#Elims Cradle

[thouartnigh]

Dogtreats II

As expected, Nin’Tal brought another memory from near the Bimburg. This one got practically shoved into your face. You did want to take care of the small dust apocalypse happening in the entrance hall of the library but then again, did You really want to take care of the dust apocalypse down there? That can always be done tomorrow, right? So you make yourself a drink and sit down for a change of pace. A small memory where nothing goes wrong for once. You hope.

Once again, this memory is mostly images. The first picture shows two animals standing in a room filled with pillows. Both have floppy ears. One has golden fur, a long snout, a wet nose and four legs. It looks happy, and stupid. The other animal has long brown fur, a short snout, a dry nose and six legs. It looks scared and ready to use its strong front legs to jump to the side. The golden one is Bim, the self-proclaimed “Dog” that rules over the Bimburg and on top of that probably the mightiest being on this planet. The other animal, you assume is Mi and the person whose point of view you are observing from should be Honoran, both from the ancient ‘Dogtreats’ legend. Honoran is currently looking at Mi and back to the unknown animal that just threw them into the pile of pillows behind them, simply by moving past them at impossible speeds. Honoran talks: “Hi…?” The next picture shows the dog sitting down and cocking its head. Honoran looks down at his trousers and pulls out a small cracker that is used to train young cattle. He holds it out towards Bim and waits… … Bim takes it and everyone seems to relax. The next picture shows the three of them exploring. They pass empty bedrooms, destroyed doors, a room filled with machinery and alchemical ingredients and a lot of empty rooms. There is however one door that is locked and that has not been blown to bits by Bim. As they finish exploring, the lights outside already dim down and Honoran talks to Bim. “Hey, friend. It was super fun today playing with you but it’s getting late and dad is going to worry about you, so I think we have to go back to the farm now.” Bim lowers his ears. “You can come with us if you want.” Bim looks back at the Burg, looks at the two and sits down with a thump. “That’s no, I guess. Okay, we’ll come back tomorrow. And we’ll bring some snacks!”

And that’s how the letter ends. However, a second one is attached to the first one. It shows only one picture from Bims perspective. They didn’t come back. Not for a long time.

A bit more depressing than You expected, but you know that good things will follow from the legend. You sort it into the correct compartment labeled

Dogtreats

and move on. You already prepped some notes for incoming Dogtreats stories, so making an addendum to this story is a breeze.

Classification: Voice, Bim Memory holder: Bim Advocate involved: Aralez, The Messenger Time frame: Somewhere in the Awakening Era (Reason: Destroyed Bimburg) Extra information: None

A job well done.

[vaguely-concerned]

Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.)  This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that. 

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)   

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them. 

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly. 

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much. 

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.) 

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

[itsrattysworld]

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[theobrowningfd]

"Of course," smiling and nodding in reassurance, he would try his best, at least when it was possible. And maybe he'd even reign in some of the more daring things he'd had done, and save it for the younger firefighters to do. He wanted to be able to come home to his kids and to Tam for years to come, plus the three week drought of not being able to be physical with the woman he loved was not something he wanted to do again. Ever. His eyes softly closed at her fingers brushing through his hair, leaning a bit into her touch. She made him feel happy and safe and at ease and she just felt like home.

The moment felt right to ask her to move in, despite the fact that they hadn't been on a full fledged relationship for even eight months. But in his heart of hearts, he knew deep down that that's where they were headed. They spent their days off together, alternating between whose house they'd spend the night at. Why not just elimate that anyway? Grinning as she affirmed that she would move in with him, he let out an excited laugh, "I love you so damn much," his heart racing from excitement. "And I know it's sudden but it just feels right, and after my accident, I'm not letting things pass me by." Shaking his head before their lips met, his arms cradling her against him, he smiled into the kiss. "And exactly!"

“I know you will.” Especially when he had nights like this to be his motivator, if not the love that they shared point blank. His words were music to her ears, causing her heart to stutter and eyes glisten with glee. Tamara had never felt safer and more at ease than she did with the man entwined with her, still, and she took a moment to brush her fingers through untrimmed sandy blonde hair and just… take him in. The way his eyes sparkled, and his a lips curled at the corners.

She was a little surprised, but not at the same time. It wasn’t like they weren’t technically together all the time outside of work, always wanting to see his face at the end of a long day, and she knew he felt the same. He wouldn’t put the offer out there, otherwise. “Yes!” She exclaimed lightly, a bout of amusement leaving her lungs as her cheeks plumped in delight. “I know we weren’t there yet a little while ago, but… things have changed. Yes, I’ll move in with you.” Tamara took hold of his face, holding his lips against hers in a drawn out, passionate kiss and exhaling through her nose. “Honestly, it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened around here. Why should we avoid the inevitable? There’s no point in paying two mortgages.”

[lietwice]

@dimensionalspades said:

"Garak." Delivered in that tone that meant Julian was reigning in his frustration with great effort, brows furrowed and lips drawn thin in an effort to try to remain neutral in expression.

"You took a bad blow to the head, I need you to hold still." He couldn't tell if the tailor was being more ornery than usual. Instead of bickering with the Cardassian, Julian simply took Garak's head into his hands, grip firm and eyes focused on Elim's face. His thumbs pressed gently on the other's cheeks, making sure he could get a good look at Garak's eyes.

"Elim?" A pause. His grip on the Cardassian's face softened just so, more of cradling Elim's head than holding him still. One hand moved to pick up his tricorder, scanning. Concussion, at least. It listed off all Garak's injuries, but Julian knew it couldn't spell out memory loss, and Garak had very little recognition in his eyes when he looked at Julian. "Can you tell me what you remember?"

THE DOCTOR IS HUMAN. He hasn't seen another Cardassian yet, so he must be undercover somewhere. Perhaps Earth, perhaps a station or starship of some kind, perhaps a colony. Waking to non-Order medical attention isn't ideal, but it's something he's trained for. He tries to calm himself. There's an equal chance that he's fallen into innocent hands, after all. First things first, he needs to focus. Information gathering. The doctor treating him seems familiar with him to some degree, given that he's just taken hold of Garak's head, thumbs on his cheeks. ( His hands are lovely and warm... soothing against the pain he's trying very hard to ignore, because that's a whole different issue that he's not ready to address yet. ) Perhaps he's one of Garak's contacts. He might be useful to the mission, so Garak doesn't want to cause too many issues with him, at least until he remembers what his mission actually is. He's about to turn his attention elsewhere when the doctor utters his name --- his first name. Elim. That's unusual, for an undercover assignment. He'd normally choose a different first name, or simply never provide one. The idea that he'd disclose it to anyone on a mission is... disturbing, to say the least. But he must've had his reasons, he supposes, so he's quick to try and suppress any hint of alarm.

THE QUESTION IS AN INCONVENIENT ONE. He can't even be sure he knows the answer --- how can he know what he's forgotten, if he's forgotten it? However, it's also vague, and he can use that. If he plays it right, perhaps he can even use it to his advantage. Obviously he's supposed to know this doctor, so when he speaks, it's with manufactured familiarity. "Really, doctor. I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, unless you intend for us to sit here while I recall every aspect of my knowledge of the universe. We might be here for days! And I'm sure you have other patients to be seeing to." There --- now the doctor will be forced to make a choice. Either he considers his other patients equally important, and will agree, or he's rather more attached to Garak than would be ideal, and will prioritise him.

[ofhouseadama]

33 for the hand ask meme

33. bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go

After the adrenaline finishes burning through his system, he struggles to parse out his own exhaustion from the burning in his lumbar, from the raw ache of his burnt, bruised, and swollen hands. But there's still eleven hours to go before they reach the wormhole, and as soon as they can make contact with DS9, they're at war.

He's gotten them this far, he just needs to get them a little bit farther. Still, he cringes at this softness. This weakness. How many days, weeks, months did he spend in the Order running on even less sleep, functioning on significantly worse injuries, running critical missions with similar stakes? It used to thrill him.

Now, all Elim Garak knows is a bone weariness that comes from a rapidly crumbling sense of resiliency.

He barely notices when Bashir sits in the pilot's chair next to him, the runabout's first aid kit in hand.

"It's fine, Doctor. Worf needs your attention more than I do," he says, waving him off. Just barely through the grimy film of fatigue, he catches the hint of a smile on the Doctor's face. "What?"

He inclines his head. "I suppose there's a distinction between needing and wanting my attention, that Worf might need my attention and that you want it--"

"A bold proclamation, indeed."

But not an incorrect one. He's never not wanted Dr. Bashir's attention, even after the wire was deactivated. Sure, the endorphin high never reached the apogee of numbness and bliss as it did during the years where he was tripping the mechanism once, twice, three times a day -- but the feedback loop he gets from his interactions with Bashir has always been shamefully pleasant.

Humming, the Doctor leans back in his chair, giving him a wry grin. "But for the time being, Worf is asleep, and well-watched. And you, my dear Mr. Garak, work with your hands."

"Oh, they'll be alright," he demurs.

They won't be. In all likelihood, the pain will get worse as more and more of the nerve endings in his palms and fingers die. The heightened sensitivity and fine motor skills that Cardassians pride themselves in, the acuity and emotive gestures and hand presses and clasps that make so much of the silent parts of their speech will be dulled and possibly numbed for him forever. On the upside, it will finally allow him to use his own palm as a pincushion.

Dr. Bashir sighs, setting down his kit and holding out his own hands expectantly. "Let me see them. It's the least I can do, Garak. You got us out of there. Let me repay you in this one small way."

He dreads to appear weak. He dreads to appear vulnerable.

But... no one else is around. He can hear Martok snoring from their position on the helm.

"I suppose, if you feel you are in my debt..."

If he hesitates, it's only from forty-plus years of training to do so. Still, he allows the Doctor to take custody of his hands, and tries to quell the shiver that runs up his spine at the gentle, careful, exacting touch. No part of him has ever been so warmly cradled.

Brows furrowing, the Doctor touches the pad of his pointer finger to the center of his palm. Garak wonders if he knows how intimate a gesture that is, his jaw tensing as Bashir continues, tracing the lines of his hand, the meat of his thumb. It's unbearably tender.

"I don't have access to a dermal regenerator," he murmurs. "But I can clean these burns and the larger lacerations, dress the wounds until we can get back to a proper infirmary."

"If you insist," he answers, just barely managing to not stammer his reply.

The Doctor's head snaps up. "I do. I really, really, do."

And if Bashir's gentle grasp lingers after affixing the last of the medical gauze, neither of them note it out loud.

[elemental-queen-writes]

“Breath and Life” A Companion Piece to Forgotten.

On Post Canon Cardassia, Julian Bashir and Elim Garak have married and have a half human half Cardassian daughter, Mila. This is a series of glimpses into their life.

Featuring Garak crooning to a cat, tooth rotting fluff, old married Garashir, and family being more than blood. All spoilers for Forgotten are in chapter 2, please read the warning at the start of the chapter.

Excerpts:

Five and a half year old Mila looked up at Elim. "Can we please get a pet?"

Elim pursed his lips, and turned back to watering the plants in the kitchen. "Go ask your Dad, let's see what he says."

Mila found Julian sitting on the couch, writing a paper. "Dad."

Julian looked up. "Yes, Mila?"

"Can we please get a pet?"

Julian pursed his lips. "Go ask your Yadik. We'll see what he says."

Mila frowned. "That's what he said!"

***

"I forgot." Mila's voice was small.

"You forgot the number one rule of this house." Elim felt exasperated.

"Yes, Yadik."

"You not only forgot the number one rule of this house, but the second, and in the process, knocked down the Edosian orchid I was propagating."

Elim sighed again. "You lied to me. And you got caught."

"I didn't lie." Mila's face was turned up to him, defiant.

"You lied about forgetting not to run in the house, and now you lie again." His voice was flat, unimpressed. "I'm disappointed in you, Mila. I taught you better. Don't tell an obvious lie."

Mila turned her face to the floor. "As punishment, you are going to help me repot this orchid, and then go to your room and write five better lies than the one you told me, and also why you're not allowed to run in the house. And Loki stays here."

Mila nodded. "Now grab me a pot, and we'll begin."

***

He sniffed the air. "Is that red leaf tea, Dearest?"

Julian handed him a cup. "Of course it is. You don't have my refined tastebuds."

"I would hardly consider your sickly sweet Tarkalean tea refined." Elim sniffed.

Julian brought more cups to the table, finally cradling his own in his hands. "As I said, you don't have my refined taste."

Tiri and Parnel hadn't touched their tea, too busy staring at the former Cardassian Ambassador the the Federation, and former Castellan, arguing with the renowned Ba'chir in their own kitchen.

Elim smirked. "You don't have decent taste."

"I married you didn't I?" One of Julian's eyebrows was raised, a challenge.

"As I said, you don't have decent taste." One of Elim's ocular ridges was also raised, in response to the challenge.

"Oh, come now, Elim, you chose me that first day."

"Yes, I have excellent taste. You, not so much."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36548626/chapters/91148851

[moonshadowed]

@lietwice​ inquires:  CRADLE : sender picks up the injured / unconscious receiver and holds them close to their chest, carrying them to safety.

HARD-TO-FIND HURT / COMFORT ACTION PROMPTS. always accepting.

The first sensation he becomes aware of is his arms and legs floating freely, his fingers trailing through air as though carried by some unseen current. The second sensation is the heat. It’s much too hot, the sun beating down on him relentlessly, though there’s also a fire that burns from the inside out. It burns to take breath, and it burns when the air roves over his exposed skin.

There’s a coolness, though, on his right side, and Julian makes a soft noise, inclining his head to nestle against it, reminded of his cool pillow and crisp sheets on summer nights back home. He feels almost as small and safe as he did back then. 

But he’s not home. He’s… somewhere. There was a planet, he thinks, a planet that needed supplies, medical treatment. For what, he’s forgotten. An illness, perhaps, but… no… there was something more, something else, something they’d tried to keep hidden. That’s it. Three factions, fighting for control over a continent. He’d done his best to treat the injured, but there were so many… and then there was that noise, and he’d been thrown to the ground, debris cutting into his hands as flames licked the building, his ears ringing, smoke flooding his lungs.

But his ears aren’t ringing now, and his eyelashes flutter as he tries to open his eyes. The young doctor squints into the far-too-bright light, trying to see something, anything, trying to shove down how awful he feels, how much his head hurts, in order to be as alert as he can. Blast injuries were no laughing matter, and that’s undoubtedly what he has. He doesn’t need to examine himself to know that, but it would be useful all the same. How interesting it would be to look at himself on a bed in the infirmary. People had, he supposed, near-death experiences and all. 

Someone’s speaking to him, perhaps, and Julian looks up again, only to be met with a very familiar silhouette. The sun is behind him, but he’d know that face anywhere.

“...Garak?” he murmurs, his voice strange and slow. After a moment, he tries again. “...Elim?... What are you doing here?...”

[uglysockperson]

Elim returns home, its a hot summer night. The council had been just about desserted all day with the harvest taking place just outside of the city. It wasn’t just the festivities it was every citizen of cardassia wanting to see the fruits of their labor and dine with their loved one. There would be large platers of shining delicacies no one has seen since before the war. He couldn’t blame them, he himself hadn’t eaten many of the sweets that would be served since his youth. He’d remeberd being in Milas room, looking out her window to watch the sunset savoring the small bites of the fruit she had saved for him.

Taking off his outer coat a draping it on the sofa he listened for the sounds of feet on tile or claws scratching around, the house was silent. A rare occurrence these days. Normally this would create some knot in his stomach he’d have to turn over every rug in the house to untie but the sight of a flame and some limbs hanging off of a bench in the back yard soothed his scales immediately. He pours himself a cup of water before creeping to the open door way peaking out silently to see his most cherished sitting curled into each other on the large lounge chair being illuminated by a small bonfire. Remains of what looked like dinner on a large plate on the floor. Julian was cradling keer in his arms cheek pressed against the top of her red brown curls. Her tail wrapped around his wrist both of them breathing so gently. He hadn’t realized his was staring so long till julians eyes fluttered open and his mouth curled into a smile “I knew felt you” garak now curious and yearning for his husbands lips walked the few steps over and kneeled to be at eye level. He stole a chaste kiss before asking lowly “felt me, my dear?” Julian sighed into the kiss “felt your eyes, smelt your smell, it was hard but I can hear you breathe. Your getting rusty habibi” elim knew he was right but couldn’t be bothered to care. Instead he put an arm under julians shoulders and under his knees to raise him just enough to slide beneath the two. “How was your day my love” and the was the sweetest fruit a summer on any planet had to offer.

[kendigercegiminresmi]

Bugün tüm aksilikleri üzerime çektiğime emin olabilirsiniz. Öncelikle ulaşım kartımı bulamadım, her zamanki koyduğum yerde,çantalarımda, çekmecelerde de. Diğer kartın hes kodunu iptal ettim, diğer karta hes kodu başvurusu yapıyorum,sürekli hata veriyor. Geç kaldığimdan elim ayağıma dolaşmış halde defalarca denedim. Sonunda başardım. Bravo! Çıktığımda otobüs ve minübüsleri kaçırmıştım. Hay lanet..! Şöför kaplumbağadan daha yavaş bir şekilde Şirinyer'e ulaştırdı. Sonra mı, İzban'ı kaçırdım. Bir sigara yakayım biraz gerginliğimi atayım dedim. Sanki ciğerlerimi doldurduğum o nefes gerginliğimi,öfkemi alacakmış gibi.. Yicekmiş gibi bakişlara aldırmadan, başım yukarıda banka oturdum. Sigaramı çıkarıp, dudaklarımın arasına koymamaın saniyesinde gözümün önünde çakmak belirdi. Kafamı çevirmemle 20-25li yaşlarda bir adam çakmak uzatıyor. Kafamı çevirip çakmağım var diye tısladım. Kafamı sağa cevirsem bir aptal bakış, karşıya baksam çirkin bir bakış, sola çevirsem lanet olası bir bakış daha. Başım ne kadar yukardaysa o kadar eğdim başımı.. Ayakkabılarıma doğru. Sigaram bitmeden kalktım sonra. Dakiklarca kart dolumu yapmaya çalıştım. Hay aksi!!! Kaçırdığım trenin aktarma yapmadan gidebileceğim tren olduğunu öğrendim. Off..! Memelerime memelerime bakan, kadın görmemiş gibi, ergen gibi davranan abazan grubunun önünden geçtim. (Gögüs değil meme! ) En son memelerim gerçek mi, sütyen mi tartışmalarında durup gözlerine gözlerine baktım. Onları parçalayacakmış gibi. İstasyonun en sonuna, en insansız yerine ilerledim. Ergenliğimde sinirlendiğimde yaptığım gibi Cradle of Filth, Walls of Jericho da andan,hayattan kopup gittim...

[thouartnigh]

Elevators (Part 2)

The next picture shows them leaving their old workshop. They walk towards a main plaza. A mountain of white Hiema flowers is stacked against the central fountain. In front of it is written: “For all those who fell, if they existed or not.” Under that picture stands written: “I, too killed my coworker. My partner tried to kill me, I am apparently also changed. What they became afterwards should still be floating around here somewhere.” You focus on the next picture and it starts playing. Sometimes there is a memory so vivid that you can hear it. In this moment you can hear an anthem playing. People singing of their pride of overcoming what once bound them. The mechanic hears it too. They walk towards the source of the music. They appear at an elevator that still plays that one song over and over. The door is open and a bright white light shines from the ceiling of the elevator. A mechanic looks at You through the mirror. They look heartbroken. Far behind the mechanic in the mirror, a marble statue floats onto the main street from one of the side alleys. Its three heads of sorrow, anger and frustration turn towards the mechanic. Underneath that picture is written “Good to see that my partner is still around.” The marble statues’ arms that are lifted like they hold the world go slack. You already know what happens next. When a person transforms into an Elim for whatever reason, they keep their desires from before the Ascension. The three-headed Elim rips off their heads of anger and frustration and throws them towards the mechanic. The first one is sent into a building far away from the mechanic. The house crumbles like it was hit by a meteor. The second head hits the cavern wall not far from the mechanic. The mechanic rushes walks backward into the elevator and presses the “9”. As the doors close, the head of sorrow flies towards them. An impact that topples buildings is blocked by the doors without dent. A safety mechanism of the doors activates and the doors open fully again. All the while, the head of sorrow cries in aching pain and white droplets hit the floor. The doors close again. A last line reads “We did make them indestructible, after all.” And the anthem keeps on playing.

You feel like your free day is ruined just a bit. The Dissociation was the second Cosmic Breath so far. You know that is was stopped, somehow. You do not know how. You with you could look more into memories of that great event but doing so would destabilize Nin’Tal. You need to work hard to give Nin’Tal as much past context as possible so you can start investigating memories that really matter. Like this one could have. You put it into a shelf labeled

Mydura Post-Dissociation

You hope you will be able to sneak more memories into this shelf. You also hope that Lados doesn’t find it. Like the smart person You are, You put it into a hidden back corner of the archives. And like always, You add extra knowledge to the memory.

Classification: Breath of Dissociation, Elim (“Heads of Sorrow, Anger and Frustration”) Memory holder: Unknown mechanic. Time frame: Post-Dissociation Era (Reason: Obvious) Extra Information: Some extra digging into accounts of people trying to resettle Mydura are that the third layer of Mydura has turned into a domain of the Three-Headed Elim. As the entrance is on the third layer, Mydura is basically unable to be resettled until that threat is exterminated. All elevators work to this day.

[meggannn]

tevinter nights spoilers

favorite stories:

Horror of Hormak — fantastically creepy, loved it. if there are eleven other mountains like hormak out there as implied, then thedas is truly fucked lol

Luck in the Garden — I liked this a lot for no other reason than it had a great ���horror lucking underground” vibe 

Wigmaker Job — another creepy one this time featuring Crows on a job to kill a magister. I think these two Crows are likely to show up again because they’re both attractive (presumably single) men and would be great LI options

Eight Little Talons — did anyone ask for a murder mystery dinner party featuring the elite Antivan Crow houses? no? WELL HERE YOU GO ANYWAY

liked:

Callback

Murder by Death Mages

Streets of Minrathous

Harold Had the Plan — ngl this one was just okay but then i got to the end when bharv cradled elim’s body the whole night hoping the amulet would resurrect her.... THAT SHIT HURT

Dread Wolf Take You — solas dresses up and wears a wig and tries to eavesdrop on a meeting to figure out what his old friends think about him. the dread wolf went shopping for a wig because people definitely made fun of him for it. every person at skyhold who ever roasted solas for his baldness is braver than the us military

okay

Down Among the Dead Men — i didn’t find this one as interesting as i think some people did

Genitivi Dies in the End

An Old Crow’s Old Tricks

Half Up Front — i dont remember if we ever got the speaker’s name, but she took on “a pavus job” that i think implies dorian asked her to steal something but she failed. i wonder if that will come back into play

disliked

Three Trees to Midnight

Hunger

bolded are the stories that i feel like have characters that are likely to show up in DA4 as either companions or maybe side characters... I was expecting a lot of these stories to be about Tevinter but surprisingly a lot were about Antiva and Nevarra, and at least three were about the Crows. Dorian is almost definitely coming back, Varric was referenced in at least three different stories so we know he still has his fingers in some shit, and there are slight references to Fenris and Zevran, so I think they have a chance at cameoing as well.

Eight Little Talons notes (probably my favorite story):

if we don’t see viago again i will riot, he was great. i love how it’s subtly slipped in that he’s a bastard son. no reason for it. just fun alistair vibes

this story was pretty much Tevinter Nights: Some Crows Deserve Rights, basically. i hate knowing that zev is trying to kill everyone in this organization now lmfao i don’t want him to go after some of the characters in this collection. zev you can kill all of the crows you want honey except these ones that i like, okay

a friend mentioned that with the arainai talon dead, maybe zev could come back to the crows and fill the role....? 👀👀👀 as if he’d ever rejoin the crows again lol idk

Dread Wolf Take You notes:

our first time seeing the people across the ocean! and then of course solas fucking kills them and then everyone else in the stupid room, like thanks dude, if i had any doubt you don’t give a shit about any life other than the elves....

i kind of laughed at this passage because we absolutely know all of these characters and the POV character doesn’t, but THEN i realized after i finished the story that this is from solas’s pov.... meaning that he doesn’t recognize any of these people aside from divine victoria! and if he doesn’t know them, and the ending lead-in line from DAI was “we’ll find people he doesn’t know”...... could Isabela, Sebastian, Tallis, and the Warden make appearances?

anyway end post

[itsrattysworld]

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[edosianorchids901]

Prompt: "Carry me"

Thank you so much for the prompt!!

Read here on AO3 - Tumblr mobile formatting has been iffy lately, so this may be your best bet if you’re on mobile.

Vicious wind blasted a wall of dust straight into Julian’sface as soon as he stepped off the transport. He squeezed his eyes shut with awince. God, this was like the time he’d used a salt scrub not meant for humans.The scrub had left his body raw, burning. And if anything, this dust scouredhis skin even more severely.

Shielding his face with one hand, Julian cracked his eyesopen. Garak hadn’t lied about the conditions or the continued struggle torebuild. All around the edges of the spaceport lay crushed and twisted remnantsof the proud structures that once stood guard.

And yet, ramshackle buildings peeked hopefully over theruins. Amid all the grey and tan, green emerged in the form of newly-plantedvegetation. And all around, Cardassians worked industriously. Some were buildinga wall, while others buzzed around inside what looked like a traffic control tower.

Impressive. Julian picked his way down the street, carefulnot to slip on any loose gravel. Other pedestrians alternately jostled him or shotsuspicious glares and gave him a wide berth. A warmer welcome than he’dexpected, really.

Now, where could he find Garak? Julian stopped to pull outhis padd, and someone immediately plowed into him. “Sorry,” Julian said, givinga quick wave and stepping out of traffic.

I probably should havetold him I was coming. But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise. The lookon Garak’s face would outweigh the inconvenience of being slightly lost.

Julian wiped a thick coat of dust from his padd screen andchecked the time. Early afternoon, which meant Garak was with the ReunionProject, probably having lunch. Julian tucked the padd back into his duffel andset off.

Perhaps from guilt over both the distance and initial delayin communication, Garak had been unusually forthcoming about his life onCardassia these past months. His messages contained a ridiculous amount ofdetail, so much that Julian’s eyes often glazed over. But knowing Garak’sfavorite lunch spots came in handy now.

Even the oppressive heat and choking dust couldn’t put adamper on this. Julian almost broke into a run when he saw the makeshift café,his hands tingling. Finally. Finally, after all these months. He flung the dooropen.

Garak sat in a typical spot, off to the side with a clearview of the entire room. He glanced up from a padd, and his eyes widened. Hisfork slipped from his grasp, bounced off a plate, and clattered to the floor.

Words rushed in Julian’s mind, tangling and wrestling fordominance. I’m here! Hallo, Elim, Idecided to move to Cardassia. Oh my god, it’s so damn good to see you. Surprised?

“Hi,” he finally managed, cheeks aching from his grin.

Mouth hanging open, Garak leapt up. He’d lost weight—alittle too much weight—since leaving DS9. His scales were dull, hair unkempt.

But delight radiated from his eyes. He crossed the café andseized Julian’s hands. “My dear Julian. What are you doing here?”

How very like him to immediately start asking questions. Julian’sthroat went dry and tight. “Moving here, if that’s all right with you.”

Garak tilted his head. “Is that so?”

God, that wasn’t an encouraging response. The others in thecafé—all Cardassian, probably members of the Reunion Project—fell silent. Thiswas probably as close as they got to theatre these days.

“Yep, it is.” Julian kept his tone light despite the knot inhis stomach. “I just couldn’t go any longer without kissing you, so I decidedit was time to change things up.” Without asking. Which was, in retrospect,maybe not the wisest idea.

Garak’s entire stance relaxed, a smile spreading across hisface. He reached up and cupped Julian’s cheek. “I meant what I said in myletter. You are always welcome here, Doctor.”

Thank god. Julian glanced around the café. Expectant facesstudied them, not even bothering to feign polite indifference. It was likebeing surrounded by a pack of raptors. “Um, should we go back to your place,or…?”

“Ah. Yes.” Garak shook himself. He scooped the fork off theground and set it on his plate, then collected his belongings. “Come, my dear.”

The heavy cloud of dust attacked again the instant theystepped outside. Julian groaned. Grit filled his mouth, burned his eyes.

Garak made a soft, disapproving sound and tugged somethingfrom his pack. “You should have known better than to go for a walk on Cardassiawithout a mask. Did you bother to read my letters at all? I do believe we spokeabout the dust at length on one of our chats as well.”

“I thought it might be more fun to make you take care of mefor a change.” The mask definitely wasn’t designed for a human, leaving gapswhere ridges would be on a Cardassian. Still, it kept out most of the dust, andJulian breathed a little easier. Maskswill complicate kissing a bit, though.

Garak cut through the crowd, occasionally exchanging a fewwords with passersby. His gestures flowed with a natural, almost calm grace.

Despite the rubble, despite the death, despite thedestruction… Amazing. Cardassians really were the hardiest of people. Knock them down and they just spring backout of the cracks and keep going on with their lives. Adapt or die.

“Here we are.” Garak gestured to the path ahead.

Even without the introduction, Julian would have recognizedthis as Garak’s home. If plants peppered other areas of the city, theypositively enveloped this land. Bushes of every kind, vines Julian couldn’t identifyeven with his enhanced memory. And, of course, orchids, their light peachblossoms unfurling at the base of nearly every monument.

And the monuments!They stretched towards the sky, another symbol of Cardassian pride anddurability. They seemed to say Wesurvived, we endured, and now we stand back up.

“This is stunning,” Julian said, his voice muffled by the mask.“How the hell do you work in the garden in all this wind?”

“Carefully.” Garak led him down the path. “And, as you cansee, my shed is expanding into quite a nice little residence.”

“It’s bigger than I expected.” While simple, the structurehad a certain elegance that ran through all Garak’s work, whether his medium beplants, fabric, or stone.

Garak’s jaw tipped up, his pride unmistakable even through amask. “I do believe I’m finding my place,” he said softly with a glance atJulian. “Particularly now, with you beside me.”

The remaining pressure in Julian’s chest vanished. “Carryme.”

“Beg pardon?” Garak tilted his head.

“It’s an old human custom, to carry someone over thethreshold when…” Heat suffused Julian’s cheeks, and he waved a hand to thehouse. “Well, technically it’s when you get married. But, I mean, we’ve beentogether for so long that I thought it might be—”

“Hush, my dearest Doctor.”

Julian found himself swept up in strong Cardassian arms. Hegiggled and looped an arm around Garak’s neck. “See, I always knew you were aromantic at heart.”

“I believe I’ve demonstrated my romantic tendencies quitewell over the years.” Garak cradled Julian a bit closer so neither of them bumpedagainst the doorframe. After a couple steady steps inside, he stopped. “Am I allowedto put you down now? Or is there more to this custom?”

“No, you can put me down.”

Once on the ground, Julian dropped his duffel and glancedaround the house. Low bookshelves lined the walls. Many of the books had beendamaged by water, fire, and who knew what else. A few Edosian orchids decoratedthe simple wooden table.

A cot huddled in thecorner, several blankets spread neatly over the mattress. “Your bed’s a littlesmall,” Julian said. Of course, Garak had complained that nights on Cardassiachilled him, so snuggling would benefit his health.

“I believe we can make do.” Garak deftly peeled off Julian’smask and then his own. He combed his fingers through Julian’s hair, and dust cloudedthe air. “Better.”

Julian’s breath caught—this time, not from the dust. Heleaned into the contact, brought his hand to Garak’s cheek, and kissed him.Finally. I’m never letting him leaveagain.

[adigeon]

15. “Was that supposed to hurt?”

“Elim.”

Garak has always hated those two syllables of his given name. For the bulk of his life, anyone who’s known that name of his has been someone willing to wield it as weapon: Tain, mostly, but Mila, too, when she felt it needed. Bashir, the dear man, had once seemed to have absorbed this – and yet now…

“Elim. Elim Garak!” An altogether unpleasant shove at Garak’s chest, a pause, a shove again. “Don’t leave me here.” A ragged inhale, the sort that would usually leave Garak leaning in, concerned – but now he is too much drawn in by silence, by dark. By rest.

Bashir swears. He steps away from Garak’s body, and for a moment, Garak thinks absolution is his. But, somehow, Bashir’s voice chattering in the distance still registers to him. A command to the ship’s computer. A ragged, terrible pain in the center of Garak’s chest – him gasping as he tries to free himself of it – Bashir holding him by the neck (dear man.)

In his last moments of consciousness, Garak manages to say, “Was that supposed to hurt?”

And Bashir cupping his face with one hand, miserable: “No, Garak, no–”

*

Garak wakes while the Infirmary is possessed by utmost calm. One of the Bajoran nurses stands at his bedside, hmming to herself. “Welcome back,” she says. She draws a tricorder over where he lies in the biobed, even though the biobed should be monitoring him. “Please, Mr. Garak, relax.”

He does, less because he’s been instructed to and more because he’s weakened enough that *resting*, moons forbid, seems the only thing he’s capable of.

There are countable breaths between his waking and Bashir arriving at his bedside. Bashir pushing his fingers through Garak’s hair, cradling his head in his hands, crying?

What a Human weakness, Garak thinks, even as he leans into the touch.

“Garak, don’t do that to me,” Bashir says; he leans in to press his face against the side of Garak’s head. “Prophets, Garak.” His fingers contract unpleasantly against the back of Garak’s skull.

And yet the touch is welcome.

Garak leans into it. Revels in knowing this young man knows too much about him. Revels in pretending. “Doctor,” he mock-guesses; Bashir takes his face in both hands. Bashir kisses him.

It shouldn’t be unexpected. It’s unexpected. The warmth of the Human’s mouth, the immediacy – even were Garak in full health, could he be expected to resist? Oh, no; he yields; he leaves himself open for Bashir’s taking.

After long minutes, he finds himself dazed, Bashir’s fingernails digging into his scalp, Bashir humming to himself.

Garak should be more alert than this. More suspicious.

And yet after an accidental poisoning, he’s too willing to yield to Starfleet’s care. So long as Bashir is amongst Starfeet’s numbers.

To allow this humiliation of being cared for – of collapsing – it’s easier, knowing Bashir is waiting.

For now, at least.

[savorybreakfasts]

“I’d say it’s going rather well.”

Bashir stretched his legs out towards the fire and sipped his whiskey.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Garak’s chair was closer to the fire. He had three blankets around his shoulders and a mug of tea cradled in his hands.

“I still don’t know why you insisted on a vacation to Bajor’s polar region.”

“Oh, come now, Garak. We’re thousands of kilometers from the pole. And this is a part of Bajoran culture! We had the same thing on earth, you know. I was a member of a ski club at the Academy. There were mountains quite close by we would go to after classes on Friday. And I have many fond memories of the ski lodge.”

“You’re going to drag me to a frozen wasteland and regale me with tales of past sexual conquests? Really, doctor, your concept of a romantic getaway needs some work.”

Bashir rubbed his foot on Garak’s outstretched leg.

“I was thinking we could create more fond memories.”

Garak cast an eye to the door to the adjoining room.

“I’m sure she’s asleep, love. She was so tired!”

“Of course she was, after you made her tie planks to her feet and go careening down the side of a frozen mountain!”

“No one makes that girl do anything, Garak. I swear she’s even more strong-willed since living with you. And she loved it! I’ve never seen her cheeks so pink!”

“Isn’t that a sign of skin damage?”

“No. And you must know I was watching her closely for any signs of exposure. She has a much higher cold-tolerance than you, Garak.”

Julian slid from his chair to sit on the floor at Garak’s knee. He rested his head, and sighed deeply when Garak began to scratch lightly.

“Won’t you join us tomorrow? I think it would mean a lot to her. She wants you to enjoy Bajor, Garak. And she would love to teach you something!”

Garak closed his eyes. Bashir was so warm, pressed up against his legs. The fire felt so good. He pictured their return that afternoon, pink-cheeked and snow-dusted, Orkide’s arm looped through Julian’s, laughing.

“I fell so many times, Garak!”

“She got back up every time, too! You should have seen it, Elim! You’d have been proud!”

Garak had made an approving noise and turned to compose himself. He hoped Orkide didn’t notice.

Now, in the safety of the fire and his lovers presence he let his thoughts wander. How many times since her coming into his life had he imagined himself back in that prison camp?

You must have fallen off a dozen times but you never gave up….I remember limping home. You held my hand....I was very proud of you that day.

Garak leaned over and buried his face in Julian’s hair. He took a breath and brought himself back to the moment.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll go.”

“Oh, I’m glad. You won’t regret it, Elim.”

“You might be mending some broken bones tomorrow, doctor.”

“Oh, I doubt it. Snow is soft.”

Julian began to chatter about ski technology and the properties of snow, and Garak let himself drift. He saw Orkide standing in the snow, laughing and proud. In his mind he clasped her shoulders and spoke to her. “I promise you, this won’t be the only day.”