nowhere left to go

indie RP blog for canon-divergent AU Weyoun 8 ((this is a sideblog. asks and follows will come from hyperlightrifter))

[disasterskrain]

thelastweyoun‌:

disasterskrain‌:

(Cont)

Dukat cards his fingers through Weyoun’s hair. “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t trust him either, if he’d done all that stuff to me.”

“Is that so,” Dukat says, smugly, to the implication that he is Weyoun’s protector now. He gently pushes Weyoun off of him and flexes showily. His flexing is less than impressive, considering the famine made everyone weak. “Big strong man here to protect you.” He does not mention that Garak is the real protector, seeing as how he can totally kick Dukat’s ass.  

Weyoun smirks. “Very intimidating,” he says. “If I was an assassin I’d run the other way. Or,” he adds, considering, “fall madly in love with you.” Given Garak’s former profession, at least one assassin already has.

He sits up, crossing his legs to sit on the edge of the bed next to Dukat. “I probably should introduce you to Bijun, at least,” he says. “Just keep your hands off, please. I don’t care to mix business with my personal life.” This is a blatant lie, considering how he and Dukat first started sleeping together, but the teasing falsehood feels safer than the real reason - he doesn’t want to make things worse on Garak by introducing an attractive newcomer for his husband to flirt with.

Dukat laughs. “I’d like to see you as an assassin. Sexy. Deadly. You could drink poison and then make out with with your target, watch them fall to the floor.” He looks over at Weyoun’s movement. “Look, don’t touch, is that it? I think I can manage. He’s too young for me, anyway,” Dukat says breezily, ignoring the fact that Bijun is not terribly younger than Damar, whom Dukat has slept with. 

“Well, introduce us, then,” Dukat says, getting to his feet and waiting expectantly. 

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun gets up, takes Dukat’s hand and leads him into the other room, where Bijun is still sitting. He clears his throat to announce their presence. “Bijun, this is Skrain Dukat, my lover,” he says, indelicately stressing that last word. “He’s aware of my… situation… with Damar. I’m sure we can trust you to be discreet when he visits me at the Castellan’s residence, yes?” 

He’d hate to lose his privileges of visiting with Dukat and Garak thanks to someone else’s indiscretion - though he realizes with a jolt that he could always simply choose to walk away. It’s sometimes still a bit of a surprise to remember that he’s not actually under anyone else’s authority anymore. Damar can command him, but he can always refuse to listen.

[disastercorat]

Bijun quirks a brow at the word lover. He shifts his gaze to Dukat, leers at him for a moment. He had not missed the way Dukat had looked at him, on the way in. Dukat meets his gaze, flushes slightly, then flicks his eyes away.

Bijun smirks, then turns back to Weyoun. He mimes zipping his lips closed. “I can keep a secret. I know I must have given the opposite impression, but I’m not keen on losing my job twice in the same week. You can trust me, sir.”

[thelastweyoun]

“Good. That’s all I ask.” Weyoun waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t see the point of adhering to protocol as closely as Damar does. In fact, if you can find the time to be rude to Damar, I encourage it. It will annoy him.” The Vorta smiles sweetly, pleased that his impulse decision is working out so well.

“Now, did Garak invite you to dinner? You’re welcome to join us, though I don’t expect you to stay here if you’d rather leave for the evening.”

[disastercorat]

thelastweyoun‌:

disastercorat‌:

(Cont’d)

One of Damar’s guards is doing his regular patrol, when he passes by the Castellan’s quarters, and hears running water. He double takes. He was just speaking to Damar in his office, and nobody else in the household is allowed to use his shower. It must be an intruder! he thinks.

He barges in, going through to the en-suite, and sees a Vorta wasting Damar’s water rations. “Hey!” he barks. “You’re not allowed in here!” He turns off the shower, then grabs the Vorta’s arm and begins to tug him out. 

“I’m taking you to the Castellan, I’m telling him what you’ve done.”

Weyoun flinches and drops the shampoo bottle with a loud clatter. Futilely he tries to cover himself with his free hand as the guard drags him out of the shower, stammering, “I- I had permission, the Castellan ordered me…”

There’s no way the man will believe him, he knows that. It’s not like he has any proof of Damar’s permission. He cringes at the thought of being dragged through the building wearing nothing but his collar, dripping wet and exposed for the Cardassian staff to ogle. The thought of being thrown in front of Damar like that, at his mercy, is even worse. “Please– at least let me get dressed?” he says desperately. As humiliating as the lingerie is, it’s at least better than the alternative.

The guard smirks meanly. “No time,” he says. It’s a lie, he just wants to see the Vorta humiliated and degraded. He’s hated him ever since he ordered the genocide on his people. 

The guard greatly enjoys dragging the Vorta all the way to Damar’s office, naked, having to witness the smirks and laughs of the other staff, at his own expense (and not to mention the ogling. For someone so despicable, he’s at least pretty.) Then they arrive at the office, and once inside, he throws the Vorta to his knees, jerking him by the hair to force him to look up at Damar.

“Found this in your shower, sir, without permission.” He looks down at Weyoun, kicks him. “Anything to say for yourself? I think it’d be appropriate to beg forgiveness, at the least.” 

[thelastweyoun]

Being dragged through the building naked is a nightmare. Weyoun stumbles along after the guard, trying to keep his head down so he doesn’t have to see the leers of Cardassians staring at him, though he can still feel their eyes on him, raking over his naked body. He tries to keep his hand between his legs, covering his slit, but it’s not like that helps much. It reminds him of being sold, on display for potential buyers, though this is somehow worse - potential new owners in the Gamma Quadrant usually hated Vorta, but these Cardassians have reason to hate him, personally. He can feel it aimed at him, and he shivers.

When he’s shoved to the ground in front of Damar, his instinct is to curl in on himself and hide his face, and he gasps in pain as the guard yanks his head back up by the hair. The injustice of it, the fact that Damar ordered him to shower, isn’t worth dwelling on, even though it stings. If he’s told to grovel and beg, that’s what he’ll do, even if he shouldn’t need to. That’s a lesson he’s learned very well by now.

“Please, sir, I’m sorry,” he gasps out, not daring to use Damar’s name or even his title just now. “I deserve to be punished, but - please, have mercy…” He has no way of knowing whether Damar will actually back up his story that he had permission, or go along with the guard’s misconceptions for the sake of humiliating Weyoun further. He can only hope that seeing his old enemy groveling like this will satisfy him somewhat.

[disastercorat]

Damar looks down at Weyoun, for a moment. Then he puts his padd down and stands up. He approaches Weyoun, gestures for the guard to let him go.

Damar puts his hand in Weyoun’s hair. It’s wet, plastered across his forehead. It makes him look soft, vulnerable. Damar thinks he prefers him this way.

He looks back up at the guard. “You may leave. I’ll take care of this.” The guard nods and exits his office.

Damar turns his attention back to Weyoun. He kneels down in front of him, settles himself comfortably, and just looks for a moment.

He had hated this man, with a passion. But before he hated him, he had wanted him. It was ruined once the first scathing words had passed his lips, of course.

But Weyoun can’t do that now. Weyoun can’t do anything, without his say so. Damar feels an intoxicating rush of power. He has power, of course. He’s the most powerful man in the Union. But it’s different, somehow, to have absolute power over someone that once had power over him.

He watches droplets of water make their way down Weyoun’s elegant neck. He had wanted him, once. He wants him, now.

Damar leans in and sucks those droplets off Weyoun’s neck.

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun tenses up as Damar touches his hair, and is still rigid with apprehension when Damar kneels down in front of him, not quite sure what to expect. A beating? Further humiliation? He certainly doesn’t expect Damar’s mouth on his neck and gives a little hitched gasp of surprise, fighting the urge to jerk away. It’s surprisingly gentle, all things considered. And at least it makes Damar’s intentions clear.

Silently he spreads his legs and tilts his hips slightly, fully displaying his slit to Damar. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of fucking Damar before - but usually, in those scenarios, he had the upper hand. The fact that this is how Damar first sees him naked is more than a little humiliating. Still, he’s not going to resist - it’d be pointless. His slit is still tightly closed, and he lifts one hand up to stroke lightly at his own chest ridges, trying to muster up some arousal so Damar won’t have to force him open.

[disasterskrain]

thelastweyoun‌:

disasterskrain‌:

(Cont)

Dukat cards his fingers through Weyoun’s hair. “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t trust him either, if he’d done all that stuff to me.”

“Is that so,” Dukat says, smugly, to the implication that he is Weyoun’s protector now. He gently pushes Weyoun off of him and flexes showily. His flexing is less than impressive, considering the famine made everyone weak. “Big strong man here to protect you.” He does not mention that Garak is the real protector, seeing as how he can totally kick Dukat’s ass.  

Weyoun smirks. “Very intimidating,” he says. “If I was an assassin I’d run the other way. Or,” he adds, considering, “fall madly in love with you.” Given Garak’s former profession, at least one assassin already has.

He sits up, crossing his legs to sit on the edge of the bed next to Dukat. “I probably should introduce you to Bijun, at least,” he says. “Just keep your hands off, please. I don’t care to mix business with my personal life.” This is a blatant lie, considering how he and Dukat first started sleeping together, but the teasing falsehood feels safer than the real reason - he doesn’t want to make things worse on Garak by introducing an attractive newcomer for his husband to flirt with.

Dukat laughs. “I’d like to see you as an assassin. Sexy. Deadly. You could drink poison and then make out with with your target, watch them fall to the floor.” He looks over at Weyoun’s movement. “Look, don’t touch, is that it? I think I can manage. He’s too young for me, anyway,” Dukat says breezily, ignoring the fact that Bijun is not terribly younger than Damar, whom Dukat has slept with. 

“Well, introduce us, then,” Dukat says, getting to his feet and waiting expectantly. 

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun gets up, takes Dukat’s hand and leads him into the other room, where Bijun is still sitting. He clears his throat to announce their presence. “Bijun, this is Skrain Dukat, my lover,” he says, indelicately stressing that last word. “He’s aware of my... situation... with Damar. I’m sure we can trust you to be discreet when he visits me at the Castellan’s residence, yes?” 

He’d hate to lose his privileges of visiting with Dukat and Garak thanks to someone else’s indiscretion - though he realizes with a jolt that he could always simply choose to walk away. It’s sometimes still a bit of a surprise to remember that he’s not actually under anyone else’s authority anymore. Damar can command him, but he can always refuse to listen.

[disastercorat]

thelastweyoun‌:

disastercorat‌:

(Cont’d)

One of Damar’s guards is doing his regular patrol, when he passes by the Castellan’s quarters, and hears running water. He double takes. He was just speaking to Damar in his office, and nobody else in the household is allowed to use his shower. It must be an intruder! he thinks.

He barges in, going through to the en-suite, and sees a Vorta wasting Damar’s water rations. “Hey!” he barks. “You’re not allowed in here!” He turns off the shower, then grabs the Vorta’s arm and begins to tug him out. 

“I’m taking you to the Castellan, I’m telling him what you’ve done.”

Weyoun flinches and drops the shampoo bottle with a loud clatter. Futilely he tries to cover himself with his free hand as the guard drags him out of the shower, stammering, “I- I had permission, the Castellan ordered me…”

There’s no way the man will believe him, he knows that. It’s not like he has any proof of Damar’s permission. He cringes at the thought of being dragged through the building wearing nothing but his collar, dripping wet and exposed for the Cardassian staff to ogle. The thought of being thrown in front of Damar like that, at his mercy, is even worse. “Please– at least let me get dressed?” he says desperately. As humiliating as the lingerie is, it’s at least better than the alternative.

The guard smirks meanly. “No time,” he says. It’s a lie, he just wants to see the Vorta humiliated and degraded. He’s hated him ever since he ordered the genocide on his people. 

The guard greatly enjoys dragging the Vorta all the way to Damar’s office, naked, having to witness the smirks and laughs of the other staff, at his own expense (and not to mention the ogling. For someone so despicable, he’s at least pretty.) Then they arrive at the office, and once inside, he throws the Vorta to his knees, jerking him by the hair to force him to look up at Damar.

“Found this in your shower, sir, without permission.” He looks down at Weyoun, kicks him. “Anything to say for yourself? I think it’d be appropriate to beg forgiveness, at the least.” 

[thelastweyoun]

Being dragged through the building naked is a nightmare. Weyoun stumbles along after the guard, trying to keep his head down so he doesn’t have to see the leers of Cardassians staring at him, though he can still feel their eyes on him, raking over his naked body. He tries to keep his hand between his legs, covering his slit, but it’s not like that helps much. It reminds him of being sold, on display for potential buyers, though this is somehow worse - potential new owners in the Gamma Quadrant usually hated Vorta, but these Cardassians have reason to hate him, personally. He can feel it aimed at him, and he shivers.

When he’s shoved to the ground in front of Damar, his instinct is to curl in on himself and hide his face, and he gasps in pain as the guard yanks his head back up by the hair. The injustice of it, the fact that Damar ordered him to shower, isn’t worth dwelling on, even though it stings. If he’s told to grovel and beg, that’s what he’ll do, even if he shouldn’t need to. That’s a lesson he’s learned very well by now.

“Please, sir, I’m sorry,” he gasps out, not daring to use Damar’s name or even his title just now. “I deserve to be punished, but - please, have mercy...” He has no way of knowing whether Damar will actually back up his story that he had permission, or go along with the guard’s misconceptions for the sake of humiliating Weyoun further. He can only hope that seeing his old enemy groveling like this will satisfy him somewhat.

[thelastweyoun]

i sent you an ask earlier about reading yours fics from the beginning - you can ignore it! it was a problem with my browser, got it fixed and i'm having an amazing read

Thank you, I’m glad you’re enjoying it! the tags are Legitimately a mess on this blog lmao and in retrospect I wish I’d done specific tags for different threads, but. The best way is probably using the tags for my RP partners to follow our storylines, though you can also just get everything involving Weyoun using the “broken diplomat” character tag.

[disasterskrain]

thelastweyoun‌:

disasterskrain‌:

(Contd)

Garak snatches his hand back, stung. He knows he doesn’t deserve trust, hasn’t done anything to earn it. But still…

Garak clears his throat. “It’s alright,” he says, working hard to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to start dinner. You can eat here before leaving, if you’d like.” Garak says, and makes a hasty retreat, before Weyoun can respond.

Dukat sighs, collapses back against the bed. “I wonder if Elim is going to make food for your bodyguard, too.”

Weyoun buries his face in Dukat’s shoulder with a quiet groan. “Every time I think we’re making progress, I fuck it up again,” he mumbles. “Maybe it’s… for the best that I’m leaving for a while.”

He turns to look at Dukat’s face, frowning. “Oh… right. Maybe I should have asked him… I suppose Bijun can go get something on his own, if Garak doesn’t. It’s not like I need him while you’re here.” Part of him wants to go out and clarify to Garak - and apologize again - but he’s not sure Garak wants that anyway, and he’s so comfortable leaning on Dukat that he doesn’t really want to move.

Dukat cards his fingers through Weyoun’s hair. “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t trust him either, if he’d done all that stuff to me.”

“Is that so,” Dukat says, smugly, to the implication that he is Weyoun’s protector now. He gently pushes Weyoun off of him and flexes showily. His flexing is less than impressive, considering the famine made everyone weak. “Big strong man here to protect you.” He does not mention that Garak is the real protector, seeing as how he can totally kick Dukat’s ass.  

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun smirks. “Very intimidating,” he says. “If I was an assassin I’d run the other way. Or,” he adds, considering, “fall madly in love with you.” Given Garak’s former profession, at least one assassin already has.

He sits up, crossing his legs to sit on the edge of the bed next to Dukat. “I probably should introduce you to Bijun, at least,” he says. “Just keep your hands off, please. I don’t care to mix business with my personal life.” This is a blatant lie, considering how he and Dukat first started sleeping together, but the teasing falsehood feels safer than the real reason - he doesn’t want to make things worse on Garak by introducing an attractive newcomer for his husband to flirt with.

[disastercorat]

thelastweyoun‌:

disastercorat‌:

(Contd)

“It’s in the east wing,” she says. “Go down the main hallway, take a right, then it’s the fourth door on the left.” She bustles about, putting Weyoun’s dishes into the sink, and turns back to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

Weyoun looks startled at the question. He wishes he could ask for extra food to keep for later, just in case, but he doesn’t have anywhere to put it - he’s not even at Garak’s house where he could try hiding it in his cage. “No, I… No. Thank you.” His voice shakes a little. Even this much professional courtesy is more than anyone ever offers him, except Dukat, maybe, if Dukat still even wants him.

He makes a formal bow and hurries off in the directions she gave him to Damar’s quarters. They’re fairly luxurious compared to what he’s seen of Dukat and Garak’s home, and he’s startled to discover the shower offers actual water. He can’t believe Damar is actually letting him use this. Still, he did order him… so he strips off his clothes, turns on the water and gets in, relishing in the rare chance for privacy and the water running over his skin. He doesn’t rush, determined to take advantage of this unexpected privilege even if it costs him later.

One of Damar’s guards is doing his regular patrol, when he passes by the Castellan’s quarters, and hears running water. He double takes. He was just speaking to Damar in his office, and nobody else in the household is allowed to use his shower. It must be an intruder! he thinks.

He barges in, going through to the en-suite, and sees a Vorta wasting Damar’s water rations. “Hey!” he barks. “You’re not allowed in here!” He turns off the shower, then grabs the Vorta’s arm and begins to tug him out. 

“I’m taking you to the Castellan, I’m telling him what you’ve done.”

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun flinches and drops the shampoo bottle with a loud clatter. Futilely he tries to cover himself with his free hand as the guard drags him out of the shower, stammering, “I- I had permission, the Castellan ordered me...”

There’s no way the man will believe him, he knows that. It’s not like he has any proof of Damar’s permission. He cringes at the thought of being dragged through the building wearing nothing but his collar, dripping wet and exposed for the Cardassian staff to ogle. The thought of being thrown in front of Damar like that, at his mercy, is even worse. “Please-- at least let me get dressed?” he says desperately. As humiliating as the lingerie is, it’s at least better than the alternative.

[thelastweyoun]

Semi-hiatus

I should probably make this official, but I’m taking a bit of a break from this blog for a while? At least, I have no interest in picking up new threads or partners currently (I still have a couple ongoing threads that are an exception to this, you know who you are).

It’s not that I’ve lost the muse for Weyoun, because I’m still writing him constantly, but I’m more focused on writing fic right now, and honestly there’s not a ton I feel like doing with the Collateral Damage AU lately. If you want to check out my other fic, please go ahead and follow my AO3 - things being written actively right now are my Weyoun/Dukat AU Catalyst, and another, top secret AU being written with a friend of mine. It is unpublished as of yet but hopefully we’ll have the first chapter soon! (Okay, it’s not all that secret, a lot of people already know about it, I think. But still. I like being mysterious.) 

I’ve also got another Vorta-related collaborative creative project in the works, and will be looking for participants soon. I should have details on my blog within the next month or so!

Also, of course, if you want to stay in touch OOC I’m always hanging around on my main or on Discord (just ask me for it), come say hi any time.

[rcvolutionariies-blog]

“ i deserved worse. ” - Weyoun to Dakota

angst & post-angst sentences. | ACCEPTING

Dakota’s expression changed in an instant. Before was a calm, relaxed, and concerned demeanor, but with Weyoun’s words, a fire snapped to light in his eyes and his mouth turned into a tight frown. His voice was eerily calm as he responded, “No. Nobody deserved that. I don’t care what you did, nobody deserves what they put you through.”

Dakota had standards, yes. He believed in just punishment for the most heinous of crimes. But he kept those punishments humane. There was a vast difference between sending someone to a quick execution and… what happened to Weyoun. Beaten, broken and sold into slavery. Slavery, that he thought the world, and therefore the galaxy would have moved beyond by the 24th century. The fact that it didn’t… Dakota grit his teeth and shook his head.

“You may have deserved prison time at worst. But not that. Never what you went through. What happened to you was… far worse than anything you may have done to quote-unquote ‘deserve’ it.” Dakota rested his hands on the Vorta’s shoulders, looking into his eyes as his expression softened. “I never want to hear you say something like that again. You didn’t deserve that. No one did.”

@thelastweyoun

[thelastweyoun]

“You weren’t there, Dakota.” Weyoun’s voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. “Earth is my home now, but back then... I’d have destroyed the whole planet if I could. Anything to bring the Alpha Quadrant in line with what the Founders wanted.”

He almost regretted regaining his memories. It was easier when he thought he was no more than Dakota’s pet, with no memory of what he was and what he’d tried to do. By the time he remembered the war, he’d already started thinking of Earth as home, Dakota and Cavendish as his family.

Weyoun winced. “And what’s worse is I actually did try to destroy Cardassia,” he murmured. “After everything I promised Dukat... he’d hate me if he was still alive, and he’d be right to.” Technically, he’d never met the man - it was his predecessor, Weyoun 5, who’d advised him... and slept with him. But their relationship loomed large in his memory the way few things from his past lives did. Losing Dukat’s loyalty was just one of his many failures.

[rcvolutionariies-blog]

Two Steps Back

cont. | @thelastweyoun

Dakota only barely managed to swallow his horror at seeing what they had done to Weyoun. He thought it was sickening enough just hearing about what things were like in the future for the Vorta, but to see firsthand the kind or torment they endured… Dakota felt genuinely nauseous.

He kept his voice low and steady as he approached Weyoun, quickly procuring his stolen keys to free him from his chains. “It’s alright, Younie. It’s me, I’m here now. I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.” Dakota murmured, gently lowering Weyoun to the floor after undoing the shackles on his wrists. He took a pocket knife to the muzzle’s straps, cutting it away and discarding it to the corner of the cell like it had burned him. How could they do this to another living being? He thought angrily, a silent fury beginning to boil inside him.

Weyoun had been stripped and beaten horribly, tortured to the point where he trembled at even the sound of the door opening. Dakota thought back to all the progress they’d made with the Vorta’s recovery, and his anger grew as he realized how these horrible people had likely set Weyoun back. Months of progress, down the drain.

Dakota’s expression hardened behind his eyes, but he tried not to let his anger show. He didn’t want to scare Weyoun any more than this experience already had. He unzipped the jacket of his track suit, and carefully draped it over Weyoun’s shoulders, speaking softly in reassurance. “I’ve gotcha, Younie… We’re going to get out of here. It’s alright… It’s going to be okay.”

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun gasped in pain, cringing at first when he was touched, but he recognized Dakota’s gentle voice and desperately pressed against him for comfort. The jacket helped ground him, a warm weight over his shoulders that smelled like home.

“‘Kota...” His voice was hoarse and barely audible, strained with pain. The tormented Vorta could barely think anymore, and with anyone else would likely have reverted to his nonverbal state, but the only thing he knew for sure right now was that Dakota was safe. He’d help, he’d make it stop. “Hurts,” he whimpered, staring up at the time traveler with tear-filled eyes. His shoulders ached from the cruel pressure that had been applied to them for so long, his arm throbbing, and he could barely move his damaged leg without causing agony to flare up. Unthinking, his good hand pressed into the scar under his jaw, an old, old instinctive response to pain and suffering whose meaning he no longer really remembered. He hadn’t done it in a very long time, but it was clear some of his old tics had resurfaced after what had just been done to him.

[thelastweyoun]

“I’m here- I’m here, now” [Dakota]

Weyoun had seen no one but his torturers in over a week. An accident in the timestream when they’d been traveling to the past had flung Dakota, Cavendish, and Weyoun into the future - and the future had never been kind to Weyoun. The people who’d captured Weyoun were not the same Gamma Quadrant slavers who’d broken him in the first place, but that hardly mattered. To him, now, it was all the same.

They’d mercilessly tortured and assaulted him, deaf to his pleas, and though there’d been talk of selling him off or renting him out he had not yet been moved from the same dark cell where he’d first been placed. Currently his wrists were chained behind his back and hoisted in the air, cruelly twisting his shoulders and forcing him to bend over as far as he could, though the iron collar around his neck and the chain attached to it restricted that range of motion. A number of broken ribs and a fractured forearm made his position substantially more painful, and his already-twisted leg was trembling, hardly able to support his weight anymore. He’d been muzzled like an animal, and they’d even taken his clothes, leaving the many cuts and bruises on his body in full view. 

From his position he was unable to see the door, but heard it open and started trembling uncontrollably, anticipating more pain. That voice... almost sounded like Dakota... but that had to be wrong. He’d been separated from the time travelers who’d adopted him, and it was only wishful thinking, imagining they’d found him after all...

[resourcesfortheavergaeroleplayer]

My muse had been kidnapped and tortured for the past week send “I’m here- I’m here, now” for your muse to save them.

[rppanda]

Ask the Mun for a Drabble/Fic of their Muse based on...

💋 - Their first kiss

☠️ - A near death experience

👓 🕶 - Their favorite memory with your Muse

🍧 - A silly scenario

💔 - A heartbreak

🖤 - The time they almost lost it completely

🐩 - Discovering their pet/favorite animal

🌈 - Their sexuality realization

🌪 - A quiet moment

⚡️ - A loud moment

🌚 - Their thoughts late at night

🌝 - Their thoughts early in the morning

🚨 - A terrifying scenario

⛺️ - Their first night away from their guardians

⛵️ - An accidental adventure

🔫 - A moment of crime

🎉 - A celebration

🎈 - Their most recent birthday

🎁 - An early birthday

💢 - A frustrating moment

🌠 - An idiotic scenario

[disasterskrain]

thelastweyoun:

disasterskrain:

thelastweyoun:

disasterskrain:

(Contd)

Dukat purrs, leaning into the touch. And then the door opens, and Garak comes in. “Darling!” Dukat says. Garak takes in the scene before him, and makes a face, and Dukat feels a pang of guilt. Garak had never gotten over the jealousy, Dukat doesn’t know if he ever will.

Garak wipes his face clean of expression, with a sigh, and comes to sit down on the bed. He hesitates, then puts his hand over Weyoun’s, on Dukat’s neck. “I’ll… miss you,” he says, somewhat grudgingly.

Now it’s Dukat’s turn to be jealous. Garak is never so openly affectionate with him. Or, almost never, he thinks, remembering Garak saying he loved him just that day. But still.

Weyoun shifts his hand to grab Garak’s, looking up at him with a slight smile. “I’ll miss you too,” he says quietly, rather surprised to discover that it’s true. “At least Damar won’t mind if you visit. We’ll have to be discreet, but…” He smirks. “You’re not the one I have to warn about that.”

“Hey!” Dukat protests. “I can be discreet! How dare you!” Garak bursts out laughing. “What?”

“If you couldn’t keep your affairs hidden from me, how do you expect to keep them from Cardassia?”

Dukat freezes. Garak had never mentioned the affairs, apart from in the arguments they had over them. But Garak is smiling warmly at him, so Dukat slowly relaxes.

“Yes… well…” he bites his lip. He was about to say ‘more is at stake, this time,’ and then feels guilty. It’s not that his marriage meant so little. “I’ll be more careful, this time,” is what he settles on. “You trust me, don’t you?” Dukat asks Weyoun. 

In spite of his teasing, Weyoun nods without hesitation. “I do,” he says seriously. “You’re the only one I trust.” Then he realizes what he just said so unthinkingly, that Garak is still in the room, and cringes, looking down.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean… I do trust you, both of you, it’s just…” The trust that’s starting to develop toward Garak is a different thing entirely than the way he trusts Dukat, solid and unshakeable even after everything that’s happened. 

Garak snatches his hand back, stung. He knows he doesn’t deserve trust, hasn’t done anything to earn it. But still…

Garak clears his throat. “It’s alright,” he says, working hard to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to start dinner. You can eat here before leaving, if you’d like.” Garak says, and makes a hasty retreat, before Weyoun can respond.

Dukat sighs, collapses back against the bed. “I wonder if Elim is going to make food for your bodyguard, too.”

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun buries his face in Dukat’s shoulder with a quiet groan. “Every time I think we’re making progress, I fuck it up again,” he mumbles. "Maybe it’s... for the best that I’m leaving for a while.”

He turns to look at Dukat’s face, frowning. “Oh... right. Maybe I should have asked him... I suppose Bijun can go get something on his own, if Garak doesn’t. It’s not like I need him while you’re here.” Part of him wants to go out and clarify to Garak - and apologize again - but he’s not sure Garak wants that anyway, and he’s so comfortable leaning on Dukat that he doesn’t really want to move.

[disastercorat]

thelastweyoun:

disastercorat:

thelastweyoun:

disastercorat:

(Contd)

The chef looks Weyoun over, taking note of his emaciated form. Any personal dislike is overridden by her natural instinct to fatten up any underfed being, and she sighs. “What would you like? We have the works, of course.” She has no idea what would be appetizing to a Vorta.

Weyoun trembles slightly, hardly daring to believe that he’s really getting to eat. “I’ll be satisfied with whatever you can spare,” he says quickly, not wanting to ask too much and make her change her mind - or be punished for it later, should the presumption make its way back to Damar. “Thank you…” Keeping his gaze trained on the ground, he drops to his knees to wait, perfectly docile.

The chef nods, and bustles about the kitchen, warming up leftovers. It’s zabu stew, which foreigners don’t normally like, but she figure a former diplomat would have a more adventurous palette. Meal ready, she looks down at Weyoun on the floor. She pointedly puts the dish on the table, and pulls a stool over for him to sit.   

Weyoun stares up at her uncertainly, unsure at first, but then quickly straightens up and goes to sit down at the table. “Thank you,” he whispers again, both for the food and for the small dignity of eating at the table. He makes an effort not to rush through the meal in spite of how hungry he is, pacing himself as if he isn’t half-starved. Still, it’s gone all too soon, and Weyoun knows better than to ask for more.

He stands up, turns back to the cook and inclines his head respectfully. “May I ask for the direction to the Castellan’s chambers?” he says softly, hoping she doesn’t refuse. If he has to return to Damar yet again without having completed the simple task of cleaning himself, he shudders to think what the consequences might be.

“It’s in the east wing,” she says. “Go down the main hallway, take a right, then it’s the fourth door on the left.” She bustles about, putting Weyoun’s dishes into the sink, and turns back to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

[thelastweyoun]

Weyoun looks startled at the question. He wishes he could ask for extra food to keep for later, just in case, but he doesn’t have anywhere to put it - he’s not even at Garak’s house where he could try hiding it in his cage. “No, I... No. Thank you.” His voice shakes a little. Even this much professional courtesy is more than anyone ever offers him, except Dukat, maybe, if Dukat still even wants him.

He makes a formal bow and hurries off in the directions she gave him to Damar’s quarters. They’re fairly luxurious compared to what he’s seen of Dukat and Garak’s home, and he’s startled to discover the shower offers actual water. He can’t believe Damar is actually letting him use this. Still, he did order him... so he strips off his clothes, turns on the water and gets in, relishing in the rare chance for privacy and the water running over his skin. He doesn’t rush, determined to take advantage of this unexpected privilege even if it costs him later.

[andlifemovesonn]

[disasterskrain]

thelastweyoun:

disasterskrain:

thelastweyoun:

disasterskrain:

(Contd)

Dukat lets out a snort of laughter before he can stop himself. “No, please, don’t.” Normally he would have no problem subduing the smaller, weaker man, but under the assault he’s rendered helpless. “Stop, I beg you,” Dukat pleads.

Weyoun grins victoriously, perched on top of Dukat’s body. “I suppose I can show you mercy, this once,” he says thoughtfully, then leans in to press a kiss to Dukat’s chufa. He strokes the scales on Dukat’s neck gently with both hands, shamelessly indulging in the soothing rough texture against his hands.

Dukat purrs, leaning into the touch. And then the door opens, and Garak comes in. “Darling!” Dukat says. Garak takes in the scene before him, and makes a face, and Dukat feels a pang of guilt. Garak had never gotten over the jealousy, Dukat doesn’t know if he ever will.

Garak wipes his face clean of expression, with a sigh, and comes to sit down on the bed. He hesitates, then puts his hand over Weyoun’s, on Dukat’s neck. “I’ll… miss you,” he says, somewhat grudgingly.

Now it’s Dukat’s turn to be jealous. Garak is never so openly affectionate with him. Or, almost never, he thinks, remembering Garak saying he loved him just that day. But still.

Weyoun shifts his hand to grab Garak’s, looking up at him with a slight smile. “I’ll miss you too,” he says quietly, rather surprised to discover that it’s true. “At least Damar won’t mind if you visit. We’ll have to be discreet, but…” He smirks. “You’re not the one I have to warn about that.”

“Hey!” Dukat protests. “I can be discreet! How dare you!” Garak bursts out laughing. “What?”

“If you couldn’t keep your affairs hidden from me, how do you expect to keep them from Cardassia?”

Dukat freezes. Garak had never mentioned the affairs, apart from in the arguments they had over them. But Garak is smiling warmly at him, so Dukat slowly relaxes.

“Yes… well…” he bites his lip. He was about to say ‘more is at stake, this time,’ and then feels guilty. It’s not that his marriage meant so little. “I’ll be more careful, this time,” is what he settles on. “You trust me, don’t you?” Dukat asks Weyoun. 

[thelastweyoun]

In spite of his teasing, Weyoun nods without hesitation. “I do,” he says seriously. “You’re the only one I trust.” Then he realizes what he just said so unthinkingly, that Garak is still in the room, and cringes, looking down.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean... I do trust you, both of you, it’s just...” The trust that’s starting to develop toward Garak is a different thing entirely than the way he trusts Dukat, solid and unshakeable even after everything that’s happened.