#are the points where doctors start getting a little creative

[tj-crochets]

I keep forgetting to ask, but do y'all have any recommendations for B12 supplements that are like liquigels (or whatever those are called) instead of tablets? I'm allergic to at least one of the inactive ingredients in the B12 supplements I've tried, but I have never yet had a reaction to inactive ingredients of liquigels (capsules? what are those called?) At this point, I am not looking for any particular dosage of B12; my doctor just wants me to try it to see if it helps with severe muscle cramps. Once I see if it works, she's going to do more bloodwork and determine which dosage I should be taking (I have had other bloodwork to rule out other possible causes, and at this moment B12 is the only thing I'm testing low on)

[hareofhrair]

I wanted to put this one the previous post but it was long and this is a tangent but- In regards to the hypothetical "If House was my doctor I'd just tell him everything. Rip to all his other patients but I'm different."

The whole point of the show is that you wouldn't. Like a major theme of the show is about how the various shames and stigmas and habitual dishonesties that plague our societies both metaphorically and literally kill us. "Everybody lies" isn't just a cynical catchphrase, it's the shows thesis. Because of how we operate as a society, everyone feels compelled to suppress and hide things and that inevitably leads to suffering.

And there are plenty of episodes where this is obvious, ie "I cheated on my partner and gave them an STD." But there's also much more of "This little girl went through early puberty and because of the way our society stigmatizes women's bodies her single father never discussed puberty with her and she was so afraid and ashamed of her new pubic hair that she tried to shave it without telling anyone and mutilated herself, leading everyone to think she'd been abused and throwing off the whole case until House figured out her hormones were going crazy because she'd been exposed to her father's low T medicine, which he hid because of how our society regards masculinity, which he started taking because he began dating a younger woman (because of shame stemming from our society's unrealistic expectations wrt sex in relationships) which he was hiding from his kids, because of shame regarding our societies toxic views on monogamy."

A particular episode stands out as a really good example. S06E15 "Private Lives," which aired in 2010 but was fairly prescient about where social media was heading. The patient was a blogger who documented literally every moment of every day for her followers. She made it very clear she left *nothing* out, from her and her boyfriend's sex life to, eventually, asking for feedback from her followers on whether to get her heart valve replaced with one from a pig or a "vegan" plastic one. She handed the whole blog over to House as soon as he took the case and the team poured through the whole thing. Surely this is proof you're wrong about everybody lying, the team says to House. She's give us her whole life and you still can't find out what's wrong! Spoiler, it turned out the crucial symptom that allowed House to put it all together? Was the one thing she *didn't* include in the blog- Her bowel movements. Shame and stigma around talking about *poop* nearly killed this woman. It was also a detail that should have been picked up immediately by a normal doctor, who would have asked about her bowel movements as part of the standard checklist of diagnostic questions. But this woman was so confident that she'd laid out every relevant detail of her life in her blog, she wouldn't answer those questions, obfuscating what she was actually ashamed of underneath a pile of curated, rationalized, narritivized junk she could pretend was proof of a lack of shame and not simply a skill at creative writing.

When I say "I'd just tell House everything" is ridiculous, I don't just mean "well, because of the way the show works, you HAVE to be hiding SOMETHING." I mean literally, you- because you are a human being- are ashamed of *something.* And because you are a human being, the more info you try to give House the more deeply you will bury whatever it is you're actually ashamed of. And, because of the way the show works, that *will* end up being the key to what's making you sick.

[comic-sans-chan]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But which part..."

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

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

"He did blow up his shop once."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tanett!"

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

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

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

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

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

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

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

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

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

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

He reads well into the night.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No doubt."

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

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

Garak isn't looking.

—

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

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

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

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

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

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

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

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

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

Terrible man.

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

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

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

—

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

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

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

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

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

“That’s true.”

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

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

“He did not.”

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

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

“He’s gone.”

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

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

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

—

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

“What’ll you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s near.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

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

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

There.

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Clearly!”

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

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

“He made his choices!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kira glares at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him. 

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

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

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

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

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol. 

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

Oh no. 

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

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

No, no, no.

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

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

Oh, fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Garak bites out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure.”

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

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

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

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

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

Garak’s face shutters. 

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

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Garak,” he starts to say.

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

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doctor?”

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

“Doctor–?!”

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

Oh.

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

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

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

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.” 

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

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

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

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

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

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

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

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

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

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

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

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

“So you were together then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[shawnxstyles]

the only one

DATE: JANUARY 2, 2024

summary: you go on your first date with peter, and it ends even better than you could have ever expected. ;)

request: yes!

words: 6.3k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [oral, fingering, multiple orgasms], protected sex, dirty talk), language, and the most gentlemanly man.

note: i cannot believe i’m finally writing another gyno!peter after all this time… anyway, this is NOT an actual series, simply just more situations/scenes of these two together!

gynecologist!peter x patient!y/n

–

Every date that you’ve been on in the past never made you this nervous. You didn’t spend two hours just deciding on what to wear and taking an extra hour to prepare yourself. You worked for a fashion magazine, editing and reviewing comments and critiques. You were surrounded by clothes and creativity all day, but struggled to pick a “first-date look” from your closet. You swore you read something about that before…

You never thought first dates were anything more than a simple introduction, a first impression of another human being. It was one of the foundations of the question, “Could I get along well enough with this person to go on a second date?”.

You had only been on two first dates: one with your ex, who you were with for four months, and recently with that guy from your work. The second one was mainly just a hook-up, and the first one obviously led to some type of relationship that didn’t work out in the end. Maybe you didn’t have enough experience in the dating world to be wondering if the amount of nerves you had right now was healthy.

Your hands were clammy as you strapped on your black heels. You noticed you were swallowing more frequently than normal, and you didn’t understand why. When you looked in the mirror, your hands flattened out your black dress more times than you could count, ridding wrinkles that aren’t even there.

After your appointment a few weeks ago, you had texted Peter. More specifically, you texted him the next day. Immediately after simply saying hello and your name, you thought of how many other people he may have given his phone number to. Or worse, how many people he had fingered in his office… You started worrying if you shouldn’t have texted him at all because he was a doctor. He was probably too busy for anything. It was just a nice gesture, maybe?

But an hour later, in the evening, he had texted you back with a short apology. He was working a little past the clock in order to get more doctor stuff done. Even his texts were sweet with a dab of charm. How do women control themselves around him?

Or maybe it was just you, and you were a fucking weirdo.

Yeah it could be that.

Peter and you went on to texting every now and then to texting daily. Texting him was something to look forward to after a long day at work. It also became pretty clear that he wasn’t texting anyone else because well, he was working throughout the day doing doctor stuff while you were doing editor stuff. He would even text you during his lunch break and that always made your heart skip to see his message in the middle of the day.

One night in particular, you were complaining to Peter (yes, you had gotten to the point where you could complain about little inconveniences) about your sink malfunctioning. Instead of asking you to send pictures of the pipes under the sink, he had you FaceTime him. It was the first time you guys have ever called and the second time you’ve ever seen his face, so your heart was a little race-y. But when that charming, wide grin flashed on your screen, he easily slipped into conversation. Peter helped you fix your sink with a little wrench movement along with replacing a broken screw through the phone.

It wasn’t awkward. It was relieving.

You didn’t have to force a certain personality in order to engage in a conversation with him. You felt more yourself than you ever have when talking to him, flowing easily like two streams into one. You hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you guys ended the call until he was gone. The serenity of your place felt a little more emptier than usual without the sound of his beautiful accent from your speaker. It was nearly midnight by the time you went to bed, wondering how things would be if you and Peter took your friendship a bit further.

Would talking always be this simple? Would he always be this charming?

After that night, you would make excuses to call him. He never denied you, even after he told you he had a long day at the hospital. You guys were not only texting now, but calling daily. You would get excited for his texts and calls, looking forward to talking to him. That’s when you realized you wanted more with him. It felt like you knew each other forever, but it had merely been a few weeks. You wanted to go on a date with him, wanted to be with him in person again. And of course, your mind wandered to the thought of how he is in bed.

If he was that good with just his quick fingers, then how good was he with more space and time? You began to dream about it.

Then he finally asked you. It was so sudden, you honestly didn’t expect it.

You were debriefing your plans for the week and what you had to do at work.

“Sometimes, I feel like my life is on repeat,” You chuckle, but it sounds tired.

“You’re always doing the same thing every week?” Peter questions. He found that he loves just listening to you talk for hours about whatever. He prompts you with questions, and you always answer thoroughly. It’s like an unspoken routine for you two.

“I mean, it feels like that. I never have time to go out and do anything. And when I do, I don’t go out,” You half-smile to yourself as you look down at your lap. You sounded kind of lame, so you were trying not to cringe at yourself.

“You told me your agenda for this week, but what about Saturday and Sunday?”

“Oh, well, you know I don’t work on the weekends. Sometimes, I get extra stuff done at home, but only because I’m bored. I watch TV…” You squint your eyes, trying to think of things you do on the weekend when you’re not busy. “You know, I’m listening to what I’m saying, and I am so lame. God, I need a life outside of work.”

“You’re not lame. Just busy. Give yourself some credit,” he waves off your dig at yourself, and you don’t stop yourself from smiling. He’s just too nice. You can’t take your eyes off him through the small screen as he watches you back.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. What are your weekend plans?” You definitely talk too much, so you always attempt to ask him questions back.

“Well, I was thinking of taking you out,” he very casually says, nonchalantly staring at you through the camera. “Unless you’re busy watching TV.”

“W-What?” Heat crawled up your neck and ears, skin flaming off of his quick words. He’s always charming and always confident with you, so why are you surprised he’s this smooth? You wonder if he’s been thinking about it for a while or if he just got the idea randomly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want to. In that case, I am joking…”

“I want to, Peter,” You smile with the words. It feels impossible to lower your cheek muscles because of the giddiness coursing through you. “If I’m honest, I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me.”

“I was a little slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, both the turtle and the hare beat you to the finish line,” His wonderful laugh echoes through the speaker of your phone, and it fills you with warmth.

While other people have belittled you and forced you to be one way, Peter naturally allows you to be yourself. Your wit flourishes, and your insecurities fade into unique parts of you. Whether you two are friends or more, you need more people like Peter in your life.

After you two had confirmed the plans for Saturday, you two both went to bed when the call ended. When your head hits the pillow, it’s instantly filled with scenarios of you and Peter. Mostly how your first date might go. Is he the type to pull out a chair for you? Definitely. Would he pay without a second glance? Probably, knowing he has that doctor paycheck. Would he kiss you after walking you back to your door? Maybe, maybe not.

But he did finger-fuck you in his office, so nothing is really that impossible.

So, you let your mind wander for the rest of the night while you sleep peacefully. Yes, you had some great dreams.

–

Instead of texting you that he’s here, Peter knocks on your door. The sound itself made your heart accelerate instantly as you stride quickly to answer it. You’ve been overthinking all the ways that this day could go bad, seriously hoping that it doesn’t.

“Hey,” Peter says, clearly eyeing you up and down. He sounds slightly breathless, but not as if he just ran to your door. No, more like he’s speechless. But you could just be overanalyzing every little detail.

“Hey,” As you repeat the word back, you’re both silent for a second. It’s not awkward as it is tense. You’re both just observing and taking in the appearance of the other, appreciating the time and effort in the looks. Peter’s wearing a navy button-up with black slacks. The first two buttons are undone, giving you a peek at his seemingly smooth chest. He’s not wearing a jacket, so you get a view of his arms. From the way the rich fabric stretches around his muscles, it’s obvious that he works out. He just keeps getting better. He continues to check more of your boxes. “Let me just go grab my purse really quick.”

You snatch your bag off of the coffee table after checking you have everything. What if his one flaw is that he won’t pay for at least half the dinner? You must prepare for all the possible outcomes.

“You look brilliant,” You can see him swallow before his compliment, and you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He never makes it a point to look even the slightest bit unsure, which you admire. He’s very charming, which takes a lot of confidence, and he’s very good at it. When he asked you out in his office, you saw that persona slip just a tad, enough for you to see that he is human and that he gets nervous too. You found him adorable. You still do.

“You as well,” You blush as you shut the door behind you. The two of you walk to his car, and of course, he opens the door for you. You can’t stop blushing. “Seriously, how do you make such a simple outfit look so good?”

“Unbutton it,” he answers before gently shutting your door closed. Your mind instantly went to places that it shouldn’t have, making your skin burn. You thought about unbuttoning his shirt slowly and sensually until it fell down his bulky arms. You thought about unbuttoning his slacks and palming his cock. He would be so hard for you, and you didn’t hesitate to get on your knees. God, you wished it was real because you truly would not hesitate for this man.

You shake your head, attempting to rid yourself of those dirty thoughts, so you can have a peaceful date. A first date with Peter.

–

When you guys get to the restaurant, that small voice in the back of your head expects it to be awkward the second you sit down. But once again, you were proven incorrect.

Peter instantly engages in a smooth conversation, asking how your week was overall. You told him all about work and the papers you’re reviewing, and he told you about some of his patients. Every time he mentions anything doctor related, it just makes you swoon. It’s impressive how intelligent he is, and even more so how hard he works. It’s obvious he loves what he does, and you never realized that loving one’s passion was a must-have in your partner checklist.

You also just love the way he talks. His accent makes your skin hot and your spine tingle. Your mind wanders to places it shouldn’t more often than not. And his gaze never leaves yours, only when talking to the waiter when ordering.

There is never a dull moment. Even as you were patiently waiting for your food, you still found things to talk about.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” he asks, observing two people in the back corner with smiles on their faces.

“They’re dressed nicely, and they’re holding hands too much to be together for that long. I’m going to guess the three or four month anniversary.”

“What about them?” he nudges his head in the direction of the people not too far from you two, sitting with straight faces.

“Oh, they’re not celebrating. Probably breaking up.”

“Who goes to such a nice restaurant for a break-up?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like rich people problems to me,” You joke, and you both share a chuckle. It feels nice to casually chat and people watch with somebody else. When your food arrives, you both eat with more adding silence, slipping in words slowly.

“Did I tell you you look really good tonight?” Peter changes the topic, eyes fixating back onto you.

“Yes… Thank you,” You feel yourself blushing all over your body. You use your napkin to wipe your lips, but you’re really using it to protect your face. It was so obvious what his words did to you, that’s probably why he said them. Suddenly, the room feels a little too hot, even just in your dress. “Took me a while to find out what to wear.”

“You could have worn a garbage bag and still looked great,” Peter says, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, stop it. You’re such a charmer. What’s your game? What do you want?” Your words are playful, but the look in Peter’s eye seems more serious. More powerful and heated. Eyes you haven’t seen for a long time in another person, and it freezes you still. The only thing that’s countering the lust circling his irises is the uprising smirk on his lips.

“To take you home.”

Boy, was he a charmer.

“Don’t ask if I’m kidding because I’m not,” he adds, setting down his napkin on the table. He leans over, a curl falling onto his forehead. A hand reaches halfway across the white cloth and rests delicately on your hand. Even his touch was warm and soft, not forceful in any way. “If you want, I’d like to.”

“I…” You were speechless. You knew what your answer would be, but you were just starstruck. How can one person be so gentlemanly yet hot? Cocky yet so sweet? God really didn’t give anyone a chance when making Peter. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

Your thumb rubs reassuring circles on his thumb while you smile like a fool. Peter’s smirk only got bigger as the night went on.

–

You talked. You laughed. You smiled.

But as he drove you to his house, you got nervous again. Maybe you guys would do something as normal as watch a movie. Maybe even cuddle a bit. But you really, really hoped it was more. Especially after your first meeting, you knew Peter wasn’t too shy about sexual matters. However, maybe he didn’t want to do that with you yet and just wanted to take things slow.

But his office…

When his hand was on yours on the table, your memory was brought back right to the moment of his fingers inside of you in the chair. You remembered the feeling of him pushing his digit in and out repeatedly and how good it felt when he removed his latex gloves. Your core rumbled with lust, getting off on the mere fantasy of it all.

When you arrive at his house, you both silently get out of the car. Besides the sound of nature, you could only hear your racing heart and how it was racking against your ribcage in intense beats. He unlocks his door, keying jingling while the breeze flows past. You’re hyper-aware of every noise as if Peter could hear your choppy breath. When he finally opens the door, he lets you in first and you smile, trying to not let your obvious nerves surface.

But you clearly fail when he points it out.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Your eyes lock on his hands as he rests his key on his door side table and feet as he casually slips off his dress shoes. Everything about him was mesmerizing. You swear you could just watch a documentary of a regular day in his life and you could be starry-eyed.

“Bunch of things.” But it was really just one thing.

“Care to share?” Peter shifts to the kitchen and you follow him like a helpless dog, clutching your bag for dear life.

“I keep thinking about…the last time we were together,” the words fall from your mouth as you round the counter. You felt like you needed to create some distance between you two if you were going to admit something like that.

“What about it?” Peter’s knack to ask questions right now is making your face burn from embarrassment under his bright kitchen lights. He grabs two glasses and fills them up with fridge water without even asking if you wanted some.

“You know, the fun part,” You round the counter to reach the water, slowly taking a sip. When you set the glass down, your eyes don’t leave his chest. You’re too afraid to look into his eyes.

“I thought it was all pretty fun,” he says, placing down his own glass and taking one large step towards you “Especially the part where you came all over my hand.”

Your skin flames, eyes peering at him for a moment before dashing away. His finger slides beneath your chin to turn your face back to him. He could feel your radiating heat and could see the widening of your pupils under the luminous lights.

“Were you thinking of that?” His finger directs your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His voice was low and husky, only for you to hear. “Because I haven’t stopped since the day I walked out of that room.”

“Peter…”

“Just say the word, honey, and I’ll kiss you right now.”

You could just melt into a puddle on the floor of his kitchen. His words are so sensual, there is no way you could ever say no to this man. He’s irresistible without trying too hard.

“Please,” You mustered out seemingly breathless while your eyes were locked into his surely.

He doesn’t miss the beat. His head turns as his lips crash against yours. Your lower back hits the island of the counter of marble, but you don’t flinch. His lips electrocute yours, sending jolts of energy coursing through your body like a shock. Your hands naturally find his neat yet messy styled hair on his nape, fingers rummaging through the curly ends. One of his hands holds your waist down from moving as if he already knows you’re antsy to grind on him. His other caresses your jaw in a stable position, the type of dominance you’ve been craving since that day in his office.

His hand goes underneath your thigh, leading you to wrapping your legs around his waist. You thought he was going to sit you on the counter, but he walked all the way to a bedroom without breaking the kiss.

Peter gently lays you on the bed, causing you to depart from the kiss. He wordlessly goes to unbutton his shirt, but you quickly sit up to do it. You’ve been thinking about doing it since he picked you up, so it only seems right that your fantasy comes true, right?

Just like you imagined, you slowly flicked off the buttons and delicately removed the fabric until it was a bundle of cloth on the floor. On the edge of the bed on your knees, you stare up at Peter with a lustful glint in your eye. That glowy look caused Peter to kiss you again, hungrier than before. His force makes you fall onto the mattress again, making you gasp. He trails down your neck in sloppy kisses, touching every inch of your neck and chest with his lips.

“Where did you get this dress?” You didn’t expect him to ask you that while he was groping your breasts through the material. You moan at the feeling of his rough thumbs on your nipples. It’s very distracting while you try to remember where you got the dress that is currently in the way.

“Um Zara? I-I don’t remember,” You moan loudly, not having time to conceal it as he suckles a mark on your neck.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The dress.”

“S-Sure, yeah. It’s-It’s not my favorite, though,” His tousled hair tickles your face as he gets closer to your boobs.

“Maybe you should have worn a garbage bag.”

“Why?” You pull back a little, moving his head up so you can see his face. You thought maybe you would see some expression of disgust, but he only has pure enjoyment. His soft smile turns into a smirk that you’re growing really fond of. It means he’s about to do something hot.

“Because then I wouldn’t feel so bad about ripping it off of you.”

Just like that, the thin straps are easily snapped from his large hands while he yanks the long dress down your body and onto the floor. His mouth instantly went onto your nipple, sucking until he was satisfied with the raw peak of it. He repeated the same movement the opposite one until you were a panting mess, huffing and puffing from just his mouth on your chest.

You can tell he knows how to do this. Yes, he works in gynecology so it’s a benefit that he knows the female body inside and out. But he’s actually skilled in his technique. Although he is hungry and nearly primal, he takes his time with certain areas, making your body want him more and more each time. It’s incredibly smart, and you’re wondering why every man doesn’t know how to properly treat a woman.

You don’t even know your body the way he seems to know it.

His mouth is at your panties before you could even process it. Right when you think he’s about to widen your legs like you so desperately want him to, he stops when his hands rest on your knees gently. He had been going at a fast pace, but now, he’s slow and controlled. Taunting in a way. Torturing.

“I’m going to remove these now, yeah?” He knows you want it now because he has you in his bed right where you want to be. His tone is not as shy as it had been in the office. It’s more controlling yet still soft. “Words, Y/N.”

That demand was all too similar to his words back in the chair with his hands on your waist. He was about to pull off your underwear then for professional reasons, and now, he’s going to yank them off for selfish ones.

“Please take them off,” Just like you had then, you clenched around nothing. Just his sensual words that make you spiral into horny oblivion. Your wavering tone makes him smile as he tugs down the thin material from your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room.

Then he finally widens your legs, facing your aching pussy that hasn’t forgotten about him since all those weeks ago. You were throbbing and leaking to the damn bed sheets, but you couldn’t give a fuck less. You wanted his fingers, his mouth, his cock–anything that he was willing to give you.

“That day,” he starts, “I really wanted to taste you. You were dripping all over my fingers. It was so hard to stay professional.”

He leans down and gets really close to your cunt, inches away from doing what he really wants to do.

“You’ll let me taste you, right?” he asks in an innocent kind of way, but there’s hints of taunt in there. It makes your core burn, and you almost moan at the way his breath hits your center.

“Yes, please. Do whatever you want,” You say that because it’s true–he can do whatever he wants to you, and you would be grateful.

“So polite. So eager,” he kisses your thigh, dangerously close to you now, “And so, so wet.”

“Peter, please,” You were begging now, but you didn’t care. You would beg all night for Peter to touch you the way he did in his office. You’ve tried to replicate it, but it’s no use. You’ve been craving that feeling for weeks now, and he seems to be the only one who can get you there.

“So polite. Good girl.”

To your luck, he doesn’t say another word. He finally puts his mouth on your pussy by slurping up all of your juices. You immediately moan, just by the mere knowledge that his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through your folds all the way up to your clit. Peter suckles on it, feeling it throb in his mouth.

“Taste even better than I imagined,” You don’t know if his whispered words were meant to be heard by you, but you heard them. They caused you to clench right as his tongue slotted inside of you, desperate to taste more of you.

His large hands are pressed against the insides of your thighs, forcing you to stay spread for him. You can feel them ache, but nothing feels as prominent as his tongue inside of you. And then, just when it starts to feel good, he makes it feel even better. One of his digits finds your clit, circling pressure until you’re a moaning mess.

“Fuck, Peter. That’s… so good.”

His mouth pops off of you for a second to catch a breath. But he could honestly drown in the taste of you. He smoothly slides a finger to replace where his mouth was, filling you up just like in his office. Now, his mouth is sucking on your clit, needing to make it throb. You feel that feeling you’ve been chasing for the past few weeks building up in your stomach, and you know it’s not going to be long at all until you achieve it.

“Come. Show me what only I can make you do,” Peter grumbles, his words cascading over your body. The deep rumble of his voice tips you over the edge, causing you to come all over his fingers again. After cleaning up some of your orgasm, he lifts his mouth, but doesn’t remove his fingers. He continues to pump them in and out, even though you’re sensitive.

“So fuckin’ tight, and I haven’t even given you a second finger,” one of his fingers taps of your clit, causing you to gasp at how sensitive you are. “Can you give me another?”

“A-Another one?” You’re panting and sweating from just one, but he wants to give you another? Who is this man, and where has he been all your life? “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. The body is an amazing thing,” he inserts another finger into your cunt and increases his intensity on your nerves. You gasp again, moaning without caring how loud you are. “See, your clit makes you do that. And I love that.”

“Oh, Peter,” You helplessly whimpered. As he thrusts his fingers inside of you with that charming smile and a hint of a smirk, you already feel your high approaching you again. The sight and the feel of him was just too overwhelming. With each thrust of his fingers, his arms bulged, forearm veins popping deliciously. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“C’mon, baby. Give me another. Want to feel you clench around my fingers. Imagine it’s my cock. Imagine how big my cock is going to feel in your little, tight cunt.”

His words oozed sex. So it only made sense that you came not long after. Your release coated his skilled hand once again, and this time, he seemed satisfied with your two orgasms.

When you could finally catch your breath, you didn’t see him reaching for his belt like most men do. But you really, really wanted him to reach for his belt.

“Are you tired? How do you feel?” The tone in his voice was soft. He was easily able to change from sex Peter to caring Peter. Your heart melted at his concern.

“Tired, but good tired. I’ve only ever had three orgasms, and you just gave me two of them,” You laughed breathlessly while he chuckled. “Would I be selfish to ask for more?”

That made him laugh. It was wholehearted and deep, echoing throughout the room. “Not at all.”

And then he reaches for his belt. You feel your organs twist in that lustful, horny way that they do when he does anything. When all his clothes are discarded and you’re faced with his raging cock, you’re practically drooling. He was right when he said he was big; thick and veiny all along the sides. It seemed unfair, really.

He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom, ripping it and rolling it on easily. You continue to watch him in awe as he strokes himself a few times over the condom. Truth be told, he’s already incredibly hard. The second he slips inside of you he fears he will come on the spot because of how tight you are.

But he leans over your body, elbows holding himself up. You can smell his fresh scent, full of pine and wood.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” he whispers next to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, which gives you the shivers. Your hands trail up over his body until they’re resting on his broad shoulders. You can feel his tensed muscles working to hold him up right, even though it looks like an effortless task to him.

“Oh shush. But thank you,” His comment makes your face warm, like a candle right next to your cheek.

“You look especially pretty under me,” his cock brushes your cunt, sliding delicately through the folds. You’re not shy of gasping, trying to mentally prepare yourself for his impeccable size.

When he finally pushes the head in, you take a deep breath and release it in a small whimper. You know you’re tight because you haven’t been with anyone in a few weeks. The most you’ve taken are Peter’s fingers, which are nothing compared to his cock.

He waits a few moments before moving again, giving you time to adjust. But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to fully settle with his size. It seems like he’ll always be stretching you out, no matter how many times you take him.

“Breathe, baby,” his words are breathy and wavering, but so sweet. The small nickname gives you the butterflies you haven’t felt for a while. Not the nervous butterflies, but that tingling, excited feeling of fondness. It’s one of your favorite feelings, and you’re so glad Peter gives you them.

You listen to him, taking deep breaths. He takes the opportunity to push himself a bit further until he’s fully inside of you. He stays still, looking at your face as you grow more comfortable. He watches as your expression contorts into desperation, which is what he’s been waiting for.

“You’re so tight, honey. But you’re taking all of me. Knew you could,” Peter reassures you, even as you clench snuggly around him. It’s embarrassingly hard for him to stay still, given how warm you feel wrapping him.

“Please move. Fuck, I need to feel you.”

Slowly, Peter removes himself and then slots in again. You remember to breathe as his movements become less languid and more fluidly quick. Soon, his thrusts have a bit of speed, causing you to scratch his shoulders at the intensity.

“You’re so big… so deep,” Your moan bounces off the walls of the room, making Peter smirk as he continues to move. His cock pins your hips, shutting down your squirming.

“No one’s ever fucked you like this? Never been this good, baby?” A small huff of his breath hit your skin and you were awed. His words alone could get you off, and then he’s pumping himself perfecting inside of you too, just making you go insane. He knows where all the right spots are, lifting up one of your legs with ease to get a better angle. You love that you can just let him take over you without having to work for your orgasm like you’re used to. You’re used to being on top, but it’s evident that Peter just wants to take care of you. He wants you to be satisfied for once, and you’ve never felt so seen. You’ve never felt so… good.

“Y-You’re the only one,” You sigh as you bite your lip, loving the way he's speaking to you. He’s all sultry in tone and even sexier with his words. You believe he has no flaws that are worth noticing.

“S’right. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good. You can only take my cock like this, deep in your cunt,” All you can do is moan and shake as you feel your next orgasm approaching.

Just when you go to reach down to your clit to push yourself even further, he reads your mind and does it for you. His thick finger circles the throbbing bud until you’re arching your back. Your fingers play with the pebbled nipples on your chest as your insides grow more tight. You haven’t had an orgasm feel this intense yet, so it’s hard to anticipate the feeling.

“Gonna come, baby? Come all over my cock, I need to see it. Need to know I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

With one entire pump inside of you, you’re coming over Peter’s cock and showing him that he’s the only one. All you can see is his charming, fatigued smile surrounded by stars. His brown hair is tousled and a dash of sweat is above his eyebrows, but God, he’s never looked so fucking hot.

It’s not long after that he’s coming after you, his release filling the condom completely. Peter was trying his best to hold himself for as long as possible. But with you, he discovered it was very difficult. Like he thought, the second he was inside of you, he could’ve come. You’re so slick and warm, just so alluring.

He gets up from the bed to discard the condom in done trash while you lay there in naked awe. You already know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow like the day after the gym.

As Peter comes back, he has a wipe that he uses to clean you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask before he starts to wipe you.

“Cleaning you up. You know, like aftercare. You can go to the bathroom and even take a bath if you’d like,” Peter answers while you sit straight up dumbfounded. “May I?”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead,” You allow him to soothingly clean you while you just accept it. Your mind is still whirling with confusion. Are all guys supposed to do this? Or is he really just that great? “Thank you. I… No one’s ever done that before.”

“Really? God, you were really with some twats, Y/N,” he shakes his head and walks back to the bathroom while you chuckle. It’s funny that you had to go through those two guys in order to get to Peter. Third time’s the charm. “Want to take a bath?”

You ponder for a second. You were tired, but not like you would drown in the tub. Maybe if you had better stamina you would ask Peter to join you, but for now, maybe you just need to sit and think about what’s happening alone. Peter is too good to be true. He’s such a gentleman, he never misses a beat. You hope you’re not overstepping by accepting.

“Can I? Or is it too much—”

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable. Now, do you like the right or left side of the bed?” You stare at him in confusion. One, because that was a random question. And two, because when did he put on boxers?

“What?”

“Which side do you sleep on?” You felt your cheeks burn for some reason, and then you realize you’re still naked while he’s semi-dressed.

“Um right, I think. Why?”

“So you can sleep there. You are staying, aren’t you?” Peter’s cheeks tint rosy red, that peek of nervousness shining through. It made you smile because even if he seems too good to be true, there is a little human in there who’s just like you.

“Yes, of course,” You can visibly see his tenseness fade as a small smile grows on his lips.

“I’ll start the bath then get you some clothes then, or else you’ll keep me hard all night.”

Your skin burns, but you feel like that’s not the last time that will happen to you. Not with Peter. No, you know.

—

thank you all for being patient!! i also think this is the longest taglist i’ve ever had, so thank you again!! 💞

taglist:

-> @motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @httpscomexe @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @deathst9r @ellenita98 @ellabellabus07 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @eatshitanddiee @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach @winuvs

crossed out= not able to tag

[kurishiri]

00 . . . “ the hunter and the cursed ones’ medical records ”

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— this story is told from Roger’s point of view. it’s recommended, but not necessarily required, to read the second prologue before reading this.

— cw: none.

At an unexpected time, a pure white evil had descended upon England.

The castle had since suddenly become more noisy, but the one who had to pay attention especially——was someone like myself.

Alfons: I’m coming in, Roger. Victor entrusted me to hand you this book...

A: I must say, this is quite a sight to behold.

Documents were scattered everywhere in the room, leaving no room to maneuver or step around, and Al, seeing this, furrowed his brows.

Alfons: I can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a sore blunder and just up and left in the middle of the night?

A: All that said, I do hold my doubts on whether it’s even possible to run away with that big body of yours...

Roger: Trying to start up another argument as always, huh.

R: I was just thinking I should sort out all these different types of research documents.

Alfons: And why is that?

Roger: ‘Cause of Vogel.

R: Not like I know if they’ve got some ulterior motive hidden up their sleeve, but in those cases there’s no such thing as exercising too much caution.

Alfons: Seldom comes a time when I do agree with you, but it seems we do see eye to eye in this matter.

Al picked up one of the documents from the floor with his fingers.

Alfons: Well, I’ll be, this is our medical records [1], no?

Roger: That it is, it’s highly confidential too.

Alfons: Height, weight, medical history...

A: Dear me, to have this written as well. It’s as though the notion of privacy is nonexistent!

Roger: Don’t go taking my tenacity so lightly now?

R: Well, all that said, it’s not like I don’t know where you’re coming from. To know everything about someone else is basically the same as grasping their weaknesses.

R: But, on the flip side, you could also say that if I’m the one holding onto such information, I could save you guys’ lives.

Alfons: Hah. I suppose it is a case of the same coin having two sides.

Roger: Pretty interesting stuff, right? See, for example, Jude—

Alfons: .........

A: Just how long do you plan on continuing this?

While playing with the document with his fingers as though having little interest in them,

ashy gray eyes looked my way.

(I’ve never talked about the real reason I’ve joined Crown.)

(That is, aside from this person before me, who’s an old acquaintance of mine, though begrudgingly so.)

Roger: What, you want me to pay more attention to you?

Alfons: Most definitely not. So by all means, do continue your unproductive research.

A: Well then, I’ve done what I needed to do here, so I will take my leave.

Roger: Wait, Al.

Alfons: What is it?

I waved Al’s medical record as I read it aloud.

Roger: Alfons Sylvatica. Bearer of the Mirror Curse.

R: Sound for someone who’s regularly unsystematic. Has a stomach that rivals that of a beast.

R: And...

R: A friend from the old times, whom I’d like to get along better with me.

Alfons: And that is exactly why Jude calls you a ‘quack of a doctor.’

That was all he said before he closed the door, the sound cold and robotic.

Roger: Haha, he’s cold as always.

Now alone in the room, silence fell upon me as I looked out the window.

Rays of sun that penetrated through the leaves of trees came through, giving the medical records a streak of light.

(All I said was that I had an interest in the Cursed ones, so I was doing research on them.)

(But, that)

——was a complete lie.

There was no way I would choose not to succeed my family, instead joining an organization who specialized in assassination just because I was ‘interested.’

The reason I joined Crown, was because it was a place where Cursed ones gathered.

And it was also a place directly under Her Majesty the Queen, so it was a perfect place to gather information.

“The Cursed ones”——it was an absurd fate, bestowed by the whims of God.

(And I——want to rid the world of Curses.)

(That was the reason I turned to Crown,)

(and it was my ambition for a long time now.)

And the medical records of Crown showed that very ambition,

as I’ve made meticulous records on every member.

——No, every member but one.

(The Queen’s Aide, Victor.)

(On his record, and his alone, there is not a single piece of useful information written down.)

As I stared at his medical record, I felt myself returning to a memory from the past.

When I first met Victor, it was at the hideout a serial killer was residing in.

By the time I arrived at the scene, the criminal had already drew his last breath, and only long, jet black hair flowed in the wind.

That man turned around, not uttering a sound.

When our eyes met, the man with eyes like jewels gave me a lax smile.

Victor: Good evening to you. The full moon tonight is quite beautiful, isn’t it.

first. next →

full masterlist 📄

NOTES:

[1] the apparent pronunciation (furigana) for this is [カルテ] (karute). It’s a Japanese loan word from the German word ‘Karte,’ which I believe translates to ‘card.’ In Japanese, though, it means a medical or clinical record for a patient. Anyway, any time you see ‘medical record,’ it is pronounced as karute.

[13thdoctorposts]

Highlights from Jodie Whittaker’s Gold Coast Panel

Host

So have you got any stories from Attack the Block?

A.

Can I think of stories from attack the block?

I would say that when we were shooting it just as a little like genius of Joe Cornish.

He is an encyclopedia of films and television. And every single element of it is some kind of homage to something you’ve seen. One thing that was really clever is there is no accidental lighting, so the entire thing is set at night so that every single light is deliberate. This stuff or that, like the kids train, is like, every single element is a choice. And you can't say that for most things, because the sun will just appear sometimes, and the sun can take full credit for the lighting. But in that film, he chose every single element. And that's why I think it's such a great film, because it's detailed beyond belief.

Host

Thank you. Wow. Can I see that.

Q.

What's your favorite memory of playing The Doctor?

A.

My favorite memory? There's so many, I'll tell you what, I'll give you a moment that's relevant to something like this. One of the highlights of playing The Doctor actually happened to me at a con, and it was San Diego, and so it was before the show would come out.

We were filming, and I got invited to come to this kind of the cosplay show. And when I got there, I was like, a special guest. And because I was just feeling really confident, I was like, can we not announce me? Can I pretend I'm a model?

I came out in my costume, slowly walking down, and I thought I was gonna get to the end to do some big reveal. But I must have a very obvious walk, because people started to realize, and the really narcissistic part myself, absolutely loved it because I got such a big round of applause just for walking. So that was a really amazing moment.

Q.

My question is about one night. Your character Tess has tattoos. They're only shown in two scenes, one in the first episode and one in the last I was wondering if they were both shot together, even though characters in different places, at different times, and the system of putting those tattoos on, because there's quite a lot.

A.

Yes, it was. It was one of the most influential stage directions I've ever read of a character when that doesn't necessarily feature as a main part of the story. So my character Tess, in a Australian show called One Night, I’m very proud of it is covered in tattoos and every tattoo was a choice, and designed by the incredible designer and all the creatives. And so there's no accident. But the first time we did it, it took about 4 Hours and we stood like this for what is a very small scene as well.

And then the next scene, which is however many months later, I think we got it down to 3 Hours but it was still, it was a long time.

But it was such an amazing character choice, the writer, beautiful writing that gave me so much, but I didn't have to necessarily articulate what that was. It was just she gave me this armor to be able to play tests.

And that is when I started to read it, it's only a few scenes into the first ep, I was like, I'm playing that part. I'm absolutely playing that part. because I just thought that was such an incredible choice.

Q.

I was just wondering, in regards to Doctor Who, was there anyone that you wanted to like come and appear on the show alongside you, like an old companion?

A.

Ah, I suppose I was spoiled for companions. So I think with that, I was, I would have loved, oh, it's difficult before, before we got to the point where I met my master, who is played incredibly by Sasha, and I adored every single scene I was in with Sasha.

There was a part that was like, oh, wonder if I get to work with Michelle. I thought that would have been incredible. So if anyone's out there and they write episodes of Doctor Who, I think that might be a good one.

Q.

Hi, and why did you decide to become an actor? Oh, that's such a good question.

A

When I was probably a bit younger than you i watched a film called goonies and if you haven't seen it highly recommend it stood the test of time and it is such an amazing film and i think what it does is it celebrates the inner child's because as a kid. I watched it and thought, oh my gosh, they're going on this amazing adventure. But then as I got older, I realized that could be a job, and then I got to play the Doctor. So it really is a job that you get to play pretend in the most epic scale, and anything is possible. So I think that's what I wanted to continually feel, was that I could be my inner child till I'm 99.

Q.

my question was, I love seeing, you know, Thasmin play out on screen in Doctor Who. And I know that you and Mandip had a bit of involvement in making that happen. So I was wondering, could you, explain how we got that.

A.

No, no we didn’t, so I think just the fact that Chris obviously knows us and knows how much we love each other. Yeah no we had no influence on any of the story lines. Obviously, we had that, the characterization, and we fully, you know, believed in and loved the direction that our characters went in, and it played out perfectly for me in my head. That is absolutely my kind of dream ending of where I saw my doctor. And the to the point of regen was with that side by side with Mandip .And for those two characters as well, I thought it was beautifully played out, but it was all Chris Chibnall. So I can take no credit, which also the video in the cupboard during lockdown.

I think people were really generous and thought I'd written it, but I didn't write that. Chris wrote it and sent it to me and said, I think it'd be really brilliant if the doctor could maybe, you know, say something. And so that was him as well. So I love that. I keep getting all this credit there. But, but I absolutely adored where our story line went.

Q.

You have obviously played such a diverse range of characters, and I'm just really curious about your process when you sort of get the script and how you create them.

A.

Do you know what? I can't write at all, and I don't want to be a writer. And because it's not within my skill set. And I think because of that, my appreciation the next level, I think 90% of my job is generally always done, I’m so lucky to work on extraordinary scripts, and a lot of your hard work is there, like I was saying about, Emily (one night writer), with one night. This wonderful stage direction is she's covered in tattoos. But those kind of details are just the best. Sometimes an entire character can be given to you in a tiny stage direction, or in a use of punctuation. Something can be a dot, dot, dot, and it has a completely different meaning than an exclamation mark.

I think that, for me, is the absolute side point. Take what you can from the script, and then I've been looking at what the directors and cast do it’s a really collaborative effort My main thing is, I don't like to decide or even kind of go there on how I'm gonna do something before you say action. Because if I do, I'm just a bit cluttered, and I overthink it, and I wouldn't listen to you. So however you were doing it, my brains go, well, I'm gonna do it like this, and it doesn't work for me. So for me, I kind of, I need to be kind of completely unprepared to be prepared, that not even answer. I don't think I should teach a drama school. Basically, not everyone can teach. And I can't.

Q.

If you could be in any episode of Doctor Who that already come out to 13, which would you choose? And why? The ones that you haven’t already been in

A.

I am furious if no one's seen it I'm REALLY sorry I'm furious I MISSED an episode with spice girls i Am Sorry… But how did that happen when i wasn't IN it? spice of your life i devastated, I was like, I'm sorry. What? But it's only because It was so amazing. Sorry if that's a spoiler.

Q.

I just wanted to see if you could tell us a bit about your audition process for Doctor Who.

A.

So it was an interesting one because it's secretive from the second the words are spoken. And my initial meeting was what I thought was just a cup of tea with my name Chris, because we did Broadchurch, and we were doing the junket and he was in town. He doesn't live in London. So we met up and we were chatting, and he’d been announced as the show runner. And I said, please, can i be a baddie? And then that was when it was, can you keep a secret? Depends. And it was, would you like to audition to play The Doctor? Um…I'm sorry? (Laughs)

But then it was a lot. It was quite a few rounds. It was about three And some of it was my husband taped me when, you know, at like, 09:00 p.m., when my kids asleep, and not gonna come in the room and ruin it. And I got, like, iphone wires and had to defuse something.

And we did it. Most tapes I've ever done, I've been sat on a couch and you make sure it's like a really tight two shot there. So my I was running around with an iphone as I was jumping on a couch and then trying to do the gobbly guke. And I say that with up most respect. And it was so stressful. And then when I got it, they were the most fun. I was so scared of those scenes more than anything. And, that's always the most fun when the doctor's just fizzing and working out. So, so it was over months, and it was very secretive, but then I finally got it.

Q.

I was wondering about your doctor. Is there a facet or an aspect of the of your doctor that you wish you could have explored more?

A.

I don't know. That's a good question. Um.

Is the one you like me to have explored?… No, just because I feel as if there's a lot of versions of The Doctor that I really enjoyed. And I love it, particularly around The Timeless Child, where there was this kind of deep rooted rage that would come out in a kind of slightly spitty, you know, frustrated way I enjoyed playing the distance sometimes when i wasn't quite connecting with the people that i was with i enjoyed THOSE elements because i follow such a contradiction to the not a contradiction. Just such a journey away from the kind of energized, childlike version of The Doctor that I loved to play But can you answer that? What would you have like me to have done it?

I think the depth of the distant of the doctor, was amazing But I think that I would have liked to see a bit more, um, a bit more unhingedness.

Okay, so we'll get an episode of me and Michelle, because we're really unhinged.

Q.

You've done so many roles that have legit, ripped my heart out. when is this trauma gonna turn into a villain arc?

A.

Oh, I know. I keep saying that, so keep, I keep contradicting myself, because I get asked specially after Doctor Who, what is it that you want to do? And I was like, oh, you know, I'd really love to play, like, I'd love to some comedy, maybe, or explore a character that has a lot of darkness and potentially not very likable. And then, you know, wanna kind of steer clear, maybe of, like, drama. And then I did one night, time. And this other thing. It's very emotional, and I don't know why, but I kind of keep breaking my own rules.But I would love to explore a villain. I mean, that was my initial thing.I want to be a baddie.But I'm glad Chris didn't listen.

Q.

I'm a big fan of Attack the Block, and especially the horror sections of Doctor Who, and I was wondering, what was your approach, and how would you think about doing the, your characters different in that sort of horror setting compared to other genres?

A.

Oh, do you mean, like, how would I do it or if The Doctor was in more of a horror genre or if me as an actor got to be in that?

Both. But you as an actor?

I'm into horror. That's kind of, let me say, to reference. It's like, one might be a bit young for it, but there was a classic horror for me that came out when I was like, 16, and it was right at the beginning, of the Internet so being able to have this mystery, because now we're so used to information been given to us by the Internet.

But when I was 16, it was that there was this found footage of these guys in a wood And then I went see the film. I was like, this really happened, oh boy, which it's really, really happened. And now you can't really create that that kind of, like trickery in a way, during a press junket, because we know it's a film. But I that kind of horror that plays that doesn't give you too much, I don't wanna see everything chopped up. I'm just not into it I'm too much for whim. But the psychological horror of the when you hear it, but don't see it. Those are the kind of things that I think brilliant to play.

But then when we did have things like that, with the Dregs, and we were filmed in I was chasing me and once you were stuck in a cage, and every time it hit the railing, it was really loud. And I go, ahhhh… I know the doctor's probably braver okay you know I, don't know how i did it ha ha.

Q.

Some Doctors have had input into their outfit. Others have been told by they can't have that. How much input did you have into the outfit?

A.

Well, so I had a hugely collaborative experience with the costume designer, and it started from the second we met. We met in a bar that he recommended. And the surrounding wallpaper was this petrol blue which became the trousers. I had a photo that I sent to Chris when I was trying to trick him into giving me the part I sent him all these photo references. And it was a woman. It's a black and white picture. I Don't know where it's from. I don't know if it's fake, black and white, and it's modern or I don't know but it's someone walking with purpose short trouser, tshirt boots so to me all of that, the coat was very much collaborative with ray because I would say things And he came back with the design of the coat that was so perfect.

I Didn't want buttons because I felt like it was pointless. Of course, wanted pockets. I wanted a hood, but I wanted the colors to be representative. Because of my first episode, I wanted to transition from was space through to Earth, sky. So the entire lining on the inside is a dark blue, black for space. The exterior is a kind of like sky blue light color. But also the into the the Suffragette colors are inside the sleeves. And it has my pride stripes everywhere, and yellow braces because it's my favourite color. So the whole thing, the jewelry was collaborative with Alex Monroe. It was amazing. I think I take more credit for it than it was me, because i felt like I'd go oh i came up with that and then actually, when i look back on it it was drawings that ray had done. Very much you gave him A pebble and he created a statue out of it. It was amazing.

Q.

I just first wanna say thank you for making a very queer, coded doctor. I just wanna quickly ask, we've seen David tenant come back for the anniversary just past, and we've seen doctors come back in the past. Would you ever consider coming back again and putting back on the coat and the zonic of everything?

A.

Hundred percent. I would love to, and I really, if that's not, I would be really offended, because I would love it, and it'd be so amazing. And you just, you never wanna say goodbye to It is the the gift role forever. And I'm still, I'm gonna grieve it forever. But I suppose the feeling is that you don't have to necessarily let go, because, like you say, other doctors have come back. There was loads in my last ep, so there's no reason for me not to bob up somewhere. But I want to.

Q.

Did you take anything from like the set, all your costume?

A.

I've stolen it all. I've got my jump suit, the prison jump suit. And just as a little fun fact about costume, all of the dates are personal to me. So there's dates all the way down the side, and there's a lot of Gallifreyan you know, kind of design. But all of them are a meaningful date to me. So that was, that's the kind of joy thing you can put into your doctor. So I've got that, so I've got my costume and me and Mandip very clearly heard ‘that is a rap in the TARDIS’ So we heard that on the last day of filming and she had a hold on the console that was like this massive ball thing. I snapped off the tiny mini TARDIS that spun And then, we hear and we're gonna do some pickup shots in the TARDIS without any actors. So I think there was a bit of swift editing there, because I absolutely wasn’t my fault. I heard cut.

Q.

When it comes to Doctor Who, do you have a favorite doctor from any era?

A.

I got asked this the other day. I'm not saying, it's not saying you don't like the other ones. I got asked recently about classic, and so I said, Sylvester But you said any you didn't say classic. I'm gonna say, Jo Martin. The episode to shoot with her, and the moment when her doctor is revealed and the costume and the energy she bought was amazing. And so, Jo Martin, hahaha.

Q.

I was just wondering, were you interested in doing the Big Finish audios? And if so, what kind of story would you like?

A.

I don't know. I get ask all the time. And I don't know. I mean, hopefully, is this something I ask them? Do they ask me? Big Finish? Well, obviously, if it, then if I was gonna do it, I'd really wanna do it with Mandip, but I would love to, I mean, this is, what is this job? You know, I've not been the doctor now for two other doctors, and it's amazing that you still get to experience it and be a part of it. So if being a part of things like big finish, or any of you the… I suppose, departments?, but all those other things that celebrate Doctor Who I'd wanna be in them all.

Q.

It's such a loved program. Is it what you thought it would be playing the Doctor like?So you're the figurehead of that program. You know, is it what you thought it would be? in as big as you thought?

A.

I think it's, it's bigger and more magical than you can kind of ever describe, because it's as a new whovian as well. And I'd said to Chris in the process of audition, look, I've not seen loads of it. I've seen, you know, bits when I was a kid, but we didn't have it on those in house. But then also, I've got mates that have been in episodes. I've done those auditions and not got in, you know, things like that. And so it has a very unknown quantity about it. To me, I was very much walking into something and going, okay, what is this? And I think from the second you get on set, and the crew, the crew I worked with, had been working on the show for twelve years. It was such a magical family and to shoot it in Wales.

Wales is one of the most beautiful countries you can ever visit.

So to be there and to be in this ready made family of something that all the hard work's been done because all the other doctors build up this family , you just shouldn't lose it. And so then to have our journey and our story lines, and to then have this opportunity where we went out to press or we met fans, and to have the interaction and to speak to people, to see how much it's meant to them through their life, is so extraordinary, because for me And I can definitely say it and for Mandip as well, that it's our happiest time as actors. We've never been happier, and we knew when we were in it. Ah, this is this. It's just so nice, and there's just so much, just wonderful about it. And I think that needs forever. This is so easy to talk about, so easy to be in this room and do it because I wouldn't have to, I've never fake how much I love it. I loved it, but as a new whovian. And I'm like, oh, I get it. Hahaha. I one of a family then. Haha. That's it. I'm in.

Q.

Do you ever get nervous when you're playing The Doctor?

A.

I was nervous all the time. I know The most nervous, I think I've ever been on a set was in my first week of shoot in The Doctor. It was my hero speech at the end of episode one. So my very first day involved jumping between cranes. Mind you I’ve only ever run around and cried on most jobs. So jumping between cranes was a whole new thing. And on day two, I think it was my huge kind of realization of, I know who I am, I am the doctor, and saying that for the first time, and thinking, if you mess this up, there's still time to recast I've been here two days. So that was the most nerve racking.

And I think sometimes another time when I was nervous as well, we had Stephen Fry come in And I was a bit like, you might not remember me, but I was in St. Trinian's And we kind of had a scene in St. Trinian's, isn't it was, you know. And so him being on set, I was just so nervous, because I was just like, he's a legend to me. So this is very… I think if you're not scared and you haven't got the adrenaline of nerves, you're taking it for granted.

Q.

Who is your least favorite doctor?

A

There's nobody, the craziest answer. I haven't got one.

Q.

Did you ever think you would have had such the impact on the doctor who community?

A.

The thing that's such a joy for me playing the Doctor, the thing that I really quickly realized was that it. I adore this community, and I feel that everyone in the fandom should feel represented and what I feel really proud of with ours, which has nothing to do with me, like you saying about, when, you know, with me and Mandip had credit to that story, and we didn't in that way, but it was, that was the beautiful transition of this gorgeous journey that we'd been on. And I think that because it then resonated so powerfully to so many people, that is the all of a Christmas Day gift, because what you want is you want your work to, to speak to people, and you also wanna feel as if everyone feels seen. And I think that that's what I'm really, proud of.

Whenever I have these wonderful interactions with people, they say that the doctor means this or someone else's doctor means that for me, that very often is having that wonderful moment where someone feels like that storyline really spoke to them. And I think I can't take any credit for it because I didn't write it, but I loved being a part of it.

[madhatterbri]

Attack | Bayley

Summary: Nia Jax goes after Bayley's girlfriend, Y/N.

Bayley Masterlist

Attack Part 2

Taglist: @theworldofotps @magicalbuttertarts @emperorrose3000

Ever since Bayley and Nia Jax started their feud, the Role Model was obsessed with being around Y/N. Nia was known to cause injuries, and Bayley wanted to make sure Y/N wasn't the next victim. The fact that her girlfriend was an assistant helped calm her nerves a little. Currently, they were cuddling together in the locker room.

"I have to go back to work. Nick has already been texting me," Y/N sighed and tried to move her girlfriend.

Bayley whined and snuggled into her more. "Five more minutes,"

"My break ended ten minutes ago," Y/N pointed out. "I don't want to get moved to RAW or fired,"

"Fine!" Bayley groaned and moved out of the way. She threw her arm over her forehead dramatically. "Leave your girlfriend here to worry about you,"

Y/N rolled her eyes and kissed her softly. Their foreheads touched. "I'll see you when I can and meet you at the car tonight, alright?"

Bayley broke into a smile and nodded.

The women's champion sat in front of a camera. Creative wanted Bayley and Nia to do another interview before Summerslam. She checked her phone one last time before it went live. Normally, Y/N would message her when she could. The last message was about an hour ago when she was on break. Maybe Nick Aldis was really working her.

Once the cameras went live, the two women took shots at each other. The crowd was eating it up. Bayley was always the better between the two on the microphone. After one final insult, Nia smirked. Bayley looked at the screen.

"How's your little girlfriend doing? Last I saw, she was clutching her poor little arm and going to medical," Nia giggled.

Bayley's smile dropped. "What did you say?"

"Broken collarbone, maybe? It looks really bad. You should go check on her. Hope it doesn't distract you from tomorrow night,"

"If you laid a hand on her," Bayley warned.

"Oh, I didn't. I had my best friend help me," Nia laughed. Tiffany Stratton suddenly appeared with a broken chair in her hands. The two women laughed maniacally.

"Get me out of this. Get me the hell out of this, you idiots!" Bayley demanded. When the wires were removed, she quickly rushed towards medical. Her ears were greeted with the sobs from Y/N.

The champion rushed inside the medical room to a hectic scene. The doctors were checking on Y/N's arm. She was whimpering and crying. The doctors were advising that she gets checked out at a hospital. Naomi was with her and gave her words of encouragement.

"Where is Bayley?" Y/N sobbed. Naomi turned her head to the door. A sympathetic look on her face. Her eyes widened when she saw Bayley. A sigh of relief relaxed her body. Naomi ushered her over.

"Here she is, girl," Naomi informed Y/N.

Bayley walked to the table and stopped. She didn't want to do any more damage than what had already been done. Y/N wrapped her good arm around her. She buried her face in her shoulder.

"It was them. They cornered me and... and,"

Bayley quieted her. "I'm here now. They won't hurt you anymore,"

"Damn right about that," Naomi chimed in.

[double-0h-no]

Doctor's Note

Prompt fill for both 3000 words and medical staff. This is a… very different kind of thing. Not my usual perspective, not my usual style of writing, but hey, this here is to try new things, and I had fun writing this. I hope you enjoy :)

on ao3

What's it like being a Doctor for Medical at MI6? Well, it goes a bit like this…

Hi. You must be the new Doctor working here, right?

I'm Hermine Dalton, pleasure to meet you. I've been with Six for longer than I'd like to admit to, and I'll be showing you the ropes the next few days and weeks. So, if you've got any questions, fire away. Should I at any point not be around, the nurses know more about the way of things than I do. All right, let's not dawdle. And welcome to the team.

***

Right, so we have a couple of divisions that you're not really used to from a normal hospital, and obviously, we're completely lacking others. No paediatrics, no oncology, stuff like that. A lot more forensic medicine and maybe in ways you're not entirely used to. And we have an intersection with Q-branch, if you're interested in that, namely with R&D where we have some guys who work on toxins and antitoxins and some creative biological weapons. That sounds a lot more malicious than it is, the creative part is mostly about how to target it and prevent the agents from accidentally injecting themselves with it or something similar. Should you wind up there at some point I have one advice for you: Trust the Q-branchers there. If they say "we can't do it like that, the agents will totally do this and that with it", no matter how outlandish it sounds, trust them. They know what they're talking about. All safety regulations are written in blood, and all that.

***

So this is where you'll start out. I know it's not the most exciting, but it'll give you a bit of time and peace to ease into things. So, most of this is from some sort of ongoing investigation. We have a colour coding system for prioritising those things, there's a list on the server. Take your time familiarising yourself with everything, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it fast enough. Tomorrow you can join me for my round with the current patients.

***

Good morning, so glad you'll join me. So, we don't have a whole lot of patients at any time, usually not more than five who are supposed to stay here. When I left last night, we had six patients, let's see how it looks this morning.

Why? Oh, let's just say there is a certain type of patient who is less than inclined to stay put.

Stop them? Oh, no, love. We... it's a recent thing, admittedly, one I've managed to painstakingly build up. It's... Let me explain this to you over a cup of tea after. Let's see the patients first, yeah?

***

So, that's them. Only four patients left, admittedly, but I would have made that bet. Let me show you what we do now.

Of course we'll have a coffee over it. What else is there to do? And we'll take a look at this nice little document there. Okay, so the people who were here last night and aren't anymore, that's Agent Booth, and 004. So, Booth wasn't hurt too badly, he was supposed to stay because we suspected he might have a concussion. He has a wife here in Six, she works in accounting, and they have two kids. So him not being here just means that he wants home to go and see them, and I sent his wife an email when he was admitted. She knows about his medical status, I'm not worried about him, so we'll let it go. Prep the paperwork for him to sign as soon as he's back at work, backdating it all, so that the bureaucracy monster working on the fourth floor is fed and satisfied.

Now, 004, that's a different thing. She had a... Sorry. Sometimes the job still gets to me, too. But she had a... fucked up mission. I don't want her to be alone for even a second, and she's in no good condition healthwise, either. What I do now is, I pull up the Double Oh roster, and check where 003 and 007 are. Three is out in the field, so that road's blocked. Seven is in London. Great. Let me just text him real quick.

Okay. That's done. And now we can only hope and pray.

How I know what? Oh, the mission. Yeah, no, we're not supposed to - hm. Hm. See, that's... It's easier to do than you might think. And not all agents take it too seriously. I know you've only been here for two days, and you already picked up on the reputation of Double Ohs, but...

Yes, they are the worst patients you could wish for. Horrible. Rude. Don't keep to any of your orders. But... They're our patients. I care for them. And with most of them, I've managed to build a rapport. They trust me with details of their missions, so I happen to know more than I'm supposed to. Sometimes, you find out things because you treat them. You'll get practised at it eventually, recognise certain types of injuries, all that. And other times, you have to ask, because maybe they've ingested something, or you need to know what happened to be able to judge how deep the injuries might be, how likely a concussion is, questions are important.

What that third column is? It's their handlers. Let's go through the list real quick. You will not be needing it for a good long while. Treating Double Ohs takes a bit of time until you're at a point where you can make decisions for them without them raising hell on you. But I hope the insight will help you a bit. So the first two columns are the agents and their designations. The next two are their usual handlers. They might change in between missions, but those are the two they trust the most.

If an agent comes in and they are in a really bad shape, you contact their handler as soon as they're stable and look human again. Q-branch needs to know that their charge is home safe and sound. If an agent acts up while they have a bed here, just being a little bitch, pardon my French here, you can also call their handler, and they usually get the agents in line. Do it surreptitiously, though. The agents have not yet caught on to me strategically ordering Q up when I need to get them in line, and I'd rather keep it like that for as long as possible.

Next column is significant others or people that the agents themselves have cleared for me divulging medical information and all. It's empty for a lot of them, but that's usually not as much of an issue as it sounds.

Next columns are people to send after them if they pull a runner. That one I know by heart. The trick is finding out who's available. Scarlett's first contact is, and always will be, Tanner from admin upstairs. Don't know why, I don't ask, don't care. But Tanner's busy, and I have the feeling that she would appreciate someone who knows what it's like to come back from... that. So one of the other Double Oh, then you pull up the roster, check whether they're in, and Bob's your uncle.

Okay, I know that was a lot, but you're a quick study. I know you've heard all the horror stories about our most notorious patients but... Well, I'm sure you'll figure them out. Just don't -- Don't listen too much to others.

***

Oi, come over here, I need another pair of hands! Don't just stand there, it's only blood and there will be more if you don't put your hands right here!

Thank you! Fuck! Fuck!

007, get out of the way now, you did your part, we'll take over from here. We've got her, she's safe.

***

Fuck, I need more coffee. Thanks for that. Sorry for just jumping that on you and barking orders but -- Oh. Yeah, thanks. That doesn't usually happen, mind. By the time we take care of the patients, they're usually not in any immediate danger anymore. We do surgeries, but they're stable, not bleeding out anymore. At least when they get a medevac. 007 has a horrible track record of dragging his sorry arse all the way to London by himself, no matter his physical state. But still... This is not a regular occurrence. Hold on --

Bill? Yeah, she's in room two. She's not awake yet but I don't think she should be alone. Yeah, I sent James after -- Oh hush, you know better than that. She badly pulled those stitches of hers and -- Yeah, I think so. I mean she had wet hair and was scarcely dressed, so... Go see her. Can she stay with you, if she doesn't want to hang around? I'll make sure no one's watching. Thanks.

***

Now, how was your first week? Eventful enough? Exactly what you expected from working at Six?

Yeah I bet. Hope we haven't scared you off. Have a nice weekend, and see you on Monday.

***

Oh, hello. Had a nice weekend? What can I help you with?

What was that? Oh, yes, that's... Yes. I see. Of course. Let's... I'll be right with you. What did you say that they did in Q-branch that caused this?

Right. Of course. Just a regular Monday morning, right?

***

I'd like you to assist me this afternoon, if you don't mind. We've got 007 coming in from his latest mission and he's being transported back in with a medevac. It's not too bad, nothing you haven't seen before in clinic.

***

So, how was that for your first foray into Double Oh field medicine?

Oh no, I dare say he was perfectly pleasant, actually. Oh you sweet summer child. No. That was him being kind.

All right, now, what do you know about the mission?

No no, not the things that Bond told us, however begrudgingly. The rest.

Like what? The wound on his shoulder, for example.

Oh no, that's... older. That shoulder is just banged up. If you want a case study in "how is that human body still moving?", I recommend the files of 004, 007, and the previous 006. He retired, so he, too, is still moving around, just not in active service anymore. No, what I mean is the cuts that we tended to. What happened there?

It's all right, there's no shame in not knowing. I've spent years here learning to read between the lines, and you can do your job without ever questioning the pattern of injuries. Now, what I gather from those wounds is an explosion. The way those scratches were scattered, the kind of shrapnel we got out of the wounds, it all looks like an explosion inside of a building.

Then there's the bruising. It's on the opposite side, so that suggests - exactly, the blast probably flung him into a wall. There were marks on his thighs and arms that suggest close combat. The marks on his neck were the thing prompting me to ask whether wants to get tested.

Why I offer? Most agents are really conscientious about that part. Not 001, but then, I never have to treat him, either. He's sexist like that.

Thanks for your help, by the way. Don't count on Bond hanging around for the night, though. He's mobile enough, he might make a run for it.

***

Oh, hi. Sure I have a moment, what's up?

Whether what--? Oh. Oh!

Right. Sometimes I forget you've not been here for ages with how well you've managed to settle in. No, no, take the compliment.

So Q snuck up here with dinner for Bond yesterday evening? That's kind of him.

Did he? Well, usually I'd say, do with that what you will, but remember one thing, in this very specific case: There is such a thing as plausible deniability. Should two people who work together as closely as an agent and their handler be in a relationship, that might end their working relationship here. There are precautions to be met and everything. Unless that's inconvenient, because they clearly work well together and who would disrupt that. So sometimes, there's nothing where there's something, and everybody knows unless someone comes asking, you see?

Yes, they are. It was the most exciting thing I've seen happen here. They're actually good for each other, if you can believe it. A lid for every pot, as my gran used to say.

004 and Tanner? Oh Lord, no. She's the godmother to his daughters, though. I think they served together. Oh, yes, Tanner's a military man. Doesn't look like it, does he? No, from what I know, they were in some deep shit together and have been inseparable ever since.

Other gossip? I mean, someone probably warned you about the Double Ohs being prone to sexual advances, especially if they think they can wheedle some special treatment out of you. Everything else, I won't tell. I'm sure you've caught plenty on your own.

Now tell me, how's your first month been? Ready to take on your own patients?

***

Hey, could you fetch me a rape kit real quick? I don't want to leave her alone.

She's an agent, she says she's fine, all part of the job, but... She's only human, too, you know?

Thank you.

***

My goodness, I've got to tell you what just happened. So, you know how Nomi's currently here? Well, she just woke up, incredibly high on pain meds, and I went through the usual questions, who are you, do you know where you are, what day is it, and she answered it in absolute Double Oh fashion, and then we got to the current events question and i asked her who the current prime minister is, and she just groaned and mumbled "Don't make me say it'' and I think that counts, too, doesn't it?

Anyway, Miss Moneypenny showed up shortly after, awfully chipper for a Friday afternoon, and spent over an hour in there for the debrief. A bit long for a person who can't string two coherent thoughts together, don't you think?

***

Hey, can you take over Trevelyan's check up for me? My sister's in town and I'd love to meet up with her if you -- Oh thank you so much, you're a lifesaver.

Have you ever had the pleasure? No? Oh, well, it's rather easy, though he might try to get under your skin. Don't let him, he's all bark and no bite. Terry will be here, too -- yeah, PT, that's him, and Camilla from Q-branch -- I know, I know it sounds like a big thing, but it really isn't. Just routine check up, we just all pool together because it's more convenient. Trevelyan is Q-branch's test bunny for their new prosthesis that they're trying to link to his neural pathways and muscle impulses to use a robotic prosthetic that can react to those impulses. Mostly it's Camilla and Trevelyan talking and you and Terry looking pretty until your expertise is called upon.

Yeah, they're actually on to something there. Last time Alec started asking whether they could weaponise the thing, and I'm living in fear ever since.

Oh, right, that was before you. Trevelyan was 006, not too long ago, and he has a propensity for arson and explosions.

Still has, I meant what I said. He occasionally helps out in Q-branch. Those are usually the days when the fire alert goes off somewhere in the building.

I have a note with my standard questions and procedures for this meeting so I don't forget anything, I'll forward that to you. Alec will answer the questions before you can ask them, he knows them by heart.

Thank you so much, I owe you one. No, really. If I can jump in for you at some point, please let me know. All right. Thanks. See you!

***

Yeah, I heard. How... Well, stupid question, but how bad is it?

It's crazy, isn't it? When it's agents, that's no big deal, but Q? I ran into James -- Yeah, probably why he didn't kick up a fuss. You're welcome, but it really only was a coincidence. That man looked murderous, and I would know.

Yeah, he's in there with Q now. And I don't think he'll leave his side. I think M officially assigned him as Q's security detail now. We'll have to take care of the visitors. Not too many and all that. Not a problem we usually seem to have, but there's a first time for everything, huh?

Anything broken?

Cracked ribs are a bitch. I bet he's glad it's not his fingers. God, that's morbid. Okay, I gotta get going. I've got a meeting with the Head of Department.

Don't call him that! You're insulting those old and cranky dragons with that comparison.

Yeah, I also shudder to think what this is about. I'll let you know as soon as I'm done. Take care of the head boffin for me, will you?

***

I know, I can't believe it either! Head of Medical! Look at me, having even less time for my patients from here on out.

No, it's... Wow. Still can't believe it. Then you've got a new old and cranky dragon to complain about.

Thank you so much.

Hey, what would you say to a promotion?

***

I can't anymore. Just shoot me, please. Or let me take a good, deep breath from one of the funny gases we have around. Chloroform, nitrous oxide, I'm not picky.

I mean, I knew that the budget meeting had the potential to be my Waterloo, but this... It's so disgusting to argue for a budget that's supposed to keep people alive. No, we can't cut back on our expenses for the blood bank, we actually need that considering the state of our agents. Goodness.

***

Come on, hon. Go home. You did what you could, and nobody will feel better if you run yourself ragged. You did well. Good night.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Will & Monique Chapter 2

You can read the rest of the story here

Here’s the next chapter guys! This couple will be a slow burn for the first couple of chapters but I promise we will get there. This story will be much slower to update than RRR which is currently my priority. I want to try the gap up to 4x19 where this started and where I am with RRR. I'm pretty far behind. This story won't follow chapter by chapter like the other one-I'm giving myself a lot more creative freedom but it will follow med storyline-ish.

Will keeps a close eye on Monique for the next week. He had been monopolizing her on his service, just to make sure she was okay. Not that she had done anything worrying. She seemed fine and did her job up to the standard that she always has. She may have been a little more withdrawn or tired but it was hard for Will to tell.

Monique had always been on the quieter side. She didn’t seem to gossip or linger around the nurse's station. He never noticed how much of a busy bee Monique was. The girl didn’t sit still. They were having a pretty relaxed night shift yet every time he turned, he seemed to see a flash of her blonde ponytail heading off somewhere new.

He had been asked to cover a couple of night shifts while the night ED doctor went to a wedding in Seattle. When he had come for his shift Monique had already been there. Her name was listed for a double shift. He had caught her in the longue an energy drink in her short-manicured fingers. The can was orange with scales and a yellow eye printed on the side. “Venom- mango flavored,” Monique's startled her turning to see Will heading towards his locker the door closing softly behind her. “I didn’t take you for an energy drinker.”

Her eyes glanced down to the can before going back to Will. “I know they are bad for you but I’ve been drinking them since I was thirteen and I can’t quite give them up.” She admits tapping her fingers on the can.

“Well, I imagine you crave them when you are pulling doubles and the crash is starting to hit.” Will shot her a charming smile putting his stethoscope around his neck. She smiled back at him taking another small sip. They were the only things that could get her through when her insomnia struck and she was having a minor bout at the moment. It was why she had offered to work a double.

“I didn’t know you were on a night rotation Dr. Hal-” Will gave her a pointed look and she corrected herself, “Will.” He had told her to start calling him by his first name last week and she still was having trouble with it. She didn’t call any of the doctors by their first names. It was too personal and seemed like only Maggie and April could pull off at work.

“Yeah, well Mack is in Seattle for a wedding, so they needed the coverage.” They were interrupted by another nurse coming in and calling for Will for an incoming trauma. Monique downed the rest of the liquid, tossing the can in the trash as she followed him towards the door. She paused only mildly surprised when he held the door open for her allowing her to go out first.

The next few hours went by in a blur. The ED wasn’t busy but it had a steady inflow. Will was heading to check on the car accident victim who was brought in at the beginning of his shift. He was an older Latino man who spoke no English and had his wife translate for him. He was checking his tablet for his test result as he was entering the room. He heard the man speaking, conversation flowing easily even with his bruised ribs.

Will had assumed he was talking to his wife but when he looked up, he saw that blonde ponytail. Monique was smiling brightly at the man her arms crossed leaning on the rail of the bed as she laughed lightly nodding along with what he was saying. Will paused and watched as her voice got slightly higher than he was used to hearing and Spanish words fell from her lips. It sounded natural and thoughtless as the man patted her arm.

The man noticed Will and grinned at him calling out El Medico. Will Spanish was limited at best but even he knew that one- doctor. Monique turned to face him feeling guilty for slacking off but Will was all smiles. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“I don’t really.” At his raised eyebrow she felt the need to explain further, “That is I didn’t do it in school- I'm not certified for it.”

“I don’t think you are giving yourself enough credit. You seemed pretty proficient to me.” Monique looked down her face flushing at his complement, even if she didn’t feel the same.

“I get by,” She offered instead. Monique had only ever taken one Spanish class in high school. It had been an easy A. She didn’t remember ever really learning to speak it. But most memories of her childhood were often blurred, especially her earlier years. She just remembered being young and her father dropping her off at her half-brother's house. He had left almost immediately after and she was left in a crowd of strangers. One was his ex-girlfriend who wasn’t a big fan of his gringa daughter.

A pale white ghost amid a festive Hispanic family. Most didn’t speak English so she had been confused and felt out of place in the house. It had soon become a pattern on her father’s days with her she would be dropped off there. Monique didn’t remember the struggle of learning Spanish. It happened like a flip of a light switch. One day she couldn’t understand them the next she was speaking it fluently.

“Do you feel comfortable enough to translate?”

When the shift was over Will caught Monique on the stairs to leave, calling her name to get her to wait up. “Hey, I’m sorry to keep you. I know you are probably ready to go home and get some sleep. But I just wanted to check in and see how you were holding up.” The nurse's eyebrows scrunch together as she thinks over her shift and what he could be referring to. Noticing her confusion Will continued, “After the lockdown. I just wanted to make sure you were still doing alright. That you were getting the support you need.”

“Oh,” That was not what the blonde was expecting. Dr. Charles had been keeping his eye on her consistently popping by to make sure she was okay but she hadn’t thought Will would still be worried about her. “Thank you, for checking in. I’m doing okay. How about you Dr.-Will?” He looked as surprised as she felt when she redirected the question back at him.

“I doing okay. I’ve learned from my experience with the Burkes that you have to talk about this stuff to keep your head straight. So, I’ve been talking to Dr. Charles.” Will wasn’t sure why he told her that, maybe she was just easy to talk to. Monique didn’t seem to have a judgmental bone in her body.

“Me too,” Monique offered her camaraderie. Will gestured for her to start down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, he started ushering her to the parking lot offering to walk her to her car but she stopped pointing in the opposite direction. “Actually, I took the bus.” His hand went to her midback the warmth soaking through her clothes. He pressed gently urging her forward. The touch was natural and guiding but it was the most physical affection she had gotten in months.

“You’ll be waiting for another half hour. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.” Monique looked back at the empty bus stop. He was right, the first bus wasn’t even running yet. The sun was peeking out its rays warm but the wind chill was cold and cutting. A warm car with a direct route home sounded like heaven but she didn’t want to impose on anyone. Especially not a higher-up at work.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I offered.” His brown eyes were as warm as his tone but bore no room for argument. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door waiting for her to climb in before closing the door behind her.

[prince-liest]

Hey, I want to start by saying that I love everything about your writing so much!

I just read your Fanfic Author Ask Meme reply where you said you gave yourself mild tendinitis in Feb. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to gently shake you by the shoulders and say: Please take care of yourself!

As someone who drew so much for their degree that they gave themselves carpal tunnel (which then developed into chronic pain that’s 5 years strong and counting) I totally get the enthusiasm to create. I hope it was enthusiasm that caused it and not any pressure you may feel by our enthusiasm for your work.

Either way, I just wanted to say that I bet everyone would be cool with you taking your time with writing if it meant that you weren’t hurting yourself. I love reading your work, but I’d hate for you to injure yourself and get to the point where you still have the enthusiasm but aren’t able to act on it. Enthusiasm is great and beautiful but sometimes one needs to be reminded that slowing down isn’t necessarily a bad thing when it comes to creating, if that makes sense? I’m not too sure if I’m accurately conveying my thoughts or feelings on the matter. I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

I’m gonna stop lecturing you now, just let me climb down off my soap box and take a few deep breaths. Sorry for shaking you; hearing about creative injuries just flips a switch in my brain 😅

Aw, haha, I really appreciate your concern! And I'm very sorry that that happened to you as well. Let me assuage at least this particular instance a little bit!

This isn't a totally new tendonitis for me: the usual main exacerbating factor is not actually keyboard typing but being on my phone way too much, and when it comes around, I switch to using a stylus, which helps a lot.

I've slowed down quite a bit and it's not currently bothering me!

My writing "too much" is one of those things that is totally internally motivated: I don't feel outside pressure to do it, I was very much just riding the most intense phase of a hyperfixation. It's not a normal behavior for me, haha, and it's not actually possible for me to write that much most of the time unless I have that time off as I did on this occasion. So! Forced limits, haha.

I wrote 80k words in three weeks, which is pretty fucking insane, and even as much as I'm still writing now, it's notably less than that and isn't causing any physical issues!

When I realized it was happening because of the typing and not the phone thing this time, I took measures to tone things back. I've gotten overenthusiastic in ways that caused longer-term injuries before and am not interested in a repeat, haha.

That said, doctors (and those soon to be, in my case) are absolutely known to be the worst patients, hahaha. I fully acknowledge that I have a high pain tolerance and am a person who walked on a broken foot for a full week because it wasn't "that bad" until my mom made me go to the ED. I'm usually better at judging my own health based on objective signs rather than how bad something hurts, but sometimes I do slip, and "in the throes of creative fury" is definitely one of those moments where I can be prone to it.

So thank you for your kind words! They're important ones to live by! We only get one body: it's imperative to treasure it, and not to do anything to it now that's going to make us irreperably miserable later.

[weirdozjunkary]

I couldn’t help myself, I made another one. I just fucking love this scene so much I couldn’t NOT do it! Of course, Sonic doesn’t have any weapons so I had to take some creative liberties, but I think I did the job. Enjoy

—————————

The glass slid into the hedgehogs palm, filled with the rum he had been drinking for hours at this point.

“Ha! I am Sonic the Hedgehog!” He scoffed. “I am no one’s pet!” He took a thick swig of the drink, only mildly cringing at the taste as he wiped it from his mouth. “That doctor is crazy! He should stick to cutting hair!”

“Last call, Seníor Hedgheog.”

“Another rum and cola. Make it your heaviest!”

“Oh. I keep the heavy stuff in the back.”

The clock chimed as the tavern keeper left. And sonic stayed there and waited for his final drink. His fourth drink. “Heh, retire.” He chuckled then cheered a glass to himself. “You are too good looking to retire!”

And when he began to gulp down the rum from the glass, a sharp melody whistled into his ear. He didn’t know where it was coming from until he set the glass down and looked over his shoulder to the large figure, draped in a large black cloak, sitting right beside him.

“Well, well,” He started, lifting one of Sonics empty glasses from the table. “If it isn’t Sonic the Hedgehog himself.” He turned to him and chuckled. Only then Sonic could see he was blind in one eye. “In the flesh.”

“Uh, hey.” Sonic muttered back slightly unnerved, not wanting to be rude.

“There’s the famous scarf, the gloves. And of course, the shoes. My compliments to your cobbler.” He leaned in and chuckled to him, a wild grin stretched from cheek to cheek.

“Thanks.” Sonic coughed. “Good to meet you too.” And he shifted his chair slightly away from the hooded jackal. But this obvious display of uncomfortability didn’t sway the jackal beside him. As he opened his mouth and spoke again.

“Hey, I never usually do this, but may I have your autograph?” His words were as smooth as butter as he pulled out a sheet of paper from his cloak and placed it in front of the hedgehog left of him. “I’ve been following you for a loooong time, you know.”

Sonic looked down at the ragged paper as the jackal tapped a finger onto it. His wanted poster. ‘WANTED. Sonic the Hedgehog. DEAD OR ALIVE’ the jackals finger tapped over the word ‘dead’.

He chuckled. “Sonic the hedgehog laughs in the face of death… bounty hunter.”

“So I’ve heard.” The hunter said as he slid his hood off of his head.

“You will find that your reward won’t come easy.” Sonic stood up and warned.

He jumped into a fighting stance as he watched the jackal get up from his seat, but not to attack. Instead he reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle for himself. “Everyone thinks they will be the one to defeat me,” he began, sitting back down at his seat. “But no one has escaped me yet.”

He took a swig from the bottle, his words sounding almost saddened by that statement. Perhaps he wanted someone to have a little more fight in them, before they met their demise. Perhaps this is why he decided to pursue this little hedgehog.

Sonic yawned out a sigh, stretching his legs and his arms. “All right, let’s get this over with.” He held out his ring, a symbol of himself and pointed at the bounty hunter. “FEAR ME! IF YOU D-“

In the blink of an eye, the ring was swatted out of his hand and it toked against the barrel not far behind them, then clattered onto the cobblestone floor. Sonic carefully crept towards it, scowling as he kept an eye on the jackal who simply took another swig of the bottle.

“Okay…” Sonic sighed and picked up his ring from the floor. “No more messing around!” And he charged at him this time. Spinning himself widely in the air before punching down at the table where the jackal one sat. He didn’t expect someone to move so fast, maybe as fast as him. He was already on the other side of the bar.

Sonic turned and threw his leg at him.

“Slow.”

Then his fist.

“Sloppy.”

His leg again.

“Sad.”

The jackal mocked him. Sonic growled. He missed, but he’s not gonna miss again. Not to a simple bounty hunter. Who does he think he is anyways? Thinking he can get him so easily. He was quick, though. Sonic could admit that.

He spun and launched himself at the hunter once more, but he was blocked by two sickles that created a barrier between each of them. Sonic could see his eyes reflected in the blades. A cold bead of sweat dripped down his face as he heard the jackal chuckle evilly before launching him away and held them up as he crashed into the ground below.

Sonic growled in frustration. He wasn’t going to let this guy get the better of him. He spun around the room before he rolled up the walls and cartwheeled towards the figure below. This time he sure was going to get-

His body jerked forward, and a tight pain hit his throat. There, he was being held up by the neck by this wild dog. He cringed as the jackal pressed his lips against one of his ears and whispered.

“You’re not living up to the legend, erizo.”

And he drove the hedgehog against the bar table, tossing him into the chair of another table. Sonic barely managed to dodge his blade that shattered the seat into splinters. He knocked over the table in hopes to create a barrier, but the hunter just sliced right through it. He swung at the hedgehog and he barely managed to dodge. He swung again and he dodged once more. He swung again.

‘Who’s never been touched by a blade?’

Sonic huffed as his eyes widened, feeling the bead of liquid drip down his forehead. He put a hand over it and looked at his fingers. Blood. It was only then that he fell cold and shivered. His spines instinctively shooting up on edge. What was this feeling? He had never felt this before. No, he knew what this was.

‘Sonic the hedgehog is never afraid!’

He flinched as the jackal sniffed the air then exhaled out a graceful sigh. “I just LOVE the smell of FEAR!” He slammed his twin sickles to the ground, creating sparks as he inched closer to the hedgehog. Thunder roared outside, shining light into the jackal’s reflective pupils. A crazed grin was on his face.

Sonic could barely back up from him as his eyes drifted from the blades. He couldn’t see anything in front of him, now. His mind race and flashed visions of his past lives to him. Full of fame and glory. The friends and foes he’s met. His heart accelerating and pounding in his chest. He huffed and wheezed as he could barely control the air coming in and out of his lungs.

“What’s the matter? Lives flashing before your eyes?”

Sonic’s ears pinned back as he stared down his ring that laid at the hunters feet. The noise it made as the hunter kicked it gently towards him felt like fireworks popping into his eardrums.

“Pick it up.” The jackal raised his brows at him. Sonic couldn’t move. His heart exhilarated faster.

“Pick. It. Up.”

He took one more look at the hunter’s face before he finally scrambled up onto his feet and dashed towards the nearest door he could find, locking himself in completely.

The whistle appeared again. Sharp and loud. A slow melody that held as a playful warning as the hunter slowly crept towards the door. He knew there was nowhere else to go from in there. Slowly, he slid a scythe into the crack of the door then sliced open the lock inside before pushing the door open. His reflective eyes glancing around the room as he stood in the doorframe. He wasn’t there. Just an old toilet in the middle of the outhouse.

“Corre, Corre erizo.”

[disappointing-my-kid]

Im sorry I think I heard someone say angel Luigi? Like oddly born with wings? Learns to hid them? Magic? Maybe some sort of creature that latched on to baby Mario’s cries as a child? Shifted to match him but has the wings? Maximum Ride vibes? Hmmmmm. Trigun vibes? Maybe a lil bit of both!

Ok hear me out. But I warn you this isnt my typical post. Im tired and cold so it’s a mess but maybe ill clean it up later. Who knows.

Mario’s family was super freaked out at first but accepted it cause of how much it helped Mario. Like maybe he was sickly as a baby but this odd creature who looks like him is helping. Doctors told him he was gonna die. Now it’s a miracle. So they just raise Luigi too. Well guarded family secret. Maybe thats why Mario is so protective of his brother. Their mother believes Luigi an angel sent to save her lil baby boy. Their father thinks him a demon who will one day eat their little boy. Why else would it be helping if not for it’s next meal he claims. Luigi has no idea why he was sent here. Never a good enough reason for their father. Maybe their mother and Mario are the only two who really accept Luigi, rest of family share the fathers pov.

Idk how to tie this into bowuigi but just let me think of the middle part for now think of the end game!

Bowser finds an injured winged Luigi. Slap that man in a bird cage. Oops thats Luigi’s biggest fear. (Did you papa traumatise you Luigi or was it just me) anyway mans having a horrible time at all the bird puns. Yoikes hes heard those before get creative Bowser smh. Oops did he say that outloud? Well now Bowser is pissed. Someone is lucky their so pretty up in that cage. Oops did he say that outloud? Well now Luigi is blushing. GET THIS MAN SOME SKIPPY CLOTHING AND A GOLDEN CAGE NOW! Well now Luigi is mortified and horrified. Hes just a decoration now. Or a pet! Awww maybe they can give him a little collar. Oh how humiliating. Whats he got left now? Probably no more tears at this point. Hey Bowsers new pet doesn’t look so good. Oops someone stopped eating. Maybe actually be nice idk man you killing Luigi from the inside. Look at those soulless eyes. You did that Bowser you happy?

Cut to Bowser trying to bring some life back to Luigi. Awww hes making sure hes ok. Getting him food. An actual bed? A room? Who said the beast doesn’t have a heart? This is how Luigi remembers the story. Though he doesn’t understand why Bowser had a change. Of course Bowser saw the soulless eyes of someone begging for death and realised he done fucked up. Of course he never thought he would have greenie over this long anyway. Wheres that red pain in his side. It’s been ages? (Oops Mario is injured and thats why Luigi had his wings out. From protecting his brother. Maybe ill put Mario in a coma for sillies)

Anyway ever so slowly Luigi gets some pep back in his step. Though hes clearly more reserved. The kids (yes plural) helped. But Bowser can see the longing in Luigi’s eyes. The way the man just looks to the sky like an old friend. They had just started really getting along too. But if you love something set it free right? So he does. And Luigi doesn’t even hesitate. The moment he is uncollared (yea baby thats last to go lmao) and outside. The moment Bowser tells him to go he just takes off. As fast has those beautiful wings can take him. Can I get an F in the chat for Bowser and his broken heart.

Luigi is frantic to see how his brother is. Consumed with worry almost his whole stay in Bowsers castle. He could feel their link, their bond, and knew his brother needed him. Of course once he reaches Mario and grasps his hand Mario wakes up. Awww brotherly love (and nothing else ya goobers) is a magical sight. Literally Luigi is glowing and has wings. Neat says princess Peach.

Maybe once he is sure his brother is oi he can feel love sick about Bowser. And misses the kids. Now it’s Mario’s turn to see the longing look in Luigi’s eyes. Mario’s turn ti tell Luigi it’s ok to just go. Though he better tell his brother whats going on when he gets back. But maybe since im such a kind god ill make it painful for Luigi to show his wings. Like painful when they sprout. So he just walks to Bowsers castle. Who is probably smad. Lmao hes sad and mad. Though word filtered in of Mario being in a coma and he figured thats why Luigi needed to go. Anyway hes probably relieved to see Luigi back. So relieved he can feel mad about not even getting a goodbye. Oopsies. But they will make it. Im sure of it.

Ok I know this post is a mess but man I had to get this idea out of my head. I wanna draw it. And I just might.

[non-un-topo]

I think we need to talk more about the nuance of transition.

Specifically, the diversity of transition and the ways in which a person's gender and presentation can fluctuate and never reach an "end."

The first time I tried to get on T, I second-guessed and disappeared. Didn't answer calls from doctors, didn't reach out. I had seen an openly trans psychotherapist a few times as he was guiding me through the steps to accessing hormones. When he asked me when I started to feel "this way" about my gender, I answered that it had been fairly recent, maybe a few years. His response was that that was strange, because "most people figure it out when they hit puberty." Well, that shut me up and I haven't spoken to a therapist about transition since. It's clear to me now that he was approaching transness from a medical background. The medical model of course has not been a favourite of the trans community, myself included. It conceptualizes transness in terms of deficit, self-hatred, misery, and it envisions transition as an end.

This idea of end, of the reached destination, terrified me at twenty-three and it terrifies me now. How are twenty-three year olds, middle-schoolers, or kids approaching puberty, supposed to be able to envision their end, and to argue their case with such certainty if they want access to methods of transition? Where is the elbow room for change, evolution, and discovery, and even "mistakes"?

Many trans individuals, some colleagues of my own included, say they have always known who they are and what their gender is. This is the dominant trans narrative for a reason. I don't mean to discredit their words and their stories. It is not anyone's business to tell another person who they are or are not, and above all we should all continue to advocate for the voices of trans kids to be heard and honoured.

The philosophy of discovering who you "truly" are, of "finding" yourself, even of "cracking your egg" is starting to sound heavily Western and neoliberal. There is rarely a conversation about how our identities are changed by others, our environments, or by ourselves. Instead the dominant conversation around transition is centred in finding the true self. I criticize this philosophy because of its limitation. It is an end.

I recently joined a support group, and in the first meeting I attended my colleagues talked about finding their names, and about bridges. They shared stories of their own name decision-making processes, and how they used "temporary" new names as placeholders for their true names. A "bridge," they called it. I loved this sentiment. It spoke to the idea that gender and identity are more fluid than we are taught to believe, and I of course did this temporary name thing, too. But still with all of my colleagues there was this idea of truth, of finality.

I criticize it because it is another barrier of access to transition. People seeking means for medical transition are expected to be one-hundred percent, without-a-doubt-sure of their gender identity and of their future decisions regarding transition. It's starting to sound like a way to gatekeep transition, to bar access from those who are not "trans enough" because they do not fit the medical model's description. We know this. We've had these conversations before.

If we keep thinking about transness only in terms of the true self, the cracked egg, then we leave little room for those who are curious, for those who simply want to be creative with their identities, cisgender people included.

In writing this, I had to really fight the urge to go back and outline all the "clues" in my childhood that point towards my transness. I fought this because that is exactly what we as trans (genderqueer, genderfluid, trans* etc) people are supposed to do if we want to be believed. As if the only way to legitimize transness is to have "all the signs" in early childhood, as if transness is some chronic disease. Don't get me wrong --- this remembering and legitimizing works for some people, myself included. It is the way we know how to learn about ourselves. And at the same time, it is a key part of the transmedicalist approach.

We should not have to explain our histories and be certain of our futures to be believed and to have access to care.

It's an abusive relationship dynamic between the trans individual and institutions --- the desperation to explain ourselves in detail, explain our histories and our possible futures, so the institutions might allow us access to methods of transition.

The sooner we explore more possibilities beyond the idea that transness and transition are the final self, that transness is some chronic and fatal condition diagnosable from self-hatred cues in childhood, the sooner we can remove barriers of access to trans kids, and invite more people into the excitement, creativity, and nuance of trans experiences.

[skwpr]

How to Have Fun while you Study

Here are 20 ways that you can use to have fun while you study.

Reward yourself

One of the best ways to have fun while you study is to reward yourself. This makes your studying take some sort of game effect. Studies show that people enjoy things better when they feel rewarded. Set an intention to reward yourself when you finish studying.

Have snacks

Eating snacks while studying can make everything so much fun. You can also reward yourself with snacks. Be sure to eat non-greasy foods so you don’t get your books messy.

Use colors

What better way to have fun while studying than to use all the colors out there? Use colors to have fun while studying. Colors have a way of brightening everything up. they inspire fun and joy.

Listen to study music

You can make everything a lot more fun by listening to music. I’d recommend piano, or the famous lo-fi beats that are popular everywhere now. Be sure to choose music with no words for the most efficient study session.

Watch youtube videos

Studying doesn’t have to be boring. You can learn things better than your teachers taught you on youtube! Youtube is one of the best ways to learn new things online. if you miss any class, you can go on youtube and for sure you will learn what you missed.

Take breaks

Hard work is only as fun as taking breaks. Taking breaks is very essential to have fun while studying. if you don’t take regular breaks, you stand the chance of frying up your energy and crashing. I have prior experience with not taking breaks. A study break can be as simple as standing up and stretching.

Wear comfortable clothes

When I was a kid, I had this awesome dress that I imagined was a doctor’s lab coat. I’d wear it to feel like I was doing some important doctor work! If you want to have fun while studying, be sure to wear clothes that make you feel inspired and motivated to change the world!

Create to-do lists

Studying gets boring if all you do is stare at your books. Be sure to start creating and using to-do lists. This is simply a list of what you expect to accomplish within that day. I divide my to-do lists into two parts. These are: the least productive things I can do, and the most productive things I can do.

Do what makes you happier

Make sure to make yourself happy every single day. Find out what boosts your happy hormones and do a little of that every day. For me, that would be painting, reading a good book, or listening to great music. Do what makes you happy so you can boost your mood and enjoy studying that day.

Draw mind maps

Mind maps are a great way to have fun while you study. A mind map is something you draw to connect all your ideas together using lines. I love to use mind maps to connect my facts together. Draw mind maps with markers and colored pens for a little extra fun.

Use different study techniques

Reading all day can get boring. I have a few study techniques that you can try in order to have more fun. These are:

Writing down important points

Summarizing all your notes into tiny bite-sized chunks of information

Recording your notes on your phone

Making up questions

Studying old exam questions

Using online study tools

Drawings

If you have any degree of artistic talent, it’s time for you to shine! Drawings are great to make studying a lot more fun. Make funny drawings based on information in your notes. Even a simple doodle will do. If you’re feeling crazy, make some comics.

Use cool fonts

Using cool fonts is a great way to be more artistic. Go on websites that let you download fonts and study them. I like to use creative market to get inspiration for my titles. They have some awesome fonts that you can re-create for your study sessions.

Use flash cards

Flash cards are a life saver. If you aren’t using them, then you are missing out. A flash card is a piece of paper where you write down important points. It sounds pretty basic but it promotes visual learning, and boosts your memory. Be sure to create loads of flash cards and shuffle them, all the while reviewing your notes.

Make a study video

What better way to have fun while studying than to pretend to be a youtuber! Test your videography skills by creating a time lapse of your studying. remember to use markers and colors of all sorts to make your video awesome!

Make up songs

Making up songs sounds silly, but it’s the perfect way to make studying fun. In fact, making up a song about your history notes can help you when you need it the most during exams!

Create infographics

If you fancy yourself a graphic designer, create some awesome infographics using graphic design software. Infographics can be as easy as just typing out your notes in awesome fonts. Canva is a great app to use. You can print all your infographics and use them for reviewing at a later date. Remember that by making these infographics, you are helping your brain create more connections to remember faster.

Duolingo for languages!

Everyone knows of Duolingo. If you don’t, then let me enlighten you: It is an awesome app to help you learn a new language. I’m currently using Duolingo to learn Japanese. よろしくお願いします。

Use quizlet.com

Quizlet is an online study tool to help you create flash cards. It’s a great site, and rumor has it that teachers use it to make tests! That means you can go on quizlet an find your next text, or at least related questions.

Go on memrise.com

Memrise is another online study tool that helps you to study and have fun while you’re at it. It’s a memorizing platform, and let’s add all sorts of images and audio. You can literally learn anything on there. You can also create your own course and use it to study.

[violivs]

NMTDaily: VOX POPS

- Hi all! I’m going to be rewatching along with TCWs NMTDaily and making posts about each episode, or as many as I can (I might miss some, but I hope not!)

- I want to start by saying thank you again to The Candle Wasters for making my favorite thing. Just, the amount of joy and creative fulfillment and friendship and delight I’ve gotten from this show and this fandom is still unmatched. Thank you so much for making it and sharing it. The love and care and skill with which NMTD was made still shines through and I’m still so awed by it. I think I was probably somewhat overdramatic about my reactions to Lolilo in places where you, TCW, could see, on my main blog, and you didn’t deserve that. I really hope I didn’t send you any aggressive asks about it, or make you uncomfortable in any way. I’m a little afraid I did, but I don’t know for sure. If I did, I apologize. I’m older and more mature now, I promise. I hope you’re all doing so very well now!

- I didn’t realize until today that Project I: VOX POPS was posted first, before any other video in the series. I didn’t start watching NMTD until right around the time Benedick’s first Q&A video was posted, so I binged the first chunk of episodes around that time. It will be interesting to watch them at a slower pace this time!

- I am immediately overwhelmed with warm fuzzies at seeing these characters again. They’re such babies! I love them!

- I never made a post about this, but Ben’s first line being about how he shares a (differently spelled) name with a Pope is both a great first line for him on a character level since he starts as kind of a cocky overconfident asshole (a cover for his soft sensitive insides) AND it’s evidence for my theory that he’s probably Catholic, but lapsed/non-practicing/maybe agnostic or atheist solely because I WILL keep projecting parts of me onto this character, it’s just what I do at this point. Other evidence: he has a confirmation name. We don’t get his full name til Lolilo, but still. And he’s partly Scottish, which can account for the fact that English people usually are not Catholic.

- “you need to imitate an eagle, that’ll scare them away!” That’s Ben’s second line and first bird reference! Already! Wow.

- The favorite band question! Mumford and Sons! Fife and the Drums! Sheep Dog and Wolf! The LORE! The REFERENCES! We’re already off to the races.

- “I don’t need chat-up lines” Beatrice I love you , and you have no idea what’s coming.

- I forgot about Beatrice’s Favorite T-Shirts Ranking System lol

- Extremely funny that Ben says bananas are his favorite food and then he goes on to become synonymous with mangoes instead. Sorry, buddy, you will always be Mango Skin Boy to us. xD

- I forgot how delightful Dogberry and Verges are in this episode

- “that you would leave me” oh Meg. Oh honey. Oh no.

- I’ve seen nine seasons of Doctor Who and only five episodes of Game of Thrones since 2014. Sorry Bea, I side with Ben on this one. And I’ve seen one season of Community. I’m slowly hacking away at the list of media referenced in nmtd that I need to watch!

- love it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free! ❤️

- Balthazar plays every instrument, of course.

- Bea must not have an ear for music if she hated that question enough to force Ursula on-camera so she doesn’t have to answer it… Unless Ursula asked her something else she didn’t want to answer! Lol

- Ben makes me cringe so hard a couple times this episode. And yet I still love him. To be fair, that’s just every Benedick at the start of Much Ado, though. The cringy lines are completely in character.

- I decided to save the full story of how I discovered NMTD for whenever the NMTDaily email for Ben’s first Q&A episode goes out, because then it will actually be ten years almost to the day since I started watching. But I’m so impatient and excited to tell the story!

- It’s amazing how back then, these kids were my contemporaries and the Lizzie Bennet Diaries cast felt impossibly old compared to me. Now the NMTD kids are babies and I’m older than Lizzie Bennet! Trippy. It sure has been a nice ten years.

Until the next one! Happy NMTD Day, fellow flamangoes!

💖🥭🦩

[acefaun]

4 WEEKS???!!! WHERE ARE YOU? 😭😭😭

Alright 🙏🏻 Lemme explain. 🥺

So, since sometime last year, I got hit with depression and I was neglecting it and refusing to admit I was depressed until just this month. That's why I've been super spotty on being online this year and most of last year. I mean, I wasn't enjoying anything. My favorite things, writing and drawing, just weren't fun to me. And what's the point of doing something you don't enjoy?

Buuuuut it got bad enough to where my family started going "Go see your doctor or we're putting you in a hospital." 🤯 So. Obviously, I had to go to my doctor. I wasn't getting locked away for weeks without any entertainment or music or whatever else they take away from you in there. 😵‍💫

So I went to the doctor and got put on some happy pills. ✨ Woo. But those made me sick for a whole week and I wasn't eating. Still, I sucked it up and got over those symptoms. Now I'm just a sleepy baby... Gotta get over that symptom too!

But, I gotta admit, I'm feeling better now. 💖 I've been writing a little more bit by bit. Nothing post-ready, but I'm trying to get comfortable with being creative again. It's a little hard to pick up, but I'll get there.

Thanks for panicking on my behalf. That's the voice screaming at me in the back of my head. 🥰 Even if it's hard picking back up on my hobbies, it does lift my spirits to have company in my mental hell. 💕💖 Thanks for hanging around!

Today, June 20, 2024, marking my 24th year of survival here on Earth~and still counting! 🏳️‍🌈