People who leave comments on fic are the very best kind of people in the world.
indigobluerose asked:
I find myself experiencing difficulty expressing myself in more conventional written missives. Like, at work. You can’t fax people professional business letters involving ~~~~~~~~!!!
(also wooster, yes, yes, wooster~~~~~)
Okay, fic. Okay. Seriously. Never mind your title. Your real name is “The Adventures of Julian Bashir and his Magical Prostate.”
“You must try to enjoy yourself, it’s your birthday!”
I certainly hope you had a better one than Bashir did~
The real Cecil Baldwin has said that he enjoys seeing all the different headcanons.
Let me exult for a moment, though, that he actually does have an eye tattoo. Over his heart. And that it can take him up to three hours to record an episode because he keeps bursting into laughter and having to delete those takes.
On his facebook someone asked if he loves Carlos’ hair cause he’s jealous. He said, “I’m jealous of everyone with hair. (cries into hands)”
THIS JUST IN
RL CECIL IS AS DORKY AND ADORABLE AS NIGHT VALE CECIL
I DUNNO ABOUT YOU BUT I’M GONNA GO SIT IN A CORNER AND CRY NOW
OH MY GOD COME INTO MY ARMS
‘Doctor Bashir is with Chief O’Brien. He should return at fifteen hundred hours. Unless it’s an emergency.’
I assured Nurse Jabara that it wasn’t, nodded my thanks, and walked back out to the Promenade. I stood there for a moment, trying to deny that I was upset. This was the umpteenth time I had come to invite the doctor to lunch, only to find that he was already engaged with the Chief. Playing darts. Building models of old wars. Battling ancient enemies in ancient flying machines in some holographic fantasy. Or the latest diversion, listening to the insipid ‘lounge’ music at Vic Fontaine’s. Child’s games. That’s it, I decided, if he wants to have lunch he can damn well ask me.
A Bajoran lout nearly knocked me into the perfume display and continued on his way without so much as a glance back. I controlled my temper and followed him. The Promenade was crowded, and I quietly negotiated the crowd until I made my way directly behind him. I slipped my left foot between his two legs, hooked his right ankle and pushed him hard in the small of his sweaty back with my left hand. He went down like a demolished building, taking two or three innocent pedestrians with him, and I peeled off to Quark’s bar. […]
I sat down at the end of the bar instead of going to my usual place on the second level. I wasn’t sure how long I wanted to stay; I just had to get out of the crowd and a grip on my feelings. I was in a dangerous mood. Ever since that ridiculous holosuite program, I thought. The spy game. Well, of course it’s a game. It’s all a game. But it’s not a holosuite program. And yet, the moment Julian wounded me with his ridiculous weapon, everything changed. I thought it was a magnificent moment. He showed me that he had the spine to play the game as it ought to be played. But why then did he back off? Why couldn’t he go beyond that moment? Why did our relationship end?
Whoa… let’s take a moment to look at how RIPPED they made The Doctor. hahaha
(Playmates 9in figure)
(s5e16)
That episode in which I want to hug him, hold him, look him in the eyes and tell him how beautiful he really is, and that he is appreciated beyond his understanding - that we love him for his person, not his genes.
You know you are completely lost in a fandom when you find yourself seriously contemplating writing a fic centering around Garak and Bashir looking for child care on Cardassia.
chequerootlurks
I’m an apprentice tattoo artist. An artist who owns a few shops invited me to their team.
I’ve got a long way to go. I’m still learning basic shading techniques. Working with a tattoo pen adds depth to the traditional flat plane I’m used to working on.
One is never too old to learn a new skill.
At times I feel like a complete newb.
So, here is a meme that I love. I’m sharing it for everyone who is learning something new.
