petermorwood:

tiktoksthataregood-ish:

This is a Good Cat. A Not-Good Cat would be away with the most important and necessary beads, which would be found three months later under the fridge.

johannestevans:

Kelas Parmak’s new coworker, an ex-Starfleet Human, is not what he would have expected.

He realises with a cold certainty exactly who he reminds him of soon after making his acquaintance.

Kelas hadn’t any particular idea in mind as to what to expect of Doctor Bashir, when he was advised that the two of them would be working together. He had been told he was ex-Starfleet, that he was offering his services to the Cardassian Empire, that he was to be treated as a student where appropriate and his equal where not.

He wasn’t advised as to whether the young man had a background in Cardassian medicine, almost assumed he would be educating a Legate’s hitherto-unacknowledged bastard or perhaps their alien bride, but it was plain as soon as he arrived that for all his Starfleet background, he was in possession of a Cardassian education, and he knew Cardassian physiology better than most alien doctors Kelas had ever made the acquaintance of.

He had a remarkably adept bedside manner, and to Kelas’ surprise, he showed no hesitation in setting his aside the stern but gentle guidance Kelas associated with Federation medical manner (“Now, you want to be able to enjoy yourself for a few years yet, don’t you?” and “Moderation is a frustration in itself, but foregoing the second glass of kanar in the evening is worth the extra ten years it gives you, isn’t it?” and “Try to go easy on yourself. If you don’t rest now, your body will force you to rest later, and none of us want that.”) to a cooler, Cardassian approach when he was met with resistance.

He stopped talking about enjoying oneself or being kind to one’s body or having a few more years left of life: his tone remained kindly, but with a certain flatness, when he said, “Your daughter is pregnant again, isn’t she? What will your grandson do when he finds himself without your guidance, a child abandoned by a father who found his affection for Ferengi beetle snuff more enticing than his duty as patriarch?”

When a Glinn showed impatience with him, Bashir almost looked bored, sighed and turned back to his computer terminal. He said over his shoulder, “If it’s such a chore for you to be here, Glinn Kors, please, take your leave and let me attend to a more deserving patient. I can’t say I’ll take much pleasure in explaining to your superior why you declined medical advice. Perhaps if you had shown more assiduous attention to your duty in the first place, you wouldn’t have such an embarrassing problem on your hands – ought I advise your office, when they ask me, that you’re a contagion risk among your closer associates, too?”

He wasn’t a Cardassian, and when left to his own devices, he looked unremarkable, a simple Human going about his business in a foreign office, still learning where all the equipment was kept and a little uncertain of the particulars on some everyday maladies, not to mention the paperwork. And yet—

How easily he took on a Cardassian skin, when a patient showed reluctance to admit to his authority, when they demanded to see Doctor Parmak or even a nurse rather than this soft-skinned, doe-eyed Human with barely a man’s lifetime under his belt, when they were rude, or when they were of a high rank or social class – and Bashir knew, almost as well as a Cardassian, when that was what they were without being told. How easily he broadened his shoulders, cooled the colour in his eyes, smiled more easily; how easily he danced, teased, obfuscated his questions when asking them and his answers when they were asked.

People left liking him, whether they liked it or not, almost not knowing why.

Kelas couldn’t put his finger on who he reminded him of, and he was still musing on it when they broke for their lunch, and they sat across one another to eat.

Read more on Ao3. 

why-its-kai:

what if garak made little build-a-bear-esque outfits for kukalaka. but he doesn’t say anything about it. just one day julian walks in his quarters and kukalaka is wearing a tiny little outfit that looks suspiciously like something from garak’s wardrobe. julian questions garak abt it but he’s just like “why would you think I had something to do with your bear’s charming little number, my dear doctor? I’m just as confused as you :)” while wearing an outfit that is identical to kukalaka’s

thayerkerbasy:

herenya-writes:

marlinspirkhall:

marlinspirkhall:

A new trek headcanon I have is “Universal Translator Deadzones”.

UT’s are switched off in areas where language learning is supposed to take place, especially where there are primary learners present, so schools and households provide more opportunities for language learning.

An over-reliance on universal translators enforces monolingualism, so some local governments opt to put an age limit on live translation softwares.

An early part of Starfleet training is educating people to listen to the subtle hints that you’re listening to live translated speech, and everyone turns to Chekhov like “Wait. If you’ve been speaking Russian this whole time? Why did the UT give you a Russian accent?”

Chekhov doesn’t know how to tell them that he grew up speaking Russian with an American accent.

Listen listen I love this. I bet starships have dead zones too—places where the crew can hear one another in their native languages and try their hand at learning or practice their language skills. I bet Uhura runs a club for it. I love this so much, like, a bunch of people sitting around a room chatting and you walk in and there are no less than a dozen languages being spoken. Some of its faltering and honestly pretty horrible, but others are guiding, teaching, sharing their languages and cultures and I love this so much!

#somebody runs klingon opera thru the UT and the entire ship’s resources lock up for two hours#even the replicators go down#so not only are there dead zones there are universally acknowledged untranslatables (via @midnightmindcave​)