Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Recently I went to one of my favorite
museums of all times, the Muskegon Art Museum, and discovered this
new bronze by UK artist, Beth Carter, Minotaur Reading. When people
think of the myth of the Minotaur it’s almost always in context of
his violence, his lust, his impossible body. Here all that is swept
away with this monstrous form reading a small golden book. This made
me crazy happy to see.
If you’re asking me to believe Julian left Garak on read for years then I’m also allowed to believe that Julian wrote Garak a million letters he never sent. There are logs and logs of the smallest sentiments he couldn’t bring himself to deliver.
He read Garak’s letter to him and completely broke down with his love and the belief that he couldn’t possibly deserve so much trust and care as Garak had crafted for him.
He hurts Garak more than he could imagine around the plague and the Nexus and throws himself further into his work, further believing Garak better off without him. Better off with the few memories of who he was.
He brings himself to send one letter when it’s important.
He dreams a thousand times of “I love you,” but this time Garak understands he couldn’t possibly say it and not mean it. He wakes up alone.
He’s hurt, surely he’s going to die, and he wonders how different things would be if he’d sent all of those letters. If he’d allowed himself to follow his own advice. If he’d allowed himself to get close.
It’s quiet. Everything seems so far. Time doesn’t seem like something that can be measured anymore.
There’s a voice. A plea. It’s warm where everything has felt so cold. He feels a softness in his hand and tightens his grip for only a moment.
The voice comes more and more now. It washes over him like lapping waves. It feels like home in a way that nothing truly has since he was a child. He’s drowning in it, but then why does it feel like he’s finally rising?
Forehead touches.
Flickering eyelashes.
Whispers of I’m sorry, forgive me. Wishing he could explain the unsent letters, not being close because he knew if he was he could never leave again, pleading for forgiveness for Palandine…voice too hoarse to express it all.
Soft hushes.
“I forgive you, for whatever it is you’ve done.”
An embrace so gentle and yet so firm he feels like at last he’s reached solid land.
“You’re not a night person, my dear. You belong in the sun.”
I wanted to bring out something I’ve thought about a lot. That many of the DS9 characters share in having abnormal childhoods; hardships they had to deal with and endure. And in the end, I wish they had come to a better understanding of each other, because they had more in common than they thought.
I super, super love this. I …just have one question. How come you drew Worf with a Klingon adult? He was adopted & raised by two humans in Russia.
Because Worf was originally with his biological parents when they were killed, and he survived the attack. Hence the reason he was adopted by humans later on ^^
And thank you for the compliment!^^
I will always reblog this because it is awesome and heartbreaking.
