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.

cowpokeprose:

You hate yourself so loudly. You hate yourself at the top of your lungs. Your loathing for yourself permeates your speech. “Sorry I’m just rambling.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Just ignore me.” “Sorry if I’m annoying you.” “Sorry I don’t make sense.” “Sorry about that.” Sorry, sorry, sorry. You act as if you have to beat everyone else to the punch. As if the punching bag is you. If you hate yourself first, if you hate yourself loudest, then nobody will hurt you. You clapped your hands over your ears and shut your eyes and balled yourself up so that you’d never have to experience people’s loathing for you. And it meant you never heard their love. You drowned it out. You screamed your hatred over it. And you never got to hear it. 

sapphosewrites:

Trektober Day #11: Nightmares

Cardassians don’t dream.

It is one of the aspects of their physiology that Julian is most grateful for when he begins practicing medicine on the planet. The people are traumatized enough, followed in their waking moments by the memories of bombardments and charred flesh. They already struggle to fall asleep and wake up. The last thing they need is nightmares in between.

He is envious of the fact that Garak, whose past haunts him even at the best of times, can sleep in peace. It is only Julian who wakes up screaming, unsure if he is in his bed or a lab or a simulation or a prison camp. It is only Julian who sees the faces of those he has killed when he loses consciousness.

But perhaps it is better that way. There is a safety to knowing that waking up will end the nightmare. The Cardassians also do not have that.