#I'm also not super active here

[6nimus9]

Zippy did another OC's poll and for funsies I dropped Rain, so why not share here too. 💕

I'm not so active in Twitter like I am in Tumbr, but he seems to have a chance so might as well share HAHA

Vote here! ✨️

[emile-tb]

(CW - Body horror and disturbing imagery under the cut!) Art dump ^_^ Narrators featured! Mantra - @deviousnarrator Moss - @lilydoesdrawsometimes

[youre-in-the-jungle-baby]

Axl Rose // Slash

[arendaes]

It's 5:30am, I can't sleep because I had a bad night last night and I need to vent.

Sometimes I wonder if not being more open about my offline life is to my detriment, because it never fails that I seem to attract people who see me as someone who's easy to walk all over. So many people I've known both online and off really like to treat me however they like, including being rude, condescending, and sometimes just downright cruelly, but the moment I have enough and draw a line in the sand they just want to wipe it away and tell me all about how I'm the one in the wrong.

I once had a friend who ignored my existence for six months and then got mad when I told her I wasn't coming to her son's birthday party. When I say "ignored my existence", I don't just mean unanswered texts; I mean I worked at a store in town and saw her in there multiple times. Every time I would wave and say hi while she was looking right at me and she would walk right by me as if I wasn't there. She knew I worked there too because we met working there. Literally we went from hanging out every day off we had together to that and still she got mad when I was hurt and just didn't want to come to a child's goddamned birthday party (when I have no kid of my own) because of it. The kid was only a year old so it wasn't like he knew who I was, either.

And online has been worse in a lot of ways. I made a friend a few years ago back when I first started getting involved in fandom. At the time I was resistant to the idea but now I realize I befriended him out of pity, because no one seemed to really want to be involved with him and he'd always been so nice to me. That was a mistake, because it turned out he was an alt-right chud who waited until he thought we were close enough and then started deliberately baiting me into arguments where he'd say horrible shit to me and make me upset and then fucking laugh He admitted it was fun for him to upset me. He stopped laughing when I finally stood up for myself and cut him out of my life, only to repeatedly ignore my requests for him to leave me alone. He would send me messages and like my posts, along with asking his friends to do the same and even writing a fic about one of my favorite characters where an unnamed OC treated said character poorly (all while said OC said things that were word for word things I said to him in out last conversation) and posting it where he knew I'd see it. Thankfully his conscience got the better of him with that last one and he took it down just a few days after posting, but the damage was done. He's the reason my ask box is closed most of the time and I have it set to where only followers can message me or comment on my posts. I think he's moved on - I hope he's moved on - but I live with this ever-present fear he hasn't and if I let my guard drop he'll start again.

And this is just two of the biggest incidents in a long line of family members saying I can't have boundaries with them because they're faaaamily and honest conversations with friends about how they've hurt me only to have them turn around and blame that hurt on myself. I'm just...so confused about what I can even do anymore. It feels like no matter what I do I just attract people who want to use and abuse my good nature. Hell, it's been so bad that I typed that and immediately thought "are you good-natured or do you just have an unnecessarily high opinion of yourself?" Which I know is the brain demon talking, but sometimes it's hard to drown it out, especially when this is all I've ever known.

[france-the-third]

man i love trying making plans with a friend and 1) they forget or 2) they answer my request to shift the plans slightly after the time we made plans for /s

[hiisheart]

( alright so. i spent ~72hrs in the ER but i was actually able to go home cuz my psychiatrist offered to help me get my meds stabilized. but in the meantime i'm gonna be home w my parents away from my apartment and probably gonna have to apply for medical leave through my school. and i can already smell just how much it'll suck to go through that process. but i'm here, i'm okay and i just want to be okay. thanks for being patient with me <3 )

[no-name-blu]

This'll include the Gameshow Wally ask blog, posts will start coming slower than usual

I got stuff to do and grass to touch unfortunately 😔

[sergeifyodorov]

why are you a straightsid truther

he's straight

[melodyofthevoid]

Bodies are Business and Business is Good

Tw: blood, torture, amputation, etc. (It’s Heather) 

Word Count: 3,326

There were fewer things more satisfying, Heather thought, than the slight hiss of the gas lamp in her work office.

A frankly wonderful modern invention, much more controlled than simple wax candles and less likely to blow out at a moment’s notice when she had her back turned or was in the middle of delicate work. Natural light wasn’t exactly an option, not here. And her clients tended to demand their money’s worth.

Plus, it was so nice to listen to the small intake of breath when her victims realized she was there. And the narrowing of their eyes as she became fully visible.

She turned the key and struck a match, blinking as her own eyes adjusted to the light, bouncing off of the thick carved stone and cast iron tools lining the walls. The vials and jars just waiting to be filled. And, shining off of the few exposed scales of the exhausted mer panting and strapped to her operation table.

As expected, they flinched when she descended the stairs, pulling at the restraints with all of their might. Clearly not enough, but a valiant effort.

“Apologies for the delay, but since you so stubbornly held onto your disguise, it put a damper on my evening plans the other day. I’m sure you must be thirsty.”

The angel fish snarled, flaring their bright yellow tail and thrashing harder, their scales– iridescent– bright blues, yellows and greens that would make for excellent amulets or accessories.

She made a note to get more leather and wire for the necklaces. Accessories sold well. Not as well as her other products, but well enough. A status symbol to those who were in the know.

“Fuck off- you- you-”

“Bitch? Monster? I’m sure I’ve heard it before. Believe me, I have.”

A well in the back, hidden by a few boxes, caught her victim’s eye as she walked over to it, grabbing a nearby bucket and pumping it full. Saltwater smell filled the air, overpowering the metallic tang of Heather’s tools.

The mer eyed the bucket, thrashing less as she approached. Ah, good. Maybe this one would be cooperative. Or somewhat more cooperative.

“Actually… Before we get started, and I let you have this, I have a simple question for you. Do you happen to know the location of any other mermaid colonies? You don’t have to tell me all of them, just one or two.”

Any relief that the mer–oh what was their name again? It didn’t really matter, the mer’s relief vanished, eyes narrowing to slits and their fins flaring out.

“Tell you- no. Fuck you. You and your dog won’t get your hands on any more mer- not if I can help it.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, he is something of a dog, look at you.”

She ran a hand along their tail, ghosting over the gashes that lined it. Wounds that’d barely scabbed over during transport. Other bruises and scratches marred their skin and fins. Heather scowled. Charles was new, but that didn’t excuse abject incompetence.

This would put something of a dent in what she could sell. Charles would be compensated accordingly.

“I told him minimal damage, and yet here you are. Can’t even follow basic directions right. But I digress. If you won’t offer what I need, there’s no sense in dragging this out.”

Heather mulled over where to start, eyeing her knives and branding rods. Carving took longer, but risked too much thrashing for a clean cut. Fins, for all of their use, tore rather easily if not handled properly.

Morro —ah, right that was their name— looked to be healthy enough that draining them first wouldn’t end in them bleeding out entirely.

The needle it was then.

“Now where did I put it… ah, here it is.”

She hummed under her breath, pulling out three glass jars, and her needle, cleaning off the point of it and eyeing Morro’s exposed forearms. A good thing that they were tense already. That certainly made things easier.

A particularly exposed vein on their right arm made for the perfect target and Heather couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine as the metal slid into the skin, flesh giving way to the needle’s piercing point. So satisfying.

Immediately crimson blood filled the glass tank of the gun, flowing down to the tube and filling up the first jar. The lifeblood of her operation, so to speak. So many customers, all vying for that most viscous and vital of her products. And who was she to deny them when she was living testimony of its efficacy?

Of course she’d never give away all her trade secrets for her longevity. She wasn’t born yesterday.

Or even within the last half century.

In any case, the blood flowed easily, and already one jar gleamed with it. Full to the brim. Switching one out for the other, Heather placed it off on a table, taking a moment to admire the flicker of the gas lamp light against the glass and crimson. Perhaps one day she’d find some other substance, a gemstone, a resin, something that could capture the beauty of her craft.

She doubted it though.

With a second jar nearly filled, Morro’s skin showed the effects. Ashy, almost clammy in places. Their gaze unfocused and any attempts at thrashing much weaker than before. Reaching the limits of what they could give today.

Heather switched out the jars one last time, watching the stream slowly taper off as their breathing slowed down and body relaxed against their will. For their trouble, she poured some of the sea water in the bucket over them, giving them a pat on the shoulder as she extracted the needle from their vein and bandaged the wound. Some blood sluggishly seeping through the gauze.

“You,” Morro slurred, “you’ll pay for this. Indra will hunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Mmm, is that so? Tell me, how long do you think I’ve done this work?”

Her captive didn’t respond. Only glaring with bared fangs.

“Believe me, if your goddess really gave a damn, I’d think she’d have taken notice by now. I’m not going anywhere, and for the time being? Neither are you.”

“The debt will be paid- MHMPH!”

Heather tied the gag tighter, rolling her eyes.

“That’s enough out of you. I’ll spare myself the usual theatrics. Feel free to still scream though, I don’t mind. You’ll give me what I want either way.”

Finally, Heather could get to the real work.

Choosing the right knife to start with always proved to be the most taxing part of the work. She’d tried typical fish scalers in the past, but those were better suited for the fishmongers and fresh markets. The scales she worked with required more work than that. But on the other hand, using the back of the wrong knife chipped and damaged the scales, and no one wanted to buy half a scale.

Heather’s fingers danced along the different blades, intermittently picking one up, twirling it, feeling the heft and then setting it back down, moving on to the next one. Eventually she settled on her favorite, a long curving blade, sturdy and sharp. Tempered steel reflecting her own dark gaze back at her.

Starting from the base of the tail, as she’d done a thousand times before, she wedged the back end of it underneath the first line of scales, and pushed upwards.

The previously limp mermaid jerked up, a muffled yelp coming from beneath the gag. Of course, Morro barely possessed the strength to so much as twitch. Too tired to fully put up a fight, but Heather tightened the straps on their tail anyway. With that secure, she continued pushing up, the shining iridescent angelfish scales now tinted red at the base as they fell to the floor below. They’d be cleaned and polished later.

Despite the gag, Heather winced as the mer tried to shriek, to throw her off through the only means they had left. Admirable if it weren’t so annoying. She took a step back and stood back up, towering over her prey. Cooing with a voice as sickly sweet as she could make it.

“Oh relax, this isn’t even the worst part. But we can get to that if you want. It might make this seem pleasant in comparison. How does that sound?”

Morro shook their head, but she’d already flipped her blade around and dug it into the membrane of the main tail fin, slicing through with no resistance. The bright yellow would make for a lovely trophy for the right buyer.

It was a little too bright for her tastes though. It clashed with the decor.

Hitching breaths came from above, strained and hissing through clenched teeth. The poor thing was trying to keep themself calm even with the gag. She laughed, cutting through the dorsal and pectoral fins next, setting them aside to dry.

Muffled moans and cries left Morro and Heather checked their cheeks to see if there were tears. A frustratingly rare commodity. Not that they did anything but clients always wanted them. By all means she could just sell some sea water, but she had standards.

She clicked her tongue to see that there were no tears. A shame.

With the last of the fins removed, Heather spun her knife back around and continued peeling away the scales, with far less reaction this time, which was also in and of itself a shame. She liked the fight so long as she could still do her job. Heather’d done Morro a mercy if anything. After an amputation, pulling a few scales probably felt like nothing. Like pulling nails off of a hand freshly devoid of a few fingers.

Sometimes though, the sudden lack of fight signaled an end to that night’s session. Ignoring her subjects too much could be costly.  Brushing the last few whole scales into a second bucket, Heather stood back up, examining her work.

Morro was slumped over, exhausted from the strain and blood loss. Wiping any excess off of her knife on her apron, Heather did her usual checks, pulse, reflex, breathing, etc. They were still alive, which meant that she’d get at least a few more pints out of them by the time they eventually kicked the bucket. It’d be such a waste if she only got one day’s worth.

They’d hold out longer than that, she’d make sure of it.

With a sigh, she got out her needle and thread, stitching up the gashes Charles left and cleaning out the wounds. Bandaging up the stump near the tail. No infections, and no potential loss. The blood was no good from a dead mer.

As much as she liked the final processing steps, she still had other orders to fulfill, and going out of her way to catch another prospect? A waste of her time and resources. Nothing wasted, not if she could help it. 

Her hairnet came off, as did the gloves and apron, all placed in their proper places far enough away that any nearby officers couldn’t smell the fresh blood on her. She needed to replace the shirt though. Again. The price she paid for wearing white.

Ah well, no skin off her back. She disposed of any evidence once or twice a year. Fireplaces served a variety of uses.  

A quick shower and a change of clothes left Heather feeling far more accomplished and relaxed now that the euphoria of her work had passed. There was a certain… thrill to it, to the slice of flesh under her knife. But getting lost in that feeling led to less than precise work. In less vials of blood and damage to the organs she needed to sell later. So, for the sake of her own work, she had to take breaks. Balance was key, and experience taught her well.

Maybe for the evening she could fully unwind with some luxury time. She’d just have to find that bottle of wine and those chocolates she’d been saving.

The glasses were in the cabinet of her office, so here was hoping that there weren’t any last minute visitors. She’d had enough business for the day.

Though as she entered the room from the back, she sighed. No such luck.  

A certain red-haired captain stood in the main lobby, smoking a cigar. Blowing rings of smoke into the air with his usual air of disinterest. Odd, he’d delivered her fresh supply not even a year and a half ago. Confusion outweighed her irritation at the intrusion. For now.

“To what do I owe this visit, Captain?”

Fachnan exhaled, tapping the stray ash onto the floor. Sullying it.

Asshole.

“Ah, Heather. I was hoping you’d stay in that dungeon for a little while longer. I find it’s easier to take in your trophies without you drooling all over them. We were stopping here for a short time and well, I figured I’d drop by.”

“Mhm…sure.”

The twitch in Fachnan’s hand and dart of his eyes didn’t exactly scream “casual chat”.

“Why’re you really here, and make it quick. You’re getting ash all over my perfectly good carpet. I do try to keep an air of respectability here.”

“My apologies, your majesty, I’ll be sure to clean your lair to a shine.”

Heather’s jaw tensed, teeth close to grinding. Unnecessary stress meant unnecessary aging, deep breaths in, deep breaths out. She forced herself to relax, schooling her expression into neutral disdain.

“False deference doesn’t suit you, Captain. I’d get your nose off of the floor before I lose my patience.”

“Fine, fine. Since you’re in a hurry I’ll make it quick.”

Fachnan gestured wide, splaying himself across the couch in her office with all the grace and respect she’d come to expect. Letting out a sigh, Heather grabbed the first open bottle of wine she could find and poured some out. Counting down the minutes until he left.

“The reason for my visit is simple, I want to do you a favor.”

She arched her brow, sipping at her glass.

“You’ve just been a source of income for me, Lady of the Sea. Owe at least some of my success to you. I’ve got a tip you might be interested in, for a small price, of course. Can’t just give this sort of thing to any ametuer.”

Actively sending Charles out on another hunt before she could properly chastise him for damaging this merchandise? She’d pass.

Besides, she paid Fachnan for tangible work. If she threw her fortune any idiot who walked in promising a lead, she’d have exhausted her coiffers long ago. Her decades of experience were worth far more than what one measly captain thought he knew.

“Charming, but I’m not looking to take on another project or search for one at the moment. Frankly, I don't like drawing more attention to myself than necessary. You know how these new officers get, all bright eyed and full of belief in ‘law and order’. The guard’s changed in the past few years, and I’m not exactly looking to make any waves at present. The fewer bodies, the better.”

She sipped at her wine once more, mulling over the best way to politely but firmly tell Fachnan to fuck off. Alone time was calling her name like the sirens she cut to ribbons.

“Well that’s a shame. Here I thought you were interested in a shark mer. Guess not then.”

With an inhale, the wine went down her throat and Heather choked and coughed. It burned all the way up to her sinuses, but nothing compared to the spark of interest. Still catching her breath, she unlatched a compartment in the desk behind her, pulling out a sharpened knife and setting it on the wood beside her.

He could lie or take out his sword if he wanted, but her reputation spoke for itself. There’d be one winner here.

“I see I have your attention then,” he smirked, “I’ll admit, the gold was a bluff. This one’s on the house.”

“Bullshit. What do you want?”

“Fine, this mer in question is something of… a thorn in my side. You taking care of her would be doing me a service, Madame Butcher. She appears to be a hybrid, if that sweetens the deal.”

It did. Quite a bit in fact.

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Dead certain. Last saw her face off the coast of Paign. Goes by the name of Delta. About seven feet tall, blue fins, blue coat, she’s fairly hard to miss. Has a whole crew of mer from what I could tell.”

A whole crew… she let out a breath.

“No shit. Typically I don’t get in the middle of feuds, or do bounty work for that matter, but just this once? I think I can agree with that. In fact…”

Heather stood up, walking over to a mahogany cabinet, carved with intricate flowers and vines. An inherited piece, and not even a forced one. They’d handed it over after the funeral, which was well and good. Natural causes were less messy to deal with generally speaking. She pressed the central-most flower’s petals and the compartment toward the bottom opened up, shining vials revealed within it.

“A gift, to a valuable partner. For your health.”

She held out a crimson vial. Heart blood.

“I’d like to keep my more reliable freelancer at sea for a few more years.”

Seconds ticked by, and Fachnan shook his head, “No, like I said. This one’s free. I just want her gone.”

Pirates and their honor codes. She rolled her eyes and set the vial back into its case.

Although speaking of…

“By the way, how’s that associate of yours doing? Changed his tune yet? I know he’s got quite the reputation for finding what he’s looking for. I’d like to use his expertise.”

Deep lines set into Fachnan’s face as he glanced away. Shoulders lowered. His bravado evaporated leaving behind only bitter salt.

“He and I won’t be seeing each other any time soon, gods willing. My only hope is it was quick.”

Ah. So it was like that then.

“I see, I apologize. I’ve been rather busy as of late, haven’t kept up with the times. My condolences for your loss.”

He grit his teeth, expression darkening further.

“It was his decision. We parted ways some time ago. He knew the risks of going soft, and look where it got him.”

“Well, that is how it is sometimes. Connections come and connections go. Time stops for a lucky few.”

The dots weren’t hard to connect, as hard as Fachnan fought to keep his aloof persona intact. Whatever drama or series of events led to this, frankly she didn’t care. What mattered was her prize. He could mourn his lost flame all he wanted on his own time.

With the last of his cigar fully gone, Fachnan stared at the embers before standing up from the couch, lifting his chin to look down at her. She met his gaze with a smile every bit as sharp as her tools.

“I’ll be heading off then. Send word when you need my services again.”

“Oh I will, don’t you worry. Thank you for stopping by, your help is much appreciated.”

He didn’t respond, only turning for the door and leaving Heather alone with her wine and her thoughts. Her smile stretched wider across her face and she let out a laugh, growing in intensity as euphoria set in.

A shark. A shark hybrid.

Looked like she’d have to clear her schedule to ensure that this… Delta could get all the attention that Heather could offer. Get the care and quality work that she deserved as the future crown jewel of her collection.

Morro could be rest assured that their suffering would be brief. She had preparations to make.

[bistaxx]

Heyo! I figured I should probably mention on here that I'm getting surgery done on my dominant wrist tomorrow! I'm gonna probably be less active while I recover- my queue is pretty full with rb's but I don't think I'm gonna do liveblogs or original posts much if it all while my wrist recovers!

I'll probably still be lurking around in the meanwhile though ^u^

[walkingstackofbooks]

Treat- Gashiar "Protective Garak"

It took me quite a while to remember if I'd ever written something matching that description hehe XD (I really don't write that much Garashir, and what I do write is canon-typical-subtext with more than a dash of Garak's-a-dick-even-when-he's-trying lmao.)

But actually, yeah - a whole chapter of Vision Awry was Garak being protective over Julian - even if Julian was very much resenting it! - and that definitely was something I was very proud of. So, my apologies if you've already read it, but here's an extract from that!

<Link to ask game here!>

--

“I trust your experiment was successful?” 

Bashir scowled at him. “You really can’t let anything go, can you?” he said, frustration evident in his voice.

“I am certain you've made that observation before,” replied Garak, raising his eyebrows at the doctor. 

Bashir pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, before locking eyes with Garak. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll tell you. But I’m trusting you, Garak - you can’t tell Girani, or anyone else. Somehow, they don’t understand how important this is. But you’ll understand, won’t you?”

Garak could almost taste the doctor’s desperation. “I’m sure your explanation will be enlightening,” he said carefully; not a lie, but not a promise, either. 

Apparently it was enough for Bashir. He sat up straighter in his chair, still holding Garak’s gaze with a determined intensity - as though eye contact was a task that required great focus. 

“I think you know that this is the third time I’ve re-lived this day, and that in each of the three previous versions, Chief O’Brien died.” He paused for confirmation; Garak nodded. “Well, the first time it happened by accident - but on the second and third days I was able to synthesise a serum that allowed the time-travelling effect to take place once again. We still haven’t worked out exactly what’s happening, but to put it simply, it seems that absorbing delta series radioisotopes into my bloodstream allows me to experience a temporal shift while I sleep.”

“And that’s what you were formulating on my counter,” said Garak, mind racing to work out why Girani was supposedly so opposed to it. “Excuse my ignorance, Doctor, but that does sound rather dangerous - almost as if you’re giving yourself radiation poisoning.”

Bashir shrugged. “In effect, I am, yes,” he said, “but only very mildly, and it seems to disappear when the day resets. Trust me - I’ve given myself a very thorough medical workout, and there are no physical side-effects. It’s perfectly safe.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Garak replied. “I assume any mental side-effects are equally well-accounted for?”

“Girani’s wrong about me being suicidal, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bashir said bluntly. 

Garak pretended to take a sip of his now-too-cold tea, watching the doctor carefully over the rim of the mug. Bashir continued to meet Garak’s eyes coolly, daring the tailor to argue back. 

“I bow to your expertise, Doctor.” 

Bashir’s eyes widened slightly before his lips settled into a smile, pleased at Garak’s response, just as Garak had known he would be. With his next question already on his tongue, Garak leant forward. 

“If I may ask, what precautions are you taking so that you don’t become so in the future?” 

Immediately, the doctor opened his mouth, but then closed it, sitting back and appearing to properly consider the question. This was satisfying; Garak had hoped that Bashir would find it difficult to just brush his words away. Although he did believe that Bashir genuinely did not think he was a danger to himself, he could not yet be certain that the doctor’s self-assessment was more accurate than Girani’s.

“I’m not going to just… give up,” said Bashir slowly, eyes flickering from side to side as he collected his thoughts. “That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? If I can’t save Miles, then I’m going to keep going until I do save him, no matter how I feel. And if he doesn’t die, then it’s all over anyway, and everything will be fine, again.”

“And how are you feeling, Doctor?”

“What?” Bashir looked confused, as though he actually couldn’t imagine why Garak would have asked him that.

“You said that you’re going to keep going, no matter how you feel. How are you feeling today, my dear?” 

It wasn’t sentiment asking the question, Garak assured himself. It was a natural continuation of the trap that Bashir was talking himself into, and the doctor would never answer if he didn’t believe that Garak cared. 

“You asked me something similar in the infirmary, too. Since when did we discuss our feelings?” the young man asked playfully, trying to cover up his vulnerability with a gentle laugh.

“My dear doctor, your feelings are always on display to me . Every discussion we have is positively awash with your emotions. You do not try to hide them.”

That was not entirely true - Julian simply wasn’t good at hiding how he felt. There had been many times over the years where the doctor had suddenly grown quieter, more reserved, some sort of shame stealing the passion or hurt from his voice; but it was not usually so difficult to discern what Bashir’s true feelings were. 

“Earlier, you said I was a puzzle,” Bashir said.

“Earlier, you were.”

“Then why are you asking, Garak?” the doctor replied with a soft, weary sigh. “If you’ve managed to figure me out, why not just tell me how I’m feeling?”

Sitting back, Garak clasped his hands together in front of him, considering if he should take up that invitation, and how far he could go before Bashir decided he’d had enough. 

“Well, if that’s what you’d like…” he said.

Bashir scoffed. “Everyone else seems to be, so I guess I might as well hear you, too.”

Garaks’ lips curled up into a wide smile. “You’re angry, doctor, and frustrated. You resent being put on this fifty-two-hour watch - and actually, I do believe you’re embarrassed by it, too. You’re scared it might interfere with your ability to save Chief O’Brien, and you’re distressed by the memories of watching him die. And you’re trying to ignore the possibility that it might be impossible to ever save him--”

“That’s not true!” Bashir interrupted. 

“Isn’t it, Doctor?” asked Garak blandly. “You’ve accepted that all this time travel might be…futile?”

“Of course I haven’t!” he exclaimed. “You wouldn’t either, if it was someone that you lo-- that you cared about. There’s got to be a way that Miles can survive today - and however long it takes me, I’m going to find it, you can count on that.”

“Hmm,” Garak said. “I am afraid to say that I remain unconvinced. I cannot claim to know how the universe works, but if Chief O’Brien is supposed to die today, then I suppose the day will end with Chief O’Brien dying. You cannot cheat fate, Doctor, no matter how hard you try.”

“I won’t accept that, Garak,” Bashir shot back. “You can’t know that you’re right.”

“And nor, my dear Doctor, can you,” said Garak, increasing the harshness of his voice. “How many days will it take you to stop chasing this pointless quest? Twenty? Fifty? One hundred?”

“I don’t know!” Bashir stood up sharply. “But you can jolly well bet that it won’t be today.”

“Your loyalty is commendable,” said Garak, also rising out of his chair. “But it should not be your priority. Your optimism cannot last forever, Doctor: what happens when it runs out? When will you push yourself beyond your limits, and will anyone be able to catch you when you do?”

Bashir crossed his arms. “You’d do anything for Cardassia,” he retorted, “whether or not it was good for you, loyalty to the state comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Well in the Federation, we’re loyal to our friends - they come first. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to understand that.”

Sometimes, Garak felt as though he was merely a spectator in his own body, hearing his voice speak words that he hadn’t yet thought of. His need to win this argument, prove himself right overcame everything else, and muscle memory took over, caution giving way to borderline cruelty.

 “They’re hardly the same, Doctor, but I would not expect you to understand that, either. You have clearly failed to grasp the most basic concept in Cardassian literature.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I speak of the repetitive epic, Doctor. There is nothing that ever really changes. Oh, small details might, you may be able to buy some extra minutes, even hours for our Chief of Operations. But in the end, you will fail, just as you’ve failed before, and you will be far better off if you accept that now. Chief O’Brien is doomed, and you will be too if you continue down this foolhardy path.”

“This isn’t a Cardassian novel, Garak, this is my life!” Bashir snarled, stepping angrily towards the tailor. “How could I live with myself if I didn’t try? If I give up on Miles, I might as well give up on myself!” 

Bashir was breathing heavily; for a few seconds, Garak watched the rough rise and fall of his chest as the doctor started to recompose himself. The momentary distraction was enough for Garak to swallow his retort, and before he could say something that he would really regret, he walked over to the replicator. 

“More tea?” he asked, causing a huff of breathless laughter from the other man. 

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” Bashir replied incredulously. “More tea? ”

“I think we’ve both made our positions clear,” Garak said. “And now, I am going to make some more tea. Would you like some?”

[wundrousarts]

hi I hope this doesn’t sound like a demand lol but I love how you draw jupiter and I hope you draw him more

your art is so cool by the way I really like your character lineup 🥺

Thank you so much!! I literally never draw Jupiter, on account of my inability to draw 1. adult men and 2. beards, BUT it’s something I need to / want to get better at. The only other time I’ve drawn him was that lineup which I did super quick, so it was fun to try and think of an actual design so I can try to draw him more!

[ID: Three half-colored digital sketches of Jupiter North from Nevermoor. They show him as a kid with messy hair, a young adult with a mullet and mustache, and an adult with longer hair and a fuller beard. End ID.]

Details on my Jupiter design / headcanons (?) for his life under the cut:

I started with the middle— in my layers, I dubbed him to be “teen” Jupiter, originally intending for him as a senior scholar, but as time went on I figured he was more like, early 20s young adult Jove. The Wunsoc sweater is just still there on the adults because I didn’t want to redraw <3

I feel like Wunsoc, especially with Dearborn and Murgatroyd prowling the halls, holds its student’s appearances to a certain standard. Sure, society members are representatives of the society for the rest of their lives once they graduate, but their time in school is their first introduction to that life. It's their debut as society members. We see this in a lot of stuff with Holliday, in Hollowpox and in the one Silverborn snippet, how she's manufacturing an image for Mog and co. and physical appearance plays a part in it.

Going with this: I feel like Wunsoc would expect their students to keep their appearance clean and approachable somewhat. Jupiter gives me a vibe of the kid who had a crazy growth spurt, and was able to grow a beard before graduating– BUT I don't know if Wunsoc (really just the Scholar Mistresses) would be crazy for that. So I imagine that he's relatively clean-shaven for the most part, nowhere near modern Jove, and then starts to grow out his facial hair a bit more as a senior scholar where I imagine things would lax a bit, and then just commit fully to growing a beard once he properly graduates.

So young adult Jupiter is perhaps in his early 20s, a somewhat recent Wunsoc graduate. I'm a mullet Jupiter truther, where his hair is longer in the back, and had to represent that. Younger Jove's is messier and more fun; he's not too concerned about his image as he hasn't quite reached that laundry list of titles and accolades yet.

Present-day adult Jupiter is still rocking the mullet style, just now it's longer and styled a bit more professionally. But let's be real– it doesn't stay this way. It totally gets easily messed up from his hats, and Jove loves to have fun and entertain people, Plus, he's a busy man, constantly stressed and running around. While the hair here might be great for say, a formal meeting or a magazine cover, the hair most folks end up seeing him with tends to be a bit more wild. He definitely starts to resemble his younger self's hair more after a rowdy night or a stressful endeavor.

Kid Jupiter– not much to say here, tbh. I figured I'd stick with the longer hair he has as an adult, kinda rowdy. Not a mullet yet, though! I was thinking of the part in Nevermoor where he starts talking about the rules he broke and stuff he got up to as a Wunsoc student, and how Hawthorne started taking notes, and made his hair similar to the rowdy hair of our favorite bestie. However, while Hawthorne's hair is curly, I'm of the belief that Jupiter's hair is definitely pretty straight. So no curlicues for him </3

Hopefully now that I've started to nail down a design for Jupiter, I can draw him more!! I always have soooo many Nevermoor ideas circling around in my brain. I love thinking about designs for various characters and the reasonings behind different aspects of their appearance.

[astradyke]

im actuall going to be crazy busy for like a few days so if u dont hear from me i am okay and not to worry after 👍 as i said like a month ago lol when college hits i will be less active but we're finally at the College Hitting part where im forcing myself to be inactive bc i think spending too much time on tumblr makes me anxious? i keep finding myself like, NEEDING to check whenever anything happens so i don't Miss Anything, but like... i think it's okay for me to just enjoy without having to worry about being imminently at the scene of the crime. dunno! anyway i'll still be deeply online but like way less, i have 100 pages to read (slightly more actually) and an event to go to and events to plan and Laundry (the phannie killer) so. yeah :) just thought i'd say something bc usually ijm insane here but anyway thats my like brief life update

[moe-broey]

Guy who doesn't know anything and never learns voice: "Yeah I can work on this smaller project to take a break from my bigger projects. Surely it won't become Another Big Project."

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

hi i’m like really new to the fandom and am obsessed with roadrat and specifically junkrat, do you have any fanfic/author or artist recommendations 👉👈

Sure! I mostly only know artists, I don't read a ton of fanfiction. Some roadrat/junkrat artists I know of are:

@/nudziarino

@/wachtelspinat

@/mefjeff

@/parasitecompany (tho I don't think they draw much ovw anymore)

@/renelie (multiship)

@/transjunkrat (multiship, mainly boombox)

Also I recommend just using the search bar on tumblr & browsing the roadrat and junkrat tags! There's a lot of stuff from over the years, and if you wanna see the artists that are still active you can organize it by "latest." (sorry kinda self-explanatory tbh but this is what i do when i wanna see new art and stuff)

For fics, I'm not as familiar with the authors & who's still active... I don't have a huge attention span for reading and tbh I mostly read 18+ fic if I read fic at all so idk what to recommend dkfnjsdfndsn;; In particular I really liked "A place to stand." by Orphan on AO3, tho. (has some explicit scenes but not necessarily the only focus)

hope this helps!

[septembersghost]

received an ask that was asked not to be posted, but because of it, and because of the thread sent around this morning, i want to tell you why i never find casual or "satirical" antisemitism or racism funny or acceptable: when i was in highschool, i was horribly bullied. pick a reason - i was out of district with affluent kids, so they made fun of me for being poor, for my clothes, for my curly hair, for my body, for my shyness, for my interests, whatever. in 10th grade, we had to do semester long comprehensive projects/presentations on a topic in modern european history. i chose the holocaust. as difficult as i knew this would be to study with intent, i made this choice because members of my extended family were lost, because we had a dear family friend who was a survivor (wrote a book and ran a shoah museum), and because i was old enough that i needed to try and understand, because this shadow of horror and grief had always been a part of my jewish heritage. when the kids who bullied me realized this, the torment became explicitly antisemitic. i won't repeat some of things they said, but it's still burned into my brain. they mocked anything they could. told me all jewish girls are ugly. and far worse. eventually, a couple of the girls emailed me actual nazi propaganda. one stole a beloved star of david necklace of mine and threw it in a dumpster (i never got it back). because this was concrete proof, we went to administration, and they suspended the girls for a week. the boys who'd made the very worst "jokes" couldn't be reprimanded because i couldn't prove bullying via speech. they kept doing it, just changed tactics. i was told later we could've pressed what happened further as a hate crime, but tbh i don't think i would've had the strength for that. i just kept my head down and tried to survive it until they got bored. they engaged in "joking" racism and misogyny too. they did "ironic" h*il salutes and laughed about ovens. it wasn't humor, it was bigotry. it left permanent emotional scars, not just on me. and those types of jokes? they inflame and encourage and embolden very real and dangerous white supremacy. so yeah. i never find that funny and i never am able to brush it off. if that's oversensitive, fine. i'd rather be oversensitive than callous. and i feel the imperative to listen to people when they're hurt.