one seems to think their quick departure unusual. “Where are we going?”

“The coast,” the driver explains. “so you can board the ship.”

“No, I know that. I mean, you forgot my husband. We’re supposed to leave together.”

The driver at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The orders I received were to take you to the ship immediately.”

As quickly and quietly as possible. She shouldn’t have expected anything less. She leans back in her seat and tries to enjoy the rest of the ride.

Being dropped off at the ship is just as unceremonious. Zenie waits until the Jeep is just a tiny speck in the distance before she boards the boat, trying to draw out the seconds so that she can see Shifty approaching.

She waits on the deck, still looking in the direction that her own ride came from and disappeared to. No one appears.

It’s too late when Zenie realizes that the ship is moving. But really, what should she do? Throw herself into the ocean and swim back to shore, leaving all her belongings behind?

Maybe she missed him, somehow. She did take quite a while telling her friends goodbye. It’s possible that Shifty managed to make it to the ship before she did.

With one last glance at the shore, Zenie steels herself before she leaves the rail, off to look for her husband while she tries to ignore the ice-cold worry churning in her stomach.

#band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #hbo war fanfic #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

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Someone asked me to elaborate on my dislike of The Last Of Us episode 3 so here it goes. First off: I did enjoy watching it, this is more of a reaction to what I perceive as overhyping.

The entire thing felt vaguely melodramatic, especially the ending. The love at first sight (if that's what it was supposed to be) and the fact that these middle-aged men were screwing on the same day they met felt jarring and hard to believe, especially given they've both been without friendly contact for a while (or any contact, for one of them), though this might just be me being too aroace to get it.

Finally, given that The Last of Us leans somewhat towards the "gritty realism" side... I can accept Bill being the rare kind of prepper who actually stands a chance in a postapoc scenario, but ain't no way in hell he's managing the upkeep of his house + farm animals + crops + security all on his lonesome or even with his boyfriend there to help eventually (until said boyfriend gets sick and needs tending to). And these guys are finding the time to have ornamental flowers that need watering? To paint and restore shops? Yeahhhhh no.

It did make me feel something but the internet is raving about it like it's the next best thing since sliced bread, and it feels like it just had good queer rep so everyone acts like it was a masterpiece in every other way. Let's just say that, if it were the same exact episode but with a het couple, it's the kind of story that I would have found cute enough but would have also made me roll my eyes a little, and the realism issue above made it feel that much less grounded in reality, which didn't help.

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hldailyupdate · 2 years

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Yes, you read that correctly. The former One Direction star has put on his very own festival – and it's a guitar bonanza in Málaga with Hinds and The Vaccines on the bill. Rhian Daly finds out why

“I was 16 when I went to my first festival,” Louis Tomlinson recalls towards the end of his headlining set in Málaga on Saturday night (August 28). Beneath his usual stage swagger, there’s a healthy dose of awe coursing through his voice as he looks out over the 15,500 people gathered at Marenostrum Music Castle Park, the beach-side venue that is playing host to this year’s edition of Away From Home Festival. “Never did I think I’d be involved in something like this.”

Tonight, Tomlinson isn’t just headlining a festival on the Costa del Sol – he’s put the whole party together. It’s the second run of the event, which he founded in 2021, and this year has moved to a location far more exotic than its original base of Crystal Palace Bowl in south London.

“It’s always been a dream of mine to create something like this,” the star explains to NME backstage hours earlier. “But it’s always been exactly that – a dream.” As was the case for many people over the last couple of years, the forced halt of normal life in lockdown gave him an opportunity to start thinking about how to turn his festival organiser fantasies into reality. “Around that time, it came back to my mind and I thought it might be a nice thing to do.” The first Away From Home took the form of a free one-dayer intended to “celebrate live music being back” after the pandemic ripped away opportunities for bands to perform.

Think of Tomlinson and your brain probably doesn’t immediately jump to indie music. The 30-year-old solo artist famously got his start after auditioning for The X Factor in 2010 and being put into world-conquering boyband One Direction. Tell anyone outside of his fandom you’re going to a Louis-cruated festival that features the likes of The Vaccines, Hinds and – until a scheduling conflict scuppers his appearance – a DJ set by The Libertines’ Carl Barat, and you’ll be met with reactions of complete bewilderment.

For The Vaccines’ Justin Young, that element of the unexpected was part of the appeal of accepting the invitation to perform. “I was so up for it [when I first heard Louis wanted us to play,” he says. “Probably 90 per cent of festivals are all the exact same line-up these days and I think one of the reasons we really wanted to do this was because it’s really fun playing to audiences that you would never normally play to and, they in turn, will never hear you. You’re sort of this blank canvas and you’re reminded of just how many people are out there that love music, but aren’t necessarily exposed to different corners of the scene.”

23-year-old punter Adriana, who bought her ticket to Away From Home just to see Tomlinson, backs this up: “I hadn’t heard any of the other bands before today.” Like most of the crowd today, she came to the festival early and watched every act. “It’s like getting recommendations from Louis, so I wanted to see what he likes. I really liked all of the artists – I’d probably go see them again at their own shows.”

Speak to Tomlinson and you can easily see his passion for the bands on the bill and beyond. As a kid growing up in Doncaster, the first band he fell in love with was Oasis (you can feel the Gallagher influence in his show, sound and style), while’s quietly been building a reputation as someone willing to give new bands a leg-up.

He describes himself as someone who is, when he has the time, “actively trying to look for new things” to excite him and gushes about Liverpool’s Stone, whom he’s particularly excited to see play at Away From Home today. “My best mate showed me them about four or five months ago and from the first time listening to them, it’s just really, really interesting,” he says. “Watching the live show – which I’ve only seen on YouTube – it looks like fucking chaos. Their lead singer’s an amazing performer. I’m honoured that they agreed to do it.”

Last year, it was reported that Tomlinson made another show of support to Manchester band Muraja, donating £4000 to the group after they had their gear stolen. For Away From Home 2022, he started a competition to find a new act to open the festival. “I’ve always been really interested in the development stage of band’s careers – I think they’re some of the most exciting times,” he explains. “So, you know, any way where I can help benefit [new bands] like that has always been really important to me.”

The festival is, he says, a chance for him to not only showcase rising acts, but also – as Adriana noted – to show his fans the bands that he loves and spends his time listening to. The latest band to be added to that list are Glaswegian four-piece Voodoos, who entered the contest to perform but had no expectations that they would be chosen. After whittling down all the entries, Tomlinson decided they would be the best fit. “We got some great entries, to be fair, but Voodoos just felt the most appropriate with the line-up and again, going off what I love listening to,” he explains.

After the band have performed, singer Piero Marcuccilli tells NME: “It was only one or two days ago that we got an email saying, ‘Do you still want to do this?’” He’s clearly still somewhat surprised to be there. The crowd – as is the case for every band on the day – greeted them warmly and wildly, despite their late addition to the line-up. “I wasn’t sure it was going to be Louis’ fans’ style of music, but they were screaming when we came on stage.”

Voodoos are no strangers to big support slots – they joined DMA’S on their Scottish dates last night and opened for Stereophonics in Dundee this summer – but a slot at Away From Home has given them a valuable opportunity that is getting harder to come by for new bands. “This is the first time we’ve played outside of the UK,” notes drummer Marco Conte. “Louis’s giving bands a leg up and that’s amazing that he can do that.”

The Scots aren’t the only less familiar band on the line-up today. San Diego surf-rockers Sunroom – who previously joined Tomlinson for the North and South American legs of his world tour earlier this year – have made the trip over from the US. “This is definitely the biggest crowd we’ve played to in our whole lives,” frontman Luke Asgian marvels during their set. Moments later, a group of girls at the back of the crowd scream along to every word of the band’s final song.

“It’s been monumentally valuable,” Asgian later tells NME backstage. “It’s definitely put us in front of a ton of people that we never would have been put in front of. It’s super-cool that he’s taken us under his wing.”

Guitarist Ashton Minnich adds: “I think it’s really cool how Louis uses his influence in music to help support smaller bands that he’s interested in.”

Tomlinson is far from the only artist to hold their own festival. There’s been a big rise in events curated by musicians themselves in recent years in all genres, be that Tyler, The Creator’s Camp Flog Gnaw, Justin Vernon and Aaron Dessner’s Eaux Claires or Courtney Barnett’s touring festival Here Or There. The fact that more and more artists are taking control over their own events, says Young, could be down to them “having more control than they’ve ever had before”.

The Vaccines frontman continues: “I think social media has created this kind of democratised way that we consume. All of sudden, you’ve cut out press or labels or management – whatever it may be – and people can speak directly to the artists they love and the fans that follow them. So I think there’s this empowerment of fandom and artists that comes with that.”

For much of the day at Away From Home 2022, the focus might be on other artists, but when it comes to the headline set, all eyes are on Tomlinson. He delivers a performance that wouldn’t feel out of place on the main stages of Reading & Leeds Festival, the guitar-driven sounds of his debut album ‘Walls’ mixing with amped-up versions of One Direction tracks ‘Drag Me Down’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. He throws in a handful of covers into the setlist that share another glimpse into his playlists too – first, a rendition of Catfish And The Bottlemen’s ‘7’, followed later by his take on Kings Of Leon’s ‘Beautiful War’.

In between it all, he airs two new songs – ‘Changes’, which sets lyrical reflection to a sweeping, slow indie sound in the same vein as one of Oasis’ softer moments, and ‘Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy’, on which he ramps up from plaintive verses to a stomping chorus. They’re two hints at where his imminent second album will take him. Although Tomlinson is far from a new artist, he sees his solo journey so far as not too dissimilar to the early days of some of the smaller acts on the festival’s line-up, saying the period around his first album had “an element of me going through my own development stage, but doing it in the public eye”. What’s about to come next will, he adds, “define me better as an artist”.

He grins: “I’m really excited about this next chapter. My first record, I’m immensely proud of it, but it was hard to work out where I stood in the industry coming out of a band the size of One Direction and exactly what One Direction were. Where I’ve got to on this record, I feel really, really proud of.”

“Any way I can help benefit new bands has always been really important to me” – Louis Tomlinson

For this next album, Tomlinson has looked to DMA’S’ last album ‘The Glow’, emboldened by the Australian trio’s open-minded approach to their songwriting. “With my first record, I think I’d been a bit close-minded in the sounds that I wanted to produce,” he says. “There’s a lot of interesting, dance-y elements that they brought into that record with [famed producer] Stuart Price and it just showed me that you can bring in these trendier sounds, but do them in a really authentic way.”

As Tomlinson promises to “follow my heart musically” in the future, he also has grand designs for the future of Away From Home. The plan is for the festival to move to a different location each year, while he says his “biggest dream” for 2023 is to expand the event to two days. Suggest stretching it to something even bigger – three days, multiple stages – and he can’t keep a broad grin from spreading across his face.

“Three days, camping… Yeah, that’d be good,” he beams. “I see it as a long-term thing. We’ve already doubled in size from the first year, so I’m just gonna keep chipping away at it. As long as I can do it, I’ll do it.”

#louis tomlinson #louis update #article #nme #august 2022

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mimisempai · 1 year

Text

Don't hide what's inside you

Summary

Frank, tired after jogging through the abandoned city, is surprised to see how carefully Bill takes care of him and his battered feet.

Notes

Continuing my journey with Bill and Frank… Hope you still appreciate it.

On AO3

Rating G - 1293 words

Frank was exhausted. Exhausted, but happy. He had found some sports clothes and sneakers that fit him in the abandoned clothing store, and so he had decided to go for a run. It was big enough, and for once he was happy to run for running's sake, not to escape.

Bill muttered that he didn't see the point of running for the sake of running, but that didn't stop Frank from enjoying it. However, in spite of his complaints, Bill had a clean towel and a fresh bottle of water ready for Frank when he came back. Showing once again how caring he was, even though he often tried to hide it behind layers of grumpy behavior.

Frank had just taken a relaxing shower, and after he had changed into some casual clothes, he had gone to sit on the couch next to Bill, who was reading a book.

But now that he was sitting, he didn't know where to put his feet. Even though he had been moving around a lot lately, his body, and especially his feet, were still feeling the effects of the intense exercise. He stretched them out in front of him, but this position did not bring the relief he was looking for, so he put them on the coffee table in front of him. There, too, the result was not convincing.

Suddenly, he saw Bill put down his book, get up and walk to the kitchen. There he heard him rummaging in the small medicine cabinet, and Frank watched as he returned with a small jar in his hand, which he placed on the armrest and sat back down on the couch. As soon as he was settled, he picked up one of the couch cushions and put it in his lap. Then Bill turned to Frank and said, pointing to his feet, "Put them on the cushion."

Frank, surprised, obeyed and leaned back against the armrest so he could place his bare feet on the cushion in Bill's lap.

Bill opened the small jar and put some ointment on his hands. A sweet floral scent quickly filled the air and Bill's hands settled on Frank's left foot. As soon as Frank felt two thumbs pressing gently and firmly on the sole of his foot, he couldn't hold back a sigh of contentment.

Bill's hands were amazingly skilled and soft. After all, Frank shouldn't have been surprised; Bill had shown more than a little thoughtfulness since the first day he'd served him dinner, whether it was the care he'd taken to display the food, the way he'd served him wine, or the clothes he'd prepared for him. Many small details that spoke volumes about Bill.

Bill's two thumbs massaged the ball of Frank's foot in circles, and it felt so good that Frank couldn't stop himself from moaning.

Bill stopped immediately and asked in a concerned tone, "Did I hurt you?"

Frank shook his head, "Oh no, not at all, keep going.

Bill chuckled softly and resumed his circular movements for a few moments. It was as if he knew exactly where to press. Then Bill lingered on each toe, each knuckle, paying attention to Frank's slightest reactions and adjusting his movements accordingly. Finally, he released the left foot, reapplied some ointment to his hands, and moved to the right foot, giving it the exact same treatment from sole to toe.

When he was finished, as Frank tried to remove his feet, Bill held them back and laid them on the pillow. He then lifted Frank's sweatpants legs up to his knees before applying more ointment to his hands. This time he went up Frank's shins before gently massaging his calves, which were stiff from the effort. Once again, he dug out every knotted muscle and skillfully massaged them, accompanied by Frank's appreciative moans. He continued in this same careful manner with both of Frank's legs.

As he gently put the pants legs back on, Frank said to him in amazement, “You're so good at this.”

Bill replied, "I... I did it for my mother in the end. Since she couldn't afford a home health aide, I trained as best I could and was able to give her at least some relief and comfort until the end."

Frank was an emotional person, it had always been a part of his character, even long before the epidemic hit. But Bill, with that mixture of bear-like behavior and the incredible gentleness he hid behind it, had the ability to heighten his emotions even more. There was no doubting that he had loved his mother, just judging by the devotion with which he cared for her piano, which was the only piece of furniture that hadn't gathered dust.

It moved Frank to the core of his being to have Bill share some of the details of his past with him in this way, to reproduce for him the gestures that he had so thoughtfully given to his mother.

Bill now had a hand on Frank's ankle and looked away, as if afraid he had revealed too much.

Frank straightened up and reached for Bill's hand on his ankle. He took it and kissed each knuckle before he said quietly, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Bill shook his head and started to pull his hand away.

But Frank stopped him and insisted, "It's not nothing to me. Be it the massage or be it what you have just shared with me."

He straightened until he was sitting next to Bill, then let go of his hand and pushed the pillow to the floor before taking his place on Bill's lap, leaving the man gasping in surprise. Frank, who was now straddling Bill, took his hands and brought them to rest on his own hips. Then framing Bill's stunned face with his hands, he said softly, "Bill, when I told you that I was staying for a few days, I was actually thinking of staying a lot longer than a few days. So since I plan to stay, I'm happy to learn new things about you. I'm happy to know that you have learned to give massages to help your mother and that I am now the recipient of such care. This is not nothing to me. Even less so in the current situation. On the contrary, it's everything to me.”

Frank leaned his head forward and pressed his lips to Bill's in a kiss that would convince the man better than words. Then, as he pulled himself up to catch his breath, still holding Bill's face between his hands, he repeated, "Thank you."

When Bill nodded gently and replied softly, "You're welcome," he knew that Bill had gotten the message.

Frank let go of his face and, still sitting on his lap, dropped his head forward and they ended up forehead to forehead.

Bill slid his hands from Frank's waist up his back and pressed him against his chest.

Frank breathed against him, their breaths mingling, "Yeah, just like that."

Bill hummed and Frank felt him relax against him. Pecking his lips, he added gently, "Don't be afraid to show me who you really are. I'll take it all. The good, the bad, the happy, the sad, the beautiful, the ugly, I want to know it all."

Bill nodded slowly, "I'll try." Then he pecked Frank's lips in turn and continued, "Only if you do the same."

Frank replied bluntly, "It's a deal," and then, still sitting on his lap, he slipped a little and let his head fall on Bill's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, in a silence that didn't need to be filled. For they had told each other everything.

And that was enough for now.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Bill and Frank masterlist : here

#the last of us #the last of us spoilers #the last of us show #bill the last of us #frank the last of us #bill and frank #bill x frank #true love #strawberry lovers #developing relationship #the last of us fanfiction #foot rub

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