Discover Top Posts Tagged with #from a

The crash was sudden. Instinct brought him to his feet and took his eyes to the corners, the shadows--all empty. The world sharpened, every sound and movement painted across his senses in sudden vibrant color. Not an explosive. Ever since Ab-Tzenketh that was the first, quivering question his mind asked. Not an explosive. No steps, no voices. The walls were whole, and the silence remained undisturbed save for the quiet scrape of chair as the doctor stood. They stared suspiciously at one another across the stretch of table. “What was that?” Bashir asked finally. “You tell me, Doctor.” “You can’t seriously think it has something to do with me?” Oh, I can, Doctor. But in this case, he didn’t. The taut alertness in the doctor’s body was entirely unfeigned. “No, merely that you have the better hearing.” “It—it came from the kitchen. Sounded like crashing…or falling.” Garak’s fingers found the grip of the disruptor tucked at his hip and pushed through into the kitchen. The room stood as placid as he’d left it, a few dishes sitting innocent on the counter, a half-drunk bottle of kanar decanted and casting a long, still shadow in the moonlight. Room empty. Windows unbroken. Blinds drawn. But something—something is different— The teapot. He found her sprawled, hidden by the bulk of the counter, at the jamb of the backdoor. The door itself lay cracked on its hinges, and, outside, the nightlocusts screeched, grating across the grayscale silence all around. She’d pulled a shelf down as she fell, the ceremonial teapot scattered in jagged crumbs around her. Garak had seen plenty of corpses in his time. After a while, contrary to what most imagined, one grew inured. Eventually the glazed serenity of the eyes, the stiffness of the limbs, the eerie stillness of chest and mouth were mere details to be noted just as one might note height or eye color or symmetry of face. No, the sight of death hadn’t affected him for many years. What he’d never quite grown immune to was the sight of the dying. Shivering agony in the eyes. Fluttering, soundless lips. The clutch of hands…Loral… Every one of her gray hairs was still perfectly in place. It seemed obscene. “Garak? Is everything alright?” The human’s voice was small. “Oh, God. Is she—wait--“ Before Garak could object, the doctor was crouched beside him, finger to Loral’s ashen temple. He took two breaths, brow furrowed, then switched to her wrist. A terrible keening sound. The doctor’s voice transformed, calm and strong in a way Garak wouldn’t have thought possible for one so young. “Loral, listen to me. You may be having a heart attack.” She shook her head in silent terror. Pressed her hand to the center of her chest. “Yes, but it’s alright: I have everything necessary to handle it in the medkit downstairs.” Garak didn’t register what he was saying until the doctor’s urgent, commanding eyes pressed against his. “In the medkit downstairs.” Garak sprang to retrieve it. The medkit he found in the laboratory was Parmak’s, the rugged hide bag with the small stitching of the Hebitian sun on the corner. Garak had bought it when Parmak got his job with the Bureau. A gift. Had he left it here? Had he—

Focus, Elim.

His error didn’t occur to him until he was halfway back up the stairs. The door swept open in the moonlight. The screech of the insects… Damnit, you might as well have handed him the keys to skimmer and drawn him a map to the shuttleport. But, to his relief, the only move the doctor had made was to prop Loral’s back slightly with a tablecloth. He sat beside her talking in low, gentle tones. The boy…hadn’t taken it. As easy an out as he was like to have, and he’d stayed. Perhaps he’d believed that bit about the theta-band detonator after all… Inside he quaked with a terrible mix of adrenaline and gratitude and fear, but the hand that extended the medkit to the doctor was as steady as ever. He looked at it with detached admiration. “Thank you, Doctor.” The human didn’t respond, lost in the medical scanner. A probe’s mistake, Elim. He could hear Tain’s voice, sharp with disgust. Sentiment has dulled your wits. Trying to stay out of the doctor’s way, he sat and took the old woman’s hand. Now’s not the time, Father. The medical scanner beeped worryingly. One didn’t have to be a doctor to recognize the urgency of the alarm. Loral’s eyes lolled in fear. Make yourself useful, for the love of State. You may not be able to handle her heart as the doctor can, but you can handle it in your own way… He forced a light expression. “Loral, if you wanted a day off, all you had to do was ask.” A tug in her cheeks. Good. “You’re not to die until you’ve finished preparing the cakes for Union Day… and, you know, thinking on it, I haven’t the first clue how to steam those K’r’rausian silk tunics. Imagine! Me on Union Day without my silk tunics, Loral! A true tragedy.” The dry exhale of what might have been a chuckle. “No, I’m afraid you’re going to have to stick around a bit longer, my dear.” For the briefest of seconds, he felt Bashir glance up from the scanner. Their eyes met and something stirred. Deep, from a place he barely recognized. He hoped the doctor saw the same respect reflected back at him.

Excerpt from AlphaCygni's Garashir AU fic "Proof"

Illustration by me, @bleuuughhh-blog

Have this thing!

I find myself doubting my ability to choose an excerpt of the appropriate size and type to best represent this story and the scene I drew for it; not so long that it impedes on AC's delicately built intrigue, nor so short that it's impossible to get one's footing in the text. I doubt my ability to represent this scene well enough not just in my excerpt but also in my artwork: I doubt if it's detailed enough, well enough composed, *legible* enough.

What I don't doubt, however, is the stunning quality of the story from which this scene comes, nor the extent to which I will endorse it and sing its praises. Hats off to you @alphacygni and your phenomenal fic from years ago lol. It's irreparably changed my brain chemistry and my standard for both romances and tragedies alike. I hope you don't mind the continuous art posts and tags because I definitely have more scenes to create and share!

Anyone feel free to ask me for Garashir scribbles BTW. I do art for a living and doing dumb lil doodles helps me relax and sometimes get out of artist's block. Still exploring and learning in this absolutely wonderful fandom 💕

Click the first image to see the hairs on Bashir's lil head better

#star trek #ds9 #garak #bashir #garashir #fan art #from a #fanfic #that i think about #weekly #my art

Hey Everyone! I never really know how to go about these things, mostly because I never know how the ones on my dash get there, but my sister is trying to raise money to support her dream of owning her own bakery. Someone in the town we grew up in is selling their lease on a place that's already set up as a bakery and they're doing it at a reasonable price. It's kind of one of those "once in a lifetime almost too good to be true" opportunities but she has to act fast.

Unfortunately, she was in an abusive relationship a few years ago and that person ran up her credit bill to the point where my sister had to claim bankruptcy. So asking for a loan has been out of the question which is just about the only option for quick down payment money aside from fundraising. Anything you can give would be appreciated. Also, watch out because the website does a "tip" thing that is technically optional and is their way to be fee-free. It's one of those "you have to opt-out not opt-in" kind of things.

P.S.: If you donate and then message me a request, I'll doodle you something or write you a poem about (your choice). Full disclosure I DO NOT DRAW and my poetry is MEDIOCRE AT BEST, but hey it's the thought that counts and I promise I'll try. This is also optional, but I figured I should offer something. Help a lesbian out (me, not her, though she is also queer).