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Star Trek won't show me enough queer rebellious counter culture on Cardassia so I will do it myself

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Hello, my lovelies! I've never really participated in a trend before but I thought this one was very clever and I wanted to give it a try in my style! But, I also really liked the two portraits by themselves so I included that as well.

Enjoy!! 💫✨️

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What is his plan for profit here?

A couple finds in Pittsburgh Red White & Blue

Quark IS killing it.

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Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

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back with a fresh star trek obsession 

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Doodle i forgot to post from like a year ago when I was watching a lot of cheesy spy movies lol. Stole the pose from the poster for either mr & mrs smith or pretty woman but i dont remember which

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“Computer, what time is it?”

“12:34 hours.”

“At what time did the Rio Grande dock?”

“At 10:00 hours.”

Garak pressed his lips together. He passed his stitching gun over the hem of a skirt that an indelicate customer had ruined while trying it on. He pressed the tool a little harder than necessary. He pressed it again and again. He glanced up at the door of his shop, but once again Doctor Bashir wasn't there. Garak pressed his hemming gun again, the pop sound of his machine sending a shiver up his arm. Julian’s words as they had said goodbye before heading off on his mission rang in his mind.

I’ll come to pick you up.

Doctor Bashir was always late. Yet, this was getting ridiculous.

Well, you haven't, have you?

He whipped his head up at the sudden sound of footsteps. His heart stumbled in his chest as he looked at the door. It tumbled back in its place when he spotted Odo walking in. As usual, the constable’s eyes were roaming around the shop, before they finally locked with Garak's own.

“My dear Constable, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, as he put his hemming gun down, his hands were already moving to fix a scarf’s knot on a mannequin.

“You might want to know that the mission on Talgarth IV didn't go as planned.”

Garak’s hands stilled on the soft fabric. He swallowed down.

“The Ketracel white production centre is still functional, I take it,” he said, his eyes fixed on the scarf, but they weren't seeing the red, Bolian silk. He saw a map of the Talgarth system, once a proud colony of the Cardassian union. Now, a smattering of planets full of Jem’Hadars.

“No, that part was achieved successfully.”

“Are you sure you are allowed to tell me this, Constable?” Garak said, finally glancing at his guest. On seeing Odo’s stern expression, Garak squared his shoulders, readying himself. Yet his hands tightened on the scarf, causing a small tear.

“Garak, Doctor Bashir is severely injured.”

Garak’s blood drained down his feet, his scales growing colder and colder as two words repeated in his mind over and over again.

Severely injured.

“He was caught in Jem’Hadar fire, trying to protect-” Odo looked away, arms crossed to his chest.

Garak licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Protect what, Constable?”

Odo turned his eyes back to him. For a moment, he studied Garak. Then, with a curt nod, he added. “A Cardassian prisoner.”

The sound of fabric tearing further rang far too loud in the quiet shop.

“They kept him in stasis on the Defiant to get him back to our medical facilities. Doctor Girani is operating on him at the moment. It’s- it’s not looking good, Garak.”

Garak breathed once, but no air came in.

Tried again, but the pressure in his throat kept the air stuck outside.

Control yourself, Tain’s voice said in his head. You are a member of the Obsidian Order, you can't be hurt.

You have no attachments to be hurt by.

He isn't yours.

But he said-

No, he is not.

A strange calm settled on his heavy chest. Yet, the cold wrapping itself around his scales grew stronger.

“Thank you for letting me know, Constable,” he said, turning his attention to the scarf.

It was ruined.

His hands moved independently. They took it off the mannequin. His feet moved without orders, bringing him back to the table and his tools.

“I appreciate you keeping me updated with the health status of the command crew.”

He glanced at the Constable, who was still studying him, not missing a move.

Please, Odo, please leave.

Odo nodded.

"I will come back when I know more.”

“No need, I’m sure you are very busy.”

Odo rolled his eyes, harrumphing.

“I will come back when I know more.”

Thank you.

This time Garak nodded and the Constable left.

Alone in the shop, Garak looked at the destroyed scarf. Such a strong red, like human blood spilt on dusty, Cardassian soil.

He took it, tore at it, and threw it as far away from him as his shaking hands could.

His eyes roamed around the shops.

The walls were moving closer.

“Control yourself,” he hissed to himself, gripping the edge of his work table.

This pain is what you get for having been a sentimental fool.

Tain’s voice said. Again.

Garak covered his ears.

The voice laughed.

You aren't a little boy anymore. Love is for children.

“And you are dead,” he hissed, his eyes caught by the red scarf on the floor.

Hooking a finger under the neckline of his tunic to pull it away a little, he forced himself to step away from the desk. He stepped back, his head spinning, but pushed forward once more. He picked the ruined scarf up. The soft fabric was cool under his touch, delicate. Yes, Bolian silk, once ruined, was beyond the help of the average tailor.

But he wasn't an average tailor.

Slowly, he walked back to this table.

Slowly, heart still stumbling under the weight of the pressure in his chest, he got to work.

When Garak spotted Odo walking quickly across the promenade, he had just finished the third shirt. It was a deep shade of green, not that washed out Starfleet Green that didn't do Julian any justice. He swallowed down, as he put it on top of the others, and the trousers to match. The red scarf was next to them, together with a small version of it, for Kukalaka.

Not that he was supposed to know about the teddy bear.

Control, he told himself, as Odo stepped through the door.

“You spoil me with your frequent visits, my dear Constable. I’m sure other establishments on the Promenade might enjoy your company.”

Odo glared at him. Garak watched the Constable's eyes taking in the ever growing pile of items stacked on his work table. Just for a moment, Odo’s eyes softened, and Garak’s ribs tightened further.

“I hope you will be pleased to know that he is out of danger. Currently unconscious, but out of danger.”

The pressure in his chest lifted immediately. Air flooded his lungs as water did those of a drowning man. Garak placed his open right palm on his table, his feet pressing down on the ground.

“All the senior officers have left the infirmary, but they are going back there after getting, and I quote, flowers, balloons and chocolates. His room is currently empty, with nurse Jabara being on call.” A barely there smile stretched on the Constable’s lips. “You can make of that what you wish.”

Garak stood up, hands still on the table.

“I believe I need to deliver a new uniform to the good nurse.”

Odo harrumphed, nodded and walked away. The moment he was alone again, Garak quickly piled the clothes he had made in a bag.

The infirmary welcomed him with its glaring light and antiseptic scents. That evening, it was even more blinding. Nurse Jabara sat at a console, finishing some reports. As Garak stepped in, she looked at him, and frowned and said, “Do anything to disturb his rest, and I will end you.”

“My dear, I will be in and out. You will barely know I was even here.”

She lingered for a moment, then nodded and went back to her work.

Garak walked into Julian's room holding his breath. He stopped on the threshold as he took the image in. Julian was laying on a biobed, sleeping deeply, the monitors beeping gently around him. All peaceful. Too peaceful. His long limbs were so still under the covers, his sock covered feet poking out. They weren't usually so…..orderly. Julian always seemed to sprawl everywhere, expanding like water made man. His dear doctor was always moving, always chasing the next challenge, the next puzzle, the next enigma. That strange, healing immobility sent a shiver down Garak’s spine.

He took a sharp breath, finally stepping in. He placed the bag with the clothes he had made on the side. No more accompanied them, not that Julian needed one to figure out who brought such gifts. He smiled to himself, shaking his heads.he could already picture the doctor coming to talk to him about the clothes, and Garak denying that it was him that had delivered those, blaming such non Cardassian sentimentality on the Bajoran seamstress. Julian would surely see through any lie of such poor caliber, and would try to pay him back some way or another.

All the payment I need is to have lunch with you again.

He glanced around the room. He was still, blissfully, alone.

And his mind, for once, quiet.

Time for an indulgence.

He bent forward and pressed a human style kiss on Julian’s forehead, where his chufa would have been if he had been Cardassian.

Wake up soon, my love, I will be waiting.

He passed his thumb over Julian’s knuckles under the covers.

He forced himself to turn.

Walking away required conscious effort—left foot, right foot, don't look back.

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everyone get butchfemme NOW !!!!!

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Customer: VULCAN COMING OF AGE DMV: REPRODUCTIVE CYCLE FOR VULCANS STAR TREK Verdict: ACCEPTED

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did i ever post this? i dont think i did

garak doing tailor things

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The urge to write an essay about how Cardassian colonization affected the gender ideals and roles of Hebetians and Bajorans is strong...

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Feels good to be ranting about A Stitch In Time in the DMs

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ds9 meets text posts pt 7 of ????

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Having some tea earl grey hot..... just like that bald bitch John Luke the Card