#why the hell should i be afraid of barely threatening insects

[dramaticartisan]

It has come to my attention that my fear of insects is an acquired one and that I am only ever mildly annoyed or in wonderment around them

Like, there was a jumping spider in my bed and I literally just shoo'd them away since no one else was around me to mask myself

I'm not even afraid of most bugs, they just make the tism hate the sensation if they move wrong or minutely tickle

Why the fuck were they teaching me to fear bugs like the plague when most of the bugs here just bite and the venom is like rash worthy at worst

Now I feel bad for all the moth caterpillars I killed because people were watching and waiting for me to kill them like they were taught to

[spoondrifts]

so I've fallen head over heels for good guy Jonalias and must write more about it

Elias knows that everyone who works in the Archives becomes bound to the Institute, but he has a delicate balance to maintain between serving the Eye and watching over his staff, so after Gertrude Robinson dies, he promotes Jon and transfers his assistants, hoping that this time around Elias will be able to keep the archival staff safe from the various mishaps that tend to befall them.

Jon will end up being the Archivist regardless, but Elias is sure that letting him get started on his own will ultimately be more beneficial.

Obviously this goes wrong as Elias' initial hands-off approach leads to the Corruption festering in the Institute, and though he pulls the lever as soon as he's able, he's too late to prevent Jon from being marked. This is unfortunate because Elias really doesn't want the world to end, and a third mark means the stakes are ramping up. Elias scraps his Distant Assistance plan entirely when Martin finds Gertrude's body in the tunnels.

Now Jon is having a paranoid breakdown, which only worsens as Elias tries to actually connect with his Archivist in an attempt to build trust so that the revelation of fear gods existing might be introduced more gently.

Elias, swinging by Jon's office for the third time this week: are you alright? do you need anything? do you want a raise?

Jon, as soon as he's gone: supplemental. both Elias and Martin are being strangely nice to me. Martin made me tea this morning and Elias keeps offering more weeks of paid leave. are they in on this together? more at ten.

And when Elias discovers Sasha has been replaced, he curses himself for not getting rid of that damn table earlier. One night, after months of putting up with this intrusion, in a rash moment of fury-- how dare that thing invade his Insitute, how dare it masquerade as one of his staff --he corners the Not-Sasha.

The hallway is shadowed and dim. Everyone has gone home for the night. Not-Sasha's heels click on the waxed floors as she casually makes her way towards him.

Elias blocks her exit. He's taller than her, but her teeth are too sharp and her green eyes are too bright, and a shiver, unbidden, runs down his spine.

"Hello," he says coldly. "Going home for the night?"

"Yes. Have a good night, Mr. Bouchard."

Not-Sasha smiles at him, and his patience snaps. He grabs her by the coat collar and slams her up against the wall, relishing in the way she yelps in shock. People tend to forget about his violent and unpredictable temper.

"You will leave my Institute," he snarls, the weight of the Ceaseless Watcher's gaze falling heavily on this uncanny creature. Not-Sasha growls darkly at him. "You will not return. This is a temple of the Eye and you have desecrated its sacred archive with your foul presence."

Not-Sasha bares her teeth at him, nails like claws digging into his arm. Her appearance shifts and warps like fuzzing static, and Elias feels her power straining against his. "You're not strong enough to banish me."

"I will call in the couriers to take your table far, far away, and you won't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

"The couriers don't answer to you."

Leaning in close and keeping eye contact as Not-Sasha hisses in pain, Elias says lowly, "I watch over my own. Leave, or I will make you."

Not-Sasha suddenly goes very still. Her mouth falls open and Elias can see her teeth sharpening as she speaks, her voice warped and thrumming. "You should keep a closer eye on your Archivist."

Elias steps back. He tears his Sight away from Not-Sasha and casts it frantically around the rest of the Institute and there--

He Sees Jon, lifting an axe above his head, and--

Sharp laughter bursts from Not-Sasha, harsh and echoing, and she doubles over with the force of her wild cackling. Elias grits his teeth, torn, and makes his decision.

He spins on his heel and races towards Artefact Storage, that haunting laughter trailing him all the way there.

Skidding to a halt and throwing open the doors, Elias catches Jon just as he brings down the final blow and the table collapses.

"Jon," Elias says breathlessly, "what have you done?"

Jon whirls. His eyes are wild with fear. The axe clatters from his grasp. "I-I destroyed it. Destroyed the thing that took Sasha-"

"Jon, the table was binding it."

Elias sees the moment the realization hits Jon. Horror spreads over his face.

Delighted laughter floats down the hallway outside. Jon turns, sucking in a sharp breath as Not-Sasha calls out, "Joooooon! We should chat, Jon!"

"Dammit," Elias says. "There's only one exit."

"What do we do?"

Elias takes a single second to assess the situation before making a decision. He grabs Jon's arm and hauls him farther back into Artefact Storage, behind the tall, imposing shelves. Jon stumbles after him. There should be a door somewhere around here, waiting for them to notice it.

There. In the corner sits a perfectly innocent-looking yellow door.

As Jon sputters in protest, Elias knocks three times on the door.

"W-Wait, that's Michael's door, he's-"

"A monster, yes," Elias says. He turns to face Jon, who has his arms wrapped around himself as his body shudders with adrenaline. "And unfortunately our only option. I have no doubt that the Distortion is rather invested in you due to your position as Head Archivist."

"Why?"

Elias smiles despite himself. Relentless questions, even in the most dire of circumstances. "I'll explain everything later. Keeping you in the dark has proven to be a mistake on my part."

"I-"

The yellow door creaks open, squealing on its hinges. Michael is draped in the doorway, knife-like fingers clicking together as a toothy smile splits his spiraling features. Elias has to tear his eyes away from the Distortion's impossible shifting form.

"That was very stupid, Archivist," Michael says, chuckling softly. The sound makes Jon wince.

Outside, Not-Sasha cackles with glee. Jon starts to tremble.

"It seems you're in need of a door."

Jon stammers something incoherent.

"Yes, we are," Elias says. "Are you offering safe passage?"

"Not safe, certainly not," Michael giggles. "But passage. Yes. Though only the Archivist, I'm afraid. The Institute's Heart is not welcome within my corridors."

"What do you mean, the 'Heart'?" Jon asks, and Michael just laughs and laughs and laughs until Elias' ears begin to ring.

"Go, Jon," he says firmly, pushing his Archivist closer to the doors. "I can always find you. Wherever you end up, you will be able to navigate if you keep a level head and trust your Sight. Now go."

Casting back one last terrified glance, Jon vanishes into the twisting, vibrant hallways. Michael leers at Elias.

"Turned over a new leaf, have we?"

"Something like that. If you harm my Archivist, I will assure you, you will regret it."

Michael's face contorts into a warped mockery of a scowl, all jagged edges and blown glass-esque shapes. Elias stares him down until Michael slams the door in his face.

The door is gone, or had there ever really been one? Elias shakes his head and ducks into one of the aisles, rapidly scanning the dangerous contents.

By the exit, Not-Sasha bends and crumples in on herself to fit through the door, her body now a mass of grey limbs and hollow, empty caverns for eyes. Elias takes in a shallow breath and snatches a Leitner off the shelf.

"Where are you, Jon?" she trills.

Elias runs a hand over the cover of the book. It's volatile, but perfectly suited for his purposes.

"Jon."

Stepping out into the open, Elias wills himself to stand his ground, even as Not-Sasha's head crunches and snaps to look at him. Her limbs skitter like an insect.

"I warned you," Elias says.

"I'll wear your skin," Not-Sasha threatens, though she doesn't move to attack him.

"I hate to draw comparisons between us, but I'm afraid you wouldn't like this skin much. It's second hand." Then Elias flips open the Leitner-- Tied & Bound --and begins to read.

Meanwhile, in the tunnels, Martin and Tim are arguing.

"Fine," Tim mutters.

"No, it's not fine!" Martin hisses, his words echoing down the dark and ominous tunnel. "You’ve been going on and on and on about how alone you feel because Jon’s not taking your feelings into account while he’s having his breakdown, but you’re just doing the same thing!" His voice pitches with fury, as restrained as he can manage. "We’ve all been going through this, Tim, but you’re the only one who’s been running away. Even Elias has been trying to help, and he barely does anything around here."

"Okay," Tim relents, holding his hand up in surrender; a pipe dangles from his other hand, which he'd found earlier. They walk in silence for a few more minutes. "I don't think there's anyone down here-"

"Tim?"

Tim lets out a shout of surprise as Jon appears around the corner, cringing back from the noise. Jon is hunched in on himself protectively, as if he expects Tim to attack him.

"Jon?" Martin gasps.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" Tim demands, taking a step towards Jon.

"I could ask you the same thing! I told you both to go home."

Tim scoffs. "And you thought we would just unthinkingly obey you?"

"I'd hoped you would have some self preservation. Evidently not."

"Jon," Martin interjects. He places a placating hand on Tim's shoulder. "What was that thing? It... It looked like-"

"Sasha," Jon says quietly. "Yes.

"Stop saying it looked like Sasha," Tim snaps. "It wasn't her."

Jon's expression twists with pain. "Tim... it took her during the Prentiss attack. It's a changeling. It takes people and replaces-"

Tim lunges for Jon, who staggers backward and trips, landing hard on his elbows. Martin tries to grab Tim but the other man is stronger, yanking Jon up by his shirt and shouting, "How long have you known? How long?!"

"Tim!" Martin cries.

Jon shoves feebly at Tim's hands. Tim shakes him roughly.

"Do you get a kick out of being an psychotic bastard? How long have you kept this yourself?"

"Mr. Stoker that is enough."

Everyone goes still.

In the middle of the corridor stands Elias, pale green eyes glowing in the dim. With an axe in one hand and a book in the other, the cover coated with grime and dirt, he looks abruptly menacing, and Martin finds himself shrinking back from Elias' furious stare.

"Violence may have resolved some issues in the past," he says, voice tight, "but not this one. Jon only discovered Sasha's replacement today."

Reluctantly, Tim releases Jon and gets to his feet. Jon scrambles up, ducking behind Martin as if to hide from Tim's anger. Martin touches Jon's arm gently; he's shaking.

"Elias," Jon says hoarsely. "What happened to the- the Not-Sasha?"

"Let's just say it won't be seeing the light of day for quite some time and leave it at that."

"And w-what about what Michael said? He called you the Heart of the Institute, and wouldn't let you through his door. What does that mean?"

"How did you find us so quickly?" Tim asks, narrowing his eyes.

"You knew about Sasha, too, didn't you?" Martin pipes up nervously.

Elias dusts himself off, swings the axe up to rest on his shoulder, and sighs. He gives the archival staff a resigned smile. "I suppose an explanation is in order, then. Shall we?"

Unnoticed, a tape recorder clicks off.

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] Undertow 1 (Jack/Parmak)

So what have I been working on? Another stupid WIP :D Couldn't get DOM!Kelas out of my head after drawing the new blog header (and also after talking with @borg-apologist ) so thought I'd mess around with a little AU with Parmak visiting the Institute in Season 7 and meeting our boy Jack. In this Jack is more gray ace and I was excited to explore more kink with him so here goes.

Warnings: None for this part except Jack's usual disjointed thought, Jack/Parmak overall and a bit of praise kink

“In one week, you’ll kneel for me.”

Jack plays the words back in his head, a small counter having already started in his head from the time that he met the Cardassian doctor known as Kelas Parmak. The counter was a conscious counter, but it appeared when he asked his innermost thoughts how much time had passed. It’s been one hour, thirty three minutes, and four seconds. It keeps counting as he pulls the old doctor back to mind, pulls every piece of him perfectly and Precisely as he stands on the table rocking back and forth on his heels, staring out into the distance while he… Considers.

Kelas Parmak age one hundred and five (mind converting the number to approximately fifty two in human years though possibly as old as sixty one as Imprecise as the conversations are) stands as tall as Jack but possibly taller if it weren’t for the congenital spine curvature, the stoop, the odd tilt of the head perpetually, servilely looking upwards. It was… Nice because Jack didn’t need to make himself higher when he met him, he didn’t try and make himself More, didn’t try to tower over Jack and that set his mind at ease.

People were afraid of him so they always tried to make themselves Big and that made him… uneasy.

Kelas Parmak is slight, he’s an albino manifested by a violet tint to his gray skin, a slight pink to his sclera, an indigo hue to his eyes, and a pair of large silver spectacles that control the shaking of his pupils. He is sensitive to light but not cold (a different Breed of Cardassian from the Northern Continent thus spoke Zarathustra) and walks with a deliberate and measured step. He’s slight of build but there’s something Off, something stronger than it looks from the soft spoken voice that everyone strains to hear but Jack, from the mouth that barely moves when it speaks. Kelas Parmak leaves a tang of cinnamon spice on his tongue that Jack tasted when he was near him.

Jack wasn’t supposed to be near him.

Jack was never supposed to meet him.

Doctor Parmak wasn’t supposed to be in the inpatient wing directly. His work, he said involved the research of genetic augments but Nurse Ratched didn’t think it was a Good Idea for Jack or the Others to have any contact with Outsiders after the Incidents. Jack didn’t understand why they still expected him to listen to any of them. He still constantly Questioned from whence their Authority over him originated. They never answered him with anything Satisfactory and they… they had no right to keep him there when Sarina was allowed to leave and Bashir said there wasn’t anything he could do for them so why… why they kept this charade up, why they persisted in him changing or why they thought like the Foolish Virgin that they would awaken and his magic power would have changed all laws and morals and-

“They must be getting desperate,” Lauren says interrupting his Thoughts. Jack’s head snaps up the counter still counting violet eyes peering up over the frames of the spectacles. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…“If they’re letting one of the Cardassian Resistance doctors even think about looking at their records.”

“They’re afraid,” Patrick adds with a sigh, watching the feed that he and Jack had tapped into. Their security will recode soon enough but for now it’s enough for Jack to stare intently at the screen and continue considering the puzzle of Doctor Parmak.

“They should be afraid, they should have listened but it’s too late now too late for Martha to pull her dress back down.”

“It’s never too late to pull your dress back down, Jack,” Lauren retorts as she stares blankly a moment at the picture book. Jack sighs, studying the figure as the meeting continues. It’s a meeting about Jack and it Irritates him that he’s not there but… but Doctor Parmak wants him as an assistant which wasn’t the intent when Jack dropped from the ceiling in front of him but that’s what it’s become and he’s riveted to the back and forth volley of words. He stands nearly perfectly still biting his finger, Lauren murmuring that the Doctor is attractive but clearly not the Right Type and that’s code for a man who hasn’t triggered Lauren’s hallucinations.

But he triggered something for Jack.

The intent at first was a simple one. Jack needed to see the stranger, know the stranger who was in his Space hearing the pokpok of the cane tip echoing like a siren’s song to bring him to drown. He needed to know the creature behind the sound of their dark and warm little corner of the universe so he hung back searching, following the sound but seemingly too slow to catch it, the shadow vanishing around a corner until every light blared and all suns rose with the dawn. Doctor Parmak had slipped in like Mercury beneath the door, wavering, flickering quicksilver and it had stopped Jack a moment when he finally laid eyes on him.

Doctor Parmak said he wanted to talk.

So they talked...

---

“Hmm… they can’t contain you and yet here you are at the mercy of… what did you call them… basics?”

“Basics, simple, down the ladder of the chain, slower, weaker, duller, but you you take enough insects in a swarm and they can bring down a mighty creature! Fell worlds, galaxies, collapse stars mmhm.”

“And you would… rule over them?”

“Rule? Ha! That’s what they say too- rule, who’d want to rule hm hm? Milton would- better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but but Paradise is long lost and Hell is everyone here and I… I just want Quiet! Is that too much to ask?! Freedom?Quiet?! But all men hate the wretched and there’s… there’s nothing more wretched than a seraphim cast with six broken wings… why are you laughing?”

It started with a little smile. Jack introduced himself. Doctor Parmak kept smiling non threatening, assessing good Good but holding firm, eyes following Jack’s movements, leaning on the cane, a tilt of the head as he gave his name back, lips barely moving, a flit of the tongue that was like a small lizard’s, delicate, a push of glasses, no offer of hand, as they discussed and lips still barely moved keeping Jack from reading them, still Smiling as eyes tracked, no draw back, no posturing just Watching, laughing softly, then louder, disarming because Jack didn’t… raise his voice as he would when he Needed to know something but just asked level and Curious...

“Ah, my apologies it’s just that… what you said reminded me of things I’ve heard so many times in so many academic circles. Mmm… how to explain I suppose you would say that for many Cardassians, the mightiest human is still a blind and snivelling vole next to even the weakest of us... Oh but that sounds like slight, doesn’t it? My apologies, I suppose I’m not well versed in your customs.”

“You’re not better than me. Quantifiably even… even accounting for genetic differences in bones density, the averages that make us different it… it doesn’t matter and I don’t know why you’d stand there saying things you know aren’t true I don’t know why you wouldn’t know any of this or why you’d argue it with me because you had to had to have read my file.”

Jack’s hand on his shoulder and Doctor Parmak drew in a breath but not scared, increased respirations, another push of glasses, another speculative tilt, another flick of that tongue which Jack mimicked and Parmak smiled hand over Jack’s thumb circling scales, warm hand, trapping, holding him there, looking in his eyes steadily brilliantly Jack’s thumb in his mouth biting hard before that hand released soft, stepping in challenging sweetly smiling smelling cinnamon and Jack tasting spice in the air a study, more study of him Jack uncertain unsure, a tap of the cane, another step towards him voice soft hands soft, mouth soft, warm, everything about Doctor Parmak radiating warm.

“No, I hadn’t actually. It wasn’t necessary to know about any of you individually. And I suspect were I to read your file I’d find it hardly conveys everything that I need to know about you.”

“What do you need to know about me? They said… that that you weren’t going to study us, that you weren’t going to scan, you weren’t going to cut because I don’t agree to that. You’re not cutting me open! No!”

“Mmm no, there’s no need for that. In fact… the use I have for you is much different. With your… gifts you say, you might be the assistant that I need. They offered me some young man but I fear he isn’t going to be able to keep up academically. But I have a feeling that you’ll work out quite nicely.”

“I’m not taking orders from you? I know you heard me, I don’t take orders hm. I don’t-”

Nystagmatism met paroxysm and both battled to a standstill, Parmak with the saucy cinnamon tilt of head and fingers dancing over the exposed ridges of his neck mirrored on Jack’s, Jack followed absently, both of them stopped having danced circles in the empty common room around the couch, a chase around the sofa ashes ashes, all falling down, step left step right, Parmak holding up a single digit smile dark on his face but not Threatening just… commanding.

“One week. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…”

“Why… why would I kneel for you?”

“Because you want to be a good boy of course...”

Whispered sibilant susserated auditory smoke sending shivers as the Doctor slowly turned his back on Jack the ghost of that voice, that scent lingering in the air before the room started back up, stopped time resuming, People egress ingress, in out and Jack fled back when the lights came back on and he realized until then the room had been nearly pitch black with Doctor Parmak still seeing him clear as day.

“Good boy…”

---

“Well you certainly must have made an impression,” Lauren teases as Jack watches Doctor Parmak neatly parlay Jack’s temporary Extra Privileges to Assist him. He blinks a few times before jumping down. “You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“See Jack, this is why Sarina said that you catch more flies with honey,” Patrick says and Jack is… pleased that Patrick has something to smile about because Patrick like the rest of them has been a lot quieter since Sarina’s departure, but unlike Jack the silence from the other two is an inward reflection, a rebirthed quiet hope for their own liberation and Jack… wonders what it might be like to have people on the Outside waiting for him. Sarina didn’t have anyone but Lauren and Patrick… they’re different.

Jack doesn’t hope. Jack doesn’t dream. Jack doesn’t particularly care who wins the war because the walls of his room, his cell look the same no matter who owns the galaxy. Bashir speaks loftily about freedom and subjugation but Jack’s lived most of his life in chains and still doesn’t understand if it’s good enough for His existence why they’re not willing to pledge the save to save billions of their fellow man. Jack will never Understand the anger at him for doing what he was told, never understand why they Hate that he refuses to call them equal. Equal men didn’t wear chains and that either made him Prometheus or Sicinnus using his gifts in the service of Themistocles… In one week, you’ll kneel for me… Never, he thinks, even as he watches The Federation barter him away like an Athenian slave.

Jack doesn’t belong to anybody.

But still feels the memory ghost of breath on his face, the counter counting higher, indigo eyes above the glimmering lenses blinking every second…

Good boy...