#and i just know garak put so much thought and care into the outfits as soon as they came to him for help

[hollis-art]

just had a vision... benjamin sisko as a drag queen.... i feel like he'd have SO much fun. he'd get so into it

HIM AND JADZIA DOING A DRAG ROUTINE TOGETHER??? YEAHHH

[starshiplamaupin]

Garashir Nightbreed AU

I have to dump this out of my brain or I might just explode.

This morning I had a random thought of “what if the cast of DS9 were in the Nightbreed universe?”

Quickest summary of what Nightbreed is for those that don’t know: It’s body horror X-men

It’s the early 90s in a harbor city, strange things are happening, a war is being waged in the shadows, and young Dr. Bashir is about to be caught in the middle of it.

Dr. Julian Bashir: converted Nightbreed. Born “Natural”, he was changed into a ‘Breed at a young age when his parents took him to a mysterious man who was said to work miracles. The flesh on his hands and arms can pull away in tendrils and form tools, and it seems he might have some mild ESP. While he didn’t get the severe allergy to sunlight, he does get very weak and tired if he spends too much time in the daylight, so he compensates by working the night shift at the city’s emergency hospital.

Elim Garak: Nightbreed. Excommunicated member of the Cult of Cardassia. He lives in an abandoned clothing warehouse. He uses the leftover items to make himself some handsome outfits. When Julian is out walking one night to calm his nerves after almost accidentally revealing his secret nature, he is chased by a mugger into the abandoned warehouse. He is pounced on by the strange lizard-man, scaring away his would-be attacker. Garak can smell that Bashir is ‘Breed, and lets him live. The two form a friendship (and eventually more) over a love of reading, and the comfort of not having to hide their true nature from each other... well, Garak is still hiding plenty.

Benjamin Sisko: Natural? I haven’t decided what kind of position he might have, maybe head of the hospital? Either way, he knows what the Nightbreed are and he’s been helping a few of the locals who told him about a mysterious legend called The Path of the Worm. He’s been receiving prophetic dreams about things hidden in this city, and knows he cannot fight the role he has been cast in by powers beyond his understanding.

Kira Nerys: Nightbreed. A member of a local group of ‘Breed that was preyed upon by the Cult. If she needs to blend in with the Naturals she can put a bandage over her nose. She trusts Ben, but very few other outsiders. I picture her with maybe a few more cat-like features, idk, it just looks cute in my head. Kitty Nerys..

Jadzia Dax: Nightbreed. Her spots shift subtly with her movements, creating a hypnotic effect. I’m not sure how to incorporate the several lifetimes...

Worf: Nightbreed. He drives the group’s van, which he named the Defiant.

O’Brien: Natural. Radiologist? He works at the hospital too, and he is Julian’s best friend and confidant. He doesn’t learn about all this Nightbreed business until much later, to which his only reaction is “jaysus”...

Quark: Natural. Owns the bodega across from the hospital. He knows more than he lets on, but who cares? So long as the local monsters can pay, they can stay.

Rom: Natural. Janitor at the hospital. He has an aptitude for machines and is taking classes in engineering.

Nog: Natural. He was quite the hooligan as a kid, but a little military school changed that. He is now a cadet at the nearby base. When he was running with the other troublemakers he would hear rumors about monsters that roamed the streets at night, and has even seen one of the lizard-men. Now at the base those rumors are ramped up even louder, other cadets talk of seeing strange figures in the woods and dare each other to spend the night in the abandoned cabin out there. He got the nickname “Nog” when he headbutted a guy, and his friends joked “that’s using your noggin!”

Leeta: Natural. Nurse at the same hospital Bashir works at. They had a brief fling, but both knew they were just lonely and keeping each other company. As a nurse she’s seen her fair share of strange things, but nothing tops the time she swears she saw Dr Bashir’s hand “morph”. She struggles to describe it and constantly second-guesses what she saw, after all there has to be a logical explanation for all of this.

Chief Odo: Natural. Chief of Police, and a descent of the city’s original founders. His family has kept up appearances, but he knows their secrets and it eats at him every day. He feels like he’s coming undone along with the order of the city. How can he stay sane, knowing what they are keeping in the vault?

Dukat: Nightbreed. Cult of Cardassia. He has fought to attain his status, to serve Mother Cardassia on an altar of bones and blood. He still has his weakness for pretty women, but sees Naturals as beneath Nightbreed. He seeks to find the corpse of their founder, the serpent Nightbreed that was known as Mother Cardassia, which disappeared over 100 years ago in the early days of this city.

The Cult of Cardassia was formed after the death of Mother Cardassia. She was huge serpent, thought said to possess a beautiful human face as well as that of a snake. She sought to carve out a space for her people, but it lead to a clash with the local Bajoran clan. After her death, her followers preserved her body and worshiped it. It is not certain when it started, but they would attack and raid both the Bajoran clan and the Natural city to make sacrifices of blood to her. Since the disappearance of her corpse, her followers have been occupied with finding it. Several clues keep coming back to The Path of the Worm, and a secret of the founding family.

I think that’s enough for now.

[thesummerstorms]

001 - Star Trek, please!

Favorite character: 

.... this is so, so hard. This is, like, a three way tie between Kira, Janeway, and Sisko.

Least Favorite character: 

NEELIX.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): 

Kira/Odo (I know I am in a minority)

Janeway/Chakotay even with some of the major misteps (that’s what fanon is for)

honestly? most of the DS9 Starfleet characters (+Kira, Odo, Garak) in a ..like.. poly web of some sort,

Character I find most attractive: 

like, aesthetically, but this is so damn hard

Kira Nerys

Jadzia Dax

Kathryn Janeway

Seven of Nine in Picard but not so much in Voyager

Michael Burnham

this is all women and I don’t have an explanation for you, it just is, they’re pretty and compelling to watch

Character I would marry: 

I am not the marrying kind, and besides, most of these people would run circles around me

Character I would be best friends with: 

I  want to say maybe Harry Kim, as he’s chill and sweet and less intimidating than most of these casts, but I am not interesting enough to be friends with a Starfleet officer, let’s be real.

a random thought: 

I really hope Picard Season 2 gives Seven of Nine some meaningful background that allows for her current emotional state without trashing Voyager, the Voyager crew, or her connections to them. 

Also, can we please let either Saru or Michael be Captain already; I liked Pike okay but I’m tired.

An unpopular opinion: 

I like the TNG characters, mostly, but I can’t watch it because I don’t like most of the TNG episodes.

 can understand where Tom Paris’s narrative was supposed to go, and he has his sympathetic moments, but over all I don’t really like him

according to twitter this is unpopular: I liked Disco season 2 better than season 1. No I don’t care if S1 was “groundbreaking”. They still need to treat Michael better though.

My Canon OTP: 

Kira/Odo which I am apparently one of the only people to like. 

Also, Janeway/Chakotay is technically canon in the novels, even though I know the novels are not actually canon.

My Non-canon OTP:

I don’t know that I have an OTP that isn’t canon; I don’t ship Trek as enthusiastically as I do SW. But I’d be interested to see Seven/B’Elanna, Michael/Tilly, Deanna Troi with some respect from the showrunners... Bashir/Garak isn’t technically canon but it’s borderline; I think it’s interesting but I’m not a hard core shipper/I don’t read fic for it.

Most Badass Character:

... this is Star Trek, how am I supposed to pick one??? 

Most Epic Villain: 

what do we mean by epic here? 

Grandiose is Dukat

understandable but monstrous goes to that one Krennim played by the actor

tragic in a greek drama sense but not likeable is Kai Wynn. 

Pairing I am not a fan of: 

Tom Paris/B’Elanna

Chakotay/Seven

Michael Burham/Ash Taylor

Ziyal/Garak

Ezri/Julian. 

also, just let me be retroactively GRATEFUL that Nana Visitor put her foot down on Dukat/Kira because what the hell.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): 

Okay, this is also a list. 

Harry Kim (underutilized), 

Chakotay (in terms of his background)

Phillipa Georgiou (I didn’t want a show with edgy mirror Lorca or  ONLY Empress Georgiou, okay, I wanted what Captain Georgiou and what she represented)

Deanna Troi ( can we please stop with the weird outfits and the sexual assault adjacent scenarios???)

Favourite Friendship: 

Janeway & Tuvok. It’s just such a fun dynamic. 

But Spock & Michael’s sibling bond is a close second even if it hurts at first.

So is Bashir & O’Brien 

Character I most identify with:

Hmmm. Ezri maybe? some confusion, some imposter syndrome, some feeling out of place. which is weird cause she really doesn’t make my top list of characters.

Character I wish I could be: 

Listen, I don’t want to be in the same situation as ANY of these characters, but give me Janeway’s beauty, brains, and confidence, please.

[illogicalbroccoli]

The Raid

Content Warnings: Homophobia, homophobic violence, police brutality, injury

Pairings: Elim Garak / Kelas Parmak

Summary: On Old Cardassia, a successful vice operation is interrupted by a disconcerting visitor.  

Note: This story takes place ten years or so prior to the beginning of Deep Space Nine.  It is based on a headcannon where Garak and Parmak had a relationship prior to Garak’s interrogation of Parmak and Parmak’s subsequent imprisonment My thanks to apolesen for beta-ing, encouragement, and general awesomeness.

Interrogations had revealed that there was much speculation among the invert population as to when and why Constabulary raids occurred. They could not fail to be aware that, despite all their precautions, the Constabulary was generally aware of a number of their meeting-places and times of gathering. So why, they asked themselves, did Constabulary raids occur only sporadically? What motivated the choice of any particular place or time? Various theories had apparently been proposed. Some suggested that raids were linked to power struggles within Central Command, as Guls and Legates hoped to obtain evidence with which to tar or blackmail their rivals. Others viewed the raids as exercises in political theatre, a low-cost way for the government to reassure loyal citizens that the state was busy protecting them from dangerous deviants. The duller among the inverts simply whispered “The Obsidian Order,” as if invoking the Order rendered further question unnecessary. 

Watch-Commander Tekeny Sebhat knew that all these explanations were needlessly baroque. The answer was much simpler: raids happened when the Constabulary were bored.

Inversion was formally classed as a Category Six offence, with the same priority as Malicious Rumour and Defeatism. In practice, however, the Constabulary did not always treat inversion as urgently as the law advised. As Chief Tomak had once said, “When you’ve got gang wars in North Torr and terrorists putting grenades under omnibus seats, it’s hard to spare the men to rough up a few ponces.”

But even in the Union Capital there were quiet periods. When a squad had spent octads with nothing but petty burglaries and domestic disputes, and the highest-profile arrest would be a man who turned his back on a Legate’s motorcade, a sensitive Station Chief, seeing the glum faces of his men, might pop out of his office and ask for volunteers for a Vice operation. There was never any shortage of hands. For the Constabulary of the capital, a raid on an invert den was practically a mini-holiday. It offered a chance both to gawk at the demimonde and to indulge in salutary violence against targets who were unlikely to be trained or equipped to offer much of a counterattack. Plus, there was always the possibility of catching a famous face among the guilty. Sebhat still smiled about the raid some years back, when a member of Central Command had been discovered wearing a spangled dress cut low enough to reveal his whole chula, singing a very racy song about a country girl who missing her farmhand lover who had gone to fight on Bajor. They had not been able to arrest him, of course, but Sebhat had had to stifle his laughter the next day when the man appeared on the public screens to announce that he was resigning his commission to devote himself to breeding racing hounds on his country estate.

Tonight’s raid had not produced any such big fish, but it had been quite satisfactory in all other respects. The establishment chosen had been registered with the Office of the Civic Administrator as a “drinking-house and cultural discussion group.” Sebhat had shaken his head when he heard. And they said that inverts were cunning – they might as well have written “deviant meeting-house” on the official form. When the team had kicked in the doors, they had found more than enough decadence to satisfy their appetites for the outré. Men sat together in twos and sometimes threes, on elegantly-upholstered sofas or on pillows and rugs. Almost all were in the midst of embracing, caressing, nuzzling, when the squadristi broke in. On a small stage opposite the door, a man in a loose white outfit stood in spotlight; beside him another man sat strumming a batab. Presumably, a song or recitation had been in progress. Sebhat hoped that the performer had the text on him – ought to be good for a laugh later, decadent poetry usually was. The performer, and many of the other men, sported eyeshadow and a blue-dyed chufa. The air was dense with the smells of kanar, perfume, and musk. On bursting in, Sebhat found himself having to pause a moment to regain his composure as the pheromones flooded his airways. The moment was brief however. Sebhat looked about the room, grinned, and barked, “sorry ladies, show’s over!” For a moment, none of the patrons moved. Then one foolish soul jumped up and tried to run, and the fun began.

It had been a very satisfying melée. The squadristi had kicked, punched and choked to their hearts’ content. Granted, a few of the inverts had fought back with more skill and ferocity than expected, but at the end of the day the Constabulary had got pain-sticks and disruptors, and they had not. It had all taken less than half a ven from start to finish.

The battered deviants were just being herded into the prison-transport, the squadristi were laughing and reminiscing about the evening’s fun, and Sebhat was sucking on a dhoka-stick when the man appeared. He was middling-tall, in a finely-cut suit, and had startlingly blue eyes that Sebhat found somehow unnerving.

“Good evening, Watch-Commander,” the man said as he emerged from the gloom. He spoke with a smile that Sebhat found peculiarly insolent.

“This is an active Constabulary operation,” he snarled at the stranger. “What’s your business here?”

The man reached for his suit pocket, and Sebhat’s hand flew to the butt of his disruptor.

“No need to be hasty, Watch-Commander!” the man said. “I am only presenting my credentials. May I continue? Slowly, of course?”

Sebhat gestured minutely for the man to carry on. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small, oval wallet, placed his thumb over the lock’s scanner, then flipped it open. Sebhat felt his legs grow soft under him. The badge bore a symbol reminiscent of the Union seal, but half the figure was in shadow. Beneath the emblem was a small holo of the man who held it, and an identification number. There was, of course, no name.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt what is surely a highly successful operation,” the man said.

His ironic tone would, at other times, have brought Sebhat to a rage. At the moment, however, he was too preoccupied with his terror even to notice.

“I require one of your prisoners,” the man continued. “Would you be so good as to have one of your comrades fetch a certain Kelas Parmak? We believe he may be able to be of assistance to us.”

Sebhat swallowed, tapped his communicator and relayed the order.

“A not-unpleasant evening for this time of year,” the stranger said while they waited. “I get so few chances simply to stand and enjoy the night air. It’s quite invigorating, don’t you think?”

Sebhat said nothing.

“Do you follow the hounds at all? They say next octad’s race will be one to remember.”

Sebhat looked about, and felt a flush of relief as two squadristi arrived with a bedraggled figure between them. For a moment, Sebhat thought it was a tribad in travestie. Then he realized that it was in fact male, but with hair far longer than any decent Cardassian man would contemplate.

“Kelas Parmak,” said one of the squadristi.

Sebhat gestured toward the stranger, giving the squadristi a significant look. The message was clearly received, as they half-walked, half-dragged their captive toward the man.

“Capital,” he said. “Please hand him over.”

The man walked up to the prisoner and gently slipped his arm around his chest, supporting him as the squadristi let go. The beaten man moaned and mumbled something that sounded like “Lim,” and then went silent again.

“You do not realize the extent of the service you may have done Cardassia today,” the stranger said to Sebhat. Then he turned and slowly drew his new companion into a waiting skimmer.

“Ouch!” said Kelas Parmak. “There is no need to be so forceful!”

“It is true,” Elim Garak replied as he dabbed at the other man’s wounded forehead. “Physicians make the worst patients.”

“I don’t see why I need to be your patient,” Parmak replied. “I am perfectly capable of dressing my own wounds. More capable of you, in fact.”

Garak smiled and continued his ministrations.

“I am a noble champion, tending the wounds of my beloved,” he said.

“Clumsily,” Parmak replied. “And while I appreciate your sacrifice of a scarf to make me a sling, had we gone to the hospital as I suggested this arm could have been set by now.”

“A beaten man showing up moments after a police raid on a deviant nightclub would hardly fail to attract attention,” Garak said. “I happen to know that it is standard practice to monitor emergency wards immediately after constabulary operations in order to round up anyone who escaped the initial sweep.”

“There would be no point in asking how you know that, would there?” Parmak replied.

“No,” Garak said simply.

“Of course not.”

When he had finished cleaning and dressing Parmak’s injuries, Garak sat down on the bed next to him.

“I am fairly certain I remember advising against going to that club again,” he said. “They are not careful. I told you something like this would happen.”

Parmak met his gaze.

“Eftet was performing, and I felt I owed it to him to attend,” he said evenly.

“I hope he appreciates the depth of your affection for him. I assume, of course, that affection is your motivation, it certainly cannot be poetic appreciation.”

“Just because Eftet uses forms that are less than a century old—” Parmak retorted, and then grimaced as his arm shifted in its sling.

“Do you need another antodynic?” Garak asked.

“You have already given me more than the maximum recommended dosage,” Parmak said.

“You see?” Garak asked the room. “Physicians!”

There was a brief silence.

“Was it very expensive?” Parmak asked.

Garak cocked his head to the side.

“Buying my freedom. Did the Watch Commander ask for a great deal?”

“Not as these things go,” Garak said.

“Good,” said Parmak. “I would hate to think of you bankrupting yourself for my sake.”

“I would hate even more to think of you up before the Archon for buggery,” Garak replied. “And it really did not cost me that much.”

“I somehow cannot believe that. But just a look around this overdecorated room tells me you can probably afford it. Someday, Garak, you are going to tell me what you do for a living.”

“‘That great Jubilee someday,” Garak quoted. “When all our weary wishes find fruition.’”

The quote was from Eveny Ghata, a poet of the last century, whose florid style he knew Parmak found infuriating. Garak hoped the other man would laugh, or say something snide, but Parmak instead sat quietly, looking down.

“While we are dreaming of Someday,” he eventually said quietly. “Someday I will be able to hear a friend’s poetry in safety. Someday, you and I will be able to walk hand in hand down Victory Boulevard.”

Garak took the other man’s hand

Not on Cardassia, he thought, not in my lifetime.

But he said, “Someday.”

They sat in silence again for a while.

“Elim?”

“Yes Kelas?”

“What were you doing in East Torr?”

In fact, all Constabulary operations were automatically relayed to the Obsidian Order; Garak had set up a program that alerted him when certain keywords were mentioned.  Garak, however, simply said

“I just had a feeling that you might need my help.”

“I am not ungrateful for it,” said Parmak.

“When you recover, I think I will have to ask you to demonstrate that gratitude,” Garak said with a smile.

“I think you will find the demonstration satisfactory,” Parmak replied. “But for now, I think I must sleep.” “Do you want me to stay with you?” Garak asked.

“I would like that,” Parmak replied

Garak sat holding Parmak’s hand, listening as his breathing became slow and deep. 

He’s right, Garak thought. I will have to tell him, eventually. But let it not be soon. Gods of my ancestors, in whom I have never believed, let it not be soon. 

[edosianorchids901]

15, 5?

Thanks so much for theprompts! I hope you enjoy!

“You seriously expect me to believe you’ve never done thisbefore?”

_____________________________________________________

Sighing, I checked the time again. Garak still hadn’temerged from the bedroom, and I was starting to get impatient. We were gonna belate if he didn’t get himself together soon.

“Garak,” I finally called. “Are you almost ready?”

He inched into the room, eyes even wider than usual. “Isuppose so, yes… Do I look all right?”

I glanced over his perfectly tailored suit, wondering ifthere was ever a time when he didn’tlook good. Well, perhaps when he was wearing that watermelon outfit… “You lookfine, dearest.”

Garak tilted his head, eyes narrowing now. “That isn’t aringing endorsement.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Being direct – blunt,actually – stood a better chance of cutting through his hundred layers ofevasiveness when it came to things like this.

As expected, he gave me an affronted look, and then sighed.“It’s nothing particularly dire. It’s just that… I’ve never gone out on a date,as such.”

“What, really?” I crossed my arms and leaned back againstthe wall, fascinated. “It certainly didn’t seem like you were inexperiencedlast night.”

That earned me an even more affronted look. “There’s adifference,” he said, fussiness now out in full force. “I’m hardlyinexperienced in bed. That is, after all, a necessary skill for an agent. Goingout on a date, however, is an entirely different matter.”

“That isn’t a necessary skill for an agent?” Eager to getunderway, I took his hand and practically dragged him out of his quarters.

He went completely silent, expression becoming unusuallydull. I didn’t press him on the matter, knowing that he wouldn’t answer meuntil he was ready.

Once we reached the Celestial Café, he perked up somewhat.“Ah, this should be nice,” he remarked, pulling out my chair and beaming at me.“It’s not as though meals together are unfamiliar territory, even if this istechnically a new experience.”

“You seriously expect me to believe you’ve never done thisbefore?” It completely baffled me to think that Garak of all people had everstruggled to find someone to date. How could anyone resist him? “Not evenonce?”

He took a moment to compose his thoughts, aimlessly rubbingthe back of my hand as he did so. “Being in the Order didn’t exactly allow for…personal attachments. At least, not publicly. I had some entanglements, shallwe say, but I’ve never been in a position where I was able to simply go out todinner with the person I cared for.”

I nodded, turning my hand to grasp his. “Yeah, I supposethat makes sense. It just really confused me to think that you’d ever hadtrouble finding a date. You’re so ridiculously attractive that I can’t take myeyes off you.”

Garak’s mind visibly screeched to a halt, and he stared atme almost blankly as he struggled to find an appropriate response. “That’s…very kind of you,” he replied at last, ducking his head.

“Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?” I gave his hand agentle squeeze, worried. The last thing I wanted to do was upset him.

And then he smiled at me – a real, genuine smile – and Iknew everything was all right between us. “Not at all, my dear. It was simply asurprise. And, pardon my delay in returning the compliment, but you’re quiteirresistible yourself.”

I grinned back at him, delighted to be out together. “I’mglad we’re doing this. It’s about time.”

Expression still warm with affection, he inclined his headin agreement. “It is indeed.”

_____________________________________________

“People have been talking, you know. None of it’s good.”

______________________________________________

Aside from a half-hearted call so the door would open, Ididn’t react to Julian’s arrival. I simply stayed curled up on my side,simultaneously wishing he would just leave me alone, and that he would stayforever. I couldn’t determine which wish was stronger.

“Hallo, Garak.” Dr. Bashir grabbed my desk chair and wheeledit over to my bedside, then plopped down in it without further ado. “How are wefeeling today?”

“Fine. You can put that infernal thing away.”

He completely ignored me, studying his tricorder as he ranscans. “Well, your neurotransmitter and endorphin levels finally seem to bestabilizing a bit. They’re not ideal, but at least closer to normal thanthey’ve been since I removed your implant.”

“How delightful,” I replied without the slightest trace ofenthusiasm. There seemed to be very little in the universe worth celebratingthese days.

Ever since the surgery, it was like I’d settled into a worldof perpetual grey. There was no brightness, no color… no hope. And no matterhow I tried, I couldn’t lift the crushing weight that sapped away my motivationto do much aside from lay in bed.

Dr. Bashir tapped his fist on his thigh, still staring at myreadings. “How are your headaches?”

“A little better, I think.”

“Is the medication helping?”

I mustered up enough energy for an awkward shrug. “Isuppose, but it makes me feel dreadful.”

“Still?” He frowned, exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m notreally sure what else I can do about that, aside from reworking the formulaagain.”

“It’s fine, Doctor. Don’t trouble yourself.”

The furrows in his brow deepened, and he sat back. “What amI to do with you, Garak?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you haven’t left your quarters in close to twoweeks. Your shop’s just sitting there, sad and empty. People have been talking,you know. None of it’s good.”

“I’m afraid I’m not overly concerned with what people aresaying.” I was tempted to roll over so my back was to him, but that seemed toorude even in my current, uncaring state.

“Exactly. That’s what I find so worrying.” The good doctorleaned forward, and to my surprise, gently laid his hand on my arm. “You’rejust getting more depressed hiding away in here.”

“Isn’t that simply an after effect of removing the wire?”

“That’s causing issues, of course, but there’s things we cando to help you adapt. And none of them involve you isolating yourself in herefor another two weeks.”

I sighed, knowing that he was right. Staying here, sinkingdeeper and deeper into the murky depths of my despair would only be detrimentalto me in the long run. “What sort of things?”

“Well, we’ll start small. How about dinner with me tonight?”As he asked the question, he slid his hand down to grip mine.

Gazing up into those soft, kind eyes and feeling the warmth ofhis hand, a spark of hope reentered my world. “I would like that very much.”