#coffee sabatoge

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Higher Realms pulling up about to sabotage everything you thought you knew about coffee.

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[comic-sans-chan]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But which part..."

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

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

"He did blow up his shop once."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tanett!"

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

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

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

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

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

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

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

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

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

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

He reads well into the night.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No doubt."

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

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

Garak isn't looking.

—

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

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

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

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

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

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

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

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

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

Terrible man.

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

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

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

—

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

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

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

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

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

“That’s true.”

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

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

“He did not.”

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

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

“He’s gone.”

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

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

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

—

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

“What’ll you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s near.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

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

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

There.

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Clearly!”

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

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

“He made his choices!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kira glares at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him. 

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

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

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

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

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol. 

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

Oh no. 

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

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

No, no, no.

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

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

Oh, fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Garak bites out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure.”

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

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

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

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

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

Garak’s face shutters. 

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

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Garak,” he starts to say.

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

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doctor?”

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

“Doctor–?!”

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

Oh.

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

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

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

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.” 

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

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

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

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

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

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

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

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

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

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

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

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

“So you were together then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[obexes]

CATALYSIS

PT. II

R.C x READER • R.G x READER

Warnings: Smut, Self-Sabatoging Reader, Manipulation, Small Amount Of Dub-Con (Fucking Rafe), Underaged Drinking, fingering

A/N: The next part will be longer, and this might end up being 10 parts bc the plot, oh I'm gonna let it cook. I tried to get this out ASAP, while juggling too much other shit. My mental health is sickly, so enjoy my degenerate fantasies. Feedback is so appreciated and encouraging y'all :)

Word Count: 7.5 K

Sundays were always your favourite thing about your parents being home. The smell of Italian sausage and carbonara had summoned you from your room to the living room, where your family sits spread out around the large room, with their dinner plates.

When you and Nicky were kids, your Mom would lose it if she caught you guys on the eggshell coloured living room carpet with anything darker than water. Ever since Henley and Patton were old enough to eat on their own, your dad has enforced mandatory family time, which was simply eating dinner while watching a movie together on Sundays.

To be fair, despite all the travelling, they tried really hard to be home every Sunday. You took your spot at the coffee table and picked up the only unoccupied plate.

“I’m feeling Marvel tonight.” Nicky commented, twirling his fork around in his pasta. “Or maybe Disney?”

“Turning Red!” “Inside out!” Your younger brothers both called out simultaneously. You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a chuckle as your mom warily eyes the excited kids, or more accurately, the food balanced on their laps. She’s hopeless, you think freely.

“I’m thinking we should watch Euphoria. Bring some real world problems into this oasis.” you comment, earning a look from your Mom as well. Your older brother's idiot laugh doesn't go unnoticed.

Your Dad raises his wine glass to his lips. “I don't feel like having a stroke at 39. Peter Pan and Wendy it is.” Despite the child-like film, you all cheer as he hits play. Finally you start to dig into the meal your Mom, with the help of little Patton, made.

After you all finish eating, your dad pauses the film. You and Nicky carry the dishes to the dishwasher, load and start it, before making your way back to the living room. Your parents are curled up together and you take the spot on the other side of your dad, while he wraps an arm around you, the boys pile up on the mountain of blankets covering the floor.

As he plays the movie, you find your mind wandering to last night. To what you did in the hot tub at Tanneyhill. To Rafe fucking Cameron. Part of you felt guilty about messing with Roman’ s cousin and lying to your Mom, but the other part of you was burning. Burning to feel his hands on you again, burning to feel that intense pleasure over and over, and burning to know more. And then there was an even smaller part that wanted to know what such an intimate thing would feel like with Roman.

Even though you were still pissed at him for a number of reasons. You never made it back to Rafe’s room last night.

⊱✿⊰

“You're sleeping in my room tonight, gorgeous girl.”

You giggle quietly as he opens the back door and carries you the few steps across the kitchen, to plop you down on the island. “Want some water or something?”

You swing your legs back and forth, feeling the effects of the alcohol you'd been consuming since you got here. “Yes, please.” You turn your head momentarily towards the doorway as you hear light footsteps upstairs. You brush it off, enjoying your inebriated break from everyone else in the world but the man who just made you cum on his lap.

Rafe grabs two waters and comes back to stand between your legs. He moved nervously, you noted. He looked at you, like really looked at you, as he handed you a water bottle. “You okay? How are you feeling after... well- after everything tonight?”

“I'm good, Rafe. I had.. fun.” You reassure him with a small smile, unsure how to phrase it but wanting to reassure him. Which is still more than Roman bothered to do for you.

He gives you his signature panty dropping, schoolboy smirk. His tone is still nervous, however. “So it was okay? I mean, that it was me?” He slides his hands up your thighs coming to rest them on your hips. You could feel a flush of heat creeping up from where he’d just touched your thighs making its way all the way to your cheeks.

“Yes, Rafe.” You manage to say. His touch is intoxicating, his eyes captivating. You find your arms wrapping around his neck, hands burying themselves in his soft, dark blonde hair. “It was better than okay.”

He leans in to plant a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before leaning back slightly and catching your eye. You tug him towards you and his lips meet yours devotedly. He pulls you closer to the edge, your bodies meeting again, chest to chest. He bites your swollen bottom lip and separates from you only to tilt his head and kiss you even deeper.

His hands move to grip the sides of your ass and you whine against his lips, causing him to grip you harder. Still chasing the feeling he gave you outside, you push your crotch against his as best as you can from your place on the counter.

“Y/N.” He keens,”I'm never gonna get enough of you.” Rafe buries his face in your neck, leaving warm and wet kisses, leaving his hands to grope your sides.

Lost in the lust washing over you, you both hear the telltale pad of multiple pairs of feet, too late.

“Oh shit” A giggle. “Dude!” Disgust.

“What the fuck?” Anger.

Your head whips over to see three shocked teens standing at the entrance of the kitchen with varying reactions. Rafe slowly lifts his head but doesnt look away from you. Your mouth opens and closes, floundering for words. You look between the three and Rafe as you push him away and jump off of the counter.

Nicky and Mia are slowly starting to snicker, but Roman is just staring at you with disbelieving eyes. The other girl is nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, now this. This makes more sense.” Nicky laughs, referring to this morning when your parents caught you and Roman in your bed, asleep.

“Looks like you have a date to midsummers now, Y/N.” Mia comments with a raised brow.

You remain frozen, aside from your bottom lip wobbling and you biting it in a second attempt to keep your tears at bay tonight. How many times can one girl be humiliated in a day? You don't even want to look back at Romans face.

Rafe eyes your wobbly lip and reaches for you, tugging your hand into his. “Hey, wanna go to sleep now?”

“What the fuck is this? What's happening right now?” You look up from your entwined hands, at Romans dubious tone.

“Roman-”

“Come outside, Y/N.” He walks past you both, through the doors you just entered from, ignoring Mia calling his name on the way out.

You inhale a deep shaky breath. Your brother casts Mia a clueless, questioning glance, which she ignores as she's focused on examining you and Rafe. “I should...” You trail off as Rafe squeezes your hand softly, meeting his eyes.

“Its okay. I'll talk to him later, yeah?” He places a quick peck to your head.

“Y/N, what's going on? I feel like I'm missing something.” Your brother comments quizzically.

Rafe moves to usher them out of the kitchen, “Later , man.” You hear him mutter quietly to Nicky, who meets your gaze one more time before turning back to the den area. Mia lingers a second as you squeeze and shake your hands out, nervously.

“He’s never gonna get it together. Not for you, princess. Listen to Rafe, maybe that way you can stop stepping on people's toes and you won't get hurt.” Mia says the words quietly, but her tone of voice makes it clear that it's a threat. She smiles at you and follows in the direction of two older boys, while you do your best to ignore her and choke down all of the unpleasant feelings building up and make your way to the patio doors.

When you open the door, you immediately see Roman sitting on the porch swing with his head back, looking up at the sky with his usual pout. He doesn't move, or say anything so you walk over to him and sit down. Anxiety wracks your body, as you prepare to inevitably have an uncomfortable encounter with the bipolar boy you called your best friend.

You risk a glance at him and are alarmed to see moisture pooling in his eyes, “Roman.” You whisper. “Hey, I-”

“What was that?” He sits up and turns to face you.”Just- what the hell was that?”

Your eyes widen a little at the intensity of his behaviour. He takes one of your hands in his and looks at you expectantly. “Was that just you guys being dumb, or was that -” He stutters for a second and then takes a deep breath. “Or was that something more?”

“I dont know.” The truth, you were too drunk to decipher your current feelings toward Rafe.

“What?” He scoffs. “I just caught you making out with my cousin,Y/N, and youre saying you don't know why?” He drops your hand, and faces forward, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Your eyes narrow at him. He was the one who'd failed to verbally recognize the fact that something definitely happened between you two. He's been avoiding it hardcore for the past month or so.

“No, Roman, I don't. Besides, you didn't catch me doing anything.” You snap. “The word ‘catch’ implies that i’m in trouble, and I can do whatever I fucking want, technically. Nobody else seems to give a damn about my feelings.” You run your hands through your messy hair. Maybe you shouldn't have thrown that in his face but at the moment, he was pissing drunk you off.

The lanky boy looks at you with ferocity lurking beneath his incredulous expression. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Use your fucking context clues.” You cuss back.

He just stares at you as you attempt to avoid looking him in the eyes. For a second it seems like he's going to finally acknowledge the kiss you shared, weeks ago. You see the recognition in his features for a fraction of a second before he’s up, pacing. “You're ridiculous. Seriously, if you think Rafe is gonna commit to you, or treat you well for that matter.”

Your mouth falls open in shock when you hear Rafes name come out of Romans mouth. He didn't just blatantly deflect the topic of conversation, did he? Bastard.

“Jesus, have you lost your mind? You know what kind of person he is, Y/N. I thought you were smarter than that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he spews his bullshit.

You take his dramatic, silent irritation as an invitation to add fuel to the fire, fed up with his week-long diversions from the underlying issue in your friendship. “Yeah, well, at least he didn't kiss me and then pretend it never happened.” You stand up and cross your arms defiantly.

Roman sighs a deep, shaky breath of air. “Y/N... Jesus. You really wanna do this, huh?” You look up, toeing the area of grass you'd just been staring at. His face, his eyes, his whole demeanour are pleading with you to stop. “It was my first kiss, Roman.”

He shuts his eyes for a second and you watch as his breathing becomes a little heavier. When he opens them, he starts toward your teary eyed figure but you step back and he stops in his tracks. “Y/N, i'm so sorry. I didn't know that.”

You nod, tears spilling over your waterline and cascading down your cheek into the ground. Where you wish you could disappear. You ignore the pain in your heart. You ignore the way this feels like a friendship ending argument. You ignore his own tears as they begin to meet yours in the soil.

“I know.” You sniffle, you didn't want to punish him. You don't even know what you want from this conversation. This isn't a good idea, you're drunk. You can't ignore the wave of anxiety that hits you, completely out of nowhere. “I just can't do this, Rome.”

You start to back up, but he follows you. “Do what?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and uncross your arms to instead wrap them around yourself. After a breath, you open them. Roman looks regretful. “Do what,Y/N?”

Be your friend, Is what you wanted to say.

“I can't see you right now.” Is what you say.

You turn around before he has time to see your face completely crumble. Panic, anxiety, and heart ache all fight for dominance over the sob working its way up your throat. You swallow it down and go find Nicky. You wouldn't be staying in Rafes room tonight.

⊱✿⊰

By the end of the movie, your two youngest siblings are asleep. With Olivia having every Sunday off, you and Nicky fold up the blankets quietly talking about the film. Meanwhile, your Parents had each carried a sibling to bed to be tucked in. You grab a stack of blankets and carry them into the hall to put away in the linen closet. When you come back to the living room, your Mom is refilling your parents wine glasses, preparing to watch another movie with your Dad.

Nicky makes eye contact with you and widens his eyes slightly, insinuating something up.

“Ah, the gangs all here. Good. Sit.” Your Dad walks into the den and clasps his hands quietly.

You and Nicky both sit down on a loveseat near the front door and exchange a look. Your parents only do these little meetings to drop big news.

“So, nothing major but Wednesday night you're both expected to be home early for dinner. We're having guests over and there's a surprise involved.”

Nicky groans,”Mom, please. If you're pregnant again, I'm getting emancipated.”

You scoff out a laugh at your brother's blatant statement, before covering it up as a cough when you get a look from your Mom.

“Dominique.” Your father deadpans. “If your mom is pregnant, I’ll take you all and run. It isn't that.”

Your mom downs her wine. “This is why they don't have respect, Joseph.”

Your Dad gives her a warm grin and wraps her up under his arm. “Like I said, just be home early for dinner. Understood?”

You and Nicky ultimately agree without too much prying for details. After bidding your Parents goodnight, you both make your way upstairs. Your brother stops at your door as you enter your room and leans against the doorframe. “So....” He trails off and you roll your eyes as you search through your dresser for a large Tshirt, settling on one that Roman left here.

“Yes, Nicky?”

“What happened last night? I saw you mackin’ on Rafe but why was Roman so mad?” He walks further into your room and plops on your bed.

“Nicky!” You whine, batting at him with the t-shirt in your hands. “Get the hell off my blankets, you went outside in that outfit!”

It's Nicky's turn to roll his eyes at your rules, as he dramatically rolls off of your bed onto a pile of laundry on the floor, stretching out like a starfish. “Whatever. So what happened? I noticed that you stayed at the house all day. And kinda have been for a while.” He adds.

You let out a dramatic sigh of despair and slide down your dresser so that you're sitting facing your bed. “I’m so dumb, Nicky. I think I fucked up.”

He sits up on his elbows, facing you. “Wait, what? What's the matter?”

You contemplate telling him everything for a moment. What's the worst that could happen? Then you think back to the last time you asked yourself that question, and any ideas of total honesty dissipate. “I don't know...” and then, you remember. “What did you mean when you said that me and Rafe made sense?”

He sits up all the way and musses his hair. “I don't know, I was drunk, Y/N. I guess I always just assumed you’d rebel against Mom and Dad. Rafe would make sense for that. More sense than your childhood best friend.”

"Me and Rafe are friends, too.” You point out, although you know it's not the same.

“Not like you and Roman.”

You contemplate this quietly. Nicky comes over to where you're sitting and plants himself beside you.

“Listen sis, I don't know what the hell is going on, but you can tell me if I need to kick someone's ass. I won't ask questions.”

You shake your head sadly. ”It's not like that. I just did a dumb thing and now I have to live with it.”

Your older brother stands up and ruffles your hair. “Well, that's nothing new, is it? Goodnight Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

He shuts your door and you change into your shirt before turning on your fan and hopping in bed.

After about 15 minutes of staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, you were over it. You were agonising over whether or not to check your phone for a text from Roman and beating yourself up over what happened with Rafe. You flip over and grab the TV remote. Deciding to listen to something scary, you settle on a rerun of the Paranormal Activity films and turn back over, letting the TV lull you to sleep.

Not 10 minutes later, when you're almost out like a light, does your phone begin ringing quietly on the nightstand. You register the noise and flail under the covers, frustratedly. You snatch your phone up and accept the call, barely registering the name on the screen.

“What?” You almost growl.

“Wow, hello to you too, beautiful.” Rafe’s deep voice rings through the speaker.

“Do not disturb means do not disturb, not call twice, Rafe.” You can't help your tone, your anxiety keeps you up most nights, and you were so close to ending the night on a good note, moments before.

“I'm sorry, I’d take any option that guaranteed your attention.” He laughs.” Did I wake you up?”

“Yes actually.” You sigh, readjusting your covers from the flail. “Did you need something?” “Can I come over?”

“Seriously, Rafe? Its-” You pull your phone away from your cheek and look at the time, faltering.

“Only 9 P.M.? Exactly.” You can hear his smug face over the phone. “So?”

You feel queasy at the thought of seeing Rafe, despite being so explicit with him the night before. It felt like a betrayal to Roman in a way because you two hadn’t spoken since the fight last night where he expressed his disapproval of Rafe and you together. Although a small part of you doesn't care about his opinion, after his blatant disregard for your feelings.

“I don't think that's a great idea, Rafe, my parents are awake downstairs.” You try.

He’s quiet for a second, and then there's an incoming facetime from him. You answer the call and you see Rafe sitting up, shirtless, against his headboard. He has to fight his smile, seeing you laying on your side, hair cascading around your shoulder like a waterfall of curls.

“Is it because of last night?”

You mentally smack yourself for answering a call where he can see your face. Rafe always knew when you were lying. When you guys were 12 and 13, you covered for him when he broke one of Wards Golf awards and he figured out that you had a tell. You couldn't make eye contact.

“W-what?”

“The real reason you don't want to see me.” He says in a bored tone. “Is it because of Roman?”

“No.” You roll your eyes.

“Dont lie to me, Y/N.” The dominant tone he's taking right now has you rethinking your previous statements.

“Fine, yeah. It Is, Rafe.” Pulling the covers up to your chin. “He’s one of my best friends, and you're his cousin. It feels weird that things are like this. I can't stop thinking about that stupid fight.”

You hear shuffling on Rafe’s end and then the sound of keys.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm comin over.” You start to protest but he cuts you off. “I'm gonna take your mind off of it.”

He ends the call and you're left staring at the screen dumbfounded. Now that he’s ended the call, you see a whole slew of texts and missed calls from John B and Kie, and even JJ asking you to join in on the boat day they had today. Nothing from Roman. He was usually always the first to cave after an argument, seeking you out almost every time. The lack of contact, admittedly worried you.

You sigh, sitting up in bed now. There are so many questions swirling around in your head. What was Roman thinking about? Was he still angry with you? What was Rafe thinking about? Was he going to try something? How were you supposed to hide yet another boy in your room without invoking your Mothers anger? More importantly though, how did you look right now?

You spring up and run to the ensuite bathroom. Your hair, once pinned up with a claw clip, now falls loosely around you with flyaway curlies everywhere and you wore only Roman’s T Shirt and a pair of boy short panties as makeshift PJs. You pull your clip out and stare at the excess tendrils of hair falling around you, trying to finger comb them down.

“Is it even worth it, for real?” You ask yourself as you eye the brush that would no doubt make your situation worse. Deciding that, no, it isn't worth it, you grab your mouthwash and gargle a mouthful before spitting it out, rinsing your mouth, and washing your face.

Back in your room, you realise how hot and stuffy it is. You unlock the balcony doors that face the ocean, so that Rafe can get inside. Then you pad across the floor and unlatch your bedroom window, going to open it for the breeze but nearly screaming out loud as it's pushed open, seconds later. “Ahh!”

Rafes hand shoots out to cover your mouth as he precariously balances himself between your windowsill and the branch he's perched on. He gives you an exasperated look. “Jesus, I literally live 5 minutes away. Move.”

You clutch your chest and take a step back just as he pushes off of the branch and pulls himself through the window. “Why didn't you just climb onto the balcony, you could've fallen.” You comment as he steadies himself.

Rafe examines your face, stepping closer. “Your Mom had all the trees near it cut down, remember?”

You’d forgotten about that. As soon as you turned 15 your Mom had to escape-proof your room because of an incident involving a party, a week prior. Which included cutting down the trees near your balcony and removing the garden trellis that crept up right beside it, leaving only an old oak tree beside the window that was across from your bedroom door. “Oh, right.”

You back up and sit on the edge of your bed, patting the spot next to you. Rafe pushes his hair off of his forehead as he takes a seat. The sound of the movie playing is all that can be heard as you both quietly observe each other. He looks really good in his simple blue tee and basketball shorts, and you can't help the natural, girly giddiness you feel.

“You look really pretty.” he starts.

Letting out a small laugh, “Shut up. I look like I was about to go to sleep. You look good though.” You go to smack his chest playfully, but he catches your hand.

“You're still the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart flutters a little at his words, but you quell it and withdraw your hand slowly. One thing Rafe and his cousin had in common was their notoriety as two of the island's biggest playboys. “Don't say things you don't mean, Rafe.”

Rafe smiles at you knowingly, yet you don't know why. “Remember when we were like...” He thinks about it. “I was 9 and you were 8. We were playing hide and seek with a bunch of other kids at Olivia’s garden party?” He questions.

You remember. You’d gotten locked into the old outdoor cellar, while trying to use it as a hiding spot. You'd been locked in for what felt like hours as you plotted a way out, the music and ongoing party drowning out your cries. As a kid you remember thinking you’d be down there forever, You nod, telling Rafe to go on.

“You had all the other kids going crazy, we all thought you’d gotten kidnapped but we were too scared to tell anyone.” He chuckles at the memory. “But then you walked around the side of the house covered in dirt and I remember being so happy to see you. Even though you were crying and looked like a mess, running for your parents. You were the prettiest girl to me then. You're still that same girl, now.”

You make a face, scrunching your nose. “Why is my near death experience such a significant memory for you? I could've died, digging that little tunnel under the door.”

“But you didn't.” He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Jesus, you suck at accepting compliments.”

“Yeah, well, you kinda suck at giving them.” You smack his hands away, smoothing your mussed hair. His eyes shoot to your bare legs as your T-shirt rides up. Then they flick up to scrutinise the shirt itself and you wonder if he’ll mention anything about its owner.

Instead he tugs at the hem of it with a sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. “Anything under here?”

You blush. “Rafe, shut up.” You weren't expecting Rafe to be here right now in the first place. In fact, you'd tried to avoid it. Just because you guys got drunk and fooled around didn't mean you suddenly were into Rafe. That's just what teenagers do, right? Yeah, he may look like a god and he always smells good but you didnt wanna risk your friendship with him or Roman further.

“Make me.”

His fingers slip past the hem, teasing their way up your thighs. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you swear you stop breathing. But when his fingers brush too close to your clothed pussy, you snatch at his wrist and he looks up at your face, fingers frozen over your core.

“Rafe, what do you want?”

“Honestly?” You nod, matching his heavy eye contact.

“I just wanna make you feel good, baby. ” He inches his face closer to yours, while you slowly start to forget why you stopped him. “Right now I really want to make you cum on my fingers.” He only breaks eye contact as he presses his lips against yours roughly. You loosen your grip on his wrist, your inhibitions melting at his actions.

He takes the opportunity to press his thumb against your clit, eliciting a soft whine into his mouth. Your breaths mingle together, hearts beginning to race in sync with the electric tension that's filling the air.

Rafe cradles your face gently in one hand, fingertips tracing the delicate lines of your jaw as your tongues swirl against each other. His warm touch causes a shiver to go down your spine and he smirks into the kiss. You feel his heartbeat against your chest as he lowers you onto the bed, his fingers stroking you over your panties.

“Rafe,” You coo against his soft lips. “Keep touching me there.”

“Yeah, Princess? Like this?” Rafe drags his thumb around your clit in circles, increasing the pressure. Your hips grind involuntarily towards his hand as you nod, a moan escaping your lips.

“Shhh, be quiet.” He presses another short kiss to your lips, letting go of your face to yank your shirt up to your belly and focus his gaze on his handiwork.

Rafe continues to tease you, your panties preventing you from feeling his skin. He looks up at you, watching your reaction as he ghosts his fingers over your entrance again. You were suddenly filled with a longing for something more - an indefinable desire that was rooted in your core, and it made you shiver with pleasure.

Rafe smiles smugly as he watches you, his gaze tender yet smouldering. He leans forward and kisses you, your mouths exploring each other with an intensity that takes your breath away. With each kiss, your concerns about Roman faded away, replaced by something new and exciting and unbearably sweet.

When he finally pulls away, Rafe drags his hand away from your pussy to brush lightly against your hips, tracing a gentle line along the curve of your waist. You shiver again, skin prickling with pleasure as he moves his hands lower.

To your surprise his fingers lace between yours, and he gently tugs you towards him. “Do you want me to keep touching you, baby?” You nod desperately, extremely flushed. “Can you keep quiet?”

You nod again and before you can protest his fingers are in your panties. He teases you slowly, and his breathing becomes heavier. You're lost in a world of sensation as his thumb finds your clit again, beginning to create blissful, swirling patterns.

His fingers slowly trail lower, to your entrance, and you can feel your body responding to his touch, almost dripping over his fingers. Your skin is alive with a pleasure you've never felt before.

Rafe groans while you throw your head back as he begins pushing his index and middle fingers inside of you, the stretching sensation too intense for you to take it. You grab at his forearm as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, the heat from his touch making you moan.

”W-ait.” You attempt to push his arm away but he holds you in place with his free arm, his pace becoming more insistent. The painful stretch begins to fade into something much more pleasurable.

“Let me make you feel good,Y/N.”

Rafe moves his fingers at a quick pace, repeatedly stroking against your G-spot until you're a whining, moaning mess. As you begin to feel yourself nearing an orgasm, you silently beg him to stop before you could release, as if that would make this any better. Rafe, however, seemed to be enjoying your reaction and continued his assault, his fingers sliding deeper and faster.

You felt your entire body ignite with a pleasure that was both overwhelming and exquisite. Your hands find his shirt and you ball it up in your fists, feeling yourself release, squirting on his hand and your covers. You’re screaming muffled profanities into Rafes palm as your orgasm finally engulfs you. Your body goes limp with relief, your breathing ragged as you lie there, trembling.

Rafe withdraws his fingers and sits up, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. You lay there for a few moments, trying to process what just happened. You felt embarrassed and ashamed, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pleasure you had just experienced. As you slowly sit up, fixing your panties, Rafe's smirk widens.

"That was quite the experience, hmm?" he says in a smug voice.

You could feel your cheeks flush and you quickly look away, your heart pounding with a mix of emotions. Rafe leans closer and puts his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. "Hey, It's okay," he says softly. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm just glad I made you feel that good. That was fun right?"

You nodded, your face still flushed with embarrassment. You look away again, not wanting to meet his gaze. ‘It's just that... I didn't expect it to feel that way. I'm kind of overwhelmed. Sorry if that sounds stupid.”

Rafe pulls you into his chest and wraps an arm around you. “It doesn't sound stupid. I get it, I've never seen a girl squirt before, either. I'm sorry if that was too much.”

You roll your eyes, as he can't see you, at his boyish thoughts. "It's fine, Rafe.” You pull away from Rafes hug and stare at your carpet awkwardly. Sensing your hesitance he looks away from you nonchalantly, “You tired?”

Seeing the question as an out, you meet his eyes and nod, feeling the atmosphere in the room change. His smile is small, disappointed. “I'll see you tomorrow then? Or Wednesday?” You furrow your eyebrows. “The dinner that your parents are hosting..?”

You remember your Dads statement earlier, the dinner and the surprise. “Oh, okay yeah. You're coming?”

“Yeah, So are Olivia and Roman.” Rafe replies as he stands up, wiping his cum covered hands on his shorts. You internally cringe at how awkward this interaction is turning out to be. It's your fault, you have to fucking ruin everything. You nod your head as if you aren't mentally cursing yourself out. “But hey, Y/N?”

You meet his expectant stare. “Yeah?”

He kisses your forehead before backing towards your window, smirking as he opens it once again. “I took your mind off of it, didn't I?” And with that he's gone.

⊱✿⊰

He did not, in fact, take your mind off of it.

Two hours later, you're still awake, staring at your ceiling fan trying to drown out the negative thoughts eating you alive. You had a tendency to overthink, and with that came anxiety. The best remedy for your anxiety was alcohol, which not only did you not have access too at the moment, but it also caused you to make dumb bitch decisions, occasionally. You couldn't help but crave it anyways.

You felt incredibly guilty and even ashamed that you let things go that far with Rafe, especially given the fact that he didn't seem to be concerned about your actual feelings about it.

As the minutes go by and sleep evades you, you give up rolling over to pick up your silenced phone. You have a slew of unanswered notifications but one name immediately catches your attention. Sitting up in bed you click on the notification, fast as shit.

45 Minutes Ago

Romeo: Jelli bbeen

Romeo: com to our beecfh

Rome: Plz im srory

Fuck, I'm a horrible person, you instantly hit the call button, knowing that he’s drunk off of his ass. When the call goes to voicemail straight away, you hop out of bed and throw on a pair of shorts and crocs, slipping quietly out of your room determined to go make sure he's okay.

You pause at the top of the stairs, listening for the sound of your parents, when you hear nothing you creep down the carpeted stairs slowly.

FInally reaching the back door, you slide it open as quietly as you can and creep outside. Shutting it behind you, you turn around to walk towards Romans house when you spot a figure, down on the beach, near your family's dock.

You curse under your breath and hurry towards the figure. As you near, you can clearly see Romans broad torso hunched over, one arm laying on his knee holding a bottle of Jack and the other stuck in his extremely messy hair.

“Rome.” You call softly so as not to startle him.

He raises his head slightly, back to you, but doesn't move otherwise. “Jellybean?”

“Yeah... it's me, what's going on Roman?” You put a hand on his shoulder, sitting down beside him. “What are you doing sitting out here? It's almost Midnight.”

Roman looks at you in a mixture of melancholy and clear intoxication. His lips twitch into a slight frown, as if he is going to cry, but only momentarily, before he takes a shot and hands you the bottle. You take it, gratefully. “I needed to see you, talk to you.” He’s slurring, dangerously. ”I really fucking hate what happened yesterday.”

Before you reply you take a shot too, and sigh. “Which part?”

“All of it. I really fucking hated it all, guppy.” He turns towards you, his demeanor slightly more defeated than a minute ago. He was naturally a manic person, but when he was drunk, he went from tough guy to busting out every pet name in the book in hopes of being babied. “Seeing Rafe touch you, seeing you like it.... us fighting.”

Your eyes widen, slightly. “What does that even mean, Roman?

Roman stares at you with his sad green eyes, dejectedly. “I want to fix it. I fucked up and I want to fix it.” He taps the bottle in your hand and you hold eye contact as you take another drink, passing it to him afterwards, him doing the same.

“It's not entirely your fault, Roman.” You let your eyes fall to the sand between you. You hated lying, but you didn't know what was going on in his head and telling him about Rafe being in your room, less than 3 hours ago, would possibly just serve to make him more upset. “I shouldn't have kissed Rafe.” You omit the part about you grinding and cumming on his dick, for Romans sake.

He grabs your hand in his and pulls you to scoot closer, you do. “Ya’guys only kissed cuz’ I never talked to you about us.” he says. “M’ sorry if I hurt you baby. I love you, Y/N. I really fucking love you.” He cups your face, dragging his thumbs across your cheeks.

You hold your breath, deja vu from a few weeks ago hits you square in the chest. This is exactly how he kissed you the first time. You've wanted to hear those words from him for weeks, hoping that he was secretly in love with you too, not while he was this heavily inebriated, however.

You gently grab his hands and squeeze them, lowering them so they are between you both. “Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, bubba?”

Roman's lip starts trembling, barely noticeable, at the nickname. “Y/N, no. You deserve an explanation, please let me explain.” He whines. “I do love you. It wasn't about you.” He looks at your joined hands for a moment before placing a kiss on your knuckles and peering hesitantly up into your eyes.

You couldn't help but want to hear him out. Your heart constricts as he begins speaking in a pained voice. “It's my Mom, Y/N. Shes fucking insane. Do you remember, 9th grade, I was with Allie Mcentyre?”

You nod, pensively. You'd been friends with Allie that year, because she was dating Roman, before she abruptly cut you off. Roman seemed not to care, so you didn't either. “Yeah before she ditched us.”

He grimaces. “She didn't ditch us, Y/N.” You furrow your eyebrows in question. “She was the first girl I ever brought around Mom, and the entire fucking time, she gaslit and- and lied an' manipulated both of us." Roman pauses as he hiccups, and gathers his words. "She would text her cryptic shit from my phone and then delete it so that it seemed like her angry texts were random, she’d tell her that she wasn't good enough for me and me the same. Allie told me she didnt want to see me anymore after my mom told her mom that I’d been having sex with multiple girls at a time.” He chuckles. “I was still a fucking virgin. She just wanted to ruin what I had. I realized she’s only going to let me be with someone that she chooses for me.”

“Roman...” Your mouth opens and shuts while you process your next words. “Im so fucking sorry, that I didnt know about that. That's literally insane.”

Roman chuckles drily, you pull him into a bone crushing hug. “It's okay, I didn't tell you.”

You squeeze him and pull away. "I shouldve been there for you, I'm sorry."

Roman shakes his head, placing a hand back on your cheek, thumb resuming its soft, delicate strokes. “No. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve the way I treated you. I love you, jellybean, please don't be mad at me.”

You gently press your palm against his hand but this time you don’t remove it. “I could never stay mad at you, Roman. I love you too.” How could you ever be angry with this side of him? Nobody ever gets to see this side but you. The whiskey stupor you were beginning to feel caused you to zero in on the tall boy beside you.

His lazy, responsive smile is so boyish and sweet, it makes you buzz with desire, and briefly you recall wondering what it would feel like to do what you did with Rafe, with Roman instead. They are different in more ways than they were similar. Roman is hard and broken, but his pure heart radiates through the cracks, whereas Rafe was a tried and true asshole, though you had to confess you didn't know him as well as you knew the boy in front of you.

“Y/N?” Roman bites his lip and a slight frown forms between his brows as he glances down at your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

In lieu of answering, you tangle your hands in his hair and pull him to you, desperately connecting your lips. You caught Roman off guard but he quickly grabs ahold of your waist in his free hand, managing to hastily pull you onto his lap.

As your mouths slowly move together, a warm electrifying feeling spreads through you, time seems to slow down, allowing you to focus solely on his lips and the emotions they were making you feel. His hands find yours, intertwining them with his, solidifying the bond you two were experiencing.

You couldn't help but think about the way Rafe kissed you earlier, only in that his kiss was much less intimate, yet more hungry and physically intense. WIth Roman, it was a slow dance of tongues and lips meshing that made you soaked for him in a completely different way. You purposely rolled your hips over his and he groans, squeezing your joined hands. You break the kiss and lean back slightly, admiring the boy who has your heart.

“Hmm, baby?” His lips look a delicious, puffy red and his eyes are half lidded, he looks so sexy right now. Before you could help it, you’re grinding your pussy against his member again, both of you letting out satisfied moans at the friction. “Y/N, shit. What are you doing to me?”

The whiskey in your system has your body acting on its own, out of sexual frustration from the months of built up tension between you two, desperate to explore it with him. You just let his cousin finger fuck you. Fuck, two shots wouldn't be enough.

You pick up the bottle of Jack Daniels, resigned to the choices you were about to make, and downed two or three shots. You force yourself to ignore the burn, and Romans drunk, questioning gaze as you tipped his chin and poured some into his mouth. He shakes his head with a grimace, swallowing down the shitty tasting alcohol.

Without wasting a beat, you begin peppering kisses along his neck, and he lets out a spur of dirty, drunken noises from the back of his throat.

“Does that feel good?” You can't help but tease your clit along his clothed erection again, body moving intoxicatedly of its own free will, chasing the friction his shorts provided, as he struggles to answer and resigns to nodding. You move your mouth up to his ear, sucking softly on it before whispering, “Roman, I want you so bad, want you to fuck me.”

“Wh-” Instantly his hands are on your hips, pushing you slightly back. “Jellybean, what?” He seems almost instantly sobered as he examines your features. "I thought you were a virgin?” You flush at your own obviousness, feeling it even over the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

“Well... I mean, I am. But, I want you to be the first.” You grip onto the bottom of his shirt, glancing down, doing your best not to appear as the tipsy, desperate slut you feel like.

Roman sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a second, squeezing your hips gently. “Y/N, I dont know about you, but Im really fucked up right now.” You nod, still not looking up but he lowers his head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I want it to be good for you. I want it to be special, not like this, pretty girl.”

Your eyes begin to well up quickly, in humility at the perceived rejection and you look out at the ocean, wiping at your tears before they can fall. “I'm sorry, Rome, I'm so stupid. I'm sorry.”

“Love, you aren't stupid. Believe me when I say I want this as bad as you.” Roman shocks you when he removes your hand, that's clutching his shirt, to place it on his hard length. “This is what you fucking do to me, baby. And when the time is right, I won't just be the first, I'll be the last too.” He gives you a lopsided smirk and a delicate kiss on the lips.

You offer him a small smile in response, he was being such sweetheart and you felt horrible. At the forefront of your clouded brain, you were desperate to replace Rafe's touch with Roman's as if it would erase your prior actions, but you shove it to the back, focusing on his reassurance. "Is that a promise?"

“Of course, it is. I know I've been so wrapped up in my own head, trying to keep everything...normal, but I don't want to do that anymore.” He pulls you close again and rests his forehead against yours. “I want this, baby. I want you.”

No, no, no. Roman, dont. Not right now. The guilt is going to crush you. You look down. “Will you be my girlfriend?” His hopeful eyes await yours.

You're quiet for a beat too long before you slowly look back into his expectant face. “I can't, Roman... my Dad. You know how he is.” It's bullshit, but he doesn't know it. Yeah your dad would have an aneurysm but you didn't care in the slightest. You had to make sure that Rafe wouldn't say anything about what you guys did, and break things off with him first, before you made an even bigger mess. Roman was wasted, he might not even remember this in the morning.

Romans face falls a bit at your words. He just promised to endure his mothers psychopathy for you and you wouldn't even return the favour? You hate the look that flashes across his face and hurry to reassure him. “I'll talk to him, okay? After dinner on Wednesday.”

He nods somberly, “Yeah, okay. If you want to.”

You grab his face and plant a kiss on his pouty lips. “I do, Romeo, don't worry. And I promise, I will.”

He laughs at that, loving the nickname. You made many mistakes, but you wouldn't let this be one of them. The feelings that the boy under you made you feel, compared to absolutely nothing else. At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

[glitch-karma]

Hi there! If requests are still opened, i'd love to make one :o (although it's a bit lengthy, so if you don't want to do it I understand!!)

TW for s**cide mentions from here forward btw! (common with any dazai fic, lolz)

I'd love to request a dazai x reader (fem or gn will work!) where he asks reader to commit double suicide with him, and to literally everyone's shock, they agree! So the agency (mainly kunikida and atsushi) have to repeatedly sabatoge their attempts, and during that time, the two start to get to know eachother better and grow closer whilst they aren't plotting their own demises. Eventually dazai starts to fall for them, but one day reader tries to attempt on their own life solo due to being unable to handle the pains and pressures of life anymore. Ofc they were rescued just in time, but it made him realize that he wants to see reader safe and happy, and that he had finally found his reason to live through his love for them. Extra points if he confesses his love at some point and reader accepts!!

Sorry if this was rant-y, i'm a huge sucker for angst to comfort :P either way tho, i hope you have a lovely rest of your day/night!

THIS RIGHT HERE IS A BEAUTIFUL STORY OH MY!!!!

-F!Y/n

-Y/n is a new worker at the Cafe under the ADA

-MAJOR SUICIDE WARNING!! (Including but not limited to: Blood, pills, self-harm, etc..) I am a sucker for graphic detail so you have been warned

-Also warning for puke

-Reader is kinda based off of Mafuyu from Project Sekai cause I said so (Btw pjsk simps gonna open up reqs for them when they become open again‼️)

-also reader has dull eyes cause anime logic

I did probably a concerning amount of research on suicide, (Plus looked for so long for Dazai's stupid lil book) for this so I hope you enjoy!

_____

Break time at the Armed detective agency usually means having some coffee at their favorite cafe. As the group sat down Dazai was glancing around when his eyes caught the sight of the new waitress waiting next to a barista Dazai frequently flirted with. The girl had semi-messy h/c colored hair, her eyes a dull e/c. Her features framed her face so beautifully. Dazai's mouth curled into a smirk as he stared at her. Kunikida caught wind and immediately irked. "Dazai.."

As the waitress approached the table, Dazai read the name stage reading "Y/n". He smiled as she stopped at their table. Before she could get a word out Dazai grabbed her hand in his. "Such soft hands.. And beautiful eyes as well. Would you, Belladona, do me the honors of accompanying me to a double suicide?"

WHACK

Dazai was now lying on the floor, as Kunikida brushed himself off. "I'm so sorry Ma'am, he's always like this-" Atsushi apologized as Y/n leaned down to the man on the floor. "I'd gladly join a double suicide." She smiled down at him.

. . .

"WHAT!?!"

"Really!?!" Dazai yelled as he stood up, grabbing Y/n's hand again. Y/n chuckled as she nodded at him. "I get off at 6. You work in this building correct? I'll meet you on the roof." "Yes yes, that sounds wonderful~!"

Everyone at the table stared shell-shocked as Y/n takes their order normally like nothing just happened. As dazai kicked his legs in his own little world, Kunikida Atsushi and Junichiro all stared at each other in concern. Kunikida pulled them behind a menu quickly.

"As much as I'd love to let that dimwitt meet his end, we need him and that girl to stay alive. It isn't right letting a young lady with so much life in her die with that blasted Dazai." Kunikida sighed. Atsushi and Junichiro nodded in sync.

"Once Dazai leaves to meet her we should follow them," Atsushi whispered. Junichiro hummed in agreement. "It's decided then." Junichiro finished. The three quickly separated from the menu as Y/n walked over and set down their drinks. As she walked away dazai starstruck-ingly called out; "See you tonight Madameeee~". Y/n peeked over her shoulder, smiling at him. Dazai felt his heart flutter a bit at those beautifully dull eyes.. They seemed to draw him in for more.

...

As Dazai whipped open the doors to the building roof, he caught sight of the lady ready to accompany him with his final dance. Her hair was gently blowing in the warm Yokohama breeze as she stared off into the sky. What was she looking at? Dazai didn't know. But her eyes looked so sickeningly dull in that moment. But still, so beautiful..

"I'm pleasantly surprised to see you here! I was concerned you agreed simply to make me leave you alone." The dark-eyed man said, leaning next to her. "I'd never joke about suicide. Such a beautiful ending to a sick existence." Y/n spoke lowly. In the cafe, she had a sort of customer voice, but there was no trace of it here. Dazai smirked a bit at this.

"I should let you know now, I'm not interested in pain. I don't know exactly what you're into though.." Dazai teased her. "Pain is not something I'm looking for either. Just a quick ending."

Dazai chuckled, quickly whipping out his little red book. "Suffocation, Hanging, Poisoning, Shooting, Jumping," He read off as Y/n stared at him. Only blinking in response. "All the ideas you could storm up are right here in this very book."

"Ah! What a glorious book,, if I wasn't planning on dying I'd buy a copy.." Y/n smiled lightly. "But.." she continued, grabbing the book and shutting it quickly. "I'd like to try jumping first."

With a quick grab of Dazai's shirt, the two were suddenly falling off the roof of the building. Y/n shut her eyes, waiting for the end of it all.

Poof.

The two landed on a bunch of garbage bags stacked up on each other. Y/n quickly sat up in disappointment as Dazai lay on the ground is fear and confusion. "Dang."

Dazai suddenly bursted into laughter. Y/n hummed, turning to him. "What's so funny?" Dazai wiped a tear from his eye as he sat up too. "You're the most forward suicidal girl I've ever met, my dear Y/n." He chuckled. Y/n blushed lightly before standing up.

"No matter.. We'll try again. Tomorrow. You can choose the method." She smiled at him. Dazai chuckled as he stood, lending her a hand up as he did so. "It's a date." He joked.

. .

"GAHHHH I THOUGHT WE WEREN'T GONNA MAKE IT." "Oh be quiet Atsushi, my Ideals were almost perfect."

There were the secret team, two sweaty messes, and one writing vigorously in his notebook. The three had watched Dazai enter the roof before running down to prepare in case they jumped, finishing just before they did.

"This might be a long couple of days.." Junichiro said quietly.

...

Day 2

"Oiiiii! Y/n dear!" Dazai yelled as he entered the roof. "Ah, hello Dazai." the girl lightly smiled. "What will we be doing today?"

Time after time,

Day 3

"Oh, Y/n you're here late! Well? Shall we begin?"

Attempt after attempt,

Week 3

"Dazai! Hurry we'll miss the train!" "Yes yes, my dear!"

The two met almost every day.

Month 2

The two had been testing the faith of this world as they attempted suicide again and again. Slowly, Dazai started to see something he hadn't before. Something fluttered in his chest..

The way she gets so distracted, the way she turned to yell at him when he took a joke too far, the way her nose scrunched up in such a way, those eyes.. Those beautifully dull eyes.

What was this feeling in Dazai's chest?

As Dazai thought intensely at his desk the others in the office grew worried. "What's up with Dazai today?" Atsushi mumbled. "I'm not sure.. I've never seen him think this much before."

"It's so clear what his problem is." Ranpo mumbled as he sucked on a loli. Dazai's head shot up immediately. "You know what this feeling is in my chest!? Please, explain Ranpo! Have I been poisoned? Is it fatal? Will I finally die? I can't die without Y/n."

Ranpo sighed as he bit off the lollipop. "No nothing of the sort, you're simply in love with that cafe waitress."

...

"Did he really just say that in front of us all!?"

Everyone at the agency thought in shock. Dazai's eyes were wide as he stared at Ranpo. His cheeks were flushed as he pondered the idea. The great Dazai? In love?

"This feeling in my chest.." He thought in shock. "That's a heart by the way," Ranpo smirked at the flustered Dazai. Dazai looked down for a moment, before springing up. He slammed his fist down loudly."This is..."

"Truly wonderful!!"

Dazai yelled as he pranced around the office. The majority of the group stared in dismay as he did so. "Ah, how perfect! I'm in love with the person I plan to meet my end with! We can plan a lovelier more passionate suicide now! How beautiful!"

"I should go confess right away! We can begin planning for our end together!" Dazai screamed with giddy as he threw his jacket on quickly. Ranpo's eyes scrunched together lightly as he thought. "You should go quickly, Dazai." He said as Dazai flung open the door.

"Will do!" Dazai yelled, running down the stairs to the cafe. As he opened the doors, he inhaled the lovely aroma of coffee before calling out. "Y/n my dear! I need to tell you something import-"

To Dazai's dismay, Y/n was nowhere to be seen in the cafe. He blinked a few times before walking towards one of the other workers. "Is Y/n here?" He asked with a hand covering his face.

"Ah, I'm sorry Dazai she didn't come in for her shift this morning.." The barista explained. Dazai's head popped up in surprise. "Uh, really?"

"Mhm, She didn't call in either. It's unlike her. She usually at least gives a call if she's gonna be late." The girl explained. Dazai's eyes furrowed as he thought.

"You should go quickly, Dazai."

Dazai's eyes shot open as he stared at the ground for a moment. "No.."

"Uh, Dazai?" The barista asked him. Dazai turned quickly, running out of the cafe in a hurry. His breath grew ragged as he ran quickly. He stopped in front of a familiar apartment complex to breathe. He then quickly ran in, ignoring the calls from a front desk worker. He sprinted and sprinted as he burst into Y/n's bedroom. "Y/n!" He screamed.

His eyes quickly scanned the room, finding it neatly tidied instead of the mess it was when he first visited her here. He then noticed the bathroom door shut tightly, while steam lightly flowed out of it. He ran to the door, trying the handle only to find it locked.

"Y/n!" He yelled, banging on the door. No answer. Dazai backed up quickly, before slamming his shoulder into the door, causing it to fly off its hinges. He looked up from the floor, seeing the sight he wanted to stop.

(Last major TW before we continue.)

Y/n laid in the bathtub fully clothed. The water from the faucet flowed continually, causing the room to fill with steam. A bottle of some unmarked pills laid on the bathroom floor, followed by a knife of which she'd used to make her wrist bleed. The fresh red liquid had been used to fill a small vile next to her.

Dazai quickly stood up, stopping the water before reaching his hands into the hot water. He wrapped his arms around Y/n's figure, lifting her up into his arms before placing her on the floor gently. He quickly ran to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a cotton swab and a roll of bandages.

He ran back to her fast, checking her pulse before sticking the cotton swab deep into her throat repeatedly until a steady stream of fresh puke left her lips. He pulled her into his arms as she came to, putting pressure on her wrist. Y/n's head felt fuzzy as she looked up at him. "Dazai.."

"Ah, you're conscious. Please stay awake, and don't move too much." Dazai whispered lowly. Y/n's head fog cleared as she came to. Realizing she'd been saved.

"No.." She mumbled as hot tears began to form. She suddenly became enraged. "Why you of all people.." "Y/n?"

"I thought you understood.. I just want to disappear from this world. Don't you get it?"

"I want to save you. I want to live with you, even if it's only for a bit before we depart together. There's still so much I don't know about you. Y/n, I-"

"Stop it!!" Y/n screamed, kicking Dazai away. "Don't you dare say it! What can you do? You may save me for a bit, you may make me feel happy for a short while, but then what!? One day it won't work anymore! And I'll want to die again!"

She was shouting.

"That's why this is all too much! Just let me have a clean death alone! You're so selfish for even coming here and spouting that bull shit!"

Without even realizing it, Y/n was shouting.

"I'm tired..! I'm so tired of thinking there's hope! Tired of waiting, finding something close, then watching it disappear! I'll never find what I'm looking for! I'll... I'll never truly be saved! Don't you see Dazai!?"

Dazai's eyes stayed still as he watched the girl scream.

"I'm so tired.. So tired.! Don't let me despair anymore.. Just let me rot."

The silence in the room was sickening. No one dared move.

Until Dazai broke the silence by cackling. Y/n sniffled confused as she stared at him. "I just keep seeing new sides of you Y/n.. You really are sickeningly complicated." He smirked at her as he inched closer.

Dazai's lips suddenly slammed into Y/n's. The girl's eyes opened wide as she stared at him. After a few seconds, dazai pulled away, a small string of saliva trailing behind. He licked his lips lightly before speaking:

"You called me selfish for saving you.." Dazai spoke before leaning close to Y/n's ear. "But I'm an incredibly greedy man my dear.."

Y/n's face flushed more as Dazai grabbed her wrist, wrapping her wound up tightly. "Even if it takes me saving you a thousand times, I'll do it all over again. So we can have the perfect suicide together."

Y/n breathes in shakily as Dazai kisses her hand gently.

"So, let's try this again. Y/n, my dear. I'm in love with you. Will you join me, in living and dying in this life?"

Dazai's words brought more tears into Y/n's eyes as she nodded lightly.

"Yes."

-Fin-

[ratsoh-writes]

...Mass game of "The Floor is Lava" what happens, and who wins?

Climbs up the walls like he’s Spider-Man or something: papyrus mutt coffee pop peaches gears compass cider Jasper finn sparks

He’s using other skeletons as furniture. Floor is lava? You’re my chair now: cash honey sugar rhythm. Artemis zen barley fisher salt weasel

Falls face first onto the floor and lets the “lava” envelop him: sans oak snipe rust ram lush sir

CANNONBALL!!! Jumps off the nearest surface onto the floor: Star charm bruiser lilac shield sails hook flambe

The best way to win the floor is lava is to sabatoge others. He pushes others into the “lava” red G rancher butch ace slim pitch maple cricket lens pesto

“My shoes keep my feet from touching the ground so technically I’m not on lava”: edge mal willow basil moose butler gold

Lol can literally just fly/float: Jupiter Pluto Helios atlas orion quill crow harpy roost mango papaya Alden Ollivander barin arwin saga Hilda

Ignores all the immature children above and continues on with life: wine lord green boss noir captain pepper

[thesupernaturalhouse]

Listen, if you have a cat irl, you know they can be extremely cuddly and jelouse

You cannot tell me KC/Nana wouldn't be jelosue as fuck seeing Katelynn with anyone but her, especially if it's in the romantic sense

Like this cat hybrid girl would 100% lay in Katlynns lap to prevent her from going on a date or talking to someone KC knows she has a crush on

Like not really sabatoging her relationships, cause she won't force Katelynn to stop or actively try to destroy any romantic relationships she has. But she'll still be jelouse as fuck and try to distract her every once and a while

Zane hears her grumbling in the coffee shopa nd is jsut liek 'wtf is this girl's problem??' He helps her realize her feelings re NOT, infact, friend feelings or protective friend feelings

Something Aph and Ein have been trying to get her to realize for like 3 fucking years

Also important to note that I'm making KC and Katelynn childhood friends in this au sooo, childhood friends to lovers anyone?

Also, KC is pan, and Katelynn is a lesbian. Zane and Travis are bi- actually nobody here is straight-

[kulaiyin]

(content: xenohydro side quest, world 1 finale, world 2 beginning, simulated universe world 3)

(picture unrelated) wrapping up world 1 and heading towards world 2! 

excited to jump into a new world! ╰(*°▽°*)╯

mitosis... 

GETTEM LAMINA!!!!! DON’T LET THIS GUY BOSS U AROUND

XENOHYDRO REAL?! this quest chain (?) was fun... i ended up letting both lamina and the xenohydro go, because i can understand the urge of a living curio to be free... lamina’s story also made me emo. i didn’t manage to find her again after this quest, but i hope she’s living her best life! 

after the quest, i smugly ran straight for where capote and lamina used to stand around and found capote in one of those coffee rooms

to my surprise, he was very humbled by the experience?! i’m glad that he’s reflecting on himself! usually i kinda feel bad for my choice in these side quests, but i like this ending! 👍 

BACK TO BELOBOG... SO WE CAN GET OUT OF BELOBOG!

i took these screenshots weeks ago but... happy pride (❤´艸｀❤)

OH?! THIS IS SO ANCIENT CHINESE DRAMA... 

THEM... this whole sequence was so menacing...

i honestly didn’t expect blade to be “evil,” i thought he was just an edgy emo guy... wait, no, i guess the thing that surprised me the most was the fact that he could smile like that 😱

not the coffee cups 

my phone graphics are CRYONG

during the dan heng nightmare cutscene, i also got a texture error with the sword. after rewatching it online, i realized it was supposed to have a shattered effect, but for me it had some pink stripes just like above! ∑( 口 || 

h-hang in there, phone...

WELT IS COMING ?!!?!?!?!?!? 😳😳😳

MY PHONE POOPED AT THIS PART, THE HOLOGRAMS KEPT GLITCHING BUT KAFKA YOOOOOOOO

the moms are FIGHTING

i'm so curious to see what our destination would have been... but it’s ok, the docking location for xianzhou luofu looks REALLY COOL! 

REALLY DIDN’T EXPECT THE XIANZHOU LUOFU FIRST LOCATION TO BE A BARGE

COOOOOOOOOL!!!!!! COLORFUL

march 7th’s Droppings

KYAAAAAAAA SPACE CHINA LOOKS COOL!!!!

at this point, i hit trailblazer level 35 and got my 10 standard warp passes! (bites nails) WE’RE HITTING PITY, LET’S SEE THE GOODS...!

sampo goes for a 散步

HAPPY TO HAVE HIM! regrettably i haven’t had much opportunity to build/use him since i got him, but it’s nice to fill out the 4-star roster! 💪 only missing sushang and tingyun!

(definitely thinking of throwing pulls on the luocha banner... WANT SUSHANG)

... AND I GOT BRONYA’S E1 YOOOOOOOOO!!!

after reviewing what it does, it seems really good?! now using her skill doesn’t hurt that much anymore! 👀

... REALLY WANT TO GET SEELE TO MATCH WITH HER GF but maybe i will get her on a rerun _(:з)∠)_ i have guaranteed after losing 50/50 to E0 bronya, but i don’t have enough to hit pity... 

march u are so funny (genuine)

XIANZHOU LUOFU IS SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL i love how distinct the architecture is and how there are colorful ribbons in the sky as clouds... ✨ 

(but also please excuse my poop graphics...)

bro has two tails

my phone HATES THIS AREA LOOOOL BUT OMG YUKONG 😳

the holograms and screens glitch like crazy so i regrettably was a bit distracted during this scene... later on i found out that it’s purposefully like that o(￣┰￣*)ゞ

i didn’t expect yukong to have such a high position! ... and to outright reject us akjdlawjl luckily jing yuan is here to our rescue...

(by the way, i genuinely thought yukong was tingyun’s mom or something when i saw the initial character lineup... maybe i’m a fool... THERE ARE A LOT OF FOXIANS HERE) 

oh she lesbiab... i appreciate this npc... 🙏🥺

SIMULATED UNIVERSE WORLD 3... DEFEATED!!!!! i was using preservation buffs and basically it was a cockroach fight with gepard ALKJDALW i can’t even tell you how long it the boss battle took...

yeah... 

i don’t think this is my first time i attempted SU3 (i’m pretty sure nanook sabatoged my first run lol) but i love the fact that we get to use CURIOS...! with curios and blessings, there’s a lot of potential for silly builds...

[queen--kenobi]

I think the first time Aegon and Elayna bond in the modern AU is after her dad dies. Elayna is so good throughout everything, throughout the prepping for the funeral and being there for her mom, and she is the model daughter. Elayna is running her dad's company smoothly, and everything is actually looking up for them. Aemond can tell something is going wrong with Elayna, though, underneath the surface. He wants to say something but doesn't know how because lol how do you have that conversation with someone when you're stuck in the same loop and repressing similar things yourself

It's six months after her father's death Elayna finally starts to stop feeling numb. Unfortunately she gets on self-destructive streaks, so she's trying to ride the line between "I'm just dealing with something" and "I'm not dealing with something well at all". Aegon catches her mid-breakdown, on the kitchen floor with a half empty bottle of wine in her hands and glass on the floor

He doesn't say anything. He just sits down next to her.

Aegon is the first to speak, to tell her he gets this, gets why she's doing what she's doing. He tells her it only helps temporarily, and if she lets it get too far, she'll end up like him. And Aegon thinks she's too damn smart and clever to want that. Besides. She can't beat the Lannisters if she ends up drinking herself to death

He helps her up the stairs. He's not entirely a gentleman, but he's... sweet. Elayna thanks him and hugs him once he gets her to her room. She doesn't hug people, so it throws him for a loop

He notices. She's kinder to him, even going so far as to defend him one day when Aemond is being snippy. Aegon hears her tell Aemond in private she agrees, Aemond is more fit to run things and should. But that doesn't necessarily mean Aegon is a lost cause entirely

Next time Aegon goes on a bender, he wakes up to a bottle of Gatorade, several ibuprofen, and a request to meet him in the garden when he gets up. He's still hungover when he stumbles out there, but Elayna has coffee and Waffle House waiting on the table in the shade. When he's cognizant and ready to talk, she asks him questions, plies him about what his dreams are and what he wants out of life. Aegon realizes. She's trying to give him purpose, to give him a reason to stop self-sabatoging

He doesn't tell her if she keeps this up, keeps on being nice to him, she'll be the reason he stops doing this. If she's nice to him, he'll want to make her his, and while that's purpose, he doesn't think that's one she'll accept

[mosaicsoml]

I often have nights where my eyes water due to tiredness, but my mind won’t stop reeling (about nothing in particular, sometimes some things that are too particular…) and it creates an endless cycle of eye bags and trying my damned to resist dozing off in class. The amount of coffee I buy has increased since last semester, and so have my spending habits. Which I can’t seem to help now. Why? Because I have money to spend. But, you had money to spend last semester as well? Yes, I did. But I felt like I was in control of my life last semester and perhaps that’s why I am unable to control myself now. Because money is the only thing I have control over, and thus I’ll spend it freely with no hesitation. I had never had that problem before, but it seems that this year I have been plastered with problems. No matter how I try to pretend they won’t effect me, clearly I was mistaken. It’s manifesting itself in my actions, in my sleepless nights, in my mood swings, in my relationships. It’s hard to stay social. Which normally wouldn’t bother me (I’m comfortable in my solitude) but that is now affecting my work. And that effects my stress level, which only builds. And I don’t know why I can’t get myself back on my feet. It feels like self sabatoge. I know what I must do but doing so triggers a small piece of anxiety inside me that festers and becomes more erratic as I avoid it; and I’m not sure how stops head from spinning. It’s like a bus stop at night, the spotlight is there but no one is around to view it.

They say time heals all wounds but mine was only freshly cut; left to bleed and become infected. No one has tended to it, though its clearly there. I’ve refused to take the steps I need to dress it. But dressing it scares me. Just because it’s dressed doesn’t mean it won’t continue to throb and hurt. And I’ll always be reminded of it when the bandages are gone. So I let it fester, I let it sit there bared to the world. Maybe I feel comfort in it, knowing that it can’t make me feel worse if I don’t tend to it. As if getting used to the pain is better than not feeling it at all. Maybe it’s becoming to metaphorical and I should stop here.

[n1ghtw1ng-scp]

FUNNY SOMEHOW CONNECTED SCPS! THIS OPEN IS WEIRD.

LINK

And these two take place in a world where the Muppets and the charetctors of sesamea street are living puppets and the foundation keeps this a secret while allowing them to preform on TV and stuff.

LINK short summer: BARNY SABATOGE

LINK : COFFEE ADS but with Muppets

they are funny I swear!

wooo they went to space!

BAHAHAH ITS THE KILL BARNEY SONGGG THIS IS HILARIOUS oooh theyre sentientttt fancy

noo the poor coffee guys they have no purpose to live

[imma-lil-sunshy]

sometimes having acts of service as a love language is hard 😅😮‍💨

[djo-time]

I think someone sabotaged my coffee bc its half as strong as I always make it and I'm so tired after 2 cups im gonna pass out it's only 8pm help

[quolant]

Dan Rydell for the character ask, please!

thanks!

why i like them

oh my god — ok, so if i had to pick a favorite character out of the sports night cast it'd either be dana or dan (...or both of them!) anyway yeah, dan. dan's so interesting to me as a character in that he's like an onion — he gets more and more compelling as you peel back the layers on him. i love that he can be empathetic and compassionate and simultaneously neurotic and a little irritating. he's got the capability to realize when he's wrong, and he's sincere about it. he cares about the people he's close too and would clearly do anything for them. he's unafraid to show that, which is really, really sweet. also he's quirky as hell, which makes him so funny (see: the tom waits thing, his mixup with secular and nonsecular with hillary clinton). he's probably both the coolest and the least put together person in the room.

why i don't

dan has this ... idea that he can fix things and sometimes it gets to a point where it's damaging — like that he can fix other people and he can fix other situations or he can fix himself so that it fits an idea of something that actually doesn't exist (and inevitably starts to push it onto other people) also, sometimes he thinks he's the best person for dealing with x situation when he really, really isn't — though i think he starts to get that that's not really great as the show progresses. i think sometimes his emotions drive him more than the other way around, which either leads him going over the line or sabatoging on purpose to make a point, when he really needs to take a step back and look at the whole picture or reconsider what the hell he's doing (see: rebecca and draft day and shane)

favorite episode

the apology, hands down

favorite season

season 2!

favorite line

tossup between the speech from the apology and "The only reason I came in here, was to tell you this: no matter what you decide? You've got friends. And this is what friends gear up for." from mary pat shelby

otp

dan/casey!!

brotp

I'd say either dan & natalie or dan & dana but the trio of them is also really great

headcanon

in a MASH au, he is absolutely 100 percent hawkeye pierce. also he has a stupidly ridiculous coffee order because casey dared him one time to order the most complicated thing he could think of and it ended up being actually good — but also dan will literally drink any coffee/caffienated drink in reach

unpopular opinion

im not sure if this is unpopular, but dan has actually tried going to therapy before s2. he went to therapy or grief counseling in college, presumably after sam's death and it wasn't a great experience so it makes him a lot more reluctant to try therapy again (this happened to me and from what we see w dan and abby in s2 i think it's plausible)

[supercorpandbeyond]

☕ astra should come back from the dead, yeet willy wonka into space, do some time traveling, yeet demon-el's pod the fuck away from kara as soon as it lands and into a black hole and THEN organize a date for her niece and the beautiful genius human

Oh yeah. I can totally imagine this.

Her suddenly appearing while Kara’s mid supergirl duty or doing something completely normal like relaxing in her apartment and Astras just like:

“Kara Zor-El. One thing your father and I did agree on was that trash Daxam it’s was not for you. Nor is this British... man.” Astra was thinking of using some other choice words but didn’t want to upset her neice too much especially when she just got back.

“You literally had us rolling in our graves.”

Cue Kara being shocked af and just either getting sucker punched by the alien she was fighting; or dropping the container of potstickers she was eating.

Kara then begins to stammer about how- what- she’s alive? What- how did she- but Kara- how long-

Astra then interrupts her with a wave of a hand

“Details, details.” She either helps Kara put away the alien or starts to make herself a cup of coffee or tea (or maybe straight up looking for vodka)

Later when the aliens defeated, or Shes made herself a drink, she sits down with Kara, and the two begin to catch up.

“You know, At first I was hesitant, but your father eventually convinced me, that Luthor woman would make a good match for you.”

Astra says it casually in passing, as if she doesn’t know the effect that sentence has on Kara. As if she doesn’t know the two are in a fued.

Leaving Kara sputtering, trying to explain to Astra; that no; Lena is not- Heck- Kara is not-

“You and I both know you’re not straight. Kryptonians weren’t raised like that. I know Kal doesn’t know that, given he didn’t grow up on Krypton like you did, but you and I both know even though we never issued labels like Humans did; on this planet though we would consider ourselves pansexuals.”

Of course Kara goes quiet at this; leaving Astra to continue,

“I know you’ve been hiding the Kryptonian side of you for quite the amount of time, but it’s time to embrace that side of you. Including your sexuality.”

Kara can barely get out a word before Astra continues,

“And I know that you didn’t want to take Alex’s spotlight away and everything but you know she would support you. Those who wouldn’t support you don’t matter.”

Cue Kara trying to explain, that it’s not that simple, she just can’t-

“And I know that you and Lena are arguing, but please, screw your head on straight, you and I both know you have a lot of insecurities you’ve buried so deep down you don’t even realize you’re pushing her away because you, have lost so much, and she is one of the most important people in your life now; up there with Alex and don’t know what you would do if you lost her. Add in losing your planet, suppressing your sexuality, and all the absolute trauma you’ve been through, you haven’t fully realized it is causing you to sabatoge youself.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Astra adds,

“You need therapy. Heck; you and Lena both need serious therapy.”

Kara is at a complete loss of words at everything her aunt has told her. She knows it’s true but-

“Kara.” Astra turns to Kara across the table reaching over to take her nieces hands in her own, but seems to think better of it, Kara’s been through a lot today, and Astra isn’t entirely sure how she feels about her being alive again.

She waits until Kara meets her eyes before speaking again,

“You deserve to be happy.” The sentence is spoken with such determination and conviction it causes Kara’s breath to hitch in her throat.

“I know you don’t hear it nearly enough. But you deserve to be happy. You’ve taken on so much burden and responsibility I know it’s hard to focus on just you. But you need to know you deserve to be happy.”

Kara doesn’t know what to say to that so Astra lets silence to envelope them. She sits with Kara for some time, allowing the words to just sit with Kara. She doesn’t have to process them right then and there, but just needs to hear them.

It isn’t until later, after Kara’s allowed the words her aunt has spoken to settle inside her, does Astra speak once more.

“Now, please do direct me in the direction of your mother. I know she’s still alive and I believe we have some catching up to do as well.”

Of course later, after reconciling with Alura, or at least offering her apologies Astra joins forces with Cat Grant to set her and Lena up on a date. The rest is history.

—————

I may have gotten carried away. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK!!!

[seacottons]

When you say I'll be your test taster, I feel like it involves either poison, murder, or sabatoge :0 Also, Coco is literally coconut in Spanish and that only makes it even cuter for a name ^-^ - Venus

oh no- whatever makes you think that? : )

HAHAH. cute. i've been given the name coco bc cookies, coffee, and coconut and my url all have co in them

[brookreader]

14, 25, 28 for all your ocs

Thanks Fuel!

14. What’s the pettiest thing they’ve ever done?

Aoyun - Became a villain bc his former mentor said he couldn’t be a hero. At least a third of all Aoyun’s actions in the book are fueled by raw spite.

Kelly - Spent a good couple of months mainly just tormenting someone she didn’t like (by which I mean following them around and throwing stuff at them) because she felt they’d stolen her idea and made it worse. And because she was bored.

Dani - Deliberately sabatoged their grandparents Matilda-style when they were angry at them. Doesn’t do this anymore though.

25. Do they prefer coffee or tea?

Aoyun - Tea, particularly fruity teas.

Kelly - Not a big fan of either but coffee if she had to pick one.

Dani - Coffee, particularly black coffee.

28. A secret of theirs?

Aoyun - Is terrified of bees & wasps

Kelly - Craves affection

Dani - Very interested in serial killers