#this is a fucking self-indulgent monstrosity

[atyourmerci]

† Corruption †

Read pt.1 here

†

Summary: After that fateful night when Abby stumbled into your room and began her demise, she follows you into the showers to reconcile her sins

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby!?!?, switch!reader, heavy religion play indisone, fnv, cunnilingus, dirty talk yurrrr, no use of y/n

A/N: sorry this took 4ever I just really wanted to get this right and I still don’t love it but I must feed my babies. I mightttttt make a pt.3 that’s up to yall but either way I’m going to work on some other stuff so please send in recs!! (Also I know hotels don’t have communal showers just shut up and enjoy the porn:))) 

†

Your vision went blurry, plunging you into a coma that kept your breathing synchronized until you couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe all the heavy breathing took you out, maybe God was retaliating at your corruption of his loyal follower. Either way- it was a good way to go out.

When you woke up, severely late at that, there was no sight of Abby, she was gone like the wind. In any normal case, that was what you preferred. The useless banter, awkward cuddling and sentiments were far beyond you. But this felt different- she- was different. Not in a way that you couldn’t have her, an unforbidden love tragedy, but in a way that she altered every being in you. She fucked everything you knew.

Days went by with no interaction; you both avoided each other like the plague. She probably condemned herself the moment she left; fuck she was already in suit of redemption mid orgasm. You avoided her because you knew you couldn’t stop yourself. This wasn’t her way of life- it was yours. Sure, she initiated it, but you reveled in it, got off on it, desired more.

Your thoughts were selfish, self-indulgent, downright merciless. While your days were spent avoiding your unrequited love, your nights had grown breathless as your hand was shoved deep into your panties trying to get yourself off to thoughts of Abby, to no avail. It felt like your karma for fucking God’s favorite devotee. You wished she would hear your aimless attempt, swoop in and return your favor. But she never did, of course she didn’t, she feared her own fucking reflection.

After a week of thoughtless days and sleepless nights you decided to shove the night as far back as possible, stop ruminating on the idea of her. That’s all that night was, a desperate idea of what she could be without moral. That wasn’t the Abby anyone knew, and neither did she.

Friday was terrible, there was an attack at the camp and a few soldiers were pretty bad off. Since you were the only medic, you were tasked with treating multiple injuries at once, scaling them at the urgency of attention. In a sick way, you hoped Abby was hurt. You wished you could have tended to her, even in that light, any way you could get your hands on her.

The only sight of Abby was her bringing in wounded soldiers’ bridal style into your med tent. When she first arrived, it was the first words either of you had spoken in a week, only for her to bark at you about the incident and return with additional members. After she had carried all of them in, she stood and watched you tend to them for a second before you aggressively whipped back to her with a, “I got it, stop breathing down my neck.”

You weren’t trying to be harsh with her, but the last thing you needed was her presence in the wake of this monstrosity. She had already clouded your every thought, and this was not the time to finally have her at the tips of your fingers again.

After hours of stitching, compacting, and amputating wounds you were spent. Blood trailed up and down your body, caked in sweat and dirt. You were barely mobile at this point, but the thought of going to bed decorated with the blood of your friends was unnerving.

You set off to the communal showers in the middle of the rundown hotel, it was so late at this point that you were guaranteed a peaceful shower uninterrupted by any needy suitors. You removed your blood adorned clothes, dropping them to the cold white tiled floor and started the rusty shower head.

The hot water drowns your skin as blood and dirt trail down your body into the drain, you let it soak in your tired flesh as you let the day out of you. You let your fingers run through your tangled hair when you hear a creak of the door open, causing a heavy sigh to linger out of your breath.

The last thing you wanted to do was having to entertain the presence of someone else so you decided to ignore the rustling, continuing to wash through your dirty locks.

Your peace was faltered as you left a breath coming from behind your neck, heavy in almost a pant. You feel strong hands whip you around to face your attacker, and shoved into the cold back tile of the wall sending you into a gasp. Abby stood before you, already stripped of her clothing, the water fell in between your bodies and into your open mouths.

Her hands still gripped at your waist, “touch me and don’t make a fucking sound,” she aggressively whispers low enough so no one could hear, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, or that the water wouldn’t muffle out any noise, maybe she was that scared of being caught.

“Abby if you think this-“you begin to protest when she cuts you off by pulling you in by your waist to kiss you like a woman starved. It had only been a few days, but she gripped onto you like it had been years, years since she let herself go out of morality. You wanted to stop yourself, tell her you wouldn’t live this lie for her, but your body had a different agenda, it ached for her touch, anything she would give you.

She pulls away from you to simple mutter out a “please,” and you were convinced. It was like a parasite had wormed its way into you, you had gotten just as starved as she was. Without a beat you sunk to your knees as the water flooded your vision, the only sight was her sticky floods pooling between her muscley thighs. You attacked her pussy with your lips spewing a guttural moan out of her lips, she gripped onto your soaked hair for leverage. Her grip on your hair was almost painful but you couldn’t stop lapping her slick into your needy tongue to stop her.

Abby was already shaking from the overstimulation, you couldn’t pace yourself, you needed her to cum for your own validation, to know how much she needed you. Even if she never touched you, you were still fulfilled by the act. “F- fingers pl-ease” she says muffled by the water drenching you. You turn up to watch her plead tongue still deep into her slit, mascara running down your face as the water pelleted your eyes.

“D-ont look at me like th- this,” her mouth agape, she looked like she was crying, maybe she was, maybe it was the hot steam. You run a fat strip from her leaky hole up to her clit never leaving her gaze, she couldn’t look away and neither would you. “What are you going to do if I don’t Anderson?” You say with a cocky smirk and drive your tongue deep into her cunt again making her shake.

With an angered grunt you feel your hair being pulled up so that you’re back to your feet, you let out a wince from the pain before she throws you back onto the tiles, this time you had been too worked up to feel the chill of them on your skin. She places her left hand onto the titles next to your head, the veins in her arms bulging from using them to pull all of your body weight by your hair.

Her chest is flesh with yours that you can feel your bodies breath’s heave back and forth, eyes drilling into each other. “Fingers.” She demands. You didn’t realize you were so in shock by her aggression your hands were pinned at your sides, you moved them down her chest slowly, feeling every chiseled-out crevasse on her. Her breath only becomes more rapid as you draw your fingers closer to her aching cunt.

She whimpers out a “fuck,” as your fingers reattach to her clit, rubbing slow enough to relieve the pain but not enough to get her off. You watch as her head finally drops, and her arm shakes next to your head. Her cross was laid messily on her chest, flipped backwards, you hold back laughter as you think to yourself how God couldn’t watch this right now.

“You like getting fucked by a girl huh Anderson?” You dip your head closer so that you’re in her ear now, “you touch your little pussy every night since I made you cum, yeah?” You taunt and tease her as she whimpers into your ear. “St-op it,” she begs with her head nuzzled into the crook of your neck in a way to almost hide herself.

“Its okay baby, tell me how much you like getting fucked like a godless whore,” you start to circle her clit harder and faster so you can watch how much she likes it. All she can spit out in return is a desperate “fuckkkk,” and you know you’ve broken her. “D- don’t let me cum- I- I don’t deserve it,” she moves her head so you can see her now and begins panting on your lips.

“oh no Im going to enjoy watching you break again,” you say back with a wide grin, reveling in her desperation. You’re ready to dip your fingers into her dripping folds when you feel her free hand travel up your thigh. Her hand finally meets your cunt and she grips it harshly causing you to buck your hips into it.

“A- abby what are you d-doing?” Every emotion hitting you like a ton of bricks. Why was she touching you? This wasn’t her thing, not her job, that was your job. Would you be able to stop her? Control yourself? Let her have you? Why did she feel so fucking good when she was barely touching you?

She continues pulsing her palm into your aching cunt, “just let me try,” she breathes out against your soaked lips. Your fingers begin faltering at her clit, you try continuing your pace but it slows as her palm rubs against you.

She follows your lead by tracing her thick fingers through your slick folds, you bite down on your bottom lip to hold back from exposing yourself. When she begins circling your clit you can’t help but to whimper a choked out, “fuck just like that,” she was doing so well already.

She seemed pleased by her work, letting out a moan that followed your own. She was getting off on your pleasure instead of her own at this point.

You are barely able to keep your pace on her clit anymore, so engulfed by the feeling of her rough fingers on your swollen clit. She removes her fingers from your clit to move your hand off of her own clit, moving it so your palm lay against her chest.

She returns her fingers back so that only you are being pleased by her. You couldn’t believe that this was the first time she had done it, she felt like she was made to touch you, circling your bud like it would bring her to salvation.

Words were barely at the forefront of your mind at this point but you needed to ask her, “di- did you do all of- fuckkkk- ju- just to fuck me?”

She pierces her bright blue eyes into yours to make herself clear, “I worship you,” she says as she dips her long, thick ring and middle fingers deep into your cunt, immediately inching your g spot. The palm of her hand grazing your clit to give just enough friction.

All you can muster up to respond with is a guttural scream that rips through you, causing to use the hand that was placed on the wall to cover your mouth quickly. “Shhhh pretty girl I know I know,” she coos.

You bring her fingers into your mouth for leverage, anything to keep you from losing all control. Her pace quickens as she feels your walls clenching around her dripping fingers. How the fuck does she know you’re close.

As you begin nearing your climax, your mind runs free from all morality, she begin corrupting you just the same, driving out what you knew and replacing it with only her.

You didn’t even know you were doing it, not until she moved her fingers out of your mouth to understand you, “abbyabbyabbyabbyabby” with your eyes rolled, head slack on the tiles you begin worshiping her, praising her ever being like a mantra.

What brought you back to consciousness was the heavy breath and the ringing of your own name in a mantra beside your ear. You had never repented before, but she had begun her reconciliation along with you. If this were to be your religion, you’d give into her over and over again. At your knees to serve her, punished at your wrong doings and give penance for your sins.

“Serve me with your completion, give your god what she deserves,” she demands. You couldn’t disobey your savior, she showed your needy body mercy, and you must obey her.

It all hits you like a wave, all you can see is white as your body trembles under her. You can’t recall screaming but she moves her hand over your mouth. Your entire body shakes as she rides you over your high, kissing your forehead as you bite into her fingers, never letting up on her pace until she knows you can’t take it anymore.

As all of your limbs give out she slowly moves her fingers out of your abused pussy, picking you up before you fall straight into the hard tiles. She gently places you onto the tiles in front of her, holding you by your waist as the water floods from above you.

You try to mumble out something but she stops you with a quick “shhh I’m going to take care of you,” as she begins to wash out your hair gently. You lean your head into the crook of her neck and she lays peppered kisses from your shoulder to your neck.

“Please don’t run off again…” you muster up as she threads her fingers through your hair, “you’re all I know.”

“You’re all I have.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2

[yuzuocha]

THE HORRORS OF GACHA. [HC]

gacha they would play and how they play. this is based off of the gachas i played, so apologies kek

warnings ‣ uhhahahha this may or may not be completely self-indulgent because i need writer motivation juice to finish up my more serious fics — enjoy this semi-crack hc that prolly makes zero sense

lmao (inspired from moot @anxiousgoddest bc this is kinda crack-ish) also my xavier bias may have leaked a bit too much in this lol. or maybe its just my proseka and ak bias bc i haven't played hsr in a while and it shows

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ・project sekai

— you didn't think he'd get into project sekai to THIS extent.

— you piqued his curiosity when he heard you spewing out curses such as 'I FLICKED THAT' or 'OH, ONE GREAT? YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING' from the floor above his apartment.

— later on a date in destiny café he asked you what game made you fume like so. after a couple of minutes of embarrassed apologies and silent profanities at your apartments' thin walls, you told him about project sekai and its game mechanics.

— "tapping to the beat is very simple in concept, but it gets difficult?" you nod.

— "is it free to download?" you nod vigorously. caleb doesn't play it anymore and tara focuses on toya more than the actual game itself. you'd kill to have a buddy to discuss one of your favorite games, especially if xavier is that person in question.

— you two ended up skipping the claw machinery for plushies in favor of staying in the café and playing project sekai. you did slightly dread about how long you had to wait for him to catch up to you in terms of skill, rank and unlocked songs, however.

— "why is the speed so slow? oh, i can change it?"okay, maybe you don't have to wait as much.

— "i just have to skim through the archives to get the items needed to unlock songs, right?" huh, he's getting to know the ropes quickly.

— "i'll choose this one." he chooses expert and you almost laugh. while expert isn't difficult per se, it's nothing short of impossible to a rhythm game beginner, right?

— WRONG, WRONG, ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY WRONG.

— aside from the beginning where he hit a lot of greats and missed a couple of notes, he was improving by the second while playing the chart and ended with a combo in the hundreds.

— "this is pretty fun and helps with hand-eye coordination," he said as he full combo'ed the song on his second day of playing.

— "the game said i unlocked something called 'ranked matches'. what is that?" day three.

— "i've full combo'ed intense voice on expert, it was very fun." week one.

— god dammit, just why does he have to be good at everything besides cooking and staying awake ??? not even a month in and he got the 'mad skillz' achievement, something that took you over six months to get.

— now he plays it while you're at the meow café playing kitty cards, and your urge to throw your phone across Linkon City has only increased with the amount of all perfects and full combos he piled up.

— it didn't help that his gacha luck was so good despite him being so disinterested in the cards too. you still haven't forgiven him for pulling the entire colorful festival banner within 30 pulls while you got nothing from over 200...

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ・arknights

— it all started when you were too lazy to reach for your phone and took zayne's instead to search something up. you got distracted by the small amount of apps and tabs he had until you came across an icon that looked surprisingly familiar... a fourteen year old girl with brown hair and ears? arknights??

— you bolted to your phone to immediately send a picture of this monstrosity to caleb, but damn zayne's good vision and movements — you couldn't even touch your phone. never have you seen zayne so flustered; he must've known you were planning to frame him over an app with an underaged girl as its icon despite you knowing the contents of said game.

— you had to stifle your laughter while zayne was explaning why the game was on his phone as if he was presenting a medical thesis — that much detail should suffice.

— according to zayne, he's actually someone who played this game ever since its release. he liked the strategic aspect of it and it was a stress reliever of sorts.

— he also played it because the main plot device for arknights, originium, reminded him of you and protocores, but he won't ever admit to this.

— post-interrogation (?), you took a look at zayne's account; and for someone who claimed that it was just a casual stress reliever, the claim was absolutely ridiculous.

— level 120. all medals obtained. all stories, challenge modes and game modes cleared. all of the operators maxed out and mastered. the six star operators only had the necessary potentials and masteries too — was he a cardiac surgeon or an arknights dev??

— also, just what about arknights is relaxing?? it's notoriety for its difficult gameplay amongst gacha games was nothing to sneeze at, and zayne's a doctor in real life! why in the fucking hell would he want to take a break from his job by playing as a doctor?!

— you ended up surmising that normies couldn't possibly understand geniuses.

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ・star rail

— you two were waiting for the release together ever since the pre-registering and beta testing, let's be real.

— but GOD, rafayel's so laughably terrible at this game despite it not requiring much skill.

— what's even worse is that he's a whale. a big one.

— even when you explained how seele was destined to fail in long-term meta due to her gimmick's trigger conditions, rafayel slammed his credit card down for her, claiming it was "good investment" and that you were just one of those meta-haters.

— and fastforward to addition of the newer characters, you completely steamrolled rafayel's claim. granted, seele was hardly what you'd consider as terrible by any means. but to rafayel, who plays with quote in quote "only the best of the best", it was pretty funny seeing him scowl at DHIL a couple months later.

— seele's been gathering dust since, by the way.

— rages over chests. he couldn't find that one chest at cloudford and the divination commission and he was about to break his pc. this ain't even genshin with hundreds of chests per region. though, in his defense, cloudford was really annoying with all of the contraptions, and it was easy to get lost in the divination. no seriously fuck that shit

— don't get me fucking started with simulated universe. while he eventually learned how to manage through the stages, the process in getting there was quite painful for him to experience and for you to watch.

— one thing that didn't change, though, was his ridiculous luck in terms of artifact-pulling. crit rate, crit damage, energy regeneration, atk increase – you're convinced the game knows that rafayel's a huge spender and they're rewarding him for his services.

— well, he'll manage somehow, even with his all-dps team with zero sustain or support. heh.

taglist! | @kttriangle | @sncrly0urs | @anxiousgoddest (im adding you here just to annoy you btw <3)

tysm for reading! comment down below or message me if you'd like to be a part of the taglist, and if you can, please do consider reblogging! it helps out a lot ;; w ;; and and!! my inbox is open for requests! PLEASE SEND SOME ASDJQVEJWHE I NEED THEM

yuzuocha © 2024 — all rights reserved.

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Summary

Part 1

Lonely Boy

London, England

Present Day

“Promise me that you will be normal.”

“I am always normal.”

“That is demonstratively untrue. You are never normal,”

“Well then what do you want from me? If I am not normal to begin with, how can I be normal in this instance?”

“Fake it. Pretend.”

“Why don’t you just drive? In silence.”

Cassian sighed a dramatic sight, and continued on driving, preferring not to push the issue any further. Lord knew it took him months, actual months to convince his stubborn ass of a brother to actually agree to try this. In all honesty, Cassian was feeling exhausted. Drained. Defeated. And he never felt defeated. But this whole…thing…was akin to that Greek myth, with the guy who kept pushing a huge rock up a mountain, only to reach the top, and for the rock to skid back down and for the climb to resume again. And again. And again. That’s how he felt with his wayward, unruly, scandalous brother Azriel.

Azriel was looking out the car window, a scowl on his face.

Cassian wasn’t going to engage. The last thing he needed for his brother to say ‘turn the car around, I am not going’. He wasn’t going to risk it.

“Where are we even?” Azriel muttered at last, his brow furrowing as he looked at the unfamiliar streets. “Is this bird posh?”

Cassian arched a brow at him and blew out a breath. You can take the boys out of a council estate, but you can’t take the council estate out of the boys. He and Azriel grew up in abject poverty, with their alcoholic father, his cunt of a wife, and their two abhorrent step-brothers. Decades later, sometimes it slipped–Azriel’s plain talk. 

“Who cares if she is posh?” Cassian shrugged instead of answering. “You are Azriel Night. She should be impressed,”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Posh birds don’t care about all that.”

Here he was: the shy, awkward boy that Cassian remembered. Azriel, with his scarred hands, his awful self-esteem, his sense of unworthiness and his head full of doubts. Despite the blustering bravado that he usually carried like a shield, when left stripped and bare, Azriel was a boy who made it big, who got lucky in life, but who thought little of himself. 

Azriel sighed and then pointed at the window.

“Look!  A pub. Let’s stop and have a pint instead.”

Tempting as it was, Cassian shook his head determinedly and said, “No. We have an appointment and we will keep it.”

He glanced at Azriel and added, “And don’t be pouting.”

“I am not pouting!”

“You are definitely pouting.”

A moment later.

“And rolling your eyes.”

“Fuck off.”

“How about,” Cassian chewed the inside of his cheek and then offered, “we’ll get a pint after.”

“After, I’ll need heroin!”

Cassian didn’t bother responding–it was all just bluster anyway. Azriel didn’t even drink because he was training. And considering how badly the training was going, there wasn’t going to be any drinking or any heroin if he wanted to continue playing, and not get benched for the rest of the season.

Azriel was looking out the window with a mixture of disdain and interest. 

They were driving down a busy street, hotels and restaurants on both sides. There was the Fitzroy, its facade indulgently opulent and so overwhelmed with Victorian decorations, it looked ridiculous. Next to it, was an absolutely disastrous looking cement building, which used to be a hotel, but now seemed abandoned. A fucking crematorium would look cheerier than this grey cement monstrosity. 

“What is this?” Azriel asked again.

“Russell Square,” Cassian explained at last, while making a turn alongside the green square.

It was quaint here. Quiet. 

Finally, Azriel recognised the hulking mass of the British Museum. It wasn’t a place where he visited willingly, though he sort of recalled a school trip here. Beyond that, it was a black hole. 

He was mostly a shit student, so it didn’t surprise him that he didn’t remember. He wished that he was better–at everything–but his childhood was so precarious, he never allowed himself to hope or wish for better days. So why bother with education or culture if that could always be snatched away from him at any point? So he didn’t. And now, he regretted it. He regretted not spending more time learning about things, about the world, but wasting entirely too much time on doubting and challenging it.

The SatNav told them that they had arrived and Cassian killed the engine.

“Come on,” he motioned at Azriel firmly, “don’t puss out on me now. Let’s go.”

Clenching his teeth so hard he risked cracking a tooth, Azriel climbed out of the Jaguar. 

The two of them stood in front of a cute - charming even - Georgian row home, with an attached carriage house. The house was mostly white, with a bit of red brick, and covered in red and purple…well, flowering plant. Azriel wasn’t an expert in plants. He knew ivy and wisteria and that’s as far as it went. So whatever this was, it was beautiful, but he has no idea what it was. Marigold Agency was all it said on an old-fashioned hanging sign that swayed gently over the one-story carriage house. Could be anything. At least it saved Azriel more embarrassment and indignity. He was entering, or ducking, to be precise, into a vaguely named business. It could be a flower shop. A cafe. An ice cream shop.

Not a matchmaking agency. Nothing like that.

The weather was blustery, the skies slate grey, not even a hint of sun or light. Sinking deeper into his leather jacket, he finally entered the foyer, followed by Cassian. A bell chimed upon their entry, announcing them.

They stood in a plush, cosy space, with a fancy marble fireplace, and entirely too many flower arrangements. The walls were covered with tastefully framed, but absolutely cheesy inspirational love quotes. As he looked around, Azriel read gems such as:

Darling, you are all I ever wanted love to be…

True love is a journey without an end

I told the stars about you…And they answered

I crave a love that drowns oceans

When we have each other, we have everything

“In the name of Saint George, what the hell is this?” Azriel muttered under his breath, glancing around.

Cassian meanwhile, made himself comfortable in a plush sofa, dwarfing it with his massive size. The fire in the fireplace was roaring and created a nice respite from London’s awful October weather. 

The next moment, a three-legged pug came trotting in, huffing and snorting. He was wearing a spiffy blue bow and stared the two visitors down with his big buggy pug eyes. Azriel squatted low and let the dog sniff him, as he stroked the short fur and the multitude of rolls.

“Piglet!” a melodious voice called out. “How did you get out? Off you go back to the office! Come on!”

The pug snorted in indignation, while Azriel followed the sound of the voice. His eyes skimmed up, finding slender ankles and feet clad in black patent leather pumps–elegant, with one of those ‘kitten heels’. Is that what they were called? And how did he know that?

The owner of the expensive shoes wore a pleated silk skirt of deep cobalt and as he looked up, Azriel noted a tiny waist and a pair of ample tits. The posh bird–and he assumed that’s who this was–had a body to kill for. Definitely a hot little body, though she was dressed like some movie star from the 50s. Totally old fashioned and proper. Those nice soft tits were hidden beneath a black silk blouse, with a huge bow on the side of her neck. Apparently she and her pug liked strutting about wearing large bows. But to add to her old-fashioned attire, she also wore PEARLS. Real, honest to god pearls–a 3-strand pearl necklace, and pearl earrings. 

“Your pug’s name is Piglet?” Azriel asked, perplexed, as he straightened to his considerable height.

“It is indeed,” the girl…woman…confirmed.

She was a stunner to be sure. Early-twenties, he assumed, and it wasn’t just her attire that seemed vintage–she was a throwback to a bygone era. A soft lovely face, reminding him of classic cartoon princesses–huge round eyes, brown and gorgeous, a small pretty nose, pink cheeks and a pair of rosy lips, all framed by waves of light golden-brown hair. 

“Piglet, come,” she ordered again, and the pug finally ambled away from Azriel, energetically hopping on his three legs.

“Mr. Singer-Night?” she asked, boldly extending her hand.

“Mr. Night is fine,” Azriel corrected, and took her hand in his. Hers was soft, with little firm calluses and a nice grip.

He found himself being intrigued by this oddity. Not exactly attracted, though she was incredibly attractive, but more like fascinated. She was so different from every single other woman he’s ever been around, he didn’t know what to make of her. Granted, he didn’t spend much time in high society, but he spent enough to know that even there, girls such as this one were a rarity. 

“Of course,” she nodded once and then looked at Cassian, who got up from the sofa.

“Also Mr. Night,” Cassian smiled, his handsome face splitting into an affable grin. She offered him a little smile too, and for some reason, that made Azriel unhappy. He wasn’t angry exactly, but she barely reacted to him, and here she was, offering sweet smiles to his brother. It wasn’t unexpected–Cassian was fun. Big, burly, handsome, with his black Fabio-long hair and an easy, loose-limbed walk.  

“Are you brothers, gentlemen?” she inquired, motioning for them to follow her. 

“We are,” Cassian confirmed.

“Yes, I can see the resemblance,” she said breezily, to which Cassian responded, “Of course I am the more handsome, well-adjusted brother!”

She smiled a polite smile, and Azriel blandly stretched his lips in a fake smile, wanting to punch Cassian in the bollocks.

Unbelievable that Cassian was starting to flirt with her within two minutes of being in her presence! Unbelievable or predictable?

Anyway, this was going terrible and he just wanted to get out of here.

“Would you like some tea, gentlemen?” she offered.

“Would love some,” Cassian agreed immediately, and Azriel clenched his fist until his nails dug into his fist painfully. Now they were having tea! They’d never fucking get out of this bizarre place in the middle of fucking Holborn or wherever the fuck they were. 

“You seem tense, Mr. Night,” she said quietly, and he was surprised to find her in front of him, her big brown eyes kind and understanding. “Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Easier said than done, but Azriel followed her advice and plummeted into a comfortable armchair in front of a large, clean desk. Cassian sat in an identical chair next to him. Piglet the pug eased himself between them and sat down on the plush carpet, looking up at his new guests with interest. Cassian immediately attempted to play with the dog, extending his hand and asking to ‘give paw’, which Piglet did. 

The girl, whose name Azriel still didn’t know, returned with a tray laden with tea service. Actual tea pot and nice cups and saucers, platters with biscuits and pastries. She poured them tea, handed them the cups and only then did she sit down behind her impressive, polished walnut desk. 

“I am Elain Archeron,” she introduced herself at last.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Archeron,” Cassian grinned, and Azriel nodded. The rain behind the window was getting worse, and Azriel felt that he was here for the long run. “This is a very nice office,” Cassian continued to pile on the compliments. “Business must be going well for you, to be able to afford a place like this. You do come very highly recommended and your services are highly regarded.”

She drummed a manicured finger on the desk and explained, “I inherited the building. The house is mine, and I use this carriage house for my office. My great-great-grandmother, also named Elain, was the lover of the Duke of Velaris,”

At that, Cassian gave her a salacious look, and Azriel sipped his tea in bland silence. It was good. Strong. And of course there is some high society sex story that was going to be attached to this girl–it was a given. She seemed like the type. Lovers, dukes, mistresses, inheritances, estates…Fucking ‘Downton Abbey’ is where he now was. A nightmare.

Elain continued, “She was very active in the suffragette movement at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century, and was good friends with Emmeline Pankhurst, who lived just down the road, in what is now the Fitzroy.”

Azriel’s brain was working slowly, because he was now warm and sleepy, but he recalled something about all of this from class–the name Emmeline Pankhurst sounded familiar. She was one of the first feminist ladies, if he recalled correctly. 

“The Duke of Velaris gifted the house, this house, to my gran, so that the women could hold their meetings here. It’s been passed down the line, to the females of our family. I am the lucky one who inherited it this time around…This carriage house is quite convenient to house my business,”

“So you are a Duchess?” Azriel interrupted. 

She smiled and said, “Well, not exactly, but enough about me.”

“I told you she was posh,” Azriel glanced at Cassian, nodding in her direction. 

She ignored the comment and asked at last, “So, what brings you to Marigold? And who is in need of my services?”

“My brother here,” Cassian offered easily, “is in need of a wife.”

She exhaled and murmured, “well then”, and clicked her laptop, reading whatever was on the screen. Azriel fumed silently.

“I am assuming you are Azriel?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen. 

“I am,” he managed. 

“It says you are a footballer?”

“I am,” he confirmed reluctantly. Usually, his profession was a flex. He played for Arsenal, been a professional footballer since he was 17, and was currently the team’s captain. But somehow, right now, it didn’t seem as impressive as it usually did. Not when he was sitting in front of a damn Duchess!

Was she really a Duchess? Did Granny Elain only shagged the Duke, or did they have children? Because if Granny Elain looked like this Elain, it was no wonder that the Duke dipped his wick into that honey pot. 

“Are these monosyllabic answers how you court the ladies?” Elain asked, a note of tartness on her tongue.

Azriel’s eyes flared and he stared at her. The cheek on her!

“Pardon?” 

She shrugged innocently and continued looking at the screen, reading.

“I am just wondering why you would need my services, Mr. Night? You are a successful sportsman, and a footballer no less, and I assume that you are financially stable. Unless you have a gambling problem of some kind?”

“I don’t have a gambling problem!”

“Well, then, since you are an athlete, I am guessing it’s not drugs or drink. So, what is it then? Personality or sexual dysfunction?”

At that, she looked up and stared straight at him.

Azriel’s eyes bugged out. To be fair, so did Cassian’s.

“Excuse me?!” Azriel thundered. “Who the hell are you to imply that I can’t get my dick hard? Are you even married yourself? And where do you get off treating your potential clients like this? Let’s go, Cassian. I am not sitting here, listening to this shite!”

Elain remain unflappable all through his tirade, and watched him attempt to get up from the armchair, splashing hot tea over his shirt in the process. He cursed, the tea cup clanging and wobbling precariously in his hands.

“Are you very well done?” Elain then asked dryly, rising up and leaving the office.

Cassian sighed deeply and unhappily.

“Well, that went well,” he groaned.

“She was taking the piss!” Azriel retorted angrily, though he was feeling kind of foolish now. He couldn’t believe that he lost his temper like that. He wasn’t even a temperamental man, but somehow, this stuck-up little floozy with her pearls and her judgemental tone set his teeth on edge. “I bet she isn’t even married herself! Who’d marry a cow like that? A bloke would have to be suicidal…She’d nag him to death…”

Suddenly, from behind them, Elain voice said calmly, 

“Glad to know that it’s not sexual issues, but just your horrible personality.”

Azriel felt his face flush. He’d assumed that she stormed out and left them to see themselves out, but apparently, she heard everything that he said to Cassian. He called her a ‘cow’. Shit.

She handed him a hand towel to blot out the tea from his shirt and then went back to her desk.

Piglet was growling angrily at Azriel, back to stand on his three legs, his crooked sharp little teeth bared and ready to sink into any part of Azriel in defence of Elain.

“Piglet, it’s okay,” Elain said softly, while Cassian attempted to pet him and almost lost a finger in the process, when Piglet snapped at him viciously.

“My apologies, Ms. Archeron,” Cassian muttered. “This didn’t go as planned. We won’t be wasting any more of your time and will be on our way.”

She sighed and waved her hand at him,

“I apologise for my shortness. But, you must understand, I also don't want to waste anyone’s time. Not yours, gentlemen, not my own. If Mr. Night isn’t interested in my services, then I understand and we won’t proceed any further.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted. “He is interested. Believe me. He is,” and he threw a murderous look in Azriel’s direction. 

Elain pursed her lips and said, “I find it hard to believe. But if you wish, let’s discuss your situation. I feel like there is more to the story that I am not understanding.”

She was now talking directly to Cassian, pretty much ignoring Azriel altogether, and that made his hackles rise. However, he didn’t feel that it was prudent to continue arguing with her. Let Cassian handle this however he wanted.

Elain refilled Azriel’s cup and handed it back to him. He was surprised at that. The biscuits looked good too, so he picked one up from the tray and bit into it. It was divine. Buttery, crispy, meltingly tender inside. He’d never eaten a biscuit like this before. 

“This is incredible,” he couldn't stop himself from complimenting it.

A small smile touched Elain’s lips and she said, “Well, thank you, Mr. Night. I baked them myself.”

“You bake too?” he blurted out stupidly.

“I do. It was my first passion. That and flowers.”

“Of course,” he snorted. “Don’t worry, Miss, I didn’t think it would’ve been cage fighting. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are an escapee from the 50s,”

Sarcastically, she retorted, “no, how could I possibly take that the wrong way? Forgive me, sir, if I am well-mannered, and decorous, and like genuine relationships between people, which aren’t based on Instagram likes and follows.”

“I am a little surprised that you know what Instagram is,” Azriel added. “Seeing as you use words such as ‘decorous’...”

“Aright, okay,” Cassian clapped his huge hands together and rubbed them together. “That’s enough. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Elain sighed dramatically and said, “Fine. Tell me then why Mr. Night is in need of a wife then?”

“Gladly,” Cassian cried with fake excitement. “Azriel and I grew up in a…challenging environment,”

Elain didn’t say anything, but Azriel could see that that did not surprise her. 

“Our family situation wasn’t the best,” Cassian continued, “until we were adopted by our distant uncle. You might have heard of him, considering your background–Lord Darling, the construction magnate.”

She nodded, “I am familiar with Lord Darling. He has a son–Rhysand, I believe. You three are related then?”

“We are. Rhys is our cousin. We were adopted when we were teens, Azriel was almost fifteen, I was about thirteen. Az was already showing a lot of promise on the field, his talent raw and genuine,”

Azriel died inwardly from the praise. He was never comfortable with it, even when it was deserved.

“Signed at seventeen to Manchester City,” Elain said casually, like a spy recalling a dossier. “Then, at twenty-three, sold to Arsenal and has been there ever since. Captain for the past three years, if I am not mistaken?”

Cassian just stared at her, as did Azriel, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“He is a forward and his number is 14. Last year, he scored 34 goals, tied only with Haaland. Height–6”5, very tall for a footballer, and weight is 188 lbs.," with that, Elain leaned back, and looked at both of them. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as a football aficionado,” Cassian confessed after a long pause.

“I am not,” Elain said easily. “And I wouldn’t expect you to. I am an escapee from the 1950s, after all.”

Azriel pushed his tongue into his cheek, but didn’t rise to the taunt.

He wasn’t sure why, but it felt weirdly satisfying to hear her rattle off his stats. To say that he was shocked was an understatement, but also, secretly pleased. Fuck yeah he was as good as Haaland! And Haaland was 5 years younger than him. So there was that.

“As our American cousins would say,” Elain threw a biscuit to Piglet, who lunged at it voraciously, “this isn’t my first rodeo, Cassian.”

Oh, so now Cassian was Cassian. But Azriel was still Mr. Night.

That was fine. It’s not like Azriel cared.

“And that means that I do my research. Very thoroughly,” Elain assured them. “Before I take on any client, be it male or female, I need to know what and who they are. Do I scour news outlets? Social media? Gossip sites? Oh, you bet I do. And then there is a full criminal background check as well once someone becomes a client. 

“Mr. Night is acceptable,”

“Oh, well! Thank goodness for that,” Azriel exclaimed sarcastically.

“There is no need for that, Mr. Night,” Elain stopped him, “your notoriety is known, but it’s at an acceptable level. No long term relationships, no sexual assaults, but penchant for…” she cleared her throat, but ploughed forth, “orgies and group sex. Attempts at discretion, but not always successful.”

Shit, well this was embarrassing.

Azriel wasn’t sure why he should feel embarrassed at all? He was a single man in the prime of his life, but when it came from the lips of this lovely doll-like creature who was draped in pearls, his sexual history sounded��seedy. 

She didn’t pause, but continued, “only one arrest. When Mr. Night was 18–for destruction of property,”

“He spray painted a wall,” Cassian interjected.

Azriel just loved sitting here and being discussed like he wasn’t present.

“Ahh, an artist as well?” Elain commented.

Gah. She really was the most annoying woman he’d ever met. Annoying and condescending and impossible. 

“So, a famous, successful footballer from the Premier League who enjoys orgies and hasn’t had a girlfriend…ever, wants to find a wife? That’s quite a leap. Please explain.”

“Lord Darling is a very wealthy man,” Cassian said, “and he’s been kind to treat us well, even though we aren’t his sons. We are in his will, and it’s not been kept secret from anyone. The will stipulates one condition for all of us: Rhys, Az and myself. In order to receive the inheritance, we have to be married by the age of 30. If we are not, the inheritance is null and void and we receive nothing. Azriel is the eldest–he will be turning 30 in March. I have another year and a half to go and Rhys is the youngest at 26.”

“Aren’t you wealthy in your own right?” Elain challenged, looking directly at Azriel.

“I am,” he said.

Muscling in, Cassian piped in, “You don’t understand, Ms. Archeron. The inheritance is very large,”

Seeing her expression, Cassian added,

“It’s 230 million. Each. It’s a lot of money to just let go.”

It finally dawned on her and she nodded with understanding. 

“It is a rather large sum,” she agreed with an exhale.

“It is,” Cassian nodded, swallowing two biscuits at once. “These are good!” he mumbled, before saying, “and since it is such a huge amount, and this is a serious, lifelong decision, we all got to be thoughtful about it. Can’t leave this to chance anymore. As you’d mentioned, Az doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, so anyone new has to be vetted. We can’t have some slag from “Love Island’ latching on to him.”

Elain’s eyes popped at the word ‘slag’ being casually thrown into the conversation, but she stopped herself from commenting. 

“Also, Az will be moving on sooner rather than later.”

“Not too soon,” Azriel argued, but Cassian ignored him.

“Coaching or broadcasting,” Cassian continued. “Within 3-5 years, Az will retire from playing, but will probably move on to coaching once he passes all his coaching courses and certification. He’ll have a reputation to uphold–he’ll have to be respectable. Married, with children,”

“God Cass, you make it sound like I am being sentenced to life of hard labour,” Azriel moaned.

Elain chuckled. 

“Well, at least now it makes sense.”

Elain got up and went to the window behind her desk. 

Rain lashed violently against the glass, but it was nice here–at least Azriel liked it. The girl was still kind of a bitch, but she smelled nice, of jasmine, with an undertone of honey, and she baked and she was pretty. And her arse was fine, even hidden behind her pleated skirt. All of her was fine, except for her personality and her sharp tongue.

“Mr. Night,” she said quietly, without turning from the window. Azriel knew that she was addressing him, because Cassian busied himself with fixing Piglet’s bow.

“Please confirm that you are the kind of man who’ll accept a woman with high energy and high ambitions,” Elain asked. 

“What?”

“The women that contact me–that’s what they are. They are busy with professional lives, they are usually very well financially off, they are confident and independent. Most either don't have time to look for a partner on their own or want to meet someone who’s been screened and who matches their needs and asks. 

“But I must inquire again–is that the type of woman you desire? Someone who would stand up for herself, and someone who might not give up her own career for yours? Someone who might be complicated, if you know what I mean. Educated, serious, elegant, demanding. Not someone who’d roll over for you or inflate her lips or bleach her hair.”

“I don’t really want anyone with bleached hair,”

“Well that’s good isn’t it? Because I’d present you with matches who will challenge and entice you. But you need to tell me that that’s something you are comfortable with and that’s something you want?”

“He wants it,” Cassian shot immediately, playing with Piglet and cooing at him, muttering ‘you are a pretty boy, aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are…”

Elain raised her hand and turned to face them.

“I must insist that Mr. Night answer this question, Cassian. This is the rest of his life we are talking about. I understand that you have his best interests at heart, but that’s not enough. Mr. Night must decide for himself.”

Azriel crossed his arms on his chest and chewed his lips, thinking.

He liked her straightforward manner. Her insistence. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say that she was describing herself in these women that she’d be setting him up with. Only it wasn’t the case–Elain was delicate and classic. She was a matchmaker, for god’s sake, not some boardroom lioness. She had a pug who wore a satin bow. But she was dogged, and confident, and he didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind her self-assuredness at all. Other things…he kind of minded. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said at last. 

Elain cocked her brow at him, her expression a mixture of disdain and disbelief. 

“Well, ‘yeah, okay’ doesn’t exactly fill me with excitement, but I suppose we’ll go with that,” she concluded at last. 

Cassian chuckled. 

She clicked something on her laptop, and Azriel heard the sound of a printer. 

“This is the contract, gentlemen,” she told them, as she gathered a hefty bundle of pages and stuffed them into a folder. “Take a look at it and if you are going to pursue my services, I’d like for you to return it to me, signed, by tomorrow. Say one o’clock?”

Cassian snatched the folder and nodded, “Yes, we will.”

“I apologise for how quickly we are moving here, but we are under a tight timeline, it seems,” she reminded them. 

Suddenly losing his usual indifferent bravado, Azriel asked, his voice quiet,

“And what happens after? If we sign it,”

“You sign it,” Elain ordered brusquely. 

“Fine. I sign it. What happens after that?”

“We sit down, discuss your mating criteria, and take it from there,”

“I am sorry, what? What is a ‘mating criteria’?” 

“Basically, your requirements for your future mate. Blonde or brunette? Tall or short? Level of education? Hobbies? Interests? All of it.”

“Mating criteria is the least sexy term I’ve ever heard,” Azriel complained. 

“Well, I am sorry, Mr. Night–I'll leave the ‘sexy’ part to you. My job is to find you the woman for all your sexy needs and then some.”

Azriel got up, followed by Cassian.

“I mean, you can just marry me,” Azriel suddenly blurted.

Both Elain and Cassian paused and stared at him with evident shock on their faces.

“I am sorry?” 

Backtracking frantically, he tried to make light of it, internally berating himself and wondering what the hell possessed him to say something so stupid. He’d rather rip his nuts off than be married to her!

“I mean, it would save both of us some time. And in a year, we could be divorced. No harm, no foul. And I won’t even request any conjugal satisfactions from you,”

“Okay, okay,” Cassian muttered, grabbing Azriel’s upper arm and squeezing it until he stopped the blood flow. “I think we’ve said enough. We’ll see you later, Ms. Archeron,”

She, meanwhile, was fuming, her hands on her hips, as she snarled,

“You wouldn’t request conjugal satisfactions? You? Who said I’d ever even let you near me!?”

“I am sure he was just joking,” Cassian murmured through clenched teeth. “Nerves, you know. Nerves. Forgive him, Miss Elain. No conjugal anything between the two of you, of course. Hahaha. That’s funny. Let’s go. Let’s. Go.”

He half dragged Azriel alongside him.

“Consider it!” Azriel called out.

“No. Fucking. Thank. You.” She yelled after them.

“Shit, you said ‘fucking’!” Azriel grinned. “Miss Perfect is not so perfect after all.”

** credit to @deathsweetblossoms for suggesting the title for the story!

[360iris]

POV: dating boris pavlikovsky as teenagers

You have to be outside to catch the school bus by 5:55am, so the term is full of sleepy mornings. The two of you sitting towards the back of the bus, huddled together for warmth after having to wait outside in the chilling, desert cold by yourselves in the dark.

Heads leaning against one another, your cheek presses into the soft fabric of his overcoat on his shoulder as you dose off almost immediately, blanketed in the tinted night blue, glad to gain even a meager ten minutes of sleep before you’re forced to start the day. Boris gently fiddles with your fingertips as he looks down at your form and out towards the passing scenery.

You eat the school provided breakfast in the cafeteria, listening to Boris and Theo’s early morning banter and chiming in at certain points as you gain energy. These mornings were filled with Theo’s infectiously mischievous smiles and Boris’ playful grins. Their laughter never failed to provoke pools of serotonin, no matter how despondent you previously were, you’d always find yourself feeling better in their company.

Teasing kisses that were one-thirds sharing a breath, one-thirds your mouth accepting his almost inaudible laughs as he gently nudged your head back while your lips pressed forward again, self-consciously seeking out his own. Notes of peach chapstick, the bitter tang of cigarette tobacco and the sweet taste of sprite spreading between the two of you. A small reminder of the soda passed between yourself, Boris and Theo at lunch- your odd group each chipping in what you had to buy it from the snack stand.

Boris is black jeans ripped and fraying at the knees, swiping greedy swigs from opened bottles in your parent’s alcohol cabinets and sentences with Russian and English chopped and screwed together.

Being with him is like staining your tongues red and blue with gas station slushies and feeling immensely pleased with the vibrant purple you both end the afternoon with.

It’s sweltering hot Vegas nights unable to turn the air conditioner on, so the evening is spent clad in your undergarments, splashing around in a tub filled with cool water- a dingy, plastic white box fan placed in the doorway.

And weekends sprawled out on the couch in front of the television, laughing too loudly at the seven o-clock sitcoms and piddling around in the kitchen searching for something to eat even though you already know there isn’t anything good hidden in the cabinets.

Summers spent sticking as much of your torsos as you can fit into the fridge to enjoy the coolness before grabbing an ice-pop.

Winters plopped down at the dinner table, happily failing at making mini gingerbread houses, feeling utterly pleased with the monstrosities you create. “What the fuck is that, Potter?” “Uh guys.. Popchyk ate my fourth gingerbread wall- I think I’m going to have to settle for a gingerbread hut.”

Boris tends to just know things with you, and those he spends a lot of time with and cares about. It’s mostly the eyes that give themselves away to him, thoughts and feelings becoming tangible with a simple glance. He’s able to pick up on when you’re upset or disappointed. And in the moments when you swear you’re just looking at him, (whether he’s taking a sip of his drink, knocking the ashes from a cigarette or brushing his hair from his eyes) he knows that you love him, without even having to say the words- though he always smiles when you do just for the sake of it.

He’s all hands. Whether he’s ghosting the pads of his fingers against your lower back as you’re walking, cupping your neck or sneakily pinching your thighs from under the table- his hands practically have a mind of their own.

And sometimes you think he’s all mouth. Pink lips nipping at the exposed skin of your neck, subconsciously biting your shoulder or indulgently kissing every inch of your face just because. Theo teasingly referring to you as Boris’ personal chew toy with how often he can be found softly gnawing on you in some way, shape or form.

[docwritesshit]

The Ink feels right

Blurb: You rarely felt comfortable, and barley when it was needed. Nothing helped, and in a moment of desperation, you decided to draw on your skin, without realizing someone else could as well

Type: Fluff, bits of angst if you squint. Soulmate AU

Word count: 3.2k

Pairing: Sun Wukong x reader

Authors note: This was just a self indulgent x reader honestly. I rewrite this so many fucking times too-

Ick, that was the best you could do to describe whatever the hell you felt. The feeling of just… ‘no’ was ever present in ways you couldn't pinpoint in any other word or phrase. There were days that you felt the need to scratch at your own skin, gauging at the itch that laid deep within your bones that would not let up no matter what you did.

You tried to distract yourself, you did. Drawing, burying yourself in your work, reading, sewing, taking up any and all projects that made your hands busy. But the ick was still there. And don’t even get started on the intrusive thoughts.

They were the shadows that creeped in the deepest corners of your mind, taking your brain full force, making you want to get rid of your own body. That just made the raking across your flesh ten times worse. This wasn’t your body, not this monstrosity. It was too much, too much all at once. And it made you worry.

At first, your parents grew worried at your constant scatrching of your skin, sometimes drawing blood. Being paranoid, they did many charms and spells, thinking it was a curse that needed an exorcism. But it never went away. So they thought it was a demon, plunging you into training at the ripe age of seven, teaching you self defense and combat through spells and taking advantage of your environment, It made you quick on your feet, and made you busy, but the ick was still there.

Nothing worked for you. You changed your wardrobe dozens of times, thinking the change of fabrics could help. You went on and off perfumes and fragrances, but the result was the same. You wanted to scream to the heavens what were you missing? Was this just a ploy? A game? Some trick to entertain the court above?

It got especially worse today. You were alone in the study, looking over maps for a voyage your cousin would be taking when the ick grew, and the thoughts came. Your whole body felt it was on fire, the thoughts in your mind felt like it was consuming you. You groaned, taking the quill in your hand and swiping it across a document, then on your arm in desperation. You stilled yourself, and looked down.

The ink made a wide, splattered line that swerved across your skin. You bite your tongue, cursing. An old tale came to mind, one your parents gushed about endlessly.

When a celestial becomes of age, there was a small chance there was one person there for them in the world. That one person would share many experiences with them, their triumphs, their failures, their highs and lows. Until they found them, the only thing they would share was the skin across their body.

Your parents phrased it as your body was the canvas you and your bound shared, and together you could make the most beautiful masterpiece even when you were apart. It sounded like you got punished for being eternally connected with someone.

You sighed, getting up from your seat to wash up in the bathroom when you felt more pressure on your arm. You looked down, seeing the ink line transforming into a sea, then a boat was slowly being added, sails fluttering in the wind. You stood in shock, in bewilderment. Was this the person you were bound to? Why did it feel fo foreign yet so… relieving? The ick dissipated a bit, the pressure of the phantom pen keeping it at bay. You stood, witnessing the boat gain a captain, a small monkey with a crown on it’s head, holding up a sword towards a forming sunset. It was enchanting…

A small print followed below the drawing, big and scrawled.

“Thanks for the inspo! I was bored for a bit now”

You stared at the message for a solid ten seconds, before rushing to the bathroom and scrubbing your arm raw to get rid of the masterpiece, watching as the black tinted water swirled down the drain. You waited a few moments for a new message to appear. When none came, you walked back to the study. You would deal with this at a later date.

And… that later date came within the next few hours, when intrusive thoughts began again along with the ick. You groaned, tossing and turning in your bed. You prayed that it would pass, trying to clear your mind, focusing on the feel of the silk sheets underneath your fingertips, but the shadows clawed their way into your thoughts again and again.

You gave up, tossing the blankets aside and going to your desk in the corner, grabbing a pen and your journal, thinking you might as well try and write the thoughts down so they don’t bother you as much. That was the plan anyways, until the pen dripped onto your hand as you tapped it to get an idea going. You began to reach for the rag you kept for times like this when the phantom sensation came back. You looked down to see a ghost pen connecting the ink dots, creating constellations.

You froze again, witnessing as your ‘soulmate’ sketched out a cliff and another monkey looking up at said stars. The shadows retreated back to the corners of your mind, the itch dissipated again, almost fully. You traced your fingers over the constellations, catching yourself smiling. You shook your head, and stalked back to bed. You would deal with this in the morning.

In the morning, you found another note from the ghostly artist using your sin as a sketch pad.

“Most say the constellations are the most beautiful sights to see, but I’d say the stars pale in comparison to you ;)”

You pity the poor training partner your parents set you up with that day, as they got the brunt of your anger and rage and flusteredness. By the end of it, they were struggling to stand, legs wobbling and leaned on the instructor for support. You made sure to send some of your personal remedies and a note as an apology when you calmed down.

Over the next few days, you avoided excessive contact with ink or anything that might get on your skin. You made it a habit to wear long gloves when documenting routes and annotating maps. During training, you convinced your agents to have a barrier around you to not get any dirt or, gods forbid, blood on your skin that would prompt whoever was bound to you to be concerned.

It was night again when it became too much for you. The itch deep within your bones grew more and more, causing you to pace in your room, fidgeting with your rings to stop yourself from raking your nails across your skin. You didn’t want to, still trying to get through the night without even touching a pen, but you relented.

You picked up your pen again, throwing caution to the wind and started with a line. The line became curved, then another line followed. You drew and drew, the itching burn, cooling bit by bit as the doodle grew more. When you woke up from your inky splotched daze, you saw roses and thorns decorating your forearm. You sighed in relief, and made your way back to bed. Then the phantom sensation began again.

“HOW DARE YOU HIDE THESE BEAUTIFUL MASTERPIECES!!! Who knew I had such a talented soulmate?”

You blushed, your brain clearly not kicking in when you responded.

“Well, I didn't want to bother you creating your own masterpieces.”

When you read what you wrote, you smacked your forehead. You really were sleep deprived huh? You could feel your bound write back quickly.

“Oh so you do know how to write! I thought you were just learning with all the ink getting on your arms. But, thank you for the compliment, but I rather enjoy your art as well.”

You bit your lip, tapping your pen to your chin. Should you respond? You already wrote back once, shouldn’t that be enough?

“I like yours better honestly, you make art from my mistakes.”

“Oh those? I was glad for the distraction honestly.���

“Well, I’m glad to be a ‘distraction’ then”

You felt no other phantom sensations after that, determining your artist was too tired to be bothered for much longer. So, you drifted off to sleep. In the morning however, you found a new addition to your sketch, a butterfly with a peculiar wing pattern sat on top of one of your roses, along with another note

“I hope you don’t mind, but I just wanted to release at least one of the butterflies you give me”

Without meaning to, your ‘distractions’ became more frequent to your bound. The nightly ritual of you giving them a line, a few sketch’s their way, and falling asleep as the phantom sensations guided you to your dreams instead of the shadows ever present to your mind.

You caught yourself smiling as the quill dripped ink on your hand, but you let it be. Your parents caught onto your elevated mood, seeing the weights fall bit by bit. They witnessed your forced smile to court officials come easier, your eyes regaining the sparkle they missed. They questioned it, but all you said was you found a way to get rid of the ick for the time being. They were elated, celebrating with a feast of your favorites. You smiled with them, subconsciously rubbing your sleeve where you could feel your bound make another doodle.

And when you were assigned to go down to the mortal plane to see who this new successor to the Monkey King was, you accepted it with little resistance. You needed to get out of the palace anyways.

And oh, was he the Monkey King's successor. You could see the aura around him from blocks away. Honestly it was a miracle that he hadn’t been jumped all day by some sort of demon.

Oh, the heart of gold he wore on his sleeve as well. You could tell he was a fan-boy the minute you mentioned Monkey King to him while talking about going to see the new movie. His ramblings warmed your heart, but you were here on business, not pleasantries. Until the Ick came back.

Sitting in a lone booth waiting for him to come back after some deliveries, you pulled out a marker you started carrying around in cases like these. You started a small line on your palm, going to your wrist, creating vines that wrapped around the veins visible. Your doodling came to an early end when MK entered the restaurant again, joining you in your booth.

“I’m glad you caught me right before my break! What did you want to talk to me about again?” He asked. You smiled, hiding your art with some glamor.

“Nothing too bad, I assure you. I am with the Jade court, and they just wanted to send me down here to see who this Monkie Kid was.” You explained, resisting the urge to look down at your palm when you could feel the artist on the other end add onto your drawing.

“Oh, well- I mean- Um-“ The poor kid got flustered so quickly, a pink blush dusting his cheeks already. You chuckled, covering your smile with your hand.

“Don’t fret please, you seem like a good kid.” You tried to calm him down.

“Oh, ok. Well, I’m still training with Monkey King and I’m still learning.” He said, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. You hummed in acknowledgment, recalling how recently he had gotten the staff. His eye then widened, standing up in a panic

“SHIT MONKEY KING- I forgot we had training scheduled like fifteen minutes ago-“ He scrambled out of the restaurant, presumably to change out of his work uniform into a more appropriate sparing outfit. You rolled your eyes. Yep, he was definitely the chosen student of Sun Wukong.

You could feel your little artist stop drawing, taking the chance to look down at your palm again. You smiled, seeing flowers and fruits sprout from the vines you drew. A small note attached as well.

“I‘ll make sure to get a bouquet more beautiful than this drawing, cause nothing can be more beautiful than you <3”

Well, they had gotten a lot more cheesier with the pick-up lines you noticed. The bell above the door to the restaurant made your ears perk up, turning your head and almost fell out of the booth.

“Hey Pigsy, is the kid still here? He and I had training and he still hasn’t shown up”

The cook on there other side of the bar gave a grunt, pointing upwards with his ladle.

“Bud got distracted with deliveries and talking with customers. He’s changing upstairs.”

“Great! That means he’ll be here any minute now!”

The form he took to walk around the city wasn’t too suspicious, wavy ginger hair slicked with a bit of stubble on his chin to account for his fur. You got up, hoping to sneak out the front as he continued to talk with Pigsy, reaching for the handle when he looked over at to see who was leaving. Even with your glamour though, he could still see your celestial form.

“HALT!”

You froze, fingertips grazing the doorknob to your escape. He strolled over, scrutinizing you. You squeezed your eyes closed, praying that he won't try and fight. You knew he was protective of his pupil, and knew he wouldn't take kindly to anyone with malicious intent close to him.

You cracked your eyes open again when you felt his claw grasp at your hand. You pulled away on instinct, pulling it close to your chest. You looked up to see his eyes widened, a small smile lining his lips.

“Now this wasn’t how I expected we would meet.” He commented. You raised up an eyebrow, moving to take a step away when he held his own hand up, letting his glamor down to reveal vines and flowers painting his palm and wrist, along with the note and heart he left behind.

You purse your lips, turning your back to him and pulling out your marker, adding a question mark to the fingertip of your pointer finger. You had experienced some demons and celestial beings trying to pose as your bound, glamorizing their own markings to match yours. You simply added on in secret to see if they were lying, and today was no different.

“You know that’s just going to show up on my skin right? Why a question mark? You could have at least done something funny,” The Great Sage Equal to Heaven said. Your blood froze, turning your head slowly to see that indeed, the question mark was on his pointer finger as well. You looked up at him still rambling on the wasted potential of your symbol for him to try and glamor on his skin. You wanted to combust right then and there, your brain processing you were bound to the menaces to the celestial heavens.

He stopped himself, tilting his head when he noticed your inner turmoil.

“Uuuuhhh, you good?”

You sped out the door, sprinting down the street. You weren’t dealing with this right now.

But he was. He followed after you in his hawk form, above you at every twist and turn you took. You stopped to rest at a bench when he popped up next to you.

“Gotta say, you got a pair of lungs on ya!” He announced, collapsing next to you. You scooted away, the ick coming back now. You huffed, mindlessly scratching at the back of your hand. Wukong noticed, seeing your nails rake across the skin made goosebumps rise. He grabbed your hand again, stopping the motion. You looked up at him, and pulled away from his grasp again.

“Sorry, force of habit.” You mumbled. He furrowed his brows, looking down at his palm that held the art you and him made. He cracked a smile, tracing the vines you sketched.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were good by the way.” He commented. You chuckled, looking at your own palm.

“Yeah I know.”

He looked back over to you, his tail slowly inching closer to you. You sucked in a breath, debating whether or not to run away again. But the itch grew, and it was becoming unbearable. You sighed, taking out your marker again and placing it in his hand.

“Please draw again.” You pleaded. He raised his eyebrows, but obliged. Taking your arm in his grasp, he began lining out his own staff, and you exhaled slowly as the itch ebbed away. He stole glances, seeing you relax more and more as he drew. You could feel the eyes at the side of your head, and decided it was too far to go back now,

“What is it?” You prodded. You felt the marker become still, the felt tip against your arm. He looked your way again, locking eyes with you.

“Why did you run away?” He asked. You hummed, the words rolling in your mind not forming coherent sentences that would be nice fir anyone to hear. But you did your best!

“Because you aren’t who I expected to be bound to. Though I should have guessed by the amount of monikes you draw.” You deadpanned. He pursed his lips, shoulders shaking in resistance to the laughs building in his chest. A few chuckles escaped, soon a fit of giggles followed. You chuckled yourself, feeling a little lighter.

“Ok, I'll take that, Not on the best terms with the bosses above.” He stated, continuing with his drawing. You hummed, relishing the relief that was flowing through you.

“Hm, well that’s an understatement.” You muttered. That got another chuckle from him. He looked back down at you and his gaze focused on your hand, still with the vines and flowers staining your palm. He locked eyes with you, stilling his hand again.

“Why didn't you draw sooner? And why did you ignore me?” He asked. You froze again, recalling your first contact with each other. You exhaled again.

“To be honest, the line was an accident. But when you drew, it felt… right. The only thing that was right with my body, and I hated it. So I ignored for a while, but… well I call it the ‘ick’. It’s like an itch that I can’t scratch and it gets worse with intrusive thoughts. Anyways, it came back not long after though, and I decided to draw on my skin to see it would help since it did when you drew. It did, and you continued to add on, and it just felt right for once.” You rambled, Wukong holding onto your every word.

He smiled down at you, finishing the last details of his staff before turning towards you, reaching his hand out.

“Well, if it felt so right, what’s wrong about it?” He inquired. You looked at him, and grinned. You accepted his hand, and he pulled you into a tight hug. You melted against his warmth. You guessed dealing with it now wasn’t so bad…

[vaguely-concerned]

A Stitch In Time First Read Reactions & Thoughts Monster Post Part 1

Basically exactly what it says on the tin! I kept making notes while I was reading and somehow it grew into this sprawling monstrosity that had to be split into three parts haha. In short: I loved this book, 10/10 incredibly gay and full of yearning Garak is there the whole time would recommend. 

Quotes from the book in normal text, my reflections, reactions and self-indulgent bits in italics :) Please, please only click on that read-more if you're ready for some truly long-winded nonsense, I fear I have gone and been extremely myself about this and I can only beg your forbearance for it while I get it out of my system lol

Part 2, Part 3

- My dear Doctor:

Forgive my delay in responding to your kind communications. I wanted to give this modest chronicle I’ve enclosed a modicum of organization and update it before I sent it on to you. Thank you for your concern. I have thought of you often since our last meeting, and I am pleased to hear that your life on Deep Space 9 remains challenging and productive. Considering all the changes that have taken place I would have expected nothing less. And I’m certainly not surprised that your research proposals have been accepted. You’re a brilliant young scientist—even if you are genetically enhanced. As for my life here …

This is such a deceptively innocuous and normal-sounding beginning to what is about to be an extremely unnormal and unhinged thing to send a friend as a letter. He made it all of one paragraph of keeping it chill and I honestly think that’s pretty impressive all things considered. Thankfully Julian Bashir — who, let’s not forget, gave Jadzia his fucking diaries to read after much shorter acquaintanceship than what what we’re operating on here — is possibly the one person in the galaxy with the unhinged energy to take it.  

(‘I have thought of you often’ he says. And how., as we shall see)

- Yes—I’m afraid you weren’t expecting this response to your kind inquiry; it goes a bit further than “Greetings from Cardassia—Wish you were here.”

Fhksjdfhasdkj well. In spirit that is exactly what you’re saying tho garak fhdskjaas. It’s just that you’re also pathologically incapable of shutting the hell up and for this I love and treasure you. 

- So why Captain Sisko is so upset with me because I accomplished the goal (which he established!) of getting Romulus into the war against the Dominion baffles me. And it’s not because of the few lives that were sacrificed. Federation expansion has taken a toll in countless life-forms—about most of which they are blissfully unaware. The moment you step into a garden and begin to cultivate and prune, you become a killer. Perhaps the captain was upset because he had hesitated to do what was necessary to insure the integrity of his garden. Sentimentality is another trait that makes humans dangerous.

*Garak voice* Julian please tell me why your boss is so mad at me I literally solved all his problems for him. for which he’s wELCOME btw

Eyes open for recurring metaphors about gardeners, Tolan is haunting this narrative and it’s only polite to say hello whenever he shows up

- Indulge me, if you will; I need you as a witness.

Can I just say how fucking wild it is in terms of character development for Garak to openly admit he needs someone interpersonally. Incredibly fucked up that he writes both parts of this directly to Julian, though — both the part where he’s pretty sure he’s going to die trying to free Cardassia from the Dominion, and the ‘now’ timeline on post-war Cardassia where he seems to be dazedly coming to the realization that he might live, actually, and what that means to him. 

- As a child I would go to the Tarlak Sector with Father, and while he supervised his crews I’d play by myself amid the black-and-white angularity of the monuments, imagining myself a great gul or legate giving the funeral oration for a fallen comrade. 

Already we are starting to spot the thread, if you’ll excuse the expression, of why Garak might be Like That

I also came to admire Damar’s idealism, which led him to renounce his allegiance to the Dominion. If he had one weakness it was his propensity for long-winded speeches. But given the fact that none of us are perfect, the man would have made a fine leader.

As I stood at the memorial service, I thought about all the grand affairs I had witnessed here when I was a boy. None of our famed heroes and statesmen has ever had such a humble service—and none of them, from Tret Akleen on, deserved more than Corat Damar.

You are a species of long-winded speakers and Pythas Lok 

- Dr. Parmak, the unit leader, worked furiously to stabilize the little girl, and when she was evacuated by the transport unit he broke down. He’s a very good man, this Dr. Parmak; he reminds me of an older version of you, Doctor. 

Introducing Dr. Kelas Parmak, last seen in the then-noodle incident mentioned in The Die is Cast. Quite possibly the chillest person who has ever lived, considering he gets over the whole thing where Garak like tortured him pretty fast. (To be fair Garak DID say he was sorry. Between this case and Odo’s, that apparently goes a surprisingly long way lol) 

- But Garak, you’ll say, there’s no excuse for killing a defenseless woman. And there isn’t… unless you’ve been brought up in our system.

I love that he keeps a little Julian around in his head to talk to at all times. That’s one of the most freakishly intimate things in this whole book of freakish intimacy. Garak has a little Tain on one shoulder and a little Julian on the other shoulder and they have heated debates as to the validity of murder as a solution to any given problem that’s put before him

- I also thought about this Cardassian sense of duty and how it is largely responsible for bringing those of us who are left to these current circumstances. I asked Dr. Parmak how an entire people can come under the sway of this duty and blindly give allegiance to a state that goes mad and murders its own children.

“Poisonous pedagogy, Elim,” he replied. “We believe what we are taught.”

Poison/Disease contagion is a metaphor that will wind through this whole thing,and different people mean different things by it. Parmak means it about The Facism, which is the right one. You’ll be unsurprised to hear that Dukat Sr. has a rather different spin on it, and that he’s wrong! 

- But Tain at home was anything but mysterious. It was not unusual for Uncle Enabran to appear and take me away on some excursion that involved a long walk through a section of the city. During these walks he’d test my awareness, and challenge me to describe a house or a person we’d just passed. If I hadn’t been paying attention and couldn’t remember the details, the walk was over and we’d silently return home under the oppressive weight of his disapproval. He also seemed to know how I was performing at school, and if he wasn’t satisfied with my progress or behavior he’d punish me. I was a hard worker but I had a mischievous streak, and I enjoyed getting others involved in questionable activities and arranging it so they were found out and took the blame. On those rare occasions when I was caught, Tain would somehow find out and punish me—not for my misdeed, but for having been caught. And after he discovered my fear of small, dark spaces, his favorite punishment became keeping me in one until I had convinced him that I had analyzed and fully understood how my mischievous scheme had gone wrong. I found it odd that Mother and Father never had anything to say about these punishments.

. . . 

At first I thought I was in trouble, and my face must have reflected this fear because Father attempted to reassure me with a forced smile. But the uncharacteristic falsity of his behavior and his barely concealed agitation only made the situation worse. I had never seen him like this. Mother’s face was a mask; it revealed nothing. She spoke as if I needed to clean off the day’s work before we ate.

Garak treats him and Bashir ‘drifting apart’ the same way he describes his young self being trained by Tain to go over his ‘mistakes’ — what did I do wrong? You also see it (almost most heartbreakingly to me) from Tolan when he gets sharper out of worry at the end of the scene where the agent comes to take Garak away to the Bamarren Institute: 

I was stunned. I wanted to ask more, I wanted to ask about the dedication ceremony that afternoon, but I didn’t dare. Father had that look when one of the workers didn’t get it right the first time. But what had I done wrong? 

Oh buddy. He’s so fucking confused. The only thing you’ve done wrong yet is having been born with some connection to Enabran Tain, Elim, I’m so sorry

- We were the “missing pieces”—and in order to find our place in the mosaic of civilized society, we had to be broken down and reconstructed from the bottom up.

Keep your eyes open for ‘broken down and reconstructed’ too, it will be on the final test lol

- The good captain gave me one of his bemused stares.

Sisko ILU. He’s not in this book a lot so I’ll take the chance to say it here, because I do. 

- It was explained to us that until we became disciplined in our relations with the “complementary gender” we would make better progress this way. When I asked One Tarnal how we would learn this discipline without interaction between the sexes, he blinked and mumbled something about “distractions.” When I asked what that meant I was told that I had a loose mouth and given five days of hygiene-chamber maintenance as punishment.

“You don’t know enough to ask so many questions.”

Elim 'Genuinely & Guilelessly Too Deeply Pansexual To Be Able To Follow This Logic’ Garak

- Pythas/Eight descriptions because this is a bad mutual crush situation: 

- Unfortunately, the only student left was quiet Eight Lubak, who kept completely to himself. He agreed to accompany me and quickly moved to the door. He was short and slender, and his dark eyes and long lashes made him look younger than the rest of us. He was almost too delicate for a Cardassian. I was not encouraged … but I had no choice.

‘Dark eyes and long lashes’ huh lol

I started to follow him, but he made it clear that I should stay where I was and wait. All during this, Eight was quiet and controlled���and as sure of himself as if he’d done this many times. How did he know where he was going?

. . .

His face was dark, intense with concentration; his brow ridges, which were unusually pronounced, cast shadows over his eyes. My heart began to pound when I realized what Eight was planning. These were certain to be older students, but he expressed no hesitation, no doubt.

. . .

I didn’t know then if I could ever call Eight a friend. Something about him was strange and impenetrable. But it didn’t matter. At least I knew there was one person in my section I could trust. How I had misjudged him. It was obvious that Eight had what Cardassians call a ferocious spirit—and that I could learn a great deal from him.

. . .

Eight also came from a “service” family background, and it was soon clear to everyone that he should have been designated One Lubak, a fact not lost on the actual holder of that designation who, judging from his behavior and speech, came from the highest echelons of our society.

. . .

Five was an athlete who also did well in class. I could see that he was attracted to Eight. As indeed I was. 

Big round of applause for Andrew Robinson managing to sneak the skywritten subtext into the text like this, it’s an exceedingly rare gift to get to have from the media of this time 

. . .

But by then the group had passed. What murk? Me? Have all the others been captured? Surely not Eight. I couldn’t believe that was possible.

. . .

The only member of my group who performed as well in all areas was the taciturn Eight.

. . .

The truth, of course, was that I didn’t know how to forge those kinds of bonds. I wanted to be closer to Eight, and to a lesser degree Five, who besides being one of the great Pit strategists Bamarren ever had was fair in all his dealings.

. . .

Eight remained for a few more minutes. I had the feeling that he wanted to say something more to me. Suddenly he turned and disappeared behind a barrier. The air was filled with whatever went unsaid. He was as shy as anyone I had ever known.

The boys are being useless lesbians at each other omg……… what must this whole mess look like from Pythas’ POV tho. He’s been keeping an eye on his friend/crush so he doesn’t get himself killed by running his mouth off too much to the wrong person and before he knows it the guy is embroiled in an inadvisable bisexual sandwich of betrayal and savage intrigue. I wonder if anything would have been different if Garak and Pythas had managed to actually talk to each other here.   

- Eight was the only person who deserved number One as much as I did—maybe more. My solitary behavior was not always in service to the group. Eight and I exchanged encouraging looks. The support of my one constant friend was all I wanted. I sat there and shut out everything else.

*Garak whenever someone prefers Pythas over him* understandable honestly I’d do the same thing he’s the best have a nice day

End Pythas/Eight teen crush corner

- My mind wandered. I was sure that I heard sounds of the women students gusting with the winds. Suddenly mother materialized … she looked like she was apologizing. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her, but her image dissolved and … Father took her place. I knew he was telling me something very important, but I was growing dizzy and afraid that I’d join Six on the ground … his words were carried away by the winds.

Suffering and agony

Some assorted 'Just assure me that I'm not going mad, Doctor'/Garak's ever-tenuous grip on his mental health moments:

-I don’t know why I wasn’t surprised that he knew. Instead, I was grateful; it told me I wasn’t going mad.

A recurring worry for him I’m sure it means nothing! I feel the same fellowship with him as I do with Harrow in The Locked Tomb series, which I’m sure says even less, don’t worry about it.  

And how do we even begin to rebuild a world that doesn’t exist anymore? A world that exists in my mind with the same arid bitterness as the dust in my mouth. I have never lived with despair, Doctor, the way I live with it now. It’s almost like a phantom companion that shadows me and casts doubt on whatever I do.

“Why save him?” it asks, as we remove a young boy from the rubble of a school. “You’re only keeping him alive for a future of privation and chaos. Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to join the burial unit?”

I want to scream at this phantom, to shut it up. Once I turned around suddenly and raised my hand to strike it. When I realized it wasn’t there, it was too late. Everyone in the unit was looking at me; I’m sure I must have looked like a madman. Dr. Parmak tried to send me home, but I refused—alone it’s even worse.

I’m just imagining Julian arriving on Cardassia like ‘hey yeah I got your letter and we should fuck about it right now but first of all have you told Parmak you’ve been having vivid hallucinations again because that’s very relevant medical information Garak!!!’ 

- But it was in the Pit and my work with Calyx that I suffered the most. My dreaming made me “an air man.”

“You have no grip, no focus. How can you find your strength if you can’t hold your place? Living in your dreams is like living in exile.”

*whisper* pls don't...

- As I tried to put faces on the shadowy children, they began to approach me. They became more distinct as they moved through the rain and haze. Can you believe it, Doctor? They weren’t my schoolmates; they were the Cardassian orphans from the Resettlement Center on Bajor we once visited. The orphans left after the Cardassian occupation forces withdrew. The same young girl was their leader and her lips formed the same question.

Have you come to take us home?

I jumped up. I felt the shed closing in, threatening to swallow me. I ran out into the rain and gloom.

“There is no home anymore! Can’t you see that? Look around you! It’s gone!” I screamed at them and fell to my knees in the sodden waste. They continued to stare back with that same look of fragile trust that I would somehow relieve them of their fear and bring them home. I couldn’t look at them anymore and dropped down into the muck. My despair was no longer just a voice; it was this monstrous world the evil had created, and it surrounded and overwhelmed me.

I don’t know how long I remained curled up in the mud. I felt myself being lifted and half carried, half dragged back into my shed. It was Dr. Parmak. He cleaned and changed me as best he could. He prepared a cup of Tarkalean tea, which made me think of you, Doctor. How ironic, another doctor pulls old Elim out of the muck of his despair, but this time he’s a Cardassian.

The fact that in the episode itself, Garak (in a haze of endorphins and practiced dissociation) is barely like ‘yes yes I’m sure we’re ALL very upset about the orphans. Or whatever. Well what do you want me to do about it Doctor it’s just the way of the world’ and then it just haunts him horrifically for the rest of his life forever and ever the end! Very on brand.  

Garak does seem to genuinely like and care for children in general, which makes my heart all weird and sad

Also Parmak making Tarkalean tea and Garak being like ‘oh. Like Julian :’(‘ about it my HEART. The fact that he’s a serial befriender of very patient kindhearted doctors willing to put up with his nonsense is probably the only reason he’s still alive lol. Thank u Parmak

- A difficult move under pressure against strong physical resistance from an opponent … and something would snap. A painful blow might set it off, a whispered insult, perhaps just a thought or a feeling of hopelessness, and I would suddenly lose control and lash out like a madman. I became suffused with a raging, crimson anger that poured out from some black hole somewhere deep inside me.

I feel like we see the outlines of this still in him by the time of the show — more tucked away and harnessed, but definitely still there. He’s got an instinctive Fight response a mile wide, it’s just that these days he mostly expresses it by becoming incredibly fucking MEAN when he feels threatened rather than outright physical attack. 

- And there was a soothing quality as it spoke of dry legal definitions. It acted as a balm for my bruises and bitterness. I began to feel such longings. It was like hearing music that you love when you least expect it. How I missed Mother, and working with Father in the flower beds. How I longed for home. I dropped my guard and surrendered to the voice. The tears I was determined never to shed accompanied choking waves of shame and relief, sadness and joy. I finally was able to admit to myself how unhappy I was.

*me with my magnifying glass studying the Palandine/Bashir parallels* listening to Bashir talk about Federation nonsense things presumably fills much the same niche in Garak’s psyche as this haha

- “I assure you, I am not in the habit of attacking people I don’t know in public places. We got our feet tangled in the crush, and he went down—just as, moments before, I nearly wiped out the scent display when he ignored the fact that I was standing in his path. I trust he’s not hurt.”

“I expect more from you, Garak,” Odo lectured. “We’re all under a great deal of strain.”

“As am I, Constable. Please, sit down at least. I feel like a schoolboy being disciplined by the docent.”

Odo sighed and awkwardly perched on the barstool next to mine. 

Their dynamic is. Everything to me. Also we learn later that the guy Garak picks a fight with here because he’s upset Julian is hanging out with Miles (lmao oh… buddy) isn’t just anyone or on impulse, but is one of the most hostile-to-Garaks Bajorans on the entire station with a small gang behind him, and Garak knows exactly who he is. Which lends it a certain… something. Almost an edge of very roundabout self-harm.  

“I can’t stay long. I have to finish dealing with this …”

“ … situation,” I finished. “You’re very fortunate, Odo.”

“How so?” he asked.

“These people have come to trust you. They rely upon you. You’ve made a real connection here.”

Odo merely grunted. I was careful not to mention Major Kira, knowing how reserved he was on the subject.

“Do you still want to go home?” I asked.

The question startled Odo, and for a moment the mask of official reserve dropped from his face. This was the first time I had brought up the subject since his admission to me during the “interrogation” in the Romulan warbird and Tain’s ill-fated attempt to destroy the Founders’ homeworld.

“ I … can’t say,” he replied ambiguously.

“Well, I can. There’s certainly nothing here to keep me.”

“I never told you how sorry I was about Ziyal’s death.” Odo could be quite sensitive in such matters.

“You did, actually,” I nodded. “But thank you.”

“Still, you and Dr. Bashir have created a strong bond.”

“Not really,” I answered quickly. “I’m afraid that what I have to offer has run its course. It’s certainly no match for darts.” I heard the bitterness of my tone, and so did Odo. We sat in silence for a moment.

“I understand you’ll be involved in the invasion. You must be pleased.” Odo steered us away from the heaviness that had descended.

. . . 

“When do you want to schedule your consultation?” I asked. Odo—no doubt influenced by his budding relationship with the Major—was about to branch out sartorially. But it occurred to me that Quark was the last person he wanted to know about it.

“We’ll talk,” he replied, nodding to Quark as he briskly marched back to the Promenade.

AHdorable all around. Hilarious that Odo picked up on trouble in human/lizard paradise and, with the vigor of a person who has freshly had love work out for them for the first time, going ‘not on my fucking watch you’ll talk to each other if it’s the last thing I do’. Also the sheer readiness with which he expects Julian to be Garak’s safe place. What on earth does this relationship look like to outside observers. Especially to Odo, practiced observer of humanoid folly, who completely nails Garak’s whole deal in Improbable Cause to the point that Garak lashes out defensively over it.   

- My solitary confinement was agony. The only way I got through it was to rethink all my attitudes about the Pit and the Wilderness and to focus on how I could make my stratagems more effective. Just as I had learned to do when Uncle Enabran locked me in that suffocating closet. Was this the universal torture for failure, I wondered?

Going through the whole book it is so stunningly awful that this IS the logic his inner world is shaped around for the vast majority of his life, right up until the ‘present’ part of the storyline where it’s being slowly deconstructed and reassembled. 

- I apologized to the others for disrupting their family; I explained that I had great need of this creature. Not only was Mila (as I eventually called him) the answer to my current problem, he was as important as any of the docents at Bamarren, with the possible exception of Calyx.

;_______________________________________________________________; there’s no part of this that isn’t crushing

Unlike the last time, I had preparation and an ally.

Tain really had to work at deadening Garak’s ability to form loyalty to anything else but him, because left to his own devices and natural instinct Garak will clearly packbond with ANYTHING. He’s so desperate to belong to someone and be loyal to them. 

- As the sun came up, the otherworldly beauty of the Wilderness was gradually revealed by each succeeding gradation of light. I was deeply moved by the presence of so much color in what had initially looked like a dead world to me. Beginning with a cold pale gray, the dawn flowed through a range of blues and into the softest rose and pink and then to a hot red that soon gave way to the merciless bleached bone-white of midday. I was able to see how much territory I had covered the previous night.

Can I just say how unspeakably tender it is that he takes the time to write this out in this. It serves literally no purpose in this narrative but sentiment — to be beautiful. He saw something beautiful once that moved him and he wants to share it with someone. What the fuck. 

- I became increasingly concerned; the sun was getting higher, and the overhanging ledge was now my last source of shade. At one point I took Mila out of his wrapping to check on his condition. At least that’s what I told myself. I was afraid that if I was honest and admitted that the real reason was to solicit help from a regnar, the slide into total insanity would be swift and sure. I was getting desperate.

The funniest and saddest thing I’ve ever read fhdskjfas emotional support regnar that he names after his fucking MUM hours. There are things going on with Garak no psychologist could ever hope to get to the bottom of 

- Three more members of the Furtan group were on the other side of the rock formation, but Mila had found a hidden depression that required some quiet digging to get into, and we avoided detection. We settled in and resealed the opening with sand and loose rocks. After an indeterminate period, the Furtan hunters left. As we waited for nightfall I fell into a deep sleep. 

BB!Elim and regnar Mila like ‘OUR secret hiding spot’. (Seeing how much garak both craves and thrives on getting to have that sense of ‘we’ and fellowship tho. And knowing that’s going to be not only deliberately kept from him but made psychologically impossible for him for a very long time. We should bring Tain back to life so we can kill him again and more painfully actually. Mercymorn acid jail for a thousand years time.)

- While I understood that I would have to watch my step with One Charaban, I also acknowledged that I had never been in a manlier or more attractive presence. It was like encountering an ideal that I’d only dreamed about. As I walked back to my section and accepted the congratulations of my mates, I was baffled not so much by the appearance of this new and commanding person in my life as by my recognition of his strong connection to me. But what connection?

Baby pansexual disaster at his finest

- The other day, the Doctor, Odo, and I were at the Replimat having lunch, an event that Odo, after our conversation, had taken it upon himself to organize.

. . . 

“But what about you, Doctor?” I asked, returning to the business at hand. “It seems there’s a movement afoot to have you replace Captain Sisko.” The doctor winced.

“Is this true?” Odo asked. We both looked to the doctor for confirmation. He sighed.

“There’s a group of … genetically enhanced people who feel that one of their own should be guiding the station during this emergency, and they’ve petitioned the Federation Council, but it’s Jack and his group, and no one takes them…” Exasperated, he broke off. “Garak, how did you hear about this?”

“My clientele talk and I listen.” This was also true: an idiot savant who wears his presumed genetic superiority like a badge of privilege walked into my shop and never stopped talking. Of course I encouraged him, and by the time he left I had heard all about some organized attempt to elevate Dr. Bashir to the leadership position. I could see that the doctor was upset that I’d divulged this information. Clearly this genetic business was not his favorite topic of conversation.

“Is this something we should keep an eye on?” Odo asked, studying us carefully.

“No, not at all,” the Doctor assured him. “It’s just Jack’s people. This was nearly a year ago, and I’m afraid they have too much time on their hands—like some other people I know.” He pointedly looked away from me as Odo continued to study us, trying to decode the undercurrent of this last exchange between us. No wonder he was such a capable security operative. Odo registered every change in tone and temperature and tracked the change down to its cause.

“Tell me something, Garak.” It was clear that he had found an opening for one of those deferred questions he kept on a prioritized list somewhere in his changeling head. He was still a basically shy and tactful person, especially when it came to other people’s business, but lately he’d become more openly inquisitive. I wondered if it was Major Kira’s influence.

Matchmaker/self-appointed and woefully under-equipped marriage counselor Odo……….you are Everything to me you dumb beige bitch. Garak goes a bit aggro in return when he tries to get too close to something tender but honestly odo buddy gooey friend of my heart maybe you shouldn’t barge into this particular glassware shop like a rampaging elephant huh someone’s going to get cut. Also Garak could have refrained from pressing on Julian’s bruises for attention here and we may not have had the rest of the scene, but alas. 

This must be the lunch where we deal with uncomfortable subjects.

“But if Cardassia is liberated from Dominion control …” Odo went on.

“When Cardassia is liberated,” I interrupted.

“Would you return?”

“Would you return to the Great Link?” Odo reacted with sharp annoyance to the question.It wasn’t a fair one, because although we were both exiles, we were in very different circumstances. With the humanoid shape he was still learning to live with, and his deepening relationship with Major Kira, Odo was discovering a new mode of existence, a new link. He had an alternative, however difficult the choice. I didn’t.

“Yes, I know. You can’t say.” I was sorry I had asked again. It was a question he was obviously struggling with.

The feeling Garak seems to have towards Odo in this period where like… you know when you have a friend who has a lot of the same mental health issues as you do and you see them get better and start to flourish and you are genuinely so happy for them but also feel just how deep in the muck you yourself still are with no prospect of getting out. And the way Garak consistently wistfully includes Odo’s romantic relationship to Kira when he observes how he’s coming out of his shell and why he has reasons to stay. 

“Would you return to the same Cardassia?” the doctor asked.

“What do you mean ‘same’?” But I knew perfectly well what he meant.

“To a Cardassia containing the political and social elements that made the current situation possible.”

“My dear Doctor, that’s also the Cardassia that made me possible.” I half-hoped my joke would end this conversation … but I knew better.

Julian baby please read the room and take this up some other time somewhere private maybe (and yet I understand how you wouldn’t think of that until later once Garak’s had a rare public freakout)

Absolutely heartbreaking in every way that garak seems so convinced he must have done something wrong or simply doesn’t have anything more of interest to offer julian and that’s why they’re drifting apart, when a just as likely reading from what’s actually on the page here is that julian feels he keeps getting it wrong and hesitates in case he makes the damage worse. Garak have you considered who this man is before you decided you must have fucked up and resigned yourself to the dark closet of self-isolation tain put in your head. I’m in shambles. 

Also Julian is saying a lot of very true things about Cardassia in this scene that Garak needs to hear and that he’s clearly processing all through the rest of his time on DS9 and beyond, as angry as it makes him, and the good doctor means so well but he IS being incredibly condescending, and he keeps pushing even as Garak is signaling he’d rather not go in depth on this, especially in such an exposed public setting. (This is a conversation they SHOULD be having in private, both for emotional reasons and b/c Garak’s position on this station is a lot more vulnerable than I think Julian realizes, as the hostile comments he immediately starts getting during this convo show.) I mean I guess it’s not this man’s fault he is fundamentally British and autistic what can a bitch do fdjslkfhasj (I say this with all the love in my fellow autistic heart, please do not misunderstand me here). But it’s a very Julian well-meaning but flawed thing to do — he’s focusing on the principle and intellectual side of it, but he’s not taking into account that just maybe having to deconstruct the entirety of your worldview and belief system and then feel responsible for implementing them to create a better world afterwards could be an emotionally fraught process that requires not only reasoned political debate but personal, emotional support from a friend. He isn’t getting that Garak isn’t so much categorically resistant to the basic ideas he’s setting forth — it’s that he wants to be convinced on a practical level that it could even work, because otherwise it’s just a useless pretty picture. 

(Which is a big part of their dynamic on many levels, I’ve always felt. All those times he challenges Julian’s more hopeful and idealistic world view — ultimately he doesn’t do that because he wants to break Julian’s faith down until he agrees with him, he does it because somewhere deep down Garak wants to be convinced. He wants there to be hope somewhere in the world, even if he won’t buy the quick and glorified ‘it’s easy to be a saint in paradise’ Federation version of it. And Julian’s version isn’t that, in the end; it gets tested again and again and he really, genuinely means it, even when it’s hard. Which is one of the most healing things about his presence in Garak’s life overall.) 

Ironically I also think Julian believes so much in Garak and his capabilities that it simply doesn’t occur to him that Garak as a private person might just be like. Too scared and overwhelmed to even contemplate this, at least until Garak is upset enough that he can’t gracefully hide it. (“With your background and experience, Garak, I’m certain that you could serve as a liaison between a new Cardassian government and the Federation.” The Doctor paused and waited for a response. None was forthcoming. “I once suggested that you visit Earth as a member of the Cardassian government-in-exile….” oh so no biggie then Julian that sounds easy and painless and I’m surprised no one has thought to do this yet, this Obsidian Order wilted leftover sandwich of a guy is surely going to be welcomed with open arms wherever he goes among his people fhsdakjfas!)

I feel like this is one of Julian’s less sympathetic traits that he would probably feel such intense self-loathing about once he realized it’s one he shares with his father — this instinct to try to shape someone into a ‘better’ version of themselves. I think Julian’s version of this primarily comes from a much, MUCH kinder place than in his father; he has the will and ability to see the best in the world and in people, and he can’t help but want them to live up to that once he’s seen it. He fundamentally believes people can be better, can be good, when given the help and tools they need, and that’s such a beautiful part of him. BUT along with that there is also a danger of that tipping over into becoming paternalistic and controlling, of overly privileging the ideal you see over the person who is actually there right now, and trying to forcibly change the one into the other ‘for them’.  

Considering Garak’s past experiences of being shaped and controlled by someone else’s idea of what he should be, I’m if anything surprised he doesn’t react worse to this, honestly! I think it speaks to the basic trust and goodness that exists between them that he doesn’t. Julian is clumsy but not malicious, and even here Garak does recognize that on some deep level.   

(Probably because he’s also been touched by Julian at his best, in The Wire — where his support and acceptance is absolute and unconditional, free of the instinct to control anything.)

My voice had risen to an uncharacteristic pitch. It was still ringing in my ears as the Doctor stared at me as if he were studying a baffling microbe. I, too, was baffled. I had no idea where this outburst came from. I know that a distance has widened between us during the past year or so and I know that the holosuite program incident and the revelations of his genetic enhancement are the symptoms of this distance rather than the cause. It’s only natural—we’re very different people. I also know that he had only the best intentions in suggesting that I use the Federation model in order to influence the future of Cardassia. Misguided, yes, and somewhat patronizing and arrogant, but hardly sufficient to elicit this embarrassing and public loss of control.

I mumbled some sad excuse which the good Doctor and Odo were kind enough not to challenge and left the Replimat to return to my shop. As I passed Quark’s I caught his eye and we nodded. Why I included him in my outburst also puzzled me; I rather admire his industry and resourcefulness. I especially admire the way he consistently bends Federation rules so that they work for him.

That’s such a fair evaluation of Bashir’s intentions and personality honestly. Even this upset and feeling that distance between them, Garak still has complete trust in the Doctor’s basic good intentions and nature. (Are you really such very different people at the end of the day, though, Elim. Should the genetic enhancement arc maybe be telling you something here.)

Also such a hilarious element of the Garak-Quark relationship.’Sorry to get you caught up in the crossfire bro I’ve never thought of you as anything but an avaricious opportunist (complimentary)’  

What is important is that I feel that I am necessary, that I function with all my faculties in the service of a greater cause. And while I wait for this invasion, is making Odo more attractive to Major Kira a greater cause?

It is in fact nothing but the greatest cause Garak. Getting Kira happily lovingly laid is priority one at all times. 

- I had no real friends to speak of, and told myself that loneliness was the price I had to pay for success. I considered the games and behavior of my mates to be childish, and that any unnecessary interaction would only distract me from my work. The truth, of course, was that I didn’t know how to forge those kinds of bonds. I wanted to be closer to Eight, and to a lesser degree Five, who besides being one of the great Pit strategists Bamarren ever had was fair in all his dealings.

(I feel like this whole part is going to hit Julian in some kind of way lmao)

Literally just. Put me in a little box on the bottom of the ocean and leave me there forever I can’t go on. Also he’s SUCH a clever-but-socially-inept teenager in this part around the people in his group he doesn’t like fhdkjsa. Ugh they’re all so annoying and fake just leave me alone *eyeroll emoji* I didn’t want to be included in their idiotic conversation bb elim… I would die for your lightly insufferable but entertainingly snarky teenage butt in a way that actually makes me feel more kindly towards my own inner idiot 16 year old.

Also it’s no wonder he’s so out to sea when it comes to interacting with his peers — by all accounts he didn’t play much with other kids as a child and then he’s dropped straight into a social Lord of the Flies piranha tank shot through with Class Shit. 

Inspired by my guide Mila, I would experiment at withdrawing my presence when I had to remain in the same room with people I didn’t like.

Honing his future customer service worker smile 

Here follow some Bamarren and beyond observations I’ve elected to call ‘Sex Stuff’:  

- Oh ok so garak gets some sexual Thing out of being beaten to a pulp after mouthing off through the same mechanism that made spanking known as the ‘English Vice’ across Europe when that was the go-to punishment in British boarding schools. I see. Many things are revealed to me

I looked from the pale, frozen face of Three to the others. They all looked like statues commemorating fear. And I was pleased. I realized at that moment that they were in my control, and that I would no longer have any trouble with them. Especially Three. I felt the power like a drug surging through my system.

And then, of course, the other side of the masochism/sadism scale smoothly coming in, he contains those multitudes. In Garak’s defense idk if you could go through a psychosexual development that wasn’t deeply, deeply weird in this sort of environment 

“What do you want me to do?” I was trembling as if my body were chilled.

Well, I mean. You know fhkdsjha. And he’s rewarded with the first non-aggressive physical contact he’s had here, you say. (For reference he’s talking to Barkan, of the aforementioned ‘manliest presence’.) I’m sure this didn’t awaken anything in him or anything.

“Elim, why do you think we have these ridges?” She stroked the scalloped cords of cartilege and bone that ran along her neck and down her shoulders with a delicacy that stopped my breath. The energy had turned into molten liquid that was now flowing into my groin. The rest of the world was swallowed by complete darkness and I was back inside the tunnel.

“Because … we do,” I replied stupidly.

Fhdjskfhsdjkfhadskjfhas he’s so easy fdsjkfhas. And what a one-two punch of sexual confusion he got there. That one afternoon did irreparable damage to the libidinous development of this poor man and now he has to live like this.

For the second time tonight I was spellbound by another’s passion. In very different ways, Charaban and Palandine held me in their orbit, like powerful suns.

I was learning something new about myself—an emerging desire for power, but a power that had less to do with mastery over others than it did with connecting to them. The way I felt the connection to Charaban … and especially to Palandine.

And, I’m so sorry to have to break it to you like this, your biodad. I’m sorry Elim you’ve got something truly unfortunately Freudian going on here. It’s not your fault.  

“I love the Blind Moon,” Charaban said softly.

“Why is it called that?” I asked, deeply relieved by the mysterious change that had come over us.

“It’s the time for lovers’ assignations,” Palandine answered. “The moon will give them enough light to meet, but not so much for them to be discovered.”

“So if you and Elim were true lovers I wouldn’t have been able to find you,” Charaban teased.

“That’s right, Barkan,” she said with a direct look. I shifted position in the ensuing silence and tried to hide my disappointment with Palandine’s reply, but at the same time, the pleasure I felt in the company of these two people kept growing.

“See?” Palandine suddenly addressed me. “You can do it.”

“What?” I was startled by her delighted burst.

“Smile. Look at that, Barkan. Wouldn’t you tell someone with that smile everything he wanted to know?” she demanded.

“The first time I met him—well, the second…” he corrected himself, “he had a smile that I wanted to wipe off his face.” He was referring to that early morning in front of the Central Gate.

“But it wasn’t that smile,” Palandine insisted.

“No,” he conceded. “Definitely not that one.” And the truth was that I could feel this smile throughout my entire body.

Noooo this is about to go so wrong…it’s all fun and games and bisexual poetry recitation under the blind moon until someone gets stabbed in the back like the Caesar (well caesar notably got stabbed from many many directions but you see what I’m trying to get at here)

- [The Klingon] looked up, and I immediately knew two things about him: he was inebriated beyond reason and he was one of their shock troopers, a callused veteran of hand-to-hand combat. I took a deep breath; as dolts go he was quite impressive. My spirits were suddenly and immeasurably lifted.

“You spoonhead!” he growled at me. I hated that word.

“And you … a great warrior who brings down dabo girls with a single blow,” He looked at me trying to decide if I had insulted or complimented him.

“P’tak!” I shouted, “I mean that you’re the biggest coward in the Klingon Empire,” He released the dabo girl, and as he moved to the narrow stairway I thought that he was also the biggest Klingon in the Empire.

I looked for my advantage. This was not an equal match, and my gigantic friend was in the full flush of a berserker blood lust. I sighed. I’m too old for this, I thought. 

. . .

“Get security, Chief, and tell them to prepare the biggest cell they have … or a smaller coffin for me,” I said as I moved into the alcove and squeezed through the opening where the panel had been. 

 Listen I would apologize for including this here but he’s clearly getting off on this and I couldn’t do anything about it if I wanted to. 

I cannot convey just how much my already intense enjoyment of canon is enriched by the knowledge that Garak is up to these kinds of hijinks constantly in the background when the camera isn’t on him. In his defense he was left unsupervised. O’Brien’s fond mildly exasperated help is just the cherry on top. ‘Well I GUESS Julian would be upset if I let you get beaten to death by a drunk Klingon so fine I’ve got your back’  

(I made for the upper Promenade—and wondered if Calyx might be enjoying this spectacle from wherever he was. ;______; I like how much of an impact Calyx has on his development, considering how briefly he was actually in his life. Plus: Calyx; the Aiglamene of Bamarren? Locked Tomb/DS9 fandom overlap people, Let’s Discuss.) 

“Help me,” he croaked. I was touched by the giant’s childlike surrender. I knew the feeling well.

“I will,” I replied and immediately wondered why I had agreed. I’m getting soft, I thought. 

The greatest joy to me of a lot of this is, like… idk if these are all exactly the things that happened at every turn. In fact I’d say they very likely aren’t, Garak’s entire character taken into consideration. But they are certainly the things he wants someone — someone he trusts as far as he knows how, someone he earnestly wants to be closer to than anyone else, and also wants to see all of him — to know about him, to share in. This could just have easily been a story he told Julian in person over lunch to make him laugh. It’s silly and frivolous and fun, and as much at his own expense as a ludicrous person as to show off. To a true lying liar who lies connoisseur, unreliable narration tells more than it obscures etc. lol  

- (About Barkan) It was the appearance of warmth that made his charm so attractive. A part of me wanted to tell him everything, to challenge the duplicity of his negative evaluation, but the clarity I found in the Lower Prefect’s office was still with me. Looking at him, I was reminded how Palandine had taught me to smile when I asked questions.

Apart from Pythas, who gets his own little twink corner, most of the people Garak is attracted to throughout this are his height or taller and slender but athletic. I’m just saying that when he spotted Julian in the Replimat for the first time he really saw a young man with the face of an angel who is exactly his type fhdjskah maybe he should have seen this coming for himself. Too high on endorphins and hubris to think this would awaken anything in him irrevocably and now he’s stuck with the consequences.  

Why? I asked myself. Why?! For the life of me I could not understand why it was important to her that I respond. Why should she—so beautiful, so alive—be disappointed if I didn’t return her … what? What did she want from me? Friendship? Why me?

I was in turmoil. Her grace and manner, the way she tilted her head and half smiled when she listened, as if everything amused her … it was like a forbidden dream of the unattainable. The attraction was painful because I instinctively knew that while my life would be simpler and more controllable without her, it would also be as drab as my Bamarren uniform.

. . . 

“Are you making fun of me?” It was at that moment, when I asked the question, that I realized just how afraid I was of being the object of her ridicule. She stopped laughing and for the first time she was speechless. 

Losing my entire fucking MIND about how Garak is basically taking Palandine’s place when he approaches Julian at first. Odo and Garak ‘I love you so much I want to become you because it’s the only way I can imagine really being close to you’ handshake meme

Sex stuff end. For now.

I was about to leave when Odo asked about the designs for his “new” sartorial look. I could see that he was masking his concern, so I assured him that the sketches were some of my finest creations, and would be ready within the week. He grunted his thanks and I stepped out onto the Promenade. Love does make fools of us all.

I’m clawing at my face with emotion. Odo… And Garak did finish those sketches even after his moment of existential ennui over them before. 

- Please for the love of god stop putting Six out in the merciless sun T_____T how many times must a poor lil nerd boy pass out before he can rest in the sand etc. 

- “It’s not every evening we find Barkan Lokar strolling with a murk through the Grounds.”

“Lokar? My father buried the Legate, Turat Lokar,” I said without thinking.

“Did your father kill him?” Palandine joked. But I didn’t laugh. The Lokars were a legendary family, and the old man’s funeral was the largest I had ever seen.

Why is this so funny. Garak you are so fucking weird. ‘Oh yeah I know that guy my dad did the flower arrangements for his funeral’ 

- A spirited dabo game involving several Klingons and a serious-looking dabo girl I hadn’t seen before caught my attention. If Quark had been present he’d be giving her one of his congeniality lectures. I truly sympathize with the young woman; if I had to spend all day with these drunken dolts….

Literally so hilarious that’s his first thought. First impulse: ‘surrounded by idiots’ solidarity. Garak what were you doing day drinking at the devil’s sacrament/quarks at midday girl…

- Rom soon appeared with a small container of kanar. He was wearing an outfit I had made for him.

“H-here you are, Garak. I hope you enjoy it.” Ever the gracious host.

“Thank you, Rom. And please, try not to let your collar lie there like a dead targ.” I adjusted the offending fabric, and Rom sweetly tolerated my fussing.

I’m fucking crying what the HELL. Surprise wholesome dynamic that keeps going through the whole narrative. Garak just uncomplicatedly likes and appreciates Rom, with no particular ulterior motive. Plus: fussing is also how we see Mila express affection, like mother like son.   

- I realized as I took a sip of my drink that I was in a dangerous mood. Drinking in the middle of the day. The Doctor would be quite disappointed with me. When I’m unable to immerse myself in work my mind becomes occupied by an invading army of thoughts intent upon conquering all equilibrium and peace. Kanar is a valuable if unreliable weapon I employ against this army. The pills the Doctor gives me are a poor substitute.

Julian, severely unimpressed: uh-huh

‘Would Julian want me to do this to myself? No. However he’s too busy playing soldiers with O’Brien to tell me so, apparently, so that can’t stop me.’ You petty lil bitch garak (affectionate)

The fact that he’s doing the The Little Julian Who Lives In My Head thing already here, where the real Julian is actually around but not engaged with him. I’m so sad. He’s managed to discover shrimp colour spectrums of loneliness and pining.  

- Ever since the Romulan business and Captain Sisko’s near breakdown (outside of the Doctor, whom I told shortly after the incident, no one knows about this, but one recognizes the symptoms), I’ve been obsessed with memories of Bamarren. 

The fact that he tells Julian about that. Presumably partly in a practical way to make sure Sisko doesn’t fall to pieces completely but he doesn’t seem to have any shame about it or expect Bashir to react too badly over it either. The trust…

- I must admit that I was quite taken aback. Evidently there is honor among dolts.

I’m genuinely impressed by how enjoyable it is in this book to be party to Garak’s inner voice. It’s so fun in here, among all the horrors. 

- Nine approached me as I sat alone in our quarters reading the first part of Cylon Pareg’s Eternal Stranger, a saga spanning several generations of a Cardassian family during the early and middle Union.

*whisper of agonized affection* between this and his happy place being studying wormhole theory… he’s such a little nerd. 

Nine swallowed again, an even more bitter taste, and marched off to a life of diminishing returns.

LMAO burn. And, as we shall see, not necessarily inaccurate.  

- As I walked away I heard the custodian ask Tarnal what it was I had done to deserve this punishment.

“Nobody told me. But I know he’s got a mouth on him,” Tarnal replied.

The more things change I guess fdhsakja. Known across the school for being a) a sneaky lil bastard and b) never ever shutting the fuck up when he really really should 

- “And you have to use that wonderful smile of yours more often, Elim.”

“What’s that got to do with listening?” That was the subject, and Palandine had typically made a jump in logic I couldn’t follow. She also forgot that I was a Cardassian male and smiling was not one of our strong features.

“If they feel comfortable with you, people will tell you stories about themselves that will reveal their deepest secrets.”

“But what if the stories aren’t true?” I challenged. “I could smile till my cheeks hurt, and you could tell me any kind of story you wanted—and what would I know about you except what you invented?”

“You would know, if you were truly listening, the kind of story I use to define myself,” she asserted.

“But it’s not the truth!” I maintained.

“Why not? Because it’s not what you believe? Or it doesn’t fit a definition of the truth that someone taught you? Look at people, Elim.” Palandine gestured as if the enclosure were filled with people. “Observe them. The way they walk and talk, the way they hold themselves and eat their meals. That’s what they believe about themselves. Is it the ‘truth’? Are they really that way? I don’t know. Perhaps it is a lie. But what people lie about the most are themselves, and these lies become the stories they believe and want to tell you.”

“As long as I’m smiling,” I mumbled.

. . . 

“Truth, as we’ve learned to define it, is not only overrated,” she went on with a controlled passion, “it’s designed to keep people in the dark.”

This last statement stopped me.

“You mean the way we’ve been taught?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“What about our government?”

“They tell us the stories that we need to know in order to be good citizens,” she replied carefully.

“They don’t tell us the truth, is what you’re saying,” I concluded.

“There you go again. They tell us their truth, Elim, and we are here to learn how to listen.”

. . . 

“Let the ones without power scowl and make fierce faces.You smile. It’s an invitation to connect with another person. And once the invitation is accepted, relax and listen … you’ll come to know as much as you’ll ever need to about that person,” she said with a smile that I greedily accepted.

“You would know, if you were truly listening, the kind of story I use to define myself,” she asserted. 

“But it’s not the truth!” I maintained.

“Why not?” 

SO when I was saying he’s taking Palandine’s place in this dynamic with Julian early on I was not kidding and I was not wrong hahaha. And it’s also what this entire book is, in the end. Trusting Julian to ‘truly listen’ to the story under the stories is maybe the biggest show of trust and vulnerability Garak could ever extend to anyone. Extremely The Wire-core once more.

The idea that tiny Garak was too outwardly glum and serious is. Amazing and brainbreaking. People feeling uncomfortable under his gaze b/c he’ll just like scowl distrustfully at them. Palandine I don’t know if you fixed him or made him worse but you certainly did something fundamental to him and committed him to the bit and for that I cannot thank you enough

- I no longer had Palandine to myself—but surprisingly, I didn’t mind, in fact I was pleased that Charaban was here. His stillness, like everything else about him, had grace and strength. I sneaked another look in his direction and marveled that this was the same person I had first encountered in the storeroom. He returned my look, and in the next few moments a bond grew between us that I had never thought possible. 

You know if Barkan was really smart or had the capacity for extended self-control he would have just kept stringing Garak along as the third in his disastrous marriage. Garak is used to subsisting on the merest scraps of affection and consideration, you’d barely even have to feed him. (Ala Daisuke Jigen with many an evil ex, for the Lupinheads out there lol) A threesome here and there and maybe gently stroking his hair afterwards and you’d have him for life, probably. Alas or perhaps thankfully Barkan is ultimately just an asshole and not that smart. 

- A Bolian client came down the steps outside the door and was about to enter the shop, but for some reason he stopped at the threshold. He looked at us, turned, and went back the way he came.

LMAO that guy was like ‘something really fraught and homosexual is going on here and that is frankly none of my business, as you were gentlemen don’t mind me.’ A real ally and a bro.  

“I’m keeping you from your business.” Bashir stood up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“I’m pleased you stopped by.” I was about to escort him to the door.

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“Garak, I come from a culture that has perfected the ‘stiff upper lip,’” he explained with the same faint smile.

“What does that mean?” It was a genuine question; there was a change in his attitude.

“It means that we never complain, never admit to our feelings, never ask for help. It’s just not done,” Bashir explained. “And those people who lack character’ and insist on airing their needs—especially in public—are subject to ridicule… and worse. Does this sound familiar?”

“Perhaps,” I replied softly.

“But I’m also a doctor, Garak. And I know which group of people suffers the most. I really won’t take up any more of your time.” He extended his hand, which he rarely did, and I took it. “Thank you for the tea.” He turned and went out the door.

I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. Yes, Doctor, it does sound familiar. But as to the question of which group suffers the most…

. . . 

After Charaban’s betrayal I became as withdrawn and solitary as I had been when I first came to the Institute. I tried to spend time with Palandine, but it never quite worked out; between her regular duties and the recruitment and planning for the female Competition, she had little time for anything else. But there was something else, a distance that had crept between us that I didn’t understand. I felt ashamed, that somehow I had failed and it was my fault, but I found it difficult to discuss. This was probably the loneliest I had ever been.

1) Going NUTS over the fact that these are separated by ONE paragraph. Andy Robinson staring directly into the camera making parallels between the main love interests in this book like ‘Am I making myself clear here. Do you get it yet’. Also really interesting to make this relationship pattern a, well, pattern in Garak’s life, and not a unique element of his and Bashir’s thing (which Doylistically was basically a byproduct of cowardly 90s standards for tv writing more than anything else lol)

2) But there was something else, a distance that had crept between us that I didn’t understand. I felt ashamed, that somehow I had failed and it was my fault, but I found it difficult to discuss. This was probably the loneliest I had ever been.

 The Palandine/Bashir parallel train barrels on, scoring a deep trail of heartache into my soul. Also in that case it’s so sad because he really hasn’t done anything wrong or anything to be ashamed of, Barkan and Palandine are the ones who fucked him over :’( 

3) I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. + Tolan’s grief at seeing Garak after Bamorren: “He’s hard, Mila,” Father said. . . . “But to the point where he’s unreachable?” Father asked. “Where nothing penetrates? How can he express even his basic needs if he’s trapped inside a shell?” + Just as I had learned to do when Uncle Enabran locked me in that suffocating closet. Was this the universal torture for failure, I wondered?...........................................................................

4) More proof to my eyes that Julian’s side of this whole thing seems to be more about thinking Garak doesn’t actually want him to be there. He doesn’t think he’s welcome here or that he’ll be able to help more than he hurts with whatever’s going on for him. ‘I really won’t take up any more of your time’ AUGH 

Garak buddy… every time he tries to get closer to you or extend some care, you bristle like a hedgehog even though you’re trying to do it in as polite and decent a way as possible — what is the poor guy supposed to think beyond a certain point lmao. (Though on the hopeful/beautiful side… what is this entire book but Garak actually taking the advice/suggestion Bashir gives in this scene to reexperience his past and put it in context — not in the holosuites, but in his own way by writing it all out in a way that makes sense to his Cardassian brain and then sharing that with Julian directly. Like. The last line of the book is ‘You’re always welcome, Doctor’. Elim ‘I will become emotionally healthy enough to ask Julian to come visit with an open heart if it fucking kills me’ Garak)  

I’m so soft for how careful they both are with each other in this scene, though. Even in this difficult place where there’s stuff they don’t understand about each other and they are having difficulty connecting for… several reasons, they are trying so so hard to be good to each other. Which is why I think they have every chance of working out brilliantly long-term; once you’ve got a mutual respect, willingness to keep working to understand and communicate with each other even when it’s difficult, and that fundamental ‘I don’t want to hurt you’ good faith in a relationship you’re a good chunk of the way there, from what I have observed. 

Julian cares that Garak was upset, much more than he cares about being right, and this time he shows it in a more private setting where Garak can take it in. They’re trying!  

5) The implication in But as to the question of which group suffers the most… that Garak also realizes how much he’s hurting Julian by not being able to let him in…

Most of all the fact that Bashir in this scene is like ‘Listen Garak I get emotional repression. I’m literally British.’ is one of the funniest things that happen in the whole book. To me. (I’m Norwegian, culturally this has. Some overlap with my experience, let’s say lol) 

- Six had long since gone home. He wanted to succeed so badly, but his body couldn’t withstand the constant assault of the training. I’m sure he found an academic situation. 

Oh thank GOD. Genuinely so relieved to hear this. This is how many times a nerd boy must pass out before he rests in the sand and gets to go to normal university instead of murderschool, the question is finally answered.  

- Tain has shown up again and I want to throw rocks at him until he goes away. And I know he won’t. 

- My shed has become somewhat more bearable, but the clutter and confinement of the interior space requires that I leave the door open. To keep myself busy when I’m not working with the med unit, Doctor, I am engaged in a project I must tell you about. It baffles me. Perhaps you can tell me if I’m losing my mind altogether.

. . . 

[Parmak] turned to me with the strangest expression on his face—and looked me directly in the eyes for the first time.

AUGH. (Plus, the fact that Parmak consistently calls him ‘Elim’.)

But what baffles me, Doctor, is that I attach no meaning to what I’m doing here. I’m just doing it because I need to. And to be truthful, I don’t see this as a memorial at all. On the contrary—if I could, I’d singlehandedly rebuild this city myself, piece by piece. I stood here watching Parmak’s blood dry on this pile of rubble, engulfed by a feeling of loss and utter mystification as to what these piles mean.

Just assure me that I’m not going mad, Doctor.

This whole section is the biggest mood and I’ve rarely felt closer to a fictional character haha. His quietly dissociated tired bemusement both with himself and what he’s doing and Parmak’s reaction is… yeah that’s exactly what that feels like. And ‘Just assure me that I’m not going mad, Doctor’ has done irreparable damage to my psyche, I’m going to be thinking about this forever

- Palandine gestured that she would deal with me and sent the mate on her way.

“So what did you use me for?” I asked.

“What do we ever use each other for?” she replied without hesitation.

“Answering a question with a question is an old trick, Palandine.”

“No trick. I needed a friend.”

“And you don’t need a friend now” I hated the tone that was creeping into my voice.

“It’s complicated, Elim.”

I was afraid to ask why.

“What did you use me for?” she asked.

The question truly baffled me. I only wanted her love. Was that using her? I would gladly have given mine in return.

Still gnawing on concrete over Garak partially reenacting Palandine’s way of approaching him with Bashir in the beginning. At that point he also needed a friend (and he needed someone to run to Sisko like ‘THE SPY TALKED TO ME :D’ to deliver intel through so he was also using him lol.) The way Garak picks up traits from the people he loves like he’s doing the soul version of Odo’s shapeshifting-as-closeness thing because it’s the only way he knows. 

- “So it’s Eight,” he said, dismissing me from his world.

“I don’t think you understand, Barkan….” Palandine began to say.

“It’s not necessary that he understand,” I dismissed him from my world.

Barkan… you did not understand what you were doing, getting into an emotionally and sexually charged petty-off with this man. RIP your stupid ass I guess lmao

“I wanted to tell you. But when I realized … I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said with a gentleness that rankled me.

“I’m not hurt. Neither one of you can hurt me. I wish you a successful… partnership.”

Palandine is so interesting!!!! And like here’s one of the things that I think make a big difference in Garak’s relationship with Palandine vs. his relationship with Julian — who tells him exactly the same thing in ‘The Wire’, after all! (I don’t want to hurt you) Because Palandine doesn’t really mean it, does she? She doesn’t mean ‘I don’t want you to be hurting, I want to protect you from being harmed’, she means ‘I didn’t want to be the thing that hurt you; I didn’t want to be faced with your hurt’, while she is doing things that will inevitably hurt him. I think there is genuine affection and care on her side, but they’re in such a fucked up, brutal world and they’re so young. 

‘I’m not hurt. Who’s hurt’ says teen crying quiet tears of blood as his world falls to pieces 

“I love him, Elim. And I’m also ambitious. I want what he wants. You’ll understand this when you find someone to share your….”

Not me wondering how much of this has echoes to Mila’s relationship to Tain and how that’s part of what Garak reacts to — that survival mechanism of ‘I want what he wants’, subsuming and submitting yourself completely. Which of course is what a Cardassian is supposed to do to the state, and that Garak also does with Tain for the vast majority of both of their lives. The worst part is that Palandine really had some reason to hope for more — she and Barkan start out in a more equal position than it’s implied Mila and Tain ever did, that’s always framed as an inter-class thing, and while Palandine’s family situation is not as grand as Barkan’s it doesn’t seem like it crosses the service class/ruling class barrier. But the structure of the state imposed on every level of society right down to the most intimate and personal areas of life is going to crush the life out of that hope real fast. I’m sorry girl. Wanting to have a fighting chance in this world isn’t the worst sin anyone’s committed and tbf you are like a teen by all accounts

- “My name is Elim Garak. I don’t know where I’m being sent, but I hope you’ll remember me as your friend.”

“When I was told today that I was One Lubak, I was honored… and afraid that I’d lose you as a friend. Thank you. My name is Pythas Lok.”

Neither one of us ever took our eyes off Mila, who was still trying to blend into his surroundings.

Crying gently into my cereal

Garak ‘I wasn’t sure I could ever call him a friend’ vs. Pythas ‘Afraid that I’d lose you as a friend’

Something powerful was stirring deep inside me, and I began to shake. Mila snapped his head to the side, the way he does when he senses light or heat change. Convulsive waves pushed up from my center and tears filled my eyes, blinding me. I had absolutely no control over what was happening to me. By the time the convulsions subsided and my eyes cleared, Mila had disappeared into the rock-and-sand home he came from. 

Absolutely sobbing my eyes out into my cereal 

Spoiler warning: Garak having to go somewhere to be alone after something calamitous happens in his life because that’s the only way he can cry is a theme that will reemerge later and do unspeakable emotional damage to me personally haha

As I hiked back to the Institute, I had the thought that maybe somebody was doing the same thing for me and bringing me back home.

No baby you see someone is doing the exact opposite of this to you right now because you have a basic goodness and capacity for real honest love that Tain doesn’t and he’ll never in a million years set you free just because he loves you and it’s the right thing for you 

- And Jadzia is gone. The station is a sadder and grayer place without her. I’m surprised at how keenly I feel her absence. Even though I know that her symbiont has been “joined” with another person … well, it’s not the same, is it? Indeed, knowing that Jadzia’s personality is somehow contained along with several others within this other person, I wonder how I would react if we were ever to meet.

:(

The doctor has reminded me that these are personal choices, and it’s not for us to judge how one chooses to mourn. Quite so. Who can even begin to understand another’s grief? “Do you judge people by the clothes they ask you to make?” the doctor asked once. I bit back my response, but the point was well taken.

:’) little soul-healing brush of Julian kindness time 

- “What does Tir Remara want with you?” Colonel Kira demanded, ignoring my offer of tea. Immediately an entire picture formed in my head of the scenario her abrupt question suggested: Tir Remara—a spy, perhaps even a changeling, preying upon a lonely Cardassian who was working for the Federation and engaged in top-secret work.

“She wants to have my children,” I replied with a serious look.

“You can’t be serious,” she managed.

“I’m not. Now do you want this tea or not?”

Kira should just have strangled you all those times she wanted to you snarky asshole fhdskja

[respheal]

What happened to your Discord?

Where do I begin.

Well, first, hi—I recognize your avatar from the Galebound Discord so I'm assuming you're the same person.

I got this message late last night (my very first Ask lol) and I've been mulling over a response since. Really, going into it at length would be Trauma Dumping on Main so I'm not going to go into it at length. Probably. I'm bad at not rambling. (After writing everything below: yeah. Bad at not rambling)

Long story short, the Galebound Discord had become a major anxiety trigger. After attempting to send the finished novel out to 100+ agents and a respected, professional (and very expensive) editor for a chance at traditional publishing, the rejection was a crushing blow.

After that, I completely froze up creatively. The last time I made an illustration of any sort was in 2020, and the last prose was in 2022.

Ever since, any time I got a notification of a new message in the GB discord, I had an anxiety spike. Oh no, anxiety says, people are going to remember this server exists and ask Questions about Galebound and then I'm going to have to confront and explain my Failure.

So, I made the server a read-only archive. I've been grappling with the next steps, like do I keep it open as a not-related-to-galebound server? I did make good friends on the server and, when it was active, the vibes were mostly good. But ultimately I've still not healed from the creative blow, and it's a wound I don't want randomly poked.

Also I've hit the stage of my life where I don't want to be the Adult in the Room (i.e. a server moderator). It didn't happen often, but it definitely did happen, and I'm super over being in charge. I quit being a manager at work for a reason.

Anyway, I have been healing. I went back to my ancient roots and got really, really, really into Legend of Zelda fanfiction again lmao, which is how I got started writing in the first place. With my husband's help, I drew something for the first time in four years (he did the base sketch!). I'm being stupidly self-indulgent and it's great. I don't know if my creative batteries will ever recover enough to dip back out into an original project again, especially with the intention of publishing. But fukkit, I ain't a Magician and I ain't Obligated to try.

Either way, I learned a lot about becoming a better writer and what mistakes I made with GB (honestly, problem #1 was trying to get a 125k word monstrosity into the market as a first time author, at a time when traditional publishing is a little fucked in the first place). The editor recommended the book The Fantasy Fiction Formula by Deborah Chester and parts of it have been really helpful at shoring up my problem areas (particularly the bit on writing sequels to scenes).

Anyway, that's what it is. I'm keeping the server read-only for the foreseeable future. To be clear, I'm not mad at anyone who continued posting on the server after it went quiet—it's not like I told anyone I was getting triggered, so not anyone's fault for tripping into it. It is what it is.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

1, 22, and 30!

1: What's something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I'm going to steal your answer here and say that this was my first go at some pure, self-indulgent fluff. My other (non-stolen) answer is that it was my first successful go at plotting a fic as I went, since The Hedgehog's Dilemma kept unexpectedly expanding and evolving as I wrote. I'm honestly really proud of how the fic turned out and there's not much I would change if I could go back and do it over, but while it's nice to know that I can plot and write at the same time, it's not something I'm likely to do again (at least not on purpose).

22: Share an excerpt from your favourite scene

Posted excerpt from chapter 3 of The Hedgehog's Dilemma:

Somehow, he found himself on the floor of the toilets for the second time in less than a day, wedged against the cool metal of the stall, tears tracing itchy tracks down his cheeks. His throat felt thick and clogged; the tile dug at him hard through the thin material of his shorts. His head ached and so did his stomach, and now his nose was running and when he wiped at his face with his sleeves those were wet, too, and itchy, clinging to his skin, and why the fuck did everyone have to be so loud he could hear them all the way through the walls, footsteps and voices all layered over each other, stabbing into his ears.

Unposted excerpt from chapter 2 of Flightless Birds:

They walked around the block, Roy with one crutch for stability as he inched forward, red-faced and growling under his breath at the glacial pace while Jamie jogged backwards ahead of him, ‘cause he weren’t much good at walking slow. “That’s proper hideous,” Keeley said, squinting at a house across the way. “Beige siding? Eugh.” She shuddered theatrically. “I dunno, it’s got character,” Jamie said, to be contrary. It really was proper hideous, all fake-Greek columns and black shutters and trimmed round hedges. “Draws the eye, like.” He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, honestly, but Keeley said it all the time while she was setting up photoshoots. “Babe, I love you, but you’re ruining my reputation, here! How’s anyone supposed to trust my taste when my favourite acolyte’s going around complimenting that horror?” She danced around Roy to shove him lightly in the shoulder. “Excuse me, I’ve got great taste!” “Yeah, for a fucking toddler,” Roy said. “I’m with Keeley on this one. That’s a fucking monstrosity.” “Ha!” Keeley shouted, arms held up in victory. “Alright, Royo, you choose the next one.”

30: What's something you want to write in 2024?

I have a list of like six or seven projects in my ideas folder, but the ones I'm most looking forward to are Wrong Answers Only (the Ted timeloop fic, because I love timeloops) and Jamie's Autism Crisis, which has expanded in concept to also be my post-season 3 Jamie reconnecting with his dad is a terrible idea, actually fic.

[bardicbeetle]

sitd (blatant self indulgence) - decanter

Inspired by these. Probably the third or seventh is the one I'm envisioning.

Daniel comes back from two nights visiting Ellie and finds an atrocity on the kitchen table.

Well.

No.

He finds Moira sitting on the kitchen table. Holding a glass… sculpture? It’s a network of hollow tubes that spread out from a single point. Like roots. Like veins.

She’s got it in one hand, a glass stopper stuck in her mouth, and in the other hand—tipping slowly into this glass monstrosity—

—is the bottle of his blood.

Which doesn’t help the visual. Watching red trickle through all the little pathways, all filling at different rates as the liquid changes course and Moira shifts to keep from spilling anything.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck is she doing?

More importantly why.

He’s too fucking tired for this.

Daniel should really just drive to North Carolina when Ellie wants to see him. Jumping there takes so much out of him that the extra time spent on the road would about equal out to how much exhaustion he’ll have to sleep off.

He should especially consider it when he comes home to something like whatever this is.

“Art project.” Moira says, barely intelligible with the stopper still clutched between her teeth.

“You’re not displaying that.” Daniel starts, “I keep that bottle because you and Jesse are prone to pulling dangerous shit and I don’t feel like cutting myself open every time you—”

“—told you he’d hate it.” Jesse cuts across as he comes down the stairs.

Oh good, it had been planned.

Daniel drops into one of the chairs, unable to look away from…what even is it?

“Aaaaaand—” Moira pops the stopper out of her mouth, sets down the now empty—perfectly normal, perfectly functional—bottle, and seals the…statue. “—done!”

The many end points of the statue hit the table with a dull thunk. There is about an inch of headspace before the stopper, where Daniel watches his own blood separate into little droplets and slip down to join the rest. He looks at it for a long moment, then up at Moira who is already rinsing the old bottle out into the sink. Very deliberately ignoring him.

“Moira,” Daniel sighs, “no. Just, no.”

“Who’s gonna see it?” Moira asks when she returns, sliding a steaming mug in front of Daniel before perching in her preferred spot on the breakfast counter. “God knows we don’t get company who isn’t already aware of the situation.”

“I have to see it,” Daniel argues “and I think it’s fucking creepy.”

Jesse huffs a very quiet laugh as he joins Daniel at the table, pushing the thing a little further away. “Dan, love, I adore you—we literally kill people.”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[veliseraptor]

your headcanons about yi city squad's sleeping habits? are they early birds or night owls? do they sleep lightly? insomnia? do they dream a lot? do they remember their dreams? idk what else, just whatever thoughts you have

I love when people ask me a very specific headcanon question and I go "oooh yes I actually do have pretty well defined headcanons on this subject!" which really happens more than it probably should.

but since you asked.

I definitely think that Xue Yang specifically has...weird sleeping habits. he can fall asleep anywhere and very quickly, but he's also a very light sleeper who can wake up fast and be alert almost immediately. on the other hand I think he is far more likely to deal with insomnia than any of the other Yi City folks, on a fairly regular basis. and during those periods of time he will be awake for sometimes days straight before he finally crashes, and it is an absolute nightmare for everybody else because when Xue Yang is not sleeping he is inevitably not just lying there tossing and turning but up and doing things, bouncing off the walls, desperately in need of attention and stimulation.

Xue Yang says he gets his best work done when he can't sleep. it's not actually true but he certainly does get some of his weirdest work done when he can't sleep. I like to think about Jin Guangyao showing up and Xue Yang, awake for going on 48 hours, going "WANT TO SEE SOMETHING COOL" and showing him, like, some kind of grotesque monstrosity he put together in the middle of the night.

when it comes to dreams, I don't think Xue Yang tends to remember his. he has them, and sometimes he wakes up with leftover feelings from them, but he doesn't remember what they were.

Xiao Xingchen, on the other hand, I think has very vivid, very weird dreams and almost always remembers them. I think he also likes to share them, at least with close friends; definitely he always used to tell Song Lan about his dreams and whether or not they were actually interesting to hear Song Lan would always listen to him share them because Xiao Xingchen seems to enjoy it; Xue Yang will listen but interrupt to speculate wildly and absurdly on their meaning trying to make Xiao Xingchen laugh.

another sleep headcanon I have about Xiao Xingchen is that he loves to nap. if he does not have pressing duties he will just find a nice spot and go to sleep. it's one of his few self-indulgences that he really embraces. and he's very good at it! power-napper extraordinaire. find him lying in unexpected places fast asleep. he also tends to sleep cold, so if there are heat sources (sun, another person) he'll seek those out.

like Xue Yang, a-Qing can fall asleep anywhere and very quickly, and wake up fast, and it is (of course) for the same reason - she has to be able to rest when she gets the chance but also alert for dangers and able to respond quickly if they show up. she's a little less likely to just do it wherever, though; for Xue Yang it's almost flaunting how he doesn't have to worry about it anymore but a-Qing wants to have a nest. I feel like a-Qing's blankets never stay neat for long and if she was sharing a bed with someone she would end up with all the blankets securely wrapped around her to create a little a-Qing burrito.

I don't think she's much of a napper (and I think Xiao Xingchen's napping sometimes is a little bit of an 'ugh but now I'm bored' for her), and in general more of a night owl than a morning person. as far as dreams go, I think she also doesn't remember them most of the time but is also a very active dreamer, and every so often she'll remember truly wild ones - the kind of dreams that actually are fun to listen to and make you go "what the fuck is going on there" a little bit.

I think I talked at one point before how I think Song Lan when it comes to sleeping is someone for whom routine is very important. if he's going to sleep then he will have a set bed time and a set wake up time and he will keep those consistent. I don't think he tends to like to take naps; it makes him feel sluggy and kinda gross. I also think he'll do fine if he doesn't sleep for a while and it's worse for him if he sleeps off schedule.

as far as dreaming goes I'm going to curse him with my problem which is very vivid and very realistic dreams. they aren't interesting, they're spectacularly mundane, but they feel very real in the moment. I bet Song Lan has awful stress dreams. I just have a feeling. he is a little jealous of Xiao Xingchen's dreams. they sound like fun.

I think he does also have some trouble with insomnia now and again, but for him it is more just...vague restlessness/anxiety that keeps him up. he meditates through it but it does throw him off more than he'd like because, again, of the importance of routine.

like Xue Yang, a-Qing can fall asleep anywhere and very quickly, and wake up fast, and it is (of course) for the same reason - she has to be able to rest when she gets the chance but also alert for dangers and able to respond quickly if they show up. she's a little less likely to just do it wherever, though; for Xue Yang it's almost flaunting how he doesn't have to worry about it anymore but a-Qing wants to have a nest. I feel like a-Qing's blankets never stay neat for long and if she was sharing a bed with someone she would end up with all the blankets securely wrapped around her to create a little a-Qing burrito.

I don't think she's much of a napper (and I think Xiao Xingchen's napping sometimes is a little bit of an 'ugh but now I'm bored' for her), and in general more of a night owl than a morning person. as far as dreams go, I think she also doesn't remember them most of the time but is also a very active dreamer, and every so often she'll remember truly wild ones - the kind of dreams that actually are fun to listen to and make you go "what the fuck is going on there" a little bit.

I feel like I probably could keep going but perhaps this is enough yi city sleep headcanons to be going on with for now

[fandomsniper]

hi, yeah, so this is my self-indulgent au/crossover because I'm hyperfixating on s.t.a.l.k.e.r. and star wars, and I love Kallus so much AND that meant the usual fav character treatment so I twisted up star wars and s.t.a.l.k.e.r. lore to my own shape because I can and now you can read this monstrosity

(can also be found on ao3)

Toothless

"Sooo, how did you lose that tooth?" 

Alexsandr turned his head to look at his friend and chuckled when Alyosha startled from his focused state, the younger man's knee-jerk reaction earned him a bruised elbow which he hit against the rock he was leaning against. Alyosha hissed through his teeth, which made a slight whistling sound where the air passed through the gap where his left canine tooth once sat, he glared at his friend and rubbed his elbow, he really needed to get a new elbow protector. Alexsandr met his glare with a raised eyebrow, still as immune to his scowls and glares as he was all those years ago before he was scooped up by the Empire. 

Both of them continued their staring contests before Alyosha huffed, shaking his head as he relaxed back against the big rock that stood on the slope that overlooked most of Zaton, "Would you believe if I told you that I lost it fighting a Bloodsucker?" he asked with a wry grin, his hands crossed over his riffle that hung from a gun sling. Alexsandr snorted and playfully punched his friend's shoulder, "You fucking wish Alyosha, knowing your talent you probably walked into a wall on the Skadovsk and knocked that tooth out." 

The younger man gasped and put one of his hands over his heart as he dramatically imitated being shot in the chest "Shots fired! You wound me, Sasha, wound me." Alexsandr observed his friend's antics snickering and flicked his forehead when he straightened back up "Yeah, yeah, sure I do, now out with the truth Alyosha." Alyosha rolled his eyes but grinned at the older man "Fucking Burer knocked it out." Alexsandr gaped at him "The fuck were you doing in the caves and how the fuck did that happen?" 

Alyosha drummed his fingers on his rifle and had the decency to look sheepish "I didn't look where I was going like an idiot and fell into one through the ground hole," he rubbed his face with one of his gloved hands with a sigh "I practically landed on the little fucker, who, surprisingly, was walking alone. I actually think that  I startled it, which is absolutely fucking hilarious." Alyosha chuckled at the wide-eyed look Alexsandr was throwing at him "Unfortunately the shock of me dropping from literally nowhere wore off quickly, and it immediately threw a big ass rock in my face which," he vaguely gestured at his mouth "Knocked the tooth out," then pointed at scar over his lip "And also left me with a little scar present." 

The older man stared at him for a moment before he shook his head as if he was trying to put the information he just learned in the right places, "You fucking idiot, I always told you to look where you were going," he groaned and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand "How the fuck did you get out of that shit show, Burers are annoyingly hard to kill." Alexsandr pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the younger man with an unamused expression, that was met with a grin and a gentle pat on one of the pouches attached to Alyosha's armor. 

He glared at his friend. 

Alyosha still grinned at him as he whispered "Grenades." 

The older man sighed but the corners of his lips were turned into a small smile, almost impossible to notice, as if he was trying to keep up the 'stern older brother' face by the sheer force of will. He lost the fight when he saw the younger man in his peripheral vision, still grinning with that toothless grin of his, Alexsandr laughed and knocked his shoulder against Alyoshas "You are dumb as fuck Alyosha, I guess you climbed out of that hole somehow?" 

The younger man snorted and shifted his weight from one leg to another "Obviously, I'm standing right beside you right now." he looked awfully smug about it, Alexsandr rolled his eyes "We'll, you always were good at climbing, weren't you?" his friend beamed at him "Of course." 

With that, both of them lapsed into comfortable silence, well, Alexsandr thought so before Alyosha didn't decide to share his thoughts with him. 

"So are you and Zeb fucki-" 

"I will stop you right there!" 

----------------------------------------------

pls don't roast me too much in the tags/comments

[hongism]

Hey bestie heeeeeey~

I'm officially caught up with MOC so now I can tell you my feelings~

So, first of all, how dare you? There's no reason for the emotional whiplash I experienced reading this monstrosity (positive with all the love and respect in the world i promise) yet here i am... a further damaged woman lmfao

But forreal though, you have a great ability to pull emotions out of your readers and thats just amazing in my eyes, especially as a fellow writer myself :') theres nothing I love more than making the ppl who read my own fics suffer emotionally so congrats to you!

I love how you write everyone in the story, they are so incredibly flawed and fucked up and human that it just makes me shed a tear. Thats why MC frustrates the HELL out of me, even though I adore her. Her flaws make my ass itch but all i want for her is to heal and be happy in the end (same with the others! I be wanting to punch the shit outta them sometimes 😭)

ESPECIALLY Hongjoong cause my guy is just unhinged but i love his character the most honestly because unhinged is hot to me. Im still kicking my feet and twirling my hair lmao

The relationships are so real and just... messy. Messy messy in the best way. But i just have to cheer them all on.

That chapter when mc and yeosang banged I was quite literally going bonkers like HELLO?????????????? I didnt expect that but now i want more of it cause their dynamic (especially when it comes to wooyoung) is so juicy

MC is such a tragic character and I feel for her the most. I love how we started off thinking Jisung was this great person but turns out that hes a fucking lunatic. You, Caly literally manipulated us into thinking so, like how Jisung manipulated MC and idk if that was intentional or not but it was brilliant. And Hyunwoo turning out to be like *that* was a punch in the gut. MC being betrayed by the ppl she cared for so much makes her question everything on the crew, especially Hongjoong and that's why I cant be too frustrated with her lol

I dont want this ask to be so long cause i can go in about every little detail 😭 but youve dont such an amazing job. The world building is beautiful, and i dont rly read a lot of scifi like fictions set in space, but when i first got into ateez the first thing i thought of were pirates / space pirates and i even started my own fic with that premise bc i cant help myself but be self indulgent trash so 🤷🏼‍♀️ but thats beside the point

I cant wait to read more of this masterpiece and see how things go. I want everyone to be happy cause you are putting them through the fucking ringer 😭😭😭 please go easy on them I cant take more of this 😭😭😭😭

hehe emotional whiplash is my specialty!!! i too am very much damaged after writing moc. and the damage will continue. for the good of the plot!!!

i'm so touched you think so, i really love evoking emotion out of the reader in my works and i'm glad that im effective in doing so <3 one of my goals from the start of writing moc was to create an mc who isn't always likable or enjoyable to read bc i find those sorts of stories unrealistic and sometimes boring, because even tho the setting is very much not real, having characters who do feel real has always been huge to me! i love creating characters who have peaks and valleys, who grow and stumble along the way, and to really show a journey of growth!! hongjoong is just. pure insanity at its finest LOL he's gonna take a lot to fix but we'll see!

i honestly had way too much fun writing that chapter too, i love love looooooove a good hatefuck and it was just too tempting to NOT do >.<

it was fully intentional to sort of bring the readers in on the manipulation yes hehe! i like playing my cards very close to my chest and not giving anything away until the absolute last second i can!!! i think you hit on something lots of people who want her to just give into hongjoong forget - she's experienced so much betrayal from the people she trusted most and that does really stick in the brain and cause lasting trauma, and our poor mc is deeply traumatized by many things that have happened to her! it only makes sense for her to be retaliating and distrustful of those around her in these circumstances!!

thank you so much for enjoying everything so far and for all the lovely compliments they really mean so much to me i cherish them a lot 🥹🥹❤️❤️

[charmspoint]

29, 39, 49 for the writer's ask game 👀

Thank you Ker <3

Ask game

29. What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

Tough questions from Ker :0. I think what I'm most proud of my ability to make people feel things very strongly. Like so many people tell me they cried at curse au and so many people tell me they felt viscerally disturbed and uncomfortable by Mother. It makes me very happy cuz i work so hard on trying to make the emotions in my fic visceral, to make people feel them and not just read about them. I think writing emotions like that is one of my strong points :3

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

Whatever the fuck is going on between duchess and prinn at any given moment that's just self indulgence at its core

49. What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

Honestly I think that will always be Cannibalization of the Apex. It just portrays everything I love to write about the most, grief and love and monstrosity. I think i was able to be fully myself in that piece, disregarding exceptions on how the story should go or how the characters should act to just make something weird and natural and my own. It's no surprise that it's still my no 1 baby after so long and it will probably always be very close to my heart.

[basuralindo]

✨🎊NEW FIC JUST DROPPED🎉✨

I know I said I was probably gonna have a tiny hiatus, buuut I ended up writing a bunch to cope instead, so here it is!

Yes, I mean the OctaViper pirate au, the one I've been bitching about for like a week or something, the one I told myself "this is a self indulgent, back burner type thing, I'm just gonna have fun and not stress about it" about, and then proceeded to get super invested in research and spent hours of my life tryna make it period accurate. That fic. My beloved, horrible child that has given me nothing but trouble yet I'm still so excited to send it out into the world. Please enjoy this dumbshit pain in my ass.

Gonna be adding some thoughts and ref images under the cut, you're gonna wanna read the chapter first. Here there be spoilers.

First off, their ships.

Jamil's ship, The Scarab (reference to Scarabia), is a Baghlah dhow, a relatively light speedy cargo ship mainly used by people of the Arabian peninsula. Some references for the structure and style:

Azul's ship, The Sea Witch, is a spanish Galleon. They outweigh Baghlahs by several hundred tons, armed to the teeth, and while not as fast as a Baghlah, still surprisingly fast for what is just an overall monstrosity of a ship. There's no examples for the specific color scheme and decor, but here's an idea of the general size and over the top style:

They're just generally Extra™. So is pirate Azul.

Speaking of extra, the outfits!

-Jamil wears mostly traditional Sands clothing, in his signature red black and gold, but more decked out than average in order to display the wealth and status of the family he represents. There's also some western influence to the fashions due to trade and culture sharing. He absolutely takes any excuse to dress fancy because Jamil is not immune to wanting nice things.

-The pirates have clothing accumulated from all over the world, which they mix and match depending on preference. Azul accumulates ridiculous amounts of wealth, and the crew ends up with a lot of extra spending money, so taste and practicality are the only limits. Of which Azul has none.

-Floyd mismatches whatever he likes the look of and finds comfortable. So mostly loose fitting stuff in fun colors, and items he finds impressively well crafted. I just kinda wrote out what he'd probably wear piece by piece and it turned into just, classic Pirate™ aesthetic, but I'm just gonna roll with that. You cannot convince me that, without an enforced dresscode, he and Jade would dress remotely alike.

-Azul goes for wealthy high fashion styles from influential western countries (inspired mainly by french, spanish, and italian fashions), because those give the impression of high status. Basically the era equivalent of a three piece suit with fedora and cummerbund. He's very much in peacock mode in this chapter, and went all out with the fancy. I'm kinda basing the look on his masquerade costume, but with some adjustments for the era, like the cavalier hat instead of a tricorn and a more typical cut of overcoat.

-Jade likes to look quiet and reserved just to fuck with people, kinda following along with whatever fashion kicks Azul goes on. He intentionally stays in Azul's shadow the way an ambush predator stays in a hole in the rocks.

-Jamil having an english last name didn't make sense in context, so I gave him the nearest arabic translation of Viper. Khabith is a more vague concept that implies evil/malicious/venomous/underhanded/etc., and is used as a term for venomous snakes as well. There isn't a more specific word for viper that I know of, besides clarifying "'afea khabith", but the implications of Khabith play into the plot I have in mind. Also I just enjoy how it combines with the name Jamil (beautiful) to mean something like "dangerously beautiful", very fem fatale vibes.

Side characters:

-Idk why with the cousins, it just popped into my head and I went with it. It's fun to explore possible family dynamics with Jamil. Their names mean Wisdom (Hakim), and Bravery (Jasur), because I felt like keeping to the theme of descriptive names.

-I love the idea of a monster pirate crew, and I love coming up with Creatures, especially nonhuman people. So I'm just having a great time making shit up for Azul's crew. The harpy is my favorite. She's not a reference to anything twst related, I just wanted to write about a harpy. I'm obsessed with this side character. I'm also excited to eventually talk more about the Very Ugly Man because there is a backstory to him and it cracks me up a lot.

-I really enjoyed making Azul this punchable. I actually really like enemies to lovers as a trope, but have never gotten around to writing it until now, even in original works for some reason. This is still pretty one sided as far as enemies go, because it's still Azul after all, but I'm having a great time and I hope I can pull it off well

-Idk what else to say here, I'm just really excited about this story. I wanted to let these bastard fish be awful creeps, I wanted to do an enemies to lovers thing, I wanna write about the ocean, I'm having fun, and I hope everyone else can enjoy this as much as I do

[whysamwhy123]

for the ask game, 14, 18 and 27!

14) If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

Ooh, this is an interesting one! I'd be cheating if I said the first thing that came to mind (because it's an AU I haven't actually written, just thought about a lot, and I think it would probably work better as a comic or movie or something) so instead I'll say Voice in the Dark. I don't think you could call those fics particularly 'cinematic', but I think it'd be fun to see them in live action, preferably by a director who knows how to make dialogue-heavy scenes visually appealing.

18) What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Tough one, I don't think I'm particularly good at killer lines. For some reason, I'm tempted to say this incredibly mundane line from Voice in the Dark Part Two, just because when I wrote it, I decided it was the most relatable thing I've ever written.

Hook opened up the fridge and glared at its lack of contents.

But looking back on that same fic, I'm also fond of the Wham Line when Evilhausen has a little slip of the tongue and demands to know, ''Then why won't you let me fuck you?!'' I went back and forth a lot on whether to take that line out or not, but ultimately, I'm glad I left it in. I swear it's more impactful in context!

27) Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

Honestly, all of them. I am but an insecure being full of intense shame and self-loathing. And writing's such a personal thing, it's true what they say about how you're basically putting a piece of your soul out there for people's perusal. I always gets nervous before posting anything, like ''Well, here's hoping I don't embarrass myself too much!'' I'd say I was probably the most embarrassed about posting Business/Pleasure (my incredibly trashy, self-indulgent uber-rarepair Ricky/Christian sugar baby AU) because I knew it was such Trash and for a pairing that only one other person had written before (and I shamelessly ripped that person off in the process, whoops! 😬) And the worst part is...I'm seriously thinking about trying to continue that fic and make it a big multi-chapter monstrosity. Oh, the lack of humanity...

[danse--macabre]

@guess-i-like-video-games-now, thank you for these tags! This is actually something I was specifically thinking about as well! For Astarion, Wyll resembles a Prince - but that's a resemblance, not a role, Wyll is more complex than that, and Astarion certainly isn't going to wholly play the Princess either.

A question I think Wyll/Astarion fans should ask themselves more often is what does Astarion offer for Wyll? How can Astarion protect Wyll?Wyll can obviously be very good for Astarion - he's kind, heroic, and often gentle in a way that appeals to a notion of heroism Astarion thought dead, and can help him heal. But Astarion can protect Wyll and has the potential to be good for Wyll too.

The key area I think Astarion could help is with beieng more selfish, and less self-sacrificing. Wyll arguably has a problem with self-sacrifice, is dealing with the fallouts of his self-sacrifice and - IMO, your views may differ on this - does not place a high enough value on himself and his soul when bartering for the freedom of others. Crucially: Wyll is willing to trade *his soul* - which is more eternal than a life - for the life of his father who rejected him, who he hasnt seen in seven years, who he has no way of knowing will accept him again, in part because he believes Baldur's Gate will crumble without Ulder. Astarion as a romance partner would be one of the first to say, Wyll, what the fuck are you doing, you've been struggling for freedom for years, your soul is worth more than this, you are worth more than this, why do you think you are worth so little? (Personal gripe: I wish the game would let you say this to Wyll). Astarion would be an excellent for encouraging some necessary selfishness - and reminding Wyll he has value and can provide value without sacrificing himself again - as well as reminding Wyll that his decision to sacrifice himself hurts others as well, namely his loved ones, himself included. Astarion would also help encourage Wyll not to forgo everything he wants in life, indulge the pleasures he has missed, the dancing and the fun. In this way I think Astarion could actually help Wyll develop a much healthier sense of self-worth and also help Wyll more reasonable when it comes to heroism - Wyll will always be drawn to it, but won't make such needless sacrifices so readily.

Additionally, I think Astarion probably won't be so forgiving of Wyll's father, who rejected Wyll so readily, and may help Wyll realise exactly how hurtful that was, how Wyll has actually been wronged by his father, that this is not simply 'Wyll's fault' and would reassure him that he'd be there for him. While tadpole mind links mean that the Ulder conversation goes smoothly, there was a high chance it would not have gone so well, and Wyll could have been rejected cruelly. Astarion would be right there in Wyll's corner telling him that his father is unworthy of him, not the other way around (and probably wants to tear out Ulder's throat lol).

Finally I think Wyll has issues accepting his new monstruous appearance, which stem somewhat from a black/white view about monsters and monstrosities (understandable, he is a monster hunter) and how he's been 1. marked openly by Mizora as belonging to her and 2. perhaps be rejected by others for his appearance. Astarion, a monster himself, thinks there is nothing off-putting about his new devilish appearance (I'm sure he'd make a quip about how it's rather becoming), could help Wyll work through issues related to factor #2, but more broadly his presence in Wyll's life could help Wyll examine what it means to be a monster, do all monsters look like monsters, etc.

Crucially for Astarion, these are all areas he could help simply by being a supportive partner who advocates for Wyll to value himself. Astarion will not be able to protect Wyll any better through completing the Rite of Profane Ascension, as much as he thinks - in addition to offering him near limitless power - that ascension could help him keep his partner safe. Astarion may not even realise how much he is protecting his partner already by simply encouraging Wyll to place a greater value on himself.

I think an aspect of astarion's character that is missed is that while effeminate, he is not a damsel. he affirms at a few key junctures in act 3, when romanced, that he wants to protect *you* - and when you assert that you'll protect him, he thanks you for the sentiment but it's clearly not what he wanted. power is autonomy and to be able to protect is an expression of that - thus the idea that *he* is protected speaks to a lack of power that, if non-ascended, he's coming to terms with but isn't that comfortable with yet. It's also such a typically masculine complex to have - and while not unusual irl, still good to see that play out in a man so flamboyant and camp.