Too old to care

Rest

The unnatural light of the tablet illuminated Dr. Safin's face, drawing along the cruelty of old scars and pox like spots on his skin.

He looked tired. Dark circles and hallow cheeks. The sharp jawline forced up to an arrogant gesture. His normally full lips, the only soft spot on his face, a thin line.

Still, he went again through the report, reading the results over and over.

Sitting on the hard mattress, you shuffled. Thinking of your own bed, waiting for you. Your eyes burning, your mind in a tired fog. You tried your hardest to hold your posture, stiffing a jawing.

"You are exhausted. "

A observation, clear spoken in his crocked voice.

A chill run down your spine. Your face heated in embarrassment, you stuttered:

"I apologise, Dr. Safin, I..."

He rose a hand to stop you, his eyes on the tablet.

"I'm tired, too.", he spoke. His voice became softer, a hint of sugar-hard honey on his tongue.

"The day was long", he nodded to the tablet and switched it out, " and you put a lot of work in this research."

He eventually looked up. One corner of his mouth with a try of a smile. His scars moving in iritation. His mouth soft again.

He handed you the tablet. Looked at his bed. His lips a purs. His eyes wandering along the room.

"You could stay. Not for ...", he rushed to say, then stopping himself. Catching your surprised face.

You didn't know what to say.

"I would like that." He went on, a hint of .. plead? From him.

You tensed up as he rose from his seat. The long sleeve of his kimono jacket slipped down, showing just his fingers, fishing for your hand. You grabbed them automatically. Searching for his face.

"Doctor ..."

"Lyutsifer. ", he corrected you, while leading you to his bed. Guiding you under the sheets. Slipping out of the jacket and followed you. Sighed deep as he stretched. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the cushion. His arm resting on your shoulder softly. One of his hands tangled in yours.

Finally some rest. Peace.

Favourite scene in No time do die 1/?

"Foxgloves - - did you choose them?"

A piece from 2021.

(Translation: "Don't touch!")

Rami Malek as Dr. Lyutsifer Safin

Sea Trek: Deep Sea Nine

(Previously: Voyager)

After the island of Bajor throws off its Dutch occupiers, a small force of Siennese troops move into an offshore fortress to keep an eye on things. But before they are unpacked, a supernatural maelstrom opens up offshore that connects to the ocean on the far side of the planet, and Bajor abruptly becomes the hottest piece of real estate in the world! And not just pineapples will come through – a new enemy worse than anything Bajor has ever seen waits on the far side, deep in the abyss.

Beniamino Sevieri: A traumatized but passionate commander, whose hopes of having a quiet life on DS9 are thwarted when the Bajorans declare him their Emissary. (Have you ever actually tried to sit down and describe Sisko in just a couple adjectives? It’s not easy.)

Jacopo Sevieri: Beniamino’s son, an aspiring scribe.

Kira Nerys: A former member of the Bajoran Resistance, now Sevieri’s second-in-command, who is wary of the Siennese presence.

Odo: Like Squidward, Odo is a benthic cephalopod who merges his tentacles into a pair of legs to walk like a humanoid.

Miles O’Brien: pain and suffering incarnate

Bashir Julani: A brilliant young doctor from the Mamluk Sultanate.

Cork: A greedy, devious, and untrustworthy sea goblin who operates a seedy wine-den.

Jacinth: A member of the Witches of Troy, a cult founded by Cassandra that are able to move their minds between bodies.

Worf: A reserved, socially awkward, unintentionally intimidating great white shark with a heart of gold.

Admiral de Cloet: The commander of the Dutch occupation, who shows back up now and again to make life difficult.

Elias Gerritsen: The last Dutchman left on DS9, a tailor.

Keiko: O’Brien’s wife, who is fascinated by the unique flora of Bajor and teaches some of the children on the island.

Nog and Rom: Cork’s nephew and brother, respectively an ambitious cadet-in-training and a jumpy schlemiel.

Weyoun: Jeffrey Combs

Gowron: Leader of the Shark Empire, a bigeye thresher.

Martok: A respected shark general.

We girls don't need much. A man with perfectly coiffed hair, sharp dressed, pouting mouth, and maybe a gun. Is that too much to ask?

It's been such a nightmare these last few weeks between the rush, boss's demands, heat waves... I nearly broke at work due to the heat and pace of our days (usually 10 hours shifts)

So fucking finally a little room to breathe and create 💕

Rest

The unnatural light of the tablet illuminated Dr. Safin's face, drawing along the cruelty of old scars and pox like spots on his skin.

He looked tired. Dark circles and hallow cheeks. The sharp jawline forced up to an arrogant gesture. His normally full lips, the only soft spot on his face, a thin line.

Still, he went again through the report, reading the results over and over.

Sitting on the hard mattress, you shuffled. Thinking of your own bed, waiting for you. Your eyes burning, your mind in a tired fog. You tried your hardest to hold your posture, stiffing a jawing.

"You are exhausted. "

A observation, clear spoken in his crocked voice.

A chill run down your spine. Your face heated in embarrassment, you stuttered:

"I apologise, Dr. Safin, I..."

He rose a hand to stop you, his eyes on the tablet.

"I'm tired, too.", he spoke. His voice became softer, a hint of sugar-hard honey on his tongue.

"The day was long", he nodded to the tablet and switched it out, " and you put a lot of work in this research."

He eventually looked up. One corner of his mouth with a try of a smile. His scars moving in iritation. His mouth soft again.

He handed you the tablet. Looked at his bed. His lips a purs. His eyes wandering along the room.

"You could stay. Not for ...", he rushed to say, then stopping himself. Catching your surprised face.

You didn't know what to say.

"I would like that." He went on, a hint of .. plead? From him.

You tensed up as he rose from his seat. The long sleeve of his kimono jacket slipped down, showing just his fingers, fishing for your hand. You grabbed them automatically. Searching for his face.

"Doctor ..."

"Lyutsifer. ", he corrected you, while leading you to his bed. Guiding you under the sheets. Slipping out of the jacket and followed you. Sighed deep as he stretched. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the cushion. His arm resting on your shoulder softly. One of his hands tangled in yours.

Finally some rest. Peace.

A piece from 2021.

(Translation: "Don't touch!")