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geekthefreakout · 2 years

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Garashir vs Dr. Seuss Part 1: The Cat in the Hat

"Are those actual paper books, my dear Doctor?" Garak appeared suddenly at Julian's side as he made his way from the package room, eyes pinning with interest.

"Indeed they are." Julian replied, pulling the colorful books out from under his arm so Garak could see them. "I've just got them in from Earth-- my Uncle Malcolm sent them along. They were mine when I was small, and now I'm going to give them to Kirayoshi."

"How thoughtful! On Cardassia, the gift of a book to new parents is considered quite significant. A show of dedication to sharpening the child's mind, readying them to excel in their education."

"And thus, making them better assets to the State, I assume?" Julian asked dryly.

"Naturally. Although..." Garak's eye ridges were raised now, his head tilted just slightly in that peculiar and not at all endearing way of his. "I must confess confusion. This doesn't look like any Earth cat I have seen. Is it meant to be a Caitian?" He indicated the cover of the top book with a manicured claw.

"No, actually." The pair approached the turbolift and entered, Julian ordering it to go to the habitat ring. "These children's books are ancient, from the 20th century. Long before first contact. 'The Cat in the Hat' is an anthropomorphized feline from Earth."

"I see. You humans do love ascribing your own characteristics to every species you happen across. Even those on your own planet, it seems. What lesson, then, does this fashionable feline offer to your children?"

Julian paused, twisting his lips as he let them both into his quarters.

"I'm not sure there is a lesson. It's not a fable. Dr. Seuss- the author's pseudonym- wrote silly, fantastical things, mostly in rhyme. Many of his works did have lessons, but I'm not sure this is one of them."

"Then I must ask, my dear Doctor, what is the literary value in it, especially when intended for the most impressionable population for which it is intended?"

"It's just fun." Julian shrugged. "It gets kids to start liking reading."

"Fun. I am intrigued, my dear." Garak reached out and snatched the book to himself. "I should like to read this 'fun' before you pass it on to young Mr. O'Brien."

"Go for it." Julian said, placing the books down on his end table as Garak curled on his couch. "I've also got 'Green Eggs and Ham', 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas', 'The Butter Battle Book', and 'The Foot Book.'"

Garak's brow ridges raised again at that, and Julian rolled his eyes, refusing to blush even as he felt his cheeks heat up.

"Also a children's book, Garak. Nothing to do with that."

Garak smirked (infuriating!) and turned his attention to the book in his hands. It wasn't long before he'd found something to complain about.

"What unimaginative children! Imagine, to be completely stymied by the rain. Have they no books of their own? No toys suitable to indoor play for such weather?"

"I'm sure they do, Garak." Julian said as he replicated some tea. "They're just bored with them."

"Ah, but here is some excitement. A talking cat with a hat has broken into their home. How alarming. And yet, the cat seems to have a similar opinion of their lack of imagination as I do."

"Indeed." Julian's mouth curled with amusement as he set their tea on the table and sat next to Garak, resting his head on the strong shoulder to read along with him.

"The fish talks as well, my goodness. And he does not like the cat. Will he be eaten up?"

"Of course not! Garak, this is for small children."

"So was the tale of the Boy Who Cried Wolf." Garak said. "And he got eaten up."

"Fables and fairy tales are different." Julian said. "No one gets eaten in Dr. Seuss books. The fish is just being a stick in the mud... although, I suppose they really shouldn't let strangers in when their mother is out."

"Perhaps there is a lesson after all."

______

"Am I meant to understand that this cat keeps these two... what are they?"

"Things, Garak."

".... these two Things confined in a box except for when he brings them out to play?"

"I suppose so."

"How horrifying. I thought this was for children."

_____

"At least the Cat does clean up after himself. There's another lesson for kids- always clean up your toys."

"He does leave everything immaculate. How sinister."

"Sinister, Garak?" Julian lifted his head and looked at Garak incredulously.

"This cat in his hat has broken into this house when the children were alone with the fish. He makes all sorts of mischief, carries sentient creatures about with him in a box, and after making the children frantic, he disappears without a trace. They don't even know what to tell their mother!"

"That's part of the charm in the story, I think." Julian says doubtfully. "You extend your child's imaginations, having them answer the question- what would you do if your mother asked you?"

"Thus allowing for the idea that telling ones parents something other than the truth is acceptable."

At this, Julian had to laugh.

"You can't possibly mean to tell me that you were always honest with your parents. You, Garak?"

"I implied no such thing." Garak said haughtily. "Of course children must learn the art of prevarication. But not at so young an age. And I was under the impression that Federaji valued honesty above all else."

"Like I told you, Garak, it's only for fun. Besides, she would hardly believe them if they told the truth- the events of this story are hardly true to reality!"

"And that brings me back to sinister. The Cat traps the children into a situation where they cannot tell their mother what happened. There is no indication if he might come back again--"

"He does come back." Julian recalls. "There's a second book."

"More to my point!" Garak sat up straighter, intent. "And with no adults to protect them, the children inevitably fall into the creature's thrall. Who is to say that those 'Things' were not once children like our young protagonists, stolen away by this thing and perverted to suit his agenda?"

"What agenda? Garak, it's a cat that likes to have fun. I think you're looking at this all wrong."

"Am I? Then please, Doctor; educate me." Garak folded his clawed hands in his lap and nodded at Julian expectedly, the picture of an eager student. Julian couldn't help the fond, exasperated smile that crept across his face.

"Well, consider the other side: The children begin the book being quite bored, stuck inside with the weather. Then the Cat arrives- who's to say that the Cat isn't a figment of their imagination? Maybe they are imaginative children, Garak, and the Cat is a game they've come up with to play together, which is why everything is cleaned up in the short time it takes for the mother to come up the walk- there was never actually a big mess."

"It was all a dream?" Garak was unimpressed. "I recall you stating that you despised that trope more than once."

"It depends on the context!" Julian defended, warming to the subject. "I hate it when the entirety of an experience is written off as having never happened and therefore been meaningless. However, if the dream serves a purpose in a wider narrative--"

"And what is the wider narrative here? Your interpretation of The Cat in the Hat and all events surrounding him as being imaginary exclude all but a few precious lines of the book."

"Well, not all species are as loquacious as Cardassians. A few lines can say quite a lot for humans. And it's a children's book!" Julian emphasized, throwing his hands up.

"Hmm. Perhaps I was wrong, Doctor, about the worthiness of a book as a gift, if you are so quick to forgive a tale its flaws simply because it is 'for children.' Cardassians have standards for what we give our youth to read."

"Yes, I'm sure it's all books about how everyone in the family must sacrifice everything for the state and no one's personal happiness matters at all." Julian rolled his eyes.

"You do generalize terribly, my dear." Garak scolded softly. "We do teach our children that happiness matters-- only we do not teach them to be selfish in it. We teach them to be happy with their lot, that the greatest joy is in serving others, and the greatest way to serve others is to contribute to the State, which provides us all with what we need to survive. I believe the Vulcans have a saying which is relevant-- that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

"I'm familiar with the phrase." Julian said. "But Garak, you must know that humans are not inherently selfish in our happiness. We, too, have a sense of community. We make sacrifices. But that cannot be all there is to life! We encourage our children to follow their dreams, and in doing so they are happy and motivated to do their best in life- for themselves and for the people around them."

"And in this case, that individualist sense of community and motivation begins with an anthropomorphic cat which invades either children's homes or their imaginations. Possibly both."

Julian dropped his head back on the couch, covering his face, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Yes, Garak, I suppose it does."

END

#Garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #sam writes stuff #dr seuss #the cat in the hat #this was more fun than i thought it would be #ds9 #star trek

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el-im · 3 years

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ok no one cares but i am once again thinking about how andrew j. robinson’s writing in a stitch in time fundamentally changed the the way i’ve come to view garak and how i interpret the “Of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't?” / "My dear Doctor, they're all true." / "Even the lies?" / "Especially the lies.” interaction from the wire (which initially i was very thrown off by). by suggesting that the stories garak fabricates are indicative of how he chooses to define himself, i think the stories from the wire serve specifically to illustrate what garak most covets/coveted in life, and that they contain elements of the circumstances/relationships/motivations/etc. that garak never had, or were beyond his reach. by making up these particular circumstances, garak is juxtaposing his words against the actuality of his life, and by that comparison his lies demonstrate the truth of his relationship with tain, his work in the obsidian order, and his personal convictions...

Story 1: “During the occupation, I was a Gul in the Cardassian Mechanised Infantry. We were stationed just outside the Bajoran Capital. Shortly before the withdrawal, a handful of Bajoran prisoners escaped from my custody. My aide, a man named Elim, tracked them to a Cardassian shuttle about to depart for Terok Nor. Elim got aboard, but the captain refused to let him search the ship, because he claimed he was under strict orders from Gul Dukat to depart immediately. So I had the shuttle destroyed, killing the escapees, Elim, and ninety seven Cardassian civilians... I followed my orders. None of those prisoners escaped off of Bajor alive. Unfortunately as it turned out, one of the passengers on the shuttle was the daughter of a prominent military official. I was stripped of my rank and commission, and exiled from Cardassia.”

-> what i get from this one is that garak wants a) companionship (in this “aide”, elim), b) authority (in my mind, this is more of a past item of desire. in his youth in the obsidian order, he wanted to emulate tain, and was indoctrinated to think that power should be sought after above all else, and not relinquished), and c) ruthlessness. the crowning jewel of tain’s service as the head of the obsidian order, garak grew up with detachment and brutality being demonstrated as the guiding principle of leadership, command, delegation... the funny thing about all these garak episodes, and which I am glad to see that the fandom so readily picked up on (see one of my favorite posts: “i don’t understand why ds9 fandom casts garak as some sort of suave oscar wilde daddy dom when he’s clearly the kind of older man who gets trashed at a casino at 3pm on thursdays and tips dabo boys extra to hold him while he cries”) is that for all his posturing, for all his discussion about the difference between cardassian principles and “federation dogma”, for all we actually, genuinely learn about what garak did during his time in the obsidian order (for all interested in garak’s life pre-terok nor/ds9, please take this free link and read a stitch in time it’s one of like... two trek novels i’d ever recommend and is so good i promise <3), for all we learn about what he did after (the assassination of senator vreenak “in in the pale moonlight”), garak still doesn’t... come off as hardened, or unfeeling. he repeatedly demonstrates a willingness to put himself in harm's way to save the people he cares about (most notably, bashir/martok during their time in the jem hadar prison, but even once going to cardassia to save kira, who detests/detested him (depending on if you believe their relationship changed over the course of the show) and risking arrest/execution by returning to cardassia during his exile). for all his pretending otherwise (from second skin: GARAK: “I have no intention of sacrificing my life to save yours. If it looks like we're in danger of being captured... if there are any signs of trouble at all... you're on your own. SISKO: Mister Garak, I believe that's the first completely honest thing you've ever said to me.”), Garak isn’t selfish, or at the least isn’t constantly, predictably selfish. He’s self-sacrificial more often that he’s given credit for, he’s occasionally kind. I think the first story he tells in the wire is so indicative of the inner conflict he feels. inside him is a child who was brought up to revel in the glory of violence in the middle of a military occupation of another world. there is a part of him that persists in believing strength is only fortification, obfuscation, invulnerability. and yet there is a part of him now wrestling with the belief that he can only be saved through honesty, by telling bashir about the implant and why it’s there and who he is that warrants it. one of the most remarkable things about this wholly incredible episode is this struggle between these two parts of himself.

and really, garak isn’t stubborn, or stupid. he knows if he wants to save his life (and for a moment... for some inexplicable reason, he does), he’ll have to give bashir some tipping hint. he has to tell him enough of the truth to give him a way to help him, and that’s what all these stories come down to. he is hinting as best he can. he is explaining as much as possible, so as not to betray the angry little boy inside him who sees this addiction as a weakness, who sees his attachment to bashir, and to his life on the station as a vulnerability, exploited. then there’s a second layer in which (after discovery that garak is elim) the audience gleans that garak (in his youth) desperately wanted direction, for someone to tell him what do to and how to do it--that he wanted to be excused from his actions on the basis of “following direct orders”... god, but then I think about how garak chooses to kill the figure of elim he paints here. paired with the resignation to his own fate at this point in the episode (garak knows a replacement device can’t be obtained, that his body is too reliant on the implant to function on its own, and that withdrawal without supplement will be deadly... which is to say garak is sure he is going to die), this seems so poignant. does he wish he’d have died years ago? killed in some random shoot out at the orders of someone higher up on the obsidian order’s chain of command? and can you imagine that? tain would bury the report so as to conceal his son’s involvement with the order (sentimentality always coming second to security, of course), letting this “elim garak” be listed as some citizen at the wrong place at the wrong time, a random victim of the violence of the bajoran occupation... garak, in an instant, would be forgotten. brushed aside by his father in favor of obscuring the actual operation undergone.

in the end i think the most i get from this version of the story is that subtle death wish. if he had been a less important operative, or if he had died then, he wouldn’t be enduring this now (return to the conversation about a lifetime serving cardassia re: “the neverending sacrifice” at the opening of the ep....). part of me believes garak wishes he would have died then, before he could have been exiled, before setting up his shop on the station, before meeting bashir...

garashir side note: “At first, he just wanted to have sex with him. That's absolutely clear. That's all he wanted from him. ‘Come to my shop, I got some nice clothes for you... but you'll have to change first.’ But then it really got complicated, especially when Garak's addiction and despair began to surface. He needed someone to share it with.” - Andy Robinson, from “What We Left Behind”. / “What we should've done, after The Wire in season two, the episode where Bashir helps him get over his addiction, we should've had Garak come out to Bashir as a gay Cardassian... Garak comes out as gay in season two, we have five seasons to play that Bashir and Garak relationship. Where that would have gone, who the hell knows, but it could've been so cool.” - Ira Steven Behr, from “What We Left Behind”.

Considering these two quotes from the actor who played Garak and the head writer on DS9, another thing about this episode I’m throwing my two cents in for is the obvious implications for this deepening the relationship between garak and bashir. One of the most frustrating things about this episode is how much it just begs for more, more, more. The casual banter about literature they start up at the beginning of the episode, the refusal on garak’s part of letting bashir take him the the infirmary (hello cardassian stubbornness, the whole scene reeks so much of ‘I do not want you to see me vulnerable, I want you to think me strong and independent and not in danger’. the whole charade reminds me so much of a wounded animal putting on a brave face so as to not be found out. garak does not want bashir (specifically!) to see him sick, to see him needing. he does not want to admit that he needs his help, that he needs him)...

then everything else that follows that, bashir worriedly reaching out to his friends for help and advice: talking to o’brien about his concerns for garak and asking about retrieving the cardassian medical files, then to dax, who tells him flatly “It sounds like you're taking this personally.... It's not like you two are really friends.”. the affront on bashir’s part at hearing that. “It's just that Garak and I have been having lunch together once a week for more than a year now. You'd think he'd come to trust me a little!” he exclaims. then how defeated and angry he is (violently stabbing her plant with mycorrhizae), the strong thread of bitterness humming in his honey-sweet voice, “If he doesn't want my help, that's his prerogative.”

there’s something so magnificent about the timeline here. how long they’ve known each other by now, the fact that bashir is the only person garak really considers his own on the station (“it isn’t bashir who dies, is it? Ira, you’re not going to kill off julian, are you? I mean, where does that leave me? I mean, he’s my only relationship in this show! I don’t have him, I have nothing. I’m hanging out in space with nobody to talk to!” - DS9Doc's Ira Steven Behr pushes for more DS9 in HD!)... it’s so plainly laid out that bashir is the only thing garak has, the only reason he has to be curious about what else life could bring him at this point in his life, so far from home, from his family, from the only job he ever felt he had been suited for.

which is not even to mention julian’s reaction to this first story. “So now you know, Doctor. I hope I haven't shattered too many of your illusions.” garak concludes. There is a pregnant pause of still hesitation (in which i imagine garak is reeling--because, at the same time, i think, despite this relay being an attempt to communicate his own misery, these stories are also made to push something in bashir. Garak is at the end of his rope, drifting (almost) untethered into unknown space and he is reaching out in the hope that julian, (despite, despite, despite...) will take his hand. Garak is trying to see just how far Julian will go to save him, to forgive him. He is trying to discover if there is an exception to his “federation dogma”, if there is really truth to that myth of human kindness he’d heard so much about... in this moment, Garak is playing this horrific, dangerous, loving, desperate game of cat and mouse. “Could you still love me if I...” he seems to say, and believes at some point he’ll be responded to with a “no”, but hopes, against his better judgement, beyond belief, that he wont be. And then Julian looks up at him, faces close enough for Garak to feel his steady breath on his cheeks as he says, calmly, “Listen to me, Garak. Right now I'm not concerned with what you did in the past. I'm simply not going to walk out of here and let you die. We need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, I promise I'll help you through them. I need to know where that triggering device is. Where is it?”

And that line is it for me, beyond so much of the other golden ones in this episode. This is the first time that Garak hears that unequivocal acceptance, and it just sends him staggering. In all his life, he’s never been faced with love like that. His father pushed him away, let him believe for years that he wasn’t his son. Mila didn’t, or couldn’t, or wouldn’t put up a fight for him when Tain exiled him...

this is one moment in ds9 where i am particularly grateful for ds9 being filmed on a 4:3 aspect ratio that forced characters so close together to be in a shot. in this scene, a line from Shauna Barbosa’s “GPS”, Cape Verdean Blues comes back to me, and I look at the pair of them so close on the screen, Julian so open and Garak so agast, and I just think, “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

all is to say: andy robinson himself has said that bashir is the only relationship garak has. assuming garak’s killing of elim in this first story is indicative of his own wish that he might have died during his work with the obsidian order (and thus been spared exile, the torture of life on the station, the gradual dependency he forged on the implant, and the inevitable withdrawal he was going to experience), there necessitates a question of why garak should agree to treatment (thus saving his life) only to continue living on a station he found so hellish in the past*

*oh... the magnificent (perfectly summative) conversation between Tain and Bashir... “BASHIR: He's dying. TAIN: And you're trying to save him. BASHIR: That's right. TAIN: Strange. I thought you were his friend. BASHIR: I suppose I am. TAIN: Then you should let him die. After all, for Garak, a life in exile is no life at all.”

to me, this question has three answers: 1. he is appeasing an insistent julian (though this begets the suggestion that garak doesn’t have much faith in julian’s treating him--in which case, garak decides that one of his last acts in life will be making julian happy) 2. he is choosing to live because he is... intrigued by julian. because he likes his company and the meals they share and the books they trade... and because he is curious to see where this relationship will go. Julian has made his life bearable (dare I say enjoyable? see: “GARAK: [They] left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you. BASHIR: I'm sorry you feel that way. I thought you enjoyed my company. GARAK: I did. And that's the worst part. I can't believe that I actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into at your smug, sanctimonious face. ”) and has thus given him some reason to get up in the morning, even if it is for a frivolous little lunch appointment in another few days or 3. he is choosing to live not for julian, but directly because of him. even if this relationship has a platonic reading, it can’t be denied that julian opened up a new world for garak, and if nothing else was able to stay his boredom/disgust with life on the station

Story 2: GARAK: There was a time, Doctor, oh there was a time when I was a power. The protégé of Enabran Tain himself. Do you have any idea what that means?... Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand. My future was limitless until I threw it away. BASHIR: You mean when you had that shuttle shot down to stop those prisoners from escaping? GARAK: Stop them? I only wish that I had stopped them. BASHIR: You didn't? GARAK: No, Doctor, my disgrace was worse than that. Unimaginably worse. BASHIR: What could you have possibly done worse than that? GARAK: I let them go. It was the eve of the Cardassian withdrawal. Elim and I were interrogating five Bajorans. They were children, Doctor. None of them were older than fourteen years old. They knew nothing. They lived in bombed-out rooms, scrounged for food on the streets. They were filthy and they stank. The room was freezing cold, the air was like ice, and suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless. All I wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. So I let them go. I gave them whatever latinum I had in my pockets, and opened the door, and flung them back into the street. Elim couldn't believe his eyes. He looked at me as if I were insane.”

-> from this version of the story there’s a much clearer division between the elim garak (a young agent of the obsidian order baptized in fire) he was in his youth and the elim garak he is now (a disgraced former agent, exiled, alone save for one ambitious, self assured federation doctor). this, i think, seems to show the separation between what this character “elim” (young garak) wanted: which was uncompromising brutality and dedication to his work, and what present garak wants: peace, a full belly, the ability to be charitable (specifically to young, hungry bajorans)...

this story to me is one that best places this contemporary incarnation of garak relative to his bajoran counterparts on the station. in the beginning of this episode, when telling bashir why he initially chose to activate the implant, he speaks about how he, as the only cardassian living on ds9, is viewed by the bajorans living there. (“Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights always too bright. Every Bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt.”) In this story, by releasing the children and giving them the latinum he had, he’s trying to repent to Julian, asking to be forgiven for the part he played in the occupation of bajor by showing that he was/is (depending on how you view the timeline of the progression of his attitudes) sympathetic to them, and that he regrets the hand he had in bringing war, famine, and subjugation to them.

Story 3: “GARAK: Elim wasn't my aide. He was my friend. We grew up together. We were closer than brothers. For some reason, Enabran Tain took a liking to us. Before long, we were both powerful men in the Obsidian Order. They called us the Sons of Tain. Even the Guls feared us. And then there was a scandal. Someone in the Order was accused of letting some Bajoran prisoners escape. There were constant rumours of who was going to be implicated. Fingers were being pointed at me. By then Tain had retired to the Arawath Colony. He couldn't protect me, so I panicked. I did everything in my power to make sure that Elim was accused instead of me. I altered records, planted evidence, only to discover that he'd beaten me to it. BASHIR: He betrayed you first? GARAK: Elim destroyed me. Before I knew what was going on, I was sentenced to exile. And the irony is, I deserved it. Oh, not for the reasons they claimed, but because of what I had tried to do to Elim, my best friend.”

-> whenever I think back to this, my first impression remains that this is one of the stories where Bashir is considered. At this point, Garak’s been transferred from his room to the infirmary. Despite turning the implant off, toxins are continuing to accumulate in his lymphatic systems. He’s been sad (even woke bashir up with his weeping), he’s been angry (destroyed the vase and flipped the desk in his room, attacked bashir...), and now he’s calm, and tired. He thinks this is the end. He refuses to have the implant turned back on, which nurse jabara estimates might give him another week to live. This is the end of the line for him, and he’s accepting it with dignity and grace. He goes to release Bashir from his obligation to him “you’re done enough, Doctor. More than I deserve...” and goes to tell Bashir “the truth”. To me, this is his goodbye. Even if it isn’t a true story, this is the gift he’s giving Bashir. This is what he (spinner of wonderful lies, obfuscating agent of the despicable obsidian order) can give him as a parting gift--it is what he wants him to have.

in this story, Garak is not friendless, as he is on the station. He has a close relationship with someone (’see, then, doctor?’ he seems to ask playfully, life sputtering out of his eyes. ‘i am capable of it!’)... and yet, there is also betrayal. It reminds me of an assurance, in a way. “Bashir,” he seems to say, the entire weight of all the good doctor’s efforts to save him pressing down on his every word, “look what might have come to you had I allowed you to care for me. There is only danger for you to find in me.” In this, Elim stands in place of Bashir. A steadfast friend who Garak works against for the sake of self preservation. In this moment, Garak is pleading with the man standing above him next to the biobed. He is insisting Bashir be grateful for the shallowness of their relationship (something I Garak ensured deliberately), and telling him that, though he is grateful for him, that if they had been closer, Garak would only have caused him pain.

The heart of this story is Garak’s appraisal of his own self worth. Regardless of how much he’s changed since his time in the order, he persists in thinking he functions in the world to cause harm, much so that it is the only thing he’s able to do. Garak sees himself as the knife in the backs of others, or the hand raised, dagger in clutch.

the second thing i see is contained wholly within the line: “By then Tain had retired to the Arawath Colony. He couldn't protect me, so I panicked.” aside from assurances made to bashir, i think the purpose of this speech is to demonstrate (in the fashion of the lies being true) that garak wanted, and still wants safety. he wanted someone (Tain) to come to his defense then. while this extends to the implication that garak wanted tain, as his father, to stand up for him out of pride, or love, or even a perfunctory sense of parental commitment rather than exile him (a recurring desire illustrates/suggested in the show/books), i also think its perfectly suited to the care julian is exhibiting in tending to him in this episode. for all garak’s refusal to acknowledge his pain (a mere headache, as he claimed when they stood outside the replimat), for all his refusal to go to the infirmary when they meet at quark’s later, the care julian is constantly exhibiting through this episode is what garak is most endeared by. it is the thing he wanted most in his youth, and the thing now (because it was denied to him then) he finds so difficult to accept. there are many (many) instances throughout the show of garak and bashir talking about the extension of federation help/kindness, and this being something bashir embodies, btu this is one of the illustrations that sticks with me because of its particular placement. In the story, Garak wanted protection. He was alone, and afraid, and wanted help. As it now stands, he is not alone, he is calm, and has help. That is perhaps the most startling revelation for him of all.

and last but not least another... intriguing part of all garak’s stories is his repeated separation of himself and elim. the illusion of separation is one of the most intriguing (and heartbreaking) aspects of these story to me. garak has always struck me as the kind of character who sees grief and regret as an impetus for amputation. he believes what is unpleasant or unnecessary about him he can cut off and live through. he believes he can build up a wall between himself and what he doesn’t want to see or experience without repercussion (this being why he activated the implant in the first place). by making elim and himself two separate people he is not only distancing himself from whatever it was he really did, thus taking responsibility for it in part and allowing the other half of himself turn away in disgust and without sympathy, but suggesting that he cannot be culpable entirely for what it was he did. in each of his stories, the blame is to be shared, divided. the hardest part of all of this to swallow is that even after all this time, he’s begging for someone to spare him of the crushing loneliness of disgrace, begging for someone to understand fully what he’s done, accept him, and shoulder a part of his burden, much so that he creates an entirely new incarnation of himself just to sit with him in hell.

anyway ive also been fucking around on memory alpha and this was intriguing to me so im putting it here:

"When I was writing the story," stated Robert Hewitt Wolfe, "the movie Schindler's List had just come out and Ira was saying, 'Maybe he was Schindler; maybe he was the guy who let the prisoners go.' And then it was, 'Maybe he wasn't; maybe he was the Butcher of Budapest.' So we just kept telling all these lies, and I think the truth lies somewhere in there. Maybe he did let people go. Maybe he did shoot down the ship. Who knows?" (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion (p. 141))

#trek #elim garak #sorry for longposting but once again i am thinking about him (garak)#he's just such a fantastic character that i read SO MUCH into #its a shame they didnt do more w him really im upset he wasnt as cherished by fans when the show was in production as he obviously is now #also. reminds me why i have this url #he's deeply fascinating and i love him and hate him and sympathize with him and think hes unforgivable and i ....#ANYWAY i am not even going to talk about the . hand holding 'i forgive you... for whatever it is you did' thing because that opens a BREACH #this is one of the longest posts ive ever written on this god awful site #anyway it is from the heart #i love him so much and i love this episode.

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galpalaven · 4 years

Text

wip

finished one of my assignments earlier and decided to treat myself by working on some star trek fic uwu

This isn’t even the first time he’s had these hallucinations. In fact, this has happened so many times now it feels like it should be impossible for it to be humiliating anymore, and yet here he is, with that terrible knot in his throat yet again.

Pathetic.

He becomes aware of the world outside of his spiraling self-loathing again when he feels the mattress dip as Bashir sits beside him. It’s a familiar position, echoing back to the very first time they found themselves in this situation - with Garak breaking into pieces and Bashir left to put them back together.

The only difference is the delicate way Bashir reaches up and brushes Garak’s hair away from his face.

“You’re having hallucinations again,” comes Julian’s soft voice - and he is Julian right now, as his hand trails downward to make a sweeping pass over Garak’s shoulders.

It’s not a question.

“Your use of the word again implies that they ever stopped, my dear,” Garak mumbles after a moment. He can’t bring himself to look at Julian as he speaks. Kind, patient, loving Julian - Garak has no right to have his attentions the way he does. Especially when he interrupts his sleep so often with silly nightmares and childish fears.

What grown man is afraid of the dark, anyway? Whether he can feel the crushing weight of the darkness pressing down on him, suffocating him with every breath he takes - it shouldn’t be such a problem.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Julian asks, and his voice is still soft. Still sweet. Still Julian.

Garak’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“I didn’t want to bother you, of course,” he says flippantly, shrugging and trying to lean away from Bashir’s touch. “It wasn’t much of a problem and - well, a tailor’s work is quite lonely, you know. I didn’t mind having someone to talk to when things got slow.”

“Garak.”

“What do you want me to say, Doctor?” he snaps, finally turning to look Bashir in the face. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

Julian snorts. “Ahh, yes, but you don’t take care of yourself. In fact, you’ve adamantly refused to take care of yourself more than once before. I can’t think of a single reason to believe that you’ve suddenly started taking care of yourself - especially when you just almost strangled me when I walked in just a moment ago.”

Garak stares at the doctor for a long moment. It’s still dark, but Cardassians can see well in the dark. He can make out every tired line on Julian’s handsome face - from the worried line between his brows to the thinned line of his lips pressed together in disappointment.

For a brief moment, he entertains the thought of leaning over and sucking that full lower lip between his teeth.

no idea when this Garashir fic i’ve been working on for months now will be done, but when it is - hoo boy

#my writing #wip #i'm rewriting that episode where ezri tries to therapy garak and making it the Garashir plot it should have been #garashir #Star Trek #ds9

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party-gilmore · 4 years

Text

Curse From The Prophets Thought:

As much as I love a good complicated swirl of mysterious intrigue complicated by conflicting loyalty to your ideals versus your career versus bittersweet lingerings of a difficult friendship/relationship and what you are/aren't willing to do for the sake of either...

I really really want it to just be a fuckin "hey, btw, I miss you" message

Like, Julian is PANICKING. Fretting over this damn encrypted rod for weeks. Running the probabilities and implications of not just becoming a link in the chain of cross border smuggling but a link that has now dragged S31 into it by use of his command codes and directly involved the former castellan. He cant even plan for the worst case scenario because he keeps coming up with EVEN WORSE possibilities.

And that Garak approached the boy in the same way as he did... so many years ago in DS9's replimat... what does it all mean. What kind of message is Garak trying to send, directly calling Julian out like that. Making sure he knows that Garak knows that he knows that Garak is the one pulling the strings here. And what awful, incriminating information did he use that dear boy - for as much as Julian complains, he is protective of the lad - to bring into federation space? What sort of danger precisely had Giel been in this whole time? Would the discovery of whatever message he carried mean a life in prison? Or worse...

So he works on the rod, and forgets to eat, sometimes forgets to sleep, and keeps working. He knows Giel is worried. About him, moreso than the rod. To the boy, this is all just "exciting." A mystery. Intrigue. Fun.

Julian isn't very fond of this damned mirror Sisko's sat him down in front of.

And then one night, far too late to be reasonable, the last piece of code clicks, and the bottom of Julian's stomach drops out as Garak's smiling face fills the screen - eerie in its joviality against the backdrop of intergalactic war and dark espionage. Julian's heart is pounding in his ears as he finally lays eyes on the smuggle message, the undoubtedly sensitive information, the mere possession of which could put both him and Giel in very deep trouble for a very long time, S31 clearance notwithstanding... even perhaps, making this whole incident even more damaging-

"Ah, do forgive the roundabout methodology, my dear doctor. It's just that one can't be too careful nowadays. What with the... current complications between our two civilizations.

And when I heard young Giel was headed your way, I thought to myself, 'now Garak, you surely know better than to let such an opportunity slip away, hmn?' Oh, I wish you could have seen our meeting, doctor. No doubt, you would have found it quite nostalgic. Although, it was hardly the first time as of late that I've found myself falling into old patterns... only to find the design incomplete.

All that just to say... I rather miss you, my old friend.

Computer, end message, standard encryption Garak Alpha 3 Ion."

...-that motherfucker.

#52 levels of encryption #52 FUCKING LEVELS #IN FOUR LANGUAGES.#GARAK YOU COULD HAVE JUST WRITTEN A LETTER #garashir

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a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 4 years

Note

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.” He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

#Julian Bashir #Elim Garak #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #fanfic #writing

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obviouslyelementary · 4 years

Text

Talent Show - DS9 fanfic

Ships: Jake/Nog; Kira/Jadzia; Julian/Garak; Quark/Odo

Tags: Romance, first kisses, confessions over music, teen love, adults being there to have fun.

Word count: 4k+

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

Nights like these were rather on DS9. Clam, gentle, uneventful nights, where they could arrange some sort of gathering for the people who were interested. The idea came from Keiko, as she allowed the children to express themselves in a variety of ways, including acting, dancing and singing, which lead to the event they were having. All parents and friends and all the station's personal had been invited for the presentation the kids had organized, some of them doing bajoran traditional dances, and others reading poems and reciting stories.

The parents were excited, and due to a little blackmailing, Sisko was able to get Quark's bar to be the gathering point. They made a stage and organized the chairs so that everyone would fit, and despite Quark's first hesitation, he realized he could make at least a bit of profit by giving off food and soft drinks for the guests.

In the end, they were all gathered up for the event to begin, and Benjamin couldn't help but lean closer to Jake as Keiko called the first group of children to the stage.

"I hope you have prepared something good" he said, and Jake looked at him, giving his father a nervous smile.

"Me too. I'm sure you will like it" he said, making Ben confused and even more curious.

"Are you really not going to tell me what it is? And to whom? Because clearly it isn't for me" he teased, nudging Jake, but the boy seemed to get even more uncomfortable, letting out a weak chuckle and sipping on his drink. "Alright I wont bug you with it. But I bet she will like it."

Jake looked at him, even more unsure, and nodded weakly while looking down at his glass. The bajoran music began, and Benjamin lifted his glance to look at the stage, where three little bajoran girls were beginning to dance. It was quite adorable, but his mind didn't leave him alone. He was always curious about what Jake would do.

"Can you believe Keiko came for me to help?" Kira asked, chuckling as she shook her head, sipping on her juice and leaning against Jadzia, who was sitting just behind her. "As if I knew any traditional bajoran dancing."

"I mean, I would have asked you too" Julian said from the other side of the table, smiling over his big lizard boyfriend's shoulder from where, very much like Kira, Garak rested against the doctor's chest.

"Are you two going to appreciate this moment?" Garak asked, his soft voice always against his cardassian nature, making Kira giving him a glance while Jadzia squeezed her girlfriend tighter and kissed her cheek.

"He's right" she sang into her ear, kissing it and making Kira immediately lean back against her. "The girls are doing a marvelous job."

"Yeah... they are cute" Kira admitted, holding Jadzia's hand over her own stomach and watching as the girls danced and jumped around the stage, following the song's rhythm. They seemed to have practiced quite a lot. "I remember some girls at my camp that danced like that. There weren’t many of them, but their mothers insisted on keeping the culture alive. It was quite... enchanting."

"Any sort of hope is enchanting" Julian added, laying his head on Garak's almost protectively, while Garak kept his attention on the stage, humming along with the song. Kira didn't seem to mind his company anymore, drawing patterns on Jadzia's hand, smiling whenever one of the girls pulled off a tricky move. They were very good, and she was glad a Cardassian could enjoy a little bit of Bajoran culture without feeling offended.

But then again, Garak wasn't any cardassian. She knew it by the way he treated Julian, most of all. And she wasn't a simple bajoran either.

It was no time to think about that, however.

Once the girls were finished, the crowd clapped and were given a few seconds to ask for food and drinks while the next group got together on stage. Quark groaned as once again Rom came back with a full platter, flicking his ear.

"You are a disgrace Rom! I said table six not sixteen! Take it to them before it grows cold!" he complained, shaking his head and fixing some more drinks for the costumers, in a rush. During presentations he did nothing but watch, and during breaks he would have to run so all costumers were satisfied. He didn't like that one bit.

"Looking quite busy, Quark" he heard someone say, and oh boy his night couldn't get better. He turned around to face Odo, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he poured another drink without looking at it before his waiter took it away.

"If you wouldn't mind helping, I could very much use your assistance" he said, getting another meal from the replicator and putting it on a tray. "If not, I would rather have you leaving me alone. After all with all this work, you can't possibly suspect of any scheme!"

"I'm suspecting of schemes ever since you accepted this... event to happen at your bar, Quark" he said, leaning over the bar and squinting his eyes at the bartender. "If I find you are doing anything to ruin this presentation..."

"Odo, why would I? These are every day clients that will be here more often if I offer them good service, specially around their children" Quark said, honestly already exhausted, and it had only been the first set of children. For all he knew, there were still ten performances left, and then it would be open to the public. This night would never end. "Please, Odo? Leave me alone?"

That sounded quite defeated, but he didn't have time to care about his dignity at the moment.

He turned around to serve another waiter with a set of drinks and food, but when he turned to reach for the replicator, the food was gone. Another look, and a freakishly long arm was placing it on the tray, together with other six tentacle-things serving the drinks accordingly to the requests. When Quark looked over, Odo's face couldn't be read, and yet, he felt extremely thankful.

"Next performance will be of our dear student Tarsk, who will be reading her poem" Keiko said, and Quark sighed, shaking his head and knowing he would have another short break. He walked closer to where Odo was sitting, and leaned over the bar, looking at the stage.

"I don't think Nog will be doing anything. At least I hope not" he whispered as the little kid got ready. Odo humphred at him, and Quark raised his cartilage. "Why are you so moody?"

"I was expecting so spend some... quality time with you. I did not know you would be controlling the food and drinks" he said, quite hesitant and also quietly, but Quark heard it and he felt the happiness of being wanted tingling in his ears.

"Oh really? You know, we have the time during the performances" Quark said, and Odo turned to face him, his face unreadable. "I'm free now."

Odo shook his head and let out a huff through his nose before leaning closer to Quark and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Once he pulled away, his attention returned to the stage, but Quark was already too happy to care.

That would be a good night.

As the little girl read her poem, quite long for a simple child's mind, Garak leaned further against Julian, and the doctor nodded something akin to fatigue getting over his wonderful partner. He knew Garak had been tired the last few days, although he wasn’t sure why, and he knew he wouldn't get it from him either, but holding him closer and kissing his scaly neck seemed to make the cardassian a little more comfortable.

"Sometimes I... forget... the beauty of the Bajoran culture" he whispered, to no one really, and surely too quiet for their table sharers to listen, but Julian heard and leaned closer to him, nuzzling gently behind his pointy ear.

"They can be quite mesmerizing, can't they? The children?" he asked, intertwining their fingers together, while Garak let out one of his gentle chuckles, nodding to himself and to the doctor.

"Indeed... they hold the same spirituality that allowed their parents and grandparents to survive" he whispered, and sighed softly, squeezing Julian's hands. "In moments like this I wonder the true destruction Cardassia brought to these people."

"You never talk about the invasion like this" Julian noted, perhaps finding one more layer of Garak he didn’t know, one of those he kept buried inside many lies and secrets. But the cardassian just chuckled and closed his eyes, paying attention to the poem again, and Julian knew he had lost him.

Sometimes he just spoke too much.

But luckily, Garak didn't seem to mind.

"Did you see Rom or Nog at all?" Jadzia asked after the little girl finished her poem, a new round of drinks and foods being served to the guests. Kira turned to face her, a small frown showing in her pretty nose's cartilages.

"I think Rom is being useless to Quark as he always is... and I don't know about Nog. Why?" she asked, taking a sip from her drink and offering it to Jadzia, who easily accepted.

"Nothing. Just curious" she said, and Kira rolled her eyes while laying her head on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Only you to care about the ferengis while having a nice little talent show" she whispered, and hummed happily. Jadzia knew the alcohol (which was not supposed to be served and yet, here they were) was beginning to affect Kira, letting her softer and sweeter, and maybe a bit clingier, but she didn’t mind, only bringing her bajoran major closer and kissing her head.

"I care about all the performances, but there is one in particular I would not like to miss" she said, and Kira looked at her curiously, barely opening her eye.

"Is the baby troll going to show off some hidden skills?" she teased, smiling, and Jadzia chuckled softly.

"Don't talk like that about Nog, he is a child still" she said, kissing her head and then her lips when Kira pouted. "No, I don't think Nog will be presenting anything. But it is important that he is here, so he sees Jake's."

"Jake's? Oh, what is that going to be?" Kira asked, suddenly interested, smiling at Jadzia. "Is it like a prank? A loooooove declaration?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Jake is nervous and he wants Nog to see it" she smiled, and kissed Kira again to make her forget the subject.

After all, she didn't want to ruin it for Jake.

"Thank you so much, thank you! Now, our next performer will be Jake Sisko! Get your food and drinks and get ready!" Keiko announced, before nodding for Jake to hop up on the stage. Jake sighed and looked at his dad, unsure, before rushing up with her and taking the old fashioned microphone. "Hey Jake! Ready?"

"I-I guess" he mumbled nervously, looking at her. "Did,.. did Nog show up? Is he going to do anything?"

"He didn't come to check on me, no, but I believe he must be around. His family is" she said, and smiled at him, tapping his shoulder. "Don't worry. I don't think he would lose seeing you perform."

"Thank you, miss O'Brien" he whispered, sighing and getting on stage, before scanning the room as the ferengi served the guests. He could see his father sitting alone a few feet away from the stage. A few tables behind, he saw Jadzia, Kira, Julian and Garak sharing a table, the two couples clearly quite content with their arms around each other. He felt his cheeks warming up as he looked away, only to see Odo serving drinks with four tentacle-like arms while kissing Quark on the side. He couldn't help but frown, that was gross.

He kept looking around, trying to find Nog in the middle of the tables or maybe serving, but he just couldn't find him. Of course, the crowd didn't make it any easier, but he was growing nervous and he hoped Nog would be there to hear him.

Nog came rushing downstairs as quickly as he could when he heard Jake's name. he made his way through the crowd towards the bar, panting as he reached his uncle, unable to stop his disgust from showing when he saw him and Odo in a somewhat weird make out section. Still, didn't weird him out enough to stop him.

"Uncle! Uncle Quark!" he called, and they pulled away, Odo turning to face him while Quark looked annoyedly at him.

"What?!" he growled, and Nog winced. Odo did not seem to appreciate Quark's reaction. "Shouldn't you be counting the gold upstairs?!"

"I know uncle I know, but you said I could hear Jake!" he said, biting his lip. He had promised him he wouldn't miss it. "I know I did wrong by stealing your liquor, but-but... I learned my lesson! I won't do it again!"

"Quaark" Odo growled and Quark shook his head angrily.

"You are putting me in a bad spot boy!" he complained and Nog pouted. "I should not allow you to listen to the Sisko boy!"

"You promised!" he whined, looking over at the stage. Jake was getting ready. "Please?"

"Yes" Odo answered for Quark, and made a face when the bartender tried to intervene. "Go and find somewhere to seat. You are free for the rest of the evening."

Nog grinned widely and didn't even wait to hear his uncle's complaints, rushing into the crowd and sitting down on a vacant seat with a bajoran group, looking up at the stage as Jake tapped on the weird thing he had on his hand and cleaned his throat.

"H-hi" he started, and Nog grinned to himself. "My name is Jake Sisko, I believe you all... know me" he continued, clearly nervous. "For today's performance I prepared a song... one that is very old, from earth. The 19 hundreds. It is dedicated to my best friend... if you're there, t-this song is for you."

Nog's eyes widened and he looked forward at the stage with even more attention, his ears twitching with excitement. Jake cleaned his throat again and the music started, slow and somewhat dancing, and Jake swayed from one side to the other as he breathed, getting the timing.

"Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow... andante andante, just let the feeling grow.

"Make your fingers soft and light, let your body be the velvet of the night... touch my soul, you know how. Andante andante, go slowly with me now..."

The song was melodic, hypnotic, and Nog couldn't let his eyes drift away from Jake at any second. He wasn't the best singer he had ever heard, in fact Ferengi had quite the ears for music, but the lyrics and the soft, gentle way he sung made Nog's heart skip a beat. And everyone in the bar seemed frozen, watching amazed by Jake's feelings.

"I'm your music, I'm your song! Play me time and time again, and make me strong. Make me sing, make me sound... andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down.

"Make me sing, make me sound. Andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down... andante andante... oh please, don' let me... down..."

The song came to a slow, sweet end, and Jake put the microphone down, looking around at the crowd as it burst into cheers. His father stood up and clapped hard, whistling suddenly, and he could see all his friends in the crowd, waving and whistling and cheering even while Keiko came over to get his microphone back.

"That was incredible Jake! Beautiful!" she whispered, smiling at him, and he smiled back at her nervously before handing her the microphone. He rushed down the stairs and looked around before sitting next to his dad, still confused and looking for Nog.

"Jake that was beautiful" Ben said, holding his son's hand, and he looked at him with a small smile.

"Thanks dad, I... I practiced a lot" he said, but his attention was on his surroundings. "You didn't see-"

"I believe, if I may" he heard Garak from behind them, and turned to face the cardassian, who was giving Jake a smile "that I saw your little friend coming downstairs right before you sang. Maybe you should speak to his uncle, to see where he is" he winked, and Jake felt himself warm up again but smiled.

"Yeah, thanks Garak. Dad I'll be right back" he said, pulling away and rushing off into the crowd. Ben watched him leave, knowing very well he would not be coming back any time soon.

"Being young and in love. It's the sweetest thing, even though he is in love with a baby troll" Kira said, smiling to herself, and Ben shook his head while Jadzia and Julian grinned to one another.

"Major, be nicer to your youngsters" Garak said, and she groaned at him while their partners pulled them closer to avoid any fights. Ben just chuckled and shook his head, looking back at the stage.

After having a quite short talk with Quark (who seemed more concerned in sucking the life out of Odo's face than actually helping Jake at all), he was able to get some information about Nog's whereabouts. He looked through the back crowd, with no luck, and it wasn't until he looked up that he saw Nog on the second floor, looking down, waving his legs around.

Jake rushed to the stairs and made his way up as quickly as he could, sitting down next to Nog and looking at him expectantly.

Nog, however, seemed quite calm.

"Hey" Jake said, and Nog looked at him. "Did you see my performance? Did you like it?"

"I saw it, but I don't understand human music a lot. Specially old music" Nog said, smiling at Jake. "Also, good call calling her your 'best friend'. I bet she enjoyed it."

"Her? Her who?" Jake asked, confused, and Nog chuckled with a nudge on his arm.

"The girl you sang for! Come on Jake I don't understand human music but I know how to listen to lyrics! It's about love, and it's clear it was for some girl you like! Now, who is she? Maybe I can get you on a date!"

"Nog, there's no girl."

"What do you mean there's no girl? You said it, the song was for your best friend and the song is about love or touching or whatever you humans liked to do in your 19 hundreds!" he said, lifting his hands and hitting them on the rails again. Jake sighed.

"Yeah, it is a love song and it was a love confession. But there's no girl."

"Then... a boy?" Nog asked, eyes widening. "You have a best male friend that isn't me?! How come I never heard of him? Also your taste in partners is quite... unappealing-"

"I don't have any other best friend! Not boy or girl or non binary!" Jake exclaimed, loudly, and stood up angry and humiliated. Oh, that hurt. "The song was a love confession to my best friend. You. But clearly you don't care."

Jake made his way down the second floor as quickly as he could, feeling the tears rise up in his eyes. Clearly that had been an awful idea, and he would never be anything but a hooman friend to Nog. He ran as quickly as his legs allowed him to go, he knew he shouldn't cry like this, but he felt like it because his chest was hurting and he had never felt anything like this before.

It was frustrating.

It took Nog almost an hour to find Jake again. After the human had not only yelled at him, but also confessed, he felt like an idiot and wanted to talk to him further. Of course he would have never suspected Jake would be singing to him, no one had ever liked him before! No one had ever expressed any type of romantic love towards him at all, and rarely he got any platonic or fraternal love either by how crude and rude the ferengis were, so he didn't quite understand what Jake meant until he spelled it out.

And even worst, he would never expect his feelings to be reciprocated. To him, Jake was far beyond his reach since day one. Somehow he got lucky Jake decided to be his friend, and now, he seemed to want more even though Nog would have never expected anything like that from him. Nog was, well, crude and rude as any ferengi, but he was also stupid, he didn't know math or how to read, he didn't understand biology or history, he didn't have the lobes for business... he never believed or even hoped Jake would ever like him!

But now that he knew he did, he was afraid his stupidity would once again ruin whatever they had.

However, he did learn some things with his ferengi relatives, and he also knew Jake wasn't all that smart either. Well, he was, but not when it came to every day stuff. So, he hid in the most obvious place he could: in the observation tower, where they liked spending evenings watching the stars. Nog approached the room silently, looking around and finding Jake like a shadow in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the stars. He approached, his ears capturing the sound of soft sniffles, and felt even worst for making Jake cry.

If he couldn’t fix it, he would never forgive himself.

Knowing a surprise would not be appropriate, he gently pushed a box nearby to make a sound, and Jake jumped and turned around, wiping his tears to look at him.

"W-who is... Nog?" he asked, his voice softening at his name, and Nog nodded slowly. Jake then turned back around, wiping his eyes. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Jake I-"

"You don't have to say it. I get it. I understood the moment I told you that you didn't like me the same way. It's obvious now, why would you like anyone like me? I'm a male, I'm a human, I don't care about profit or whatever else you Ferengis care about..."

"Jake, that is not-"

"You don't have to make me feel worst Nog! I already feel well ashamed and upset!" he said, and even though Nog sat down next to him, he didn’t move. "I just... hope I didn't ruin our friendship."

"You didn't" Nog assured, tapping his shoulder, and Jake looked at him with tears glistening in his dark eyes. "Jake, I... I didn't mean to make you feel upset, or-or ashamed! I just... never expected-"

"Me to like you... yeah, I know" he whispered and wiped his tears. "I never expected you to like me back. I guess one of us was right."

"Jake, no-"

"I don't wanna hear it, I'm fine with this rejection as it is" Jake said, sighing and looking up at the stars. Nog frowned, frustrated that Jake wouldn't listen to him.

"Jake I-"

"No Nog."

"But-"

"Nog I don't want to listen!"

"J-"

"Nog!"

That was it. Nog held Jake's face and turned his head around to face him, and Jake looked at him surprised, but it was a look that soon disappeared when Nog leaned in and pressed their lips together. He closed his eyes tightly and just waited for a response, since he was aware he was not good at kissing, but eventually the shock wore out and Jake responded, moving his lips ever so slightly and tilting his head. His hands came to rest on Nog's shoulders while Nog's remained on his cheeks, until they both pulled away and looked at each other, surprised and also radiant.

"You should have let me finish" Nog said, and Jake smiled brightly at him.

"And miss that? Not at all" he giggled, and Nog giggled right back before they met up again, kissing once more now that they knew how each other felt.

And they remained the rest of the event (and even longer after that) in the observation toward, kissing and giggling and getting acquainted with this new relationship that had blossomed.

By the end of the talent show, Ben had joined his two favorite couples for a round of food and drinks, on the house. The parents and children had already left, and Quark brought up something for them to chew on, sitting with Odo and the rest of the officers. Kira was basically asleep on Jadzia's chest, while the others talked and drank in the quiet of the night.

It was Odo who brought the subject up.

"Your son, commander. I have not seen him since his performance" he said, making Ben share a knowing look with Jadzia. Before he could answer, Garak interrupted.

"I'm sure he is well taken for, Odo. He was looking for Nog when he left" he said, and Odo nodded.

"Yes I know. That is what worries me" he explained, receiving a flick on the arm from Quark.

"Don't be like that! My nephew is one of the few good ferengis I know, and I'm not counting myself" he said, and shook his head while Julian chuckled.

"Hopefully the two of them are... discussing some issues that need to be resolved" he said, winking to Dax who smiled and nodded.

"Hopefully."

"Could we join you?" they heard Miles saying, and pulled their chairs around to fit another two while Kira complained and found a way of climbing on Jadzia's lap, falling asleep tangled on her girlfriend. No one seemed to mind, and Keiko and Miles joined the group after closing off all the necessary equipment for the event.

They spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing and enjoying each other's company without thinking much about the problems that could come ahead. After all, it was rare to have such a calm night to enjoy.

And sure, they didn’t see Nog or Jake until the next morning, but Keiko knew the night had been productive when she saw the two boys walking into her classroom with their hands tangled together.

She decided then she should make those events more often.

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miss-spooky-eyes · 3 years

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OC Inspirations: Devinahl & Indy

I was (delightfully) tagged by @vespertine-legacy a while ago and I’ve hesitated to do this because I knew I was going to talk WAY too much - but it was weighing on me, so I decided to open up about the sources from which I stole, that is, drew inspiration for Devinahl and Indirae.

What three fictional characters is your OC a combination of?

This doesn’t apply to every OC - not even mine - but its certainly true for a few : Many of our characters are, to an extent, inspired by characters we see in movies, books, games, TV shows, etc.

Does this apply to any of your OCs? Was it a conscious decision on your part or not? Is your OC a combination of three (or more) fictional characters?

If so - post some GIFs / pics and tell us about them! What does your OC draw from other characters?

Too much Devinahl & Indy chat after the cut.

DEVINAHL

The truth is that when I came to creating my Imperial Agent Devinahl, and in particular fleshing out her backstory in far, far too much detail, there were some sources that I went to extremely explicitly and deliberately. And chief among them was ...

1. Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

That’s right. Garak from Deep Space Nine. Plain, simple Garak. Outcast. Exile. Spy. Addict. Perennial liar. Patriot. Terrorist. Would-be genocider. Very good tailor.

(If you haven’t seen DS9, then you need to. It’s like Star Trek, but if it was actually good? And Garak is a big part of what elevates it.)

Is it weird to compare my ancient video game Barbie/gorgeous sex bomb badass assassin and seductress to a cold-blooded space lizard who spends his days hemming pants? Possibly. But there are aspects of Garak’s character that, consciously and unconsciously, I made parts of Devinahl’s DNA.

Firstly, Garak is a patriot. He loves Cardassia so much that despite seeing its flaws with absolute clarity, despite having been exiled and reviled by it, he would die without question to serve it (of course, he’d much rather make someone else die). And while seeing that as a weakness, despite knowing that the Cardassia he has committed to serving is disappearing before his eyes, there is still a part of him that believes that that commitment - that neverending sacrifice - is noble. The only noble part of him. That’s central to Devinahl’s character (which is, in turn, the way I made sense of the IA storyline). That while hating and despising the Sith, she would nevertheless believe in the Empire - not so much believe that it is good (at best, I think she sees it as order and stability where the Republic is corruption and chaos) as believe that her commitment to it is the only redeeming thing available to her.

Secondly, the way that Garak will take his needs, vulnerabilities, sincere emotions and package them in ways which gets him what he has to have to keep going, without ever giving up full control? Particularly in the extraordinary episode The Wire, in which a dying Garak tells Dr Bashir a series of lies about himself in order to elicit Bashir’s forgiveness, because he needs to be sincerely forgiven but without ever telling the truth?

Out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren’t? My dear doctor, they’re all true. Even the lies?

That is everything I tried to do with Dev, particularly in my fic about her and SCORPIO, particularly when it comes to her and Arcann. To know what she needs, as Garak needs absolution from Bashir, and tell just enough truth - put herself into just vulnerable enough a position - to get it, but never without reserving something, holding something back, whether it’s the knowledge that she can maneouvre herself out of SCORPIO’s clutches at any time or her real name? That’s a fucking survivor.

Thirdly, the relationship between Devinahl and Sifter (the spymaster who finds her as a traumatised child and grooms her for Intelligence) and specifically, the deathbed scene I wrote in Riddle was directly inspired by Garak’s relationship with Enabran Tain and that death scene.

Yes, Devinahl was not Sifter’s actual daughter, but in every real sense she was formed by Sifter - and had Sifter had just one day with Dev like Tain had with Garak, Dev would have been lost. She would have turned herself into a carbon copy of Sifter, and she would have died. But the bittersweetness? The acknowledgement that the parental figure you love will never, not even now that they’re dying, love you as you want them to?

‘I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can't afford.’ ‘So you've told me. Many times. ...’ ‘Elim, remember that day…in the country. You must've been almost five.’ ‘How can I forget it? It was the only day.’

(The love and infinite sadness with which Andrew Robinson says that line, ‘It was the only day’? I’m crying just thinking about it. Anyway, it was everything I was thinking about and wanted to achieve in that scene.)

Oh ... and Devinahl’s ambiguous relationship with her implants? Well, Garak also has an implant in his head. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

2. Oryx from Oryx & Crake by Margaret Atwood

A novel character rather than from TV or movies, I hope that’s OK. And I know that there are ... very problematic elements to the way Atwood writes about Oryx, her family, her culture, her background. But she was one of the strongest elements that went into creating Devinahl and her backstory.

There were specific aspects of the story Oryx tells to Jimmie - particularly the parts about being told to scream and make a fuss if a man tries to take you away to a hotel room, and then being told not to make a fuss when a man tries to take you away to a hotel room - that became part of Dev’s story. But there was also a general attitude and way of looking at life I wanted to capture and incorporate. Oryx’s philosophy of value?

Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was good to have a money value, because then at least those who wanted to make a profit from you would make sure you were fed enough and not damaged too much. Also there were many who had neither love nor a money value, and having one of these things was better than having nothing.

I wanted to create a character who could look at life and suffering and abuse, even her own, and view it in that dispassionate way which horrifies someone from my middle-class Western background - and then I wanted to test that idea, to bring it up against SCORPIO and have SCORPIO try to break it down with torture, to see if it was just a cool facade/necessary illusion. I wimped out of really testing that belief, instead having Dev always know that she could get out of her situation/having her find a way to be loved without truly having to sacrifice her protective patterns ... but if I was a little braver and better, I’d have tested it to breaking point. How far can a character go who thinks like that while still remaining, on some level, compassionate/human/likeable?

3. Saffron (Firefly)

I could have gone Black Widow (definitely the inspiration for Dev’s aesthetic in terms of outfit etc). But the plain truth is that I thought more about Saffron while dreaming up Devinahl/writing her backstory than I did about Black Widow (yes, Widow turned her weakness into strength in a manipulative fashion all the time, but Garak did it better, and other than that she mainly looked after boys in a way that I did not want Dev to be limited to).

Firefly, for a show that had - what - 13 episodes? - exercises far too much of a hold on my imagination and Saffron, especially in the first episode in which she appeared, was such a tremendous character. The way that she found exactly the triggers to turn each member of the crew inside out? (And if she’d had more time, it absolutely would have worked on Wash and Inara, too - it only didn’t because she had to hurry.) Dev has that. I can’t write it, because I suck, but she has it.

Oh, and nobody will ever know Devinahl’s real name (apart from you, if you read my fic about her backstory) and she’d die before letting you know it. That’s straight from Saffron. As is, I suppose, the man who would accept her just as she is without needing to push to know her secrets, except it worked out a little better for Dev and Arcann than it did for Yolanda and Durran Haymer because Dev and Arcann will always have pegging.

INDIRAE

(This will be a lot shorter than the section on Devinahl, I promise.)

1. Steve Rogers, Captain America (and whatever else)

I have never been super into the MCU, but the key reference I used to find a way into Indy’s character, back when she was nothing more than a cool-looking Cathar Bounty Hunter, was Steve Rogers. (November can attest to this)

Indy’s physical size - she’s six foot if she’s an inch, and big - is key to her personality, but equally key is the idea that she would always experience that size as uncomfortable and slightly alien to her. Like Steve Rogers, she started out as the scrawny kid always getting beat up by everybody ... And when she got her strength (with a hefty assist from the toxic waste run-off into what was her family’s only source of water) and suddenly got TALL and STRONG? She did not like bullies - which was what led her to help Coda out of a jam at the spacesport and started them on their road.

(If there’s a better way to play the BH storyline than as a stone-cold mercenary with an utterly unwilling heart of gold ... then I don’t know about it.)

2. Xena, Xena Warrior Princess

I’ll be completely fucking straight with anybody about this (so to speak): I love Xena, I had an obsession with it as a teenager I’m still unpacking, and the show tends to feed into my characters in an ... odd way.

Indy is physically imposing like Xena, is the main thing; and her dynamic with Coda owes a lot to Xena’s with Gabrielle (although Coda is as big and tough as Indy, she is the fast talker/smooth operator to Indy’s laconic strongman). I wanted Indy to dominate action scenes the way that Xena does, be that kind of a force of nature; and watch her struggle to find ways to channel that charisma, to need Coda’s help to understand how to do it.

3. Dottie Henson, A League of Their Own

OK, first of all, I do not want to hear any kind of mockery. This is, unironically, one of my favourite films of all time.

Again, we come back to the core theme of a character struggling with her own greatness/potential. That’s what is the most fascinating through-line of A League of Their Own: Dottie, this unbelievable baseball player/physical presence (yes, she’s very tall, just like Indy) who is so terrified to admit that she wants anything more than her smalltown life and dreadful husband, even while the evidence of her talent and passion for the game is burning up these ... fields? Diamonds? I don’t know baseball apart from this film.

Indy certainly hides behind not wanting to be a bounty hunter. She doesn’t believe in any Mandalorian nonsense about romanticising what is an unglamorous job. She’s just doing it for credits and afterwards, once she’s secured her family’s future, she’s totally going to go home and settle down in some acceptable, domestic way. Being on the Mantis with Coda, it’s absolutely just a means to an end. She doesn’t want to be there, she doesn’t care about it, it’s not who she is, she doesn’t need it. This life, the adventure, the freedom, the fighting for survival, it’s certainly not what gets inside her and what lights her up, no, not at all.

Oh, and Dottie is also a reluctant leader. She doesn’t see why her talent should put her in the position of telling other people what to do - but then, on the other hand, she sees so clearly what they need to be doing, and when she says to do it, they listen. She doesn’t want to carry this team, but they’re only a team so long as she carries them.

(Don’t worry, Coda’s not going to let her lie to herself for too long.)

#swtor #excessively long answers to memes #oc: devinahl #oc: indirae

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gaslightgallows · 4 years

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First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl!

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron)

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.

#gaslight blogs about fic #first line meme #good omens #mcu #space vikings #star trek deep space nine #crimson peak #the goblin emperor #tron

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littlewalken · 4 years

Text

Good Omens vs DS9 starter

Or Husbands meet the OTP...

STAR TREK:DEEP SPACE NINE vs GOOD OMENS

It was a lovely day after the day after the Apocalypse That Wasn’t. The kind that had started off crisp and clear where curling up with a good book and hot tea was how the angel Aziraphale had spent his.

The demon Crowley however had spent his morning causing a massive traffic jam do to a truck full of jam having spilled across the motorway when the driver had swerved to avoid running over a family of ducks.

But all was not lost as Crowley had managed to save one jar of jam and was presently bringing it to Aziraphale who would no doubt find delight in everything about the jar of jam until he discovered exactly where it came from but could do nothing more than give a disapproving look as there was no real way one could stop a demon from being what it was.

“I can’t wait for the snow,” Aziraphale decided to start the latest conversation. “I want just enough to stick and make everything sparkling.”

“Black ice, thin ice, ice falling on to things,” Crowley smiled.

Suddenly the peace was broken not by the sound of a customer but a strange sort of swirling accompanied by a glow. Even though the apocalypse had been averted there were still the occasional odds and ends to tidy up. After all, the Antichrist was still just a little boy.

Rising with a grin on his face Aziraphale headed towards the source of the glow, which happened to be location of the portal from Heaven, and prepared himself to kindly direct some stray angels in their real direction.

“Oh, dear.”

“That will never do.”

Crowley had come too.

Before them were an unlikely pair of some sort of angel and demon, it was assumed. One was tall and thin but a bit awkward in his body. He wore a black jumpsuit with grey shoulders and a tealish-bluish shirt with a polo collar (turtleneck to some) underneath. The other was of average height, trim but average thickness, and looked like a combination of a Crystal Palace Park Iguanodon and an upholstery student’s first year mid term.

“Hallo,” spoke the first. “I am Dr Julian Bashir of Starfleet, currently stationed at Deep Space Nine. My friend is Mr Garak.”

“A British doctor from space, where do you suppose he’s parked his phone box?” Crowley asked quietly.

“Pardon?” Asked the doctor.

“Is this your first time on earth or in a corporeal form?” Aziraphael asked. There was a bit of an awkward silence. “Yours is quite good, doctor, you certainly pass for human, but your friend Mr Garak here will need a bit of work.”

“Mr Garak is a Cardassian,” Dr Bashir pointed out.

“Can’t be, he’s too likable,” Crowley commented. “Oh, you said Car-da-see-an.”

The Cardassian had spent the entire time smiling pleasantly except when he momentarily puzzled over then decided he like Crowley’s comment about being likable. “Thank you, I hope to find you likable too.”

#good omens #gashir

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edosianorchids901 · 5 years

Text

Passions That Collide in Me

Fic request from my dear @aprindea. NSFW, dialogue prompt “Don’t move.” Hope you enjoy!!

Read on AO3

Garak slipped from the secret passage into the most ghastly room he’d ever seen. Shimmering coral drapes cascaded over windows. Preposterous fluffy tassels adorned the burnt orange bedspread. And, perhaps worst of all, gold accents glittered on practically everything.

The abominable décor provided a sharp contrast with the man lounging within. Julian reclined on the bed, martini in hand, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his left collarbone.

“Ah, my dear Mr. Garak,” he said, sitting up. “You escaped the Russians after all.”

“Barely, my dear Agent Bashir. On the run from my own people again!” These maudlin fantasies occasionally mirrored real life too much for his taste, but Julian enjoyed them. And being hunted by “his own people” aside, these programs provided a welcome escape from work.

Julian set his drink aside and stood. His open shirt shifted a touch more to the side. “How did they know you were working with me?”

“I doubt it was truly a surprise to them. After all, spies are everywhere. We likely have several watching each of us.” At least, that was how it was on Cardassia. These programs rarely wandered close to reality, but it was a reasonable enough answer to keep up the game. “What do you suppose your superiors think about us?”

The doctor—or agent, in this case—undid another button as he approached. A sly smile played on his lips, and he brushed his hand against Garak’s jaw. “If they are watching, perhaps we should give them a bit of a show.”

“Oh?”

Julian prowled behind him. “Don’t move,” he murmured against Garak’s ear.

Hot breath tickled Garak’s neck ridges, and light kisses pressed to the sensitive tissue. Gentle nips followed, first down one side and then the other.

Ridiculous program or not, this was certainly a good use of an afternoon. Far better than arguing with customers about hem length or poor color choices. Garak closed his eyes and leaned back into the contact with a hum.

“I told you not to move.” Julian nipped harder at Garak’s neck ridge, then soothed the area with a kiss.

“Why? Are there explosive pressure plates hidden in the floor?” Not unlikely in this sort of program, as a matter of fact. “Or am I simply in the only spot invulnerable to sniper fire?”

“You talk too much.”

“I merely—” A kiss silenced his rebuttal. This time he remained still, as much as he wanted to cup Julian’s face.

A slight tug at his throat, and his bowtie slid free. Next came his jacket. Cool air touched his chest, his stomach.

Julian undid the last few buttons and stroked Garak’s side scales. “No explosives or sniper fire. In case you were still wondering.”

“How kind.”

“As far as I know, this room is completely safe.”

Garak snorted. Safe was such a relative term. “Yes, as evidenced by the secret passageway leading to the Russian embassy.”

“Well, aside from that.”

“If I can find it, so can they.”

“Still talking too much.” Julian knelt and nuzzled against Garak’s groin. “I’ll have to find some way to distract you.”

“You’re well on your way to distracting me, my dear.” Garak swallowed hard, his throat dry.

What a tease his doctor could be! Julian still hadn’t removed Garak’s pants, instead running light strokes over the fabric. He slipped two fingers between Garak’s legs and stroked the length of his seam.

Garak squeezed his eyes shut harder. Julian certainly knew his way around after their years of dating. He pressed on a particularly sensitive spot, and Garak whimpered.

“Let’s relieve you of this unnecessary clothing,” Julian said, working at the closures with deft fingers. He tugged Garak’s pants and undergarments down and pressed a kiss to the slick scales. “Mmm, lovely.”

“Lovely, am I?” Garak’s voice came out almost strained.

Julian nudged Garak’s legs further apart and skimmed his fingers over delicate ridges. “Do you want to lie down, or are you comfortable here for now?”

Comfortable was a bit of a stretch—Garak’s legs went weak whenever Julian touched him. But this was an invigorating change of pace. “Here is fine for now.”

The doctor wasted no further words. He pressed his fingers to Garak’s seam until the soft scales parted, then caressed the interior walls. Working his hand in a rocking motion, he pushed up until he found Garak’s as-yet uneverted cock.

He stroked the tip and then trailed his fingers back down to Garak’s entrance. Slick lubrication trickled down Garak’s thighs.

Sometimes a slow pace could be nice, but they did both have work to get back to. And only so much time on their holosuite rental. Garak rocked his weight in encouragement, and Julian grasped his hip. “Stop that.”

Garak growled and stilled himself. In reward for good behavior, Julian thrust his fingers up again.

Then his tongue lapped at Garak’s seam, and Garak’s legs buckled. Staying still took every bit of his not-inconsiderable self-control. Pleasure burned through him, his cock pulsing with the need for freedom. “Julian,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Not yet.” Julian stroked the inside of his sheath, tongue dancing between sensitive scales. Just when Garak thought he might explode, the doctor cupped his opening. “Now.”

With a soft noise of relief, Garak let himself slide out into Julian’s waiting hand. A few quick strokes down his length drew a moan. “That’s lovely, my dear.”

“Good. Back up two steps.”

Ah, the wall. The firmness was a welcome sensation against his back, especially considering the way Julian immediately went to work. Each of his touches sent a shiver of delight through Garak.

A warm mouth enveloped Garak’s cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed himself against the wall for support. Julian braced a hand against his hip to keep him still and brought the other back to Garak’s seam.

Fingers and tongue coaxed, tugged, and pressed. Garak’s legs went even weaker. Breaking the order not to move, he combed his hand through Julian’s wavy hair.

Instead of chastising him this time, Julian dipped fingers inside Garak’s sheath and circled his base. With his tongue, he teased the delicate ridges that ran the length of Garak’s cock. Then he sucked—hard—and Garak lost all control.

“Oh, my dear…oh yes, that’s…you’re quite good at…” Even had he wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped babbling. “Mmm, yes, Julian…just like that, just…”

Julian’s fingers thrust up just as he lapped at one of Garak’s most sensitive spots. Shuddering waves crashed over Garak, waves of bliss and pleasure and gratitude.

When he could breathe and think again, he opened his eyes. Julian still knelt before him, delicately licking away the last of Garak’s come. “That was…remarkable,” Garak managed. “Who’d have thought you could still surprise me after all this time?”

After a final lick, Julian drew back and smiled. “Gotta have some surprises. I am a secret agent, after all.”

“Yes, well.” Garak petted his hair. “Bed now, or shall we remain here?”

Amusement flickered in Julian’s eyes, and he finally removed his own pants. “Are you sure you’re strong enough for more? You’re looking a little feeble at the moment.”

His legs still shook, but that was hardly a deterrent. “Quite strong enough.”

“All right, then. Here.”

Julian wound a hand in Garak’s hair and melded their lips. Shifting closer, he positioned his erection at Garak’s sheath and slowly entered him.

The sensitive tissues quivered with joy and Garak let out a shuddering moan against his lover’s mouth. He braced himself more securely against the wall, and Julian began to move.

Challenging position or not, this was exquisite. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat to Julian’s kisses and nips. With a moan, he raked his fingers through Julian’s hair and pulled him closer.

Julian responded by increasing his speed. No longer languid in his movements, he thrust faster, plunged deeper.

Clutching at him, Garak drove his hips forward. His purse throbbed with a pleasant sort of pain, a satisfying soreness. He widened his stance and ran a hand across Julian’s rear. “Enjoying yourself? I know I am,” he whispered, breathless.

“God, stop talking.” Julian’s voice came out as half growl, half whimper. He crushed their mouths together in a temporary battle for dominance.

Garak responded in kind, kissing him deeply and then drawing back. “Make me.”

He might have regretted that with anyone else, but never with Julian. Julian, considerate as ever, gently kissed his cheek before pinning him against the wall with renewed vigor.

The dear boy was certainly up to the challenge. He grasped Garak’s neck ridge and kneaded, sending sparks of bliss throughout Garak’s body. Between that and the passionate, rapid thrusts into his almost-overstimulated sheath, Garak lost all ability to speak.

Gasping, he captured Julian’s mouth for another kiss. He clutched him closer, tighter, eyes squeezed shut in delight as the doctor stiffened against him. Shudders washed over Julian, his fluids mingling with Garak’s lubrication.

They stood, still joined, breathing hard. Garak pressed several light kisses to Julian’s jaw and cheek. “That was well played, Agent Bashir.”

“Thank you, Agent Garak.” Julian groaned and pulled out, keeping a hard braced against the wall. “God, that was a hell of a workout.”

“I suspect we’ll both be quite sore later.”

Julian chuckled and then grimaced. “Oh. I’ve just remembered that this program…well…”

Garak perked up. Whatever was he talking about? “This program what?”

“Well, it…” The dear boy gave a sharp sigh and combed damp hair off his brow. “Normally, it’s a, um, holographic spy here.”

“And?”

Bright red flushed his cheeks. “After the spy and I sleep together, Falcon’s henchmen show up.”

He can’t be serious. Garak stared at him for a moment. “That’s a poor design, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, that’s kind of the point. It’s supposed to be an inconvenient—”

A resounding crash sounded across the room, and the door ripped free of the hinges. Garak and Julian scrambled for their clothes. Henchmen. Why was it always henchmen?

“I’ll, um, reprogram it next time,” Julian muttered.

“Yes, but for now…” Garak seized his hand and dragged him across the room. “Secret passage?”

“Secret passage.”

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #star trek #deep space nine #plain simple writing

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oblio-k · 6 years

Text

Second part of ‘Garak teaches his kids to stab people,’ this time with Damar, still alive, as the father that gets stabbed.

Also on AO3

Lesson

After too much to drink of the vintage kanar Enabran Tain had kept in his cellar, Damar had a night’s length gap in his memory. What he did remember, though, was waking up to Kira prodding at him with a boot, telling him Mila wanted them to clean up after themselves, his head pounding with a hangover.

Then, Cardassia was freed, and he’d survived, somehow. Had woken up again, pain where he’d been shot.

Months later, a doctor with braided white hair had shown up at his door, Elim Garak right behind him, a sling wrapped around his torso, and Damar had realized what exactly happened in Tain’s cellar. A few hatchlings peaked out as the doctor argued with Garak, telling him to just admit it, before he had to drag some Doctor Bashir all the way out here to get him to stop being such a brat, and they’d reminded him so much of how his son had looked like as a newborn that they had to be his.

Ultimately, though, they were Garak’s children. Although they favored him in appearance, they were every bit as secretive and stubborn as their mother. Damar did what he could to be a proper father to them, but respected that Garak did not trust him, and preferred to live on his own with the hatchlings. They each had their own parts to play in this new Cardassia, and had to live separately to fulfill their duties.

“Yadik! Look what Adik has been teaching me to use!” It was a bit of a surprise to come over and find the oldest of the clutch showing him a knife. He noticed the boy was holding it properly too. “We’re learning how to kill people.”

He really shouldn’t have been surprised, considering who their mother was, who their grandfather was, but it was still concerning to hear a child say that.

“No, Milar, Adik said to call it self-defense!” his sister, Ulana, corrected him, also holding a knife. It didn’t make it sound much better, really. She looked up at Damar and smiled sweetly. “Want to see what we’ve learned, Yadik?”

He nodded, and the two of them faced each other. They tucked the knives under their clothes, and got into position to fight. Like their holds, their forms were perfect. He wondered just how long Garak had been teaching them ‘self-defense.’ The clutch had only just turned six, and the youth were supposed to be focused on mind training, not combat.

While they started off in a military form, their fighting style was distinctly not military. It was winding around each other, feints and trying to catch the other off guard. Finally, Milar drew his knife and slashed at his sister, only for her to grab his arm before he could cut her across the face. Soon after that, Ulana drew her knife as well, and nearly managed to stab her brother in the shoulder.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should stop them and discourage them from actively trying to maim each other, but he decided not to intervene. Garak would only get mad at him if he tried to, and he doubted they would actually listen to him once he left. All a protest would do was make them practice more when he wasn’t around.

Milar giggled as his sister knocked the knife from his hand and pressed her blade against his throat. She pulled away and the two looked up at him, smiling. “That was very good.” Their eyes shone at the praise. “But only if your opponent is the same size as you. You’re too small to use those tricks on an adult.”

Instead of being disappointed, they just looked intrigued, eyes widening, brimming with curiosity. They stared up at him, and Ulana asked, “Can you teach us to fight an adult?”

It wasn’t a good idea to encourage them, but it was for their protection, and Garak would end up teaching them anyways. “Sure. Go get your siblings, we’ll make this a lesson.”

Milar darted off to get his sisters and brother, and within a minute he had a group of excited children gathered in front of him. The lesson started off simple, making sure they all had good holds on their weapons and understanding what parts of the adult body they could reach with said weapons. Since they were all roughly the same height, he just had Ulana reach with her knife to demonstrate. He had to grab her wrist to keep her from stabbing him when he told her to reach for his stomach.

Again, that voice of reason in the back of his mind pleaded with him to discourage this, but he couldn’t stop the lesson now. It would disappoint them, and Garak was likely to come out and continue it if he saw them stop. Although Damar couldn’t see the former spy anywhere, he was sure he was watching them from somewhere.

Once they could rattle off all the spots to aim for, he showed them how to stab each specific place. They picked up on it fast, and then he felt they were ready to move on to something else before they got bored.

“If you are ever attacked as a group, it would be best to knock down your attacker.” He had them tuck the knives away. “Try to knock me over. Use whatever tricks you can think of.”

In just under two minutes, he would deeply regret saying that.The five of them did their best to push him over, but were too small to do so without the element of surprise. They realized they could make him stumble if they weaved around him, making it hard to keep an eye on them. Ulana and Milar grabbed his arm and pulled, making him look towards them.

He caught a flash of light glinting off of metal, but wasn’t fast enough to grab his other son’s arm before the knife was impaled in his thigh. He cried out, and the other four pulled him down and climbed onto him. They smiled, triumphant, until one saw the blood. Milar turned to his brother. “Tolan! You hurt Yadik!” The girls looked as well.

Tolan clearly hadn’t thought he’d actually manage to stab him, and looked stricken. Damar doubted that any of them had ever wounded Garak during their lessons, and this was his first time really stabbing someone. Tolan gave a distressed chirp, a sound young children made to call for help. That only further upset his siblings.

Damar sat up. “Ulana, does your adik have a medkit?” She nodded. “This isn’t too bad a wound, I can fix it myself. Go get it.” He could at least bandage it up until he could go find Garak’s doctor friend.

“Okay!” She ran off to go get it. He silently hoped that she could get it without Garak following her back out. Damar didn’t want to see the smug look that would no doubt be on his face as soon as he knew what one of the children had accomplished. As Ulana vanished into the house, he focused on reassuring her siblings that he would be alright.

“I’ve been injured worse before, don’t worry.”

“I’m really sorry, Yadik...” Tolan was looking at the ground, eyes filled with tears.

Grabbing his hand, Damar tugged him closer. “It’s alright. I did say to use whatever tricks you could think of. Stabbing me does fit that criteria.” He was grateful he hadn’t been stabbed someplace serious. It really wouldn’t have been good for the children to see their father dying in front of them. There was no way Garak would have been able to save him so far away from a medcenter, unless performing surgery was part of the Obsidian Order’s training.

Tolan looked soothed by that, and sat down next to him. Damar put an arm around him. Milar tried to touch the knife, and Damar had to shoo him away. “Don’t touch that. If you ever get stabbed, don’t remove the knife.” After a moment, he added, “But if someone attacks you, remove it, so they’ll bleed faster.”

“Oh. Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt worse than a phaser?”

“It depends on what setting the phaser is on. High settings hurt more than this, if they don’t kill you instantly.”

“How many times have you been shot?”

“Milar, please.” The boy plopped down on the ground next to his sisters, and began drawing in the dirt. A nervous habit of theirs. Milar drew out the alphabet, and his sisters drew some sort of animal Damar didn’t recognize. Something from Earth, perhaps. Garak’s Federation doctor friend had sent the children multiple datarods with different Earth books.

A door closed, and Damar looked up to see that Garak was coming over, medkit in hand, Ulana by his side. The children lit up when they saw him. “Adik!”

Garak smirked, looking down at him. Damar scowled. “My, my... Which one of you took down Legate Damar?”

“Tolan did!” Milar was quick to supply.

“Excellent work, my dear.” Tolan beamed. Garak knelt down to look at the wound. “Next time, aim for a more sensitive place, Tolan. A stab to the thigh might have brought down your yadik, but it won’t deter a determined attacker.”

“I will!” Damar really hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Popping open the medkit, Garak asked him, “So, how did this injury come about?”

“A poor choice of words.”

Garak looked delighted at the answer, not holding back his amusement. “Oh?”

“They interpreted the lesson in a way I didn’t expect.”

“And the lesson being...?” Garak grabbed the knife and pulled it out. Damar hissed. The children looked worried, but relaxed as Garak tended to the wound.

“The lesson being to knock me over.”

Garak reached over to pat Tolan’s head. “A success, I see.” He did what he could with the limited supplies in the medkit, and then said, “Kelas is coming over for dinner. If you’d like to stay, I can tell him to bring a proper medkit.”

#oblio's fics #damar/garak #kidfic #elim garak #corat damar #star trek #ds9 #garak teaches his kids to stab people

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zombified-queer · 6 years

Note

If you’re still taking prompts, could you do Garashir with number 11?

“All I want is for you to show me you care.” It's sharp, too sharp and there's a flash of something in Garak's eyes that makes Julian realize he's being needlessly cruel. "I mean . . . I don't want lies or subtext. I want you to tell me you care for me, Garak."Garak crosses the space between them, quiet and calculating. He seems more at home in the dimly lit living room than in the bright lights of his own shoppe and Julian's curious about the Cardassian sleep cycle, if Garak's one of many in a race of nocturnal creatures.Garak's hands are cold on his own, but the Cardassian's fingers fit between his own as nothing else could. Garak looks away from Julian, as if conjuring the words. Julian expects some long, verbose thing. He's always imagined Garak's confession would be drawn-out, something more akin to wedding vows or a Klingon opera."I love you."Julian blinks. It's not what he's expecting. "You . . .""I love you, Julian," Garak repeats. He finally meets Julian's wide stare. "Had we been a normal Cardassian couple, I would have already dedicated more words to you." "I think that's enough words," Julian says. He smiles, just a bit, and kisses Garak.It's everything he's expected and more and it satisfies that deep gnawing that's been welling in his gut. Garak pulls Julian closer, as if he wants to bring Julian into himself. "It's late," Julian says softly as Garak presses teeth and tongue to his throat in a way that's too skilled for just a simple tailor. The Cardassian's response is a low hum of acknowledgement as Julian pulls him into bed. They lay facing each other, hands intertwined, Garak making a low, rumbling purr. "If we were a normal Cardassian couple, you'd be picking out names for children," Julian teases. "I like the name Mila." It's dark but Julian can hear the self-satisfied smirk in Garak's voice."Miles for a boy," Julian counters."That, my dear, is perhaps the most romantic thing you've said all night."

#Garashir #tHIS IS DUMB FLUFF #DON'T LOOK AT IT #I'm kidding this was uh Fun #Curious Cardassian

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crisisoninfintefandoms · 6 years

Note

Oh right, there are quite a few :'D SO FOR GARASHIR + HANNIGRAM 1. Who initiates the first kiss? 2.Who says ”I love you” first? 3.Who proposes? 4.Who writes sappy poetry/draws doodles about the other? 5.What’s your favorite go to kink for this pairing? 6.Your favorite “guilty pleasure” kink for this pairing? 7.Favorite fanficcy romance trope for this pairing? 8.What are your favorite pet names for this pairing to use? What do you consider “their song”? Who's the vampire/werewolf of the 2? ^___^

Wow that’s a lot! Okay, let’s do this. (For any people reading, here’s some context)

HANNIGRAM

1. Who initiates the first kiss? I’ gonna say Will, if we’re going canon compliant, post-wotl. If Hannibal was gonna be the initiator, it woulda happened AGES ago.

2.Who says ”I love you” first? ...Do we count Hannibal as having already said it? Hmm, if no, I’m still gonna say Hanni. It think it takes Will a while to get there.

3.Who proposes? I don’t know?? I almost imagine them both kinda accidentally getting married without really thinking about it.(actually, where’s our “got drunk married in Vegas” hannigram fic, hmm?)

4.Who writes sappy poetry/draws doodles about the other? This is cannonically hannibal, lmao.

5.What’s your favorite go to kink for this pairing? ...puppy play.

6.Your favorite “guilty pleasure” kink for this pairing? Lol, do I feel guilty about any kinks anymore? I guess maybe dub-con with these guys...it can just get so deliciously complicated in ways that only only work in their crazy fictional relationship.

7.Favorite fanficcy romance trope for this pairing? Mutual pining.

8.What are your favorite pet names for this pairing to use? I’m a sucker for Will calling Hanni southern sounding food things, like Sugar (usually at least a little bit sarcastically, lol). Darlin’ is also good. And on Hanni end, well I recently wrote him calling Will his “cruel, beautiful boy,” and this might sound narcissistic but I’m a little in love with that.

What do you consider “their song”? Aside from Love Crime? “Hardest of Hearts”, by Florence and the Machine. or, for something a bit lighter and funnier, “Bad Things,” ;-P

Who's the vampire/werewolf of the 2? Hanni’s the vampire, Will’s the werewolf.

GARASHIR

1. Who initiates the first kiss? Bashir, for similar reasons as Will actually.

2.Who says ”I love you” first? Bashir, I think. I’m not sure Garak could ever bring himself to say something so direct, lol.

3.Who proposes? I’m a sucker for “Garak elaborately courting Bashir” so I’m gonna go with Garak.

4.Who writes sappy poetry/draws doodles about the other? Garak.

5.What’s your favorite go to kink for this pairing? Med kink ;-D

6.Your favorite “guilty pleasure” kink for this pairing? Daddy kink 0_0 (just WAAY too many issues for both of them on that for me to enjoy it sans guilt, lol)

7.Favorite fanficcy romance trope for this pairing? Not realizing they’re already kind of dating ;-D

8.What are your favorite pet names for this pairing to use? “My dear Doctor” “My Dear Garak.”

What do you consider “their song”? Strangely, I have a weird association with Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Who's the vampire/werewolf of the 2? Garak the vampire, Bashir’s the werewolf. Bashir’s just such a big puppy :-D

Thank you so much for your ask! This was actually super fun, lol.

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vintageandroid · 7 years

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Harry Potter and the Disaster Lizard

Fandom: Star Trek DS9, Harry Potter

Summary: Garak is Harry Potter

Rating: PG because grown-up language

Summary: “AU where everything is the same except instead of 11-year-old Harry Potter, you had a fully-grown salty af Cardassian tailor/spy.” So, a couple of scenes from Elim Garak and the Philosopher’s Stone. This is OBVIOUSLY PURE CRACK. Thanks to @inwentedinrussia for having a really dumb conversation with me and then requesting fanfiction of it.

Two scenes for now, more may happen later if the spirit moves me and I have time.

Hut-On-The-Rock

The sea crashed and churned, illuminated in brief strobe light flashes as lightning forked across the sky. There was a boom of thunder, and a boom of a giant knocking on the door. The rickety door couldn’t withstand it, and it, too, came crashing down.

Hagrid looked out at the front room of the half-rotted hut, and saw a huddled figure curled up on the floor. “Ah! There ye are!” he said, and took a step forward. “Bloody dark in here, it is, not to mention cold.” He paused long enough to light a fire in the fireplace, which washed the room with heat and a soft orange glow. “That’s better,” he said, and turned towards the bundle. “Now, let’s get a look at–”

But the bundle was not the person he sought. He frowned at the pile of rags and crumpled food bags, trying to understand, then spotted a door beyond and headed that way–

And then there was another flash. Not of lightning, but of something heavy colliding with his head, creating fireworks behind his eyelids. A smaller man would have fallen unconscious, but Hagrid swore loudly, bringing his hand to his head, and whirled around.

There he stood, just as he’d been described, except that he held a now-broken chair by one of the legs. “Who are you?” he demanded, voice rough. “Who sent you?” And then, more magnanimously, he remarked, “That’s a terrible coat.”

“Easy, there!” said Hagrid, hand still clutched to his head. “You coulda killed someone with that.”

“I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea,” said the other. His scaled gray skin was edged in gold by the firelight, his eyes clear and blue, narrowed in suspicion at first. But then they widened, and he gave Hagrid a smile, disarming in its charm. “But I can’t very well ask questions of a dead man, so I suppose it’s for the best. Now. Who sent you? How did you find me? And why?”

“Dumbledore. Magic. Because I’m t’bring ye to school, of course. An’ what’s wrong with my coat?” he added, looking down at the vast coat made of various animals sewn together.

“That answers very little,” he said. “I don’t know who that is, I obviously don’t believe in magic, I have no need for school. As for the coat, it hangs off of you like you had a collision with a rat king. Even a bit of tailoring to your figure would improve it tremendously.” But he set down the chair, even as he eyed Hagrid suspiciously.

“You don’t know…” Hagrid dropped onto the couch, which made a horrible creak of protest under the weight. “You are Elim Garak, aren’t you?”

“Garak,” he corrected, almost absently. “And I’m afraid you found me, despite my best efforts. And yet, I still don’t know why. I’ve evaded the letters–”

“You?” Hagrid said. “You evaded the best living wizard in the world? How–you really know nothin’? Not of your family, not of what ye are?”

“What I am?” he asked, and he smiled again, looking amused at Hagrid’s distress. “And enlighten me. What am I?”

Hagrid leaned forward on the couch. “Yer a wizard, Gary.”

Garak blinked at him, slowly, like a newly woken dragon. “Please be so kind as to never call me that again,” he said, and only then did he let Hagrid explain.

It took some time, but once Hagrid started speaking, Garak listened. He listened intently–almost too intently, fixing Hagrid with those blue eyes, making the giant feel somewhat uncomfortable.

“I suppose,” said Garak after the explanation was done, “that does explain a fair amount. I can try this school of yours. Knowledge is never something to avoid, after all.”

Ah, thought Hagrid, maybe he’ll be a Ravenclaw.

“One never knows when it might be a valuable weapon,” Garak added.

Or maybe not. “Well,” he said, “I’m not goin’ out in this storm, not again. We’ll stay the night here…where are yer aunt and uncle?” he asked then, frowning.

“Who?” Garak asked innocently.

“The Dursleys. The ones who weren’t lettin’ you get the letters, who brought you out here?”

“Ah. Vernon and Petunia. Never mind them, my dear man,” said Garak, “I solved that problem a very long time ago.”

Hagrid stared at him. “Did ye kill them?” he asked.

“Me?” asked Garak, putting a hand to his chest, radiating innocence and wounded feelings. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

Hagrid had no idea how to answer that.

“Vernon and Petunia are in perfectly good health,” Garak assured him, “as is their delightful son.”

“Then what the devil are you doin’ on this godforsaken rock in the middle of the sea?” he asked.

“I thought I made that clear, Mr. Hagrid,” said Garak, and gave him another bright smile, bright as the shine of a dagger. “I don’t like being followed.”

~*~

Diagon Alley

Whispers followed Garak. Whispers in the pub. Whispers on the streets. Whispers in each shop he visited. Everyone knew his name, and everyone knew his face. He listened to those whispers, and from those he learned more about who he was, and why he had been hidden away so long ago.

And so his conversation with Hagrid–who was a good enough fellow, if a little dim, and with absolutely no sense of fashion–was kept to things he did not overhear. How the Wizarding World diferred from the one he was used to, whether there were other choices of schools, just what Dumbledore had done to earn his reputation as the greatest wizard. Hagrid was happy to speak on any subject, and Garak listened and filed it all away as they shopped, buying ingredients and books and a wand.

“And yer school uniform, o’ course,” said Hagrid. “Robes, o’ course, you’ll get them done here.”

“Robes,” said Garak, a little disdainfully. No wonder no one in the Wizarding World knew how to wear something fitted.

Hagrid left him at the clothing store so that he could go get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, and Garak was relieved. He didn’t much care for an escort, and anyway, he could do his best work alone.

“Ah, Madam Malkin,” he said to the plump, motherly witch who was, at the moment, measuring a skinny blond boy for his own robes. “It can only be you, working so diligently as you are, and yet for a moment I was sure you were simply modeling your wares. I hope it’s not too forward to say, but you look so stunning in them I nearly forgot why I was here.”

The woman blushed and told him he was full of shit. The blond boy looked horrified at her language.

He grinned at her. “I am,” he said, “a tailor with some experience. Perhaps once I’m fitted, I can do my own alterations.”

She told him that was irregular, but if he was a tailor, she saw no harm in it. She measured him, gave him a few basic robes in his size, and let him take them in himself, then hurried off for a moment to greet a new customer.

“I was in the middle of getting my fitting,” said the boy petulantly. He folded his arms, probably trying to look intimidating, but as he was probably 90 pounds soaking wet, the effect was somewhat lost.

“Oh, do excuse me,” Garak said with his biggest smile.

“I won’t excuse you,” the boy informed him, raising his chin. “You came in and told her she was pretty just to get your way, and I was here first. My father will be furious with you and with her. I know exactly who you are.”

“I would imagine you do,” Garak told him cheerfully. There weren’t, after all, a lot of fully grown lizard people being fitted for first year school uniforms.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that,” the boy told him. “You obviously have no idea who I am, or who my family is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he agreed, “but I suppose I’ll find out eventually. I’m new to this world, after all, and I think it’s best I learn all of the important things first, and save the trivials for later.”

The pale boy’s eyes widened at that. For a moment, Garak thought he was going to cry. Instead, he glared and stormed out of the shop.

Madame Malkin returned. “Where’d he go?” she asked, frowning.

“I have no idea,” Garak said, and tied a knot in his stitching.

“Oh, well,” she said, “he was a little shit anyway.”

Garak couldn’t help but agree.

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