#code cast: ask foreigner

[tgrailwar-zero]

I have no idea what you are doing Invader, but, I trust you. I hope you will accept our support though.

As you began feeding your own mana as well as joining with KUKULKAN, her light filling up the hospital room, you found your focus wavering.

You saw flashes of events.

RIDER opting to secede from the Red Faction in order to search for AVENGER- and ostensibly you. A discussion between two Emperors. SABER granting that request, fairly yet reluctantly. Being confronted by CASTER several days into the journey. The desperate trigger of a defensive Noble Phantasm. Agony. The severing of a contract. The double-sided sword of having incredible fortitude- excruciating pain yet survival nonetheless. A hooded figure carrying him to a hospital. Darkness. A gnawing feeling. His personal mana running out, his Spirit Core trying to eat him alive. His mana had run out a long time ago- he was holding on through sheer willpower. Brief relief. A figure in black medical clothing setting up a new mana supply- temporary, but effective. Days passed, in a nigh-comatose state. Unfit for an Emperor, for a Servant. Frustration. Shame. Anger. A swirl of emotions, as day after day he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed- only making it as far as the door before falling unconscious again and again.

And--

[ NEW CONTRACT ESTABLISHED. ]

A bond.

Despite skepticism, a sense of belief. Faith, perhaps.

The same heart that you witnessed back on the waterside.

[ SERVANT - RIDER. TRUE NAME... "Constantine XI Dragases Palaiologos" ]

RIDER--no, CONSTANTINE snapped awake.

"Saber! We need to-- the Red Faction--… I need to get back to Saber!"

KUKULKAN put a hand on his shoulder, gently stroking it to calm him down.

"Shh. You're here-- you're fine…"

"Sorry for worrying you..."

As he was being comforted, you felt a new tether. It seemed as if your contract was renewed, but… different.

After all, you could only supply the same amount of mana, and now it was being divided between KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE, which meant that dealing with combat would be different. Sure, T-Summoning was an option but--

Before you had much time to think, you could sense a shift in the mana in the room. You quickly turned to face the DOCTOR, who was trembling, the air around him beginning to twist and distort.

"Doctor…?"

CONSTANTINE asked weakly, KUKULKAN stepped in front of him.

"This is what he meant. I didn't realize it'd impact him so quickly. Maybe it was a proximity thing...? Well, anyways- get ready, Masters!"

It seemed like the new aggression was a bit outside of KUKULKAN's expectations... however, that became secondary to survival as the DOCTOR let out a violent roar.

A harsh wave of mana rocketed out. There was barely any time to react as KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE went flying.

You saw the DOCTOR step out of the broken wall that the two Interloper Servants had fumbled through, his form changed, a divine glow around him.

"My name is Asclepius, the God of Medicine. Foul harbingers bearing the chaos of Phobos and raze the Solar Cell of life the hands of Hades, I will hereby destroy you! Begone, Interlopers!"

[ Both KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE avoided taking damage! ]

"Damn... did something go wrong with my technique...?"

KUKULKAN's- and your action were a success- and it gave her enough time to recover.

Both KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE were flung into the main room of the laboratory, the two of them pushing themselves up to their feet and drawing their weapons- CONSTANTINE unsheathing his sword as KUKULKAN's fists sparked with mana.

With two Servants, your battle strategy has changed! You can only have enough mana to fully support one as a 'leader'- who takes point during battles. They perform actions as normal, dealing damage- but also taking the full brunt of damage (unless the enemy has a unique multi-hitting skill)! However, the other Servants in your party (up to 2 extras) act as 'auxiliary'! Auxiliary Servants can be triggered for T-Summons, and do a number of 'support skills' (generally at the cost of mana) to keep the battle in your favor! The amount of Servants you can contract can be as high as you want, but has to have a Leader and two Auxiliary Servants when traveling around. You can edit around your 'party layout' while resting. Either have a large group of allies, or a small, elite battle force- your choice!

Statistics (KUKULKAN) - LEADER:

Strength: C Endurance: C Agility: B Mana: EX Luck: A NP: B++ Current Health: 3/7 Current Mana: 11/13

Statistics (CONSTANTINE) - AUXILIARY:

Strength: C Endurance: A Agility: C Mana: D Luck: C NP: EX Current Health: 7/11 Current Mana: 0/5

[somehowmags]

i’ve seen a lot of posts talking about nimona’s queer messages which is great! but ive not seen as many posts talking analyzing how both ballister and ambrosius were changed to be asian, which is a shame because i genuinely think its one of the most important parts of the film! a huge part of it is a deconstruction of the model minority myth and respectability politics, both of which are big issues in the asian american community. both of them represent each side of the spectrum, with ambrosius expected to be superhuman with very little support and ballister being seen as less than human, no matter how hard he tries- a monster.

ambrosius (who is now east asian, like his voice actor eugene lee yang, who is korean with chinese and japanese ancestry), despite being in a seemingly powerful position as head of the knights and a descendant of gloreth, he isn’t really given the kind of support that this position needs- he’s constantly undermined and belittled by todd, the face of the other knights, and when asked about his emotional state by the director, represses his emotions rather than talk to her about his true feelings. this is very similar to how asian american students in schools aren’t given the support they need academically by teachers and administration, as the model minority myth leads to them being perceived as more intelligent and competent than their fellow students and therefore not needing support. he’s also held to a higher standard than any of the other knights, being immediately placed into a position of power despite just being knighted, again a reflection of the model minority myth, since asian americans are held to higher standards unfairly. despite being technically better off than ballister, he has no support, no friends, no way to seek help for his problems, and, just like ballister, is immediately thrown away the moment the director thinks he’s served his use.

ballister is now pakistani, like his voice actor riz ahmed (no, not like pedro pascal. where did this come from lol), and i’d go as far as to say that he is also, if not explicitly muslim, heavily muslim coded as well. he’s framed as a terrorist by the white, christian institution, and from then on, it doesn’t matter how good he tries to be- everyone else sees him as a monster. he’s also from a lower socioeconomic class than ambrosius and the rest of the knights- while this is initially used to frame him as a success story, after he’s framed, it’s used to cast suspicion on him. almost immediately he’s othered, with posters casting him as a foreign invader sent to destabilize the city, much in the same way that muslim immigrants are seen in real life. even when he tries to be peaceful and good, it’s always twisted so that he’s the monster of the story. while ambrosius is held to too high of a standard, ballister will never be enough for the institution to accept.

which is why both of their arcs culminate in them breaking out of the system, learning to accept what they’d been taught was monstrous, and leaving behind respectability. it’s a genuinely great commentary, and i can definitely see why riz ahmed and eugene lee yang were chosen for this, as they’ve both done activist work for their communities.

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Walking into the light, a robed, long-haired man steps out from his seat, arms-outstretched to the crowd before him, sparking a deafening round of applause. ‘Jesus has returned!’ shouts a corpse-painted nun. On this (un)holiest of Easter weekends, the O2 arena finds itself transformed into a biblical fever dream, as throngs of vestment-clad glitter-covered devotees await the arrival of their true idol of worship, Tobias Forge, the frontman of visionary occult party-rockers Ghost.

It’s been three years since the clergy’s last “ritual” in London, with 2022’s critically-acclaimed album Impera heralding their previous tour cycle. Now ushering in a new era - one manifested by a metallic new wardrobe and plenty of purple - unlike their last appearance here, tonight’s performance arrives unusually ahead of the release of their latest offering, Skeletá, giving fans the rare chance to experience multiple new tracks before the rest of the world.

That sense of exclusivity is amplified by the evening’s phone ban, which sees fans forced to lock away their devices in sealed Yondr pouches. Though it certainly feels like a dystopian move - can’t we really just ask gig-goers to abstain from filming? - the payoff is undeniably worthwhile.

Undistracted by the tempt to film, the room buzzes with transfixed glee, as Ghost open the set with the entirely new Peacefield, a glossy 80s-coded anthem that lands somewhere between Journey and Kiss. Expanding on the retro tenor is the recently-released Lachryma, Forge decorating the fist-pulling ballad with actorly poses and marvellously camp crooning. Later, Skeletá’s first single Satanized arrives with its galloping offbeat riff, initiating larger movement from the audience, before its lovably ridiculous chorus ignites crucifix-like stances and joyous exclamations of 'blasphemy, heresy!'. The final new track, Umbra, is utterly synth-drenched and neon-coloured, the venue’s lights casting the stage in a deep purple hue to match.

Coupled with the band’s new look - the nameless ghouls forming a troupe of bejewelled top-hatted skeletons and Forge evoking some kind of modern-day, satin-suited reiteration of Death, and the Skeletá era already feels a lot slicker, even sexier. The set is also mostly kept minimal, Ghost’s logo fixed above the stage in an arrangement of lights, before inflated church pillars and digital stain glass windows portray epic, evangelical scenes that further emphasise the religious and ritzy mood.

For most of the set, Ghost dip into their older, heavier hymnals, the majority of songs played from Meliora such as Cirice, Mummy Dust, He Is, Majesty, Devil Church and Spirit, their darker, doomier natures filling the arena with thunderous drum thumps and booming bass lines that feel as though their vibrating deep into your bones.

Meanwhile, Forge flaunts around the stage, skipping and rocking, his devilishly thespian bravado an ever-transfixing sight, as confetti and bursts of air explode out for that final theatrical punch on closing songs Mary On A Cross, Dance Macabre and Square Hammer.

Though the night was missing most songs from the much-loved Impera, with the upcoming Skeletá album seemingly carrying on its 80s vein, Ghost are band that needn't rely on the excitement of newer releases or fan-filmed footage on social media. Instead, they’ve created a sacred - and superbly-fun - world of their own, one run by its own rules and enchanting lore, and after performances like tonight, it feels like a privilege just to be let inside.

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Ghost setlist: O2 Arena, London – April 19, 2025

Peacefield Lachryma Spirit Faith Majesty The Future Is A Foreign Land Devil Church Cirice Darkness At The Heart Of My Love Satanized Ritual Umbra Year Zero He Is Rats Kiss the Go-Goat Mummy Dust Monstrance Clock

Encore: Mary on a Cross Dance Macabre Square Hammer

Metal Hammer

[bookloover35]

Moonlit Shadow//Legolas.

The forest was alive with the whispers of ancient trees, their branches swaying as if in quiet conversation. Legolas moved soundlessly through the dense woods of Ithilien, his keen eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow that illuminated the dark canopy.

He paused, his elven senses tingling as a flicker of motion caught his eye. For a moment, he thought it was merely a trick of the moonlight—until he heard it: the softest rustle of leaves that even his sharp hearing barely detected.

A shadow moved ahead, a figure cloaked in black, as if the darkness itself had come to life. Without making a sound, Legolas nocked an arrow and aimed it at the silhouette.

"Reveal yourself," he commanded softly, his voice calm but firm.

A low, amused chuckle echoed through the clearing, and a figure stepped into the moonlight. She was an elf, but unlike any he had ever seen. Her long hair, dark as midnight, cascaded down her back, framing a face that was both fierce and beautiful. But it was her eyes that held him captive—vivid, almost glowing purple, like rare gems that glimmered in the starlight.

"You need not point that at me," she said, her voice smooth and laced with mischief. "I'm not the enemy."

Legolas hesitated for a moment, then lowered his bow. "Who are you?" he asked, curiosity sparking within him.

The mysterious elf tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. "They call me (Y/N). But names mean little in the shadows."

Legolas watched her with growing intrigue. He had heard tales of a rogue wandering the borders of Gondor—an elf who answered to no lord, living by her own code. Yet he had not expected her to be quite so... entrancing.

"Why do you linger here, in the woods of Ithilien?" Legolas inquired, stepping closer.

(Y/N) shrugged casually, her movements graceful as a cat. "The trees speak of invaders, of darkness encroaching from the East. I prefer to stay ahead of trouble." She leaned against a tree, her eyes never leaving his. "And you, prince of Mirkwood? What brings you so far from your homeland?"

Legolas found himself caught off-guard by her directness. "I, too, seek to protect these lands," he replied. "But I am bound by duty."

She chuckled softly. "Duty is a cage, even for one as skilled as you, Legolas. Why not free yourself from those chains and see the world for what it truly is?"

The moonlight bathed her in an ethereal glow, and Legolas felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. She was unlike the elves of Rivendell or Lothlórien—wild, untamed, and utterly captivating.

Days turned into weeks, and Legolas found himself crossing paths with (Y/N) more frequently. At first, their encounters were fleeting, accidental. Yet, he began to seek her out, as if the forest itself was drawing them together.

(Y/N) was always moving, her lithe form darting through the shadows like a whisper. She had no loyalty to any realm, no master save herself. Legolas marveled at her independence and strength, traits that were foreign to him as a prince bound by duty.

One evening, as they sat by a small campfire, (Y/N) noticed Legolas watching her with a gaze that was softer than before. She raised an eyebrow, her trademark smirk playing on her lips.

"You stare as if you've never seen an elf before," she teased, her voice a gentle lilt that sent shivers down his spine.

"I have seen many," Legolas replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But none like you."

(Y/N)'s laughter died on her lips as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. The firelight danced across his golden hair, his blue eyes reflecting a warmth that was rare for him. She was used to people desiring her for her skills, her abilities as a rogue—but this? This was something deeper, something she was unprepared for.

"You should not look at me that way, Legolas," she said quietly, turning her gaze to the flames. "I am a shadow, fleeting and unbound. I do not belong in the light."

Legolas reached out, gently cupping her chin to turn her face back to him. "Then let me be the one to pull you into the light," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek.

For the first time, (Y/N) found herself at a loss for words. She had spent centuries alone, convinced that she needed no one, that her freedom was the only thing worth protecting. But now, under the gentle touch of an elven prince, she felt her walls begin to crumble.

As the days passed, the bond between them grew stronger, though neither spoke of it openly. Their partnership became seamless in battle, their movements synchronized as if they had been fighting side by side for centuries. (Y/N) was always at his side, her twin daggers flashing in the moonlight, a silent protector.

Yet Legolas could not ignore the growing desire in his heart. It was unlike anything he had ever known—this longing for someone so wild and free, so different from himself. He admired her strength, her independence, but it was her heart that captivated him most. The rogue who claimed to live in shadows had a light within her that he could not resist.

One evening, as they rested after a fierce battle against a band of orcs, Legolas could no longer hold back his feelings. He approached (Y/N), who was tending to her wounds, and knelt beside her.

"(Y/N)," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress. "You are the brightest star in the darkest night. I have never met anyone like you, and I fear that my heart is no longer my own."

(Y/N) looked up, her amethyst eyes widening in surprise. "Legolas... you don't know what you're saying. I'm not meant for this." She gestured between them, her expression conflicted.

But Legolas only smiled, leaning in closer until their breaths mingled. "Perhaps you are meant for more than you think, (Y/N)," he whispered.

And in that moment, as the moon bathed them in its silver light, she let go of her fears. Their lips met, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises unspoken and feelings long denied. For once, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let someone in.

In the shadows of the forest, where only the stars bore witness, the rogue and the prince found solace in each other's embrace—a love that transcended the boundaries of duty and freedom, of light and shadow.

Epilogue: Though (Y/N) continued to walk her own path, she found herself returning to Legolas time and time again. Their love was a delicate balance of freedom and commitment, like a dance under the moonlit sky. Together, they forged a bond that would endure through the ages, proving that even the wildest hearts could find a place to call home.

[margaretkart]

I dunno why the colorism thing with ancient Greek myths came to be like, helios is a big connection Greeks made to the idea of darker skin, especially why those from other countries are like that (Phaethon is an underrated myth). The simple logic of "close to the sun = darker skin" is something already in mythology. there are already gods connected to darker skin like eos too. so uh... why is Calypso portrayed as black and Circe (literally a daughter of the sun) as white in everything?

You're absolutely right to want actual sources rather than just modern interpretations. The idea that Helios and his descendants were depicted as darker-skinned is a modern misconception. Ancient Greek texts and art do not describe Helios, Circe, or any of his children as having particularly dark skin.

Helios is consistently described as radiant, golden, and shining, rather than dark-skinned. His main features are his brilliance and association with light, not his complexion.

- Homeric Hymn to Helios (31.1-4):

> “And now, O Muse Calliope, daughter of Zeus, sing of bright Helios, whom mild-eyed Euryphaessa bore to Hyperion. As he rises in the sky, he brings light to the mortals and to the immortal gods.”

- Pindar, Olympian Ode 7.71-73:

> “Golden-haired Helios, who brings light to men and sees all things.”

The most consistent physical trait associated with Helios is golden hair, not dark skin. Ancient vase paintings also depict him as a standard Greek male, often with a crown of sun rays but never with darker skin than other figures.

Circe, as the daughter of Helios, is never described as having dark skin. Like her father, her primary feature is her radiance and divine beauty.

- Homer’s Odyssey (10.136-139):

> “She is a dread goddess with braided hair, a great and terrible goddess, with human speech and a goddess’ beauty.”

Nothing here or elsewhere suggests her skin was any darker than a typical Greek depiction of divine women. Ancient Greek pottery almost always shows Circe in standard Greek feminine features, sometimes pale, sometimes standard skin-tone, but never specifically dark-skinned.

Calypso is a nymph, and like most nymphs, she is simply described as divinely beautiful, without specific reference to her skin color. She is sometimes theorized to live near North Africa (if Ogygia is placed near the Atlantic or Mediterranean), but this doesn’t mean she was depicted as having dark skin.

- Homer’s Odyssey (5.55-57):

> "There she found Calypso at home. A great fire blazed in the hearth, and the scent of burning cedar and sweetwood spread across the island."

- Homer’s Odyssey (5.239-242):

> "The radiant goddess Calypso seated him on a shining chair, asked him who he was and whence he had come, and why he wandered over the sea."

Her main descriptors are radiance and divine beauty, similar to other nymphs like the Pleiades or Naiads. Ancient Greek artwork of Calypso (though less common) does not depict her as darker-skinned.

Ancient Greeks did recognize different skin tones, but they used them in a very specific way:

Greek men were often depicted with tanned skin due to outdoor life.

Greek women and goddesses were often depicted as pale because they were idealized as staying indoors.

Foreigners ( Ethiopians, Trojans, or Egyptians) were explicitly described as having darker skin.

The myth of Phaethon scorching parts of the Earth (Ovid’s Metamorphoses) does reference the idea that proximity to the sun creates darker skin, but this is a mythological explanation for actual ethnic diversity, not an indication that sun gods or their descendants were dark-skinned themselves.

Modern depictions of Circe as pale and Calypso as Black are likely influenced by:

1. Western fantasy tropes: Witches and sorceresses are often depicted as pale and ethereal (thanks to medieval and Victorian aesthetics).

2. Hollywood racial coding: Dark-skinned women are often cast in “exotic” or mysterious roles, which fits Calypso’s role in The Odyssey.

3. Misinterpretation of “sun = dark” myths: While Phaethon’s myth explains skin tone variation, that logic was never applied to Helios, Circe, or their divine descendants.

There is no ancient source describing Circe or Helios as darker-skinned. They are described with radiance, golden hair, and beauty, fitting the standard Greek portrayal of deities. Calypso is never described as dark either—her role as a nymph suggests she was envisioned like other Greek goddesses. The modern tendency to portray Circe as pale and Calypso as dark is a modern artistic choice, not something rooted in mythology.

[floodkiss]

Say "NO" to Genocide - Call, email, mail your reps (Canada)

Me and my friend spent some time today writing letters to the House of Commons, plus we have been calling MPs daily. I haven't seen too many resources for this floating around on tumblr, so here's a lengthy guide on how to do this plus some sample scripts! Long post ahead since I think it will be most helpful to dump everything in one spot to reference. On desktop, use CTR F/CMD F to search for the topic -> Phone / Email / Letter Mail / Contacts / Demands / Scripts / Fax

Update 1 - Nov 23: Updated emails with "mailto" hyperlinks, edited demands, added fax section, added scotiabank pres fax number.

On the PHONE / General Tips

Introduce yourself and identify yourself as a constituent by providing your postal code or address.

Ask to speak to the MP directly, but do not be surprised if you must speak to the MP’s staff instead. Staff can help move your issue forward.

Give the reason for your call and explain your concern.

Focus on one or two main concerns per phone call. Do not unload on the MP or their staff with all of your political concerns at one time.

Ask clear and pointed questions that require some explanation.

Ask for a commitment to action.

KEEP IN MIND Tips for Calling MPs:

Tell the MP that this issue will matter to you in the next election.

Avoid revealing party affiliation or sympathies. If you show that your vote is already cast for a certain party, the MP may not have the incentive to respond to your requests.

Be as brief as possible while outlining concerns.  Show that you respect their time.

Remain calm and respectful in dialogue. Be willing to work with them.

Follow up: Find out what actions were taken as a result of your call, and respond appropriately.

(Source: CPJ.ca)

CJPME Call Tool - Fill in the form, there will be suggested talking point. The tool will call your phone and then patch you through to your MP. If voicemail, state your concerns in 30 seconds. No address input will default you to call Foreign Affairs Minister Melanie Joly.

EMAIL

Be sure you sign your email with your name and mailing address so they know you are a part of their riding.

You will most likely receive a PR-type response or no response at all, but please still send these. It disrupts operations, and it still contributes to pressuring your MP to act on behalf of your riding.

LETTER MAIL

Mail may be sent postage-free to any member of Parliament at the House of Commons address. You just need to use an MP's full title if they are Cabinet members. Cabinet mebers have "The Honourable" attached to their names.

Postcards are efficient in that they are small pieces of card stock and can be a short message plus demands, no need to get use envelopes.

The Right Honourable Justin Trudeau House of Commons Ottawa, Ontario, Canada K1A 0A6

CONTACTS

Find your MP - ourcommons.ca - Contact the MP of your riding, any of the contacts below, as well as any cabinet members in your city or province.

Prime Minister (613) 992-4211 / justin.trudeau@parl.gc.ca *FAX: 613-941-6900 /*If faxes are closed at the House of Commons line, try their local offices! (See below under "FAX" for fax guide!)

Deputy Prime Minister - Chrystia Freeland (613) 992-5254 / chrystia.freeland@parl.gc.ca FAX: 416-928-2377

Minister of Foreign Affairs - Mélanie Joly (613) 992-0983 / melanie.joly@parl.gc.ca FAX: 613-992-1932

Minister of International Development - Ahmed Hussein (613) 995-0777 / ahmed.hussen@parl.gc.ca FAX: 613-995-0777

Minister of National Defence - Bill Blair (416) 261-8613 / bill.blair@parl.gc.ca FAX: 416-261-5286

Canada-Israel Interparliamentary Group (CAIL) Stéphane Bergeron (*he's not a chair or vice chair of this group, but i want to warn that stephane WILL argue with you, so call after hours if you are scared of confrontation 😭☠️) (450) 922-2562 / Stephane.Bergeron@parl.gc.ca Anthony House-father (Chair) (514) 283-0171 / anthony.housefather@parl.gc.ca Randall Garrison (VC) (250) 405-6550 / randall.garrison@parl.gc.ca Marty Morantz (VC) (204) 984-6432 / Marty.Morantz@parl.gc.ca The Honourable Ya’ara Saks (VC) (416) 638-3700 / yaara.saks@parl.gc.ca

Embassy of Israel (613)567-6450 / FAX: 613-750-7555

DEMANDS

Summarized from resistance groups such as H/mas, H/zbollah, PFLP (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine), DFLP (Marxist Democratic Front got the Liberation of Palestine), CJPME (Canadians for justice and peace in the middle east), and other anti-war, anti-imperialist, IRL Palestinians.

Canada needs to...

Call an immediate PERMANENT ceasefire to end bloodshed

Send humanitarian aid to Gaza.

Institute embargo on all military exports to Israel

Close the embassies, and sanction Israel diplomatically and economically.

SCRIPTS

Use these as scripts for calling, emailing, and mailing. I suggest adding some of your own sentences and changing the subject lines (for email) so they don't end up in spam.

Example from Canada: Stop Arming Israel - World BEYOND War 

As we mourn the thousands of people in Israel and Palestine who have been killed in the past few weeks we refuse to stand by and allow the only true winners in war — the weapons manufacturers — to continue to arm and profit off of it.

Canada exported over $21 million in military goods to Israel in 2022, including over $3 million in bombs, torpedoes, missiles, and other explosives. - 2022 Exports of Military Goods 

Weapons companies across Canada are making a fortune off of the carnage in Gaza and the occupation of Palestine.

This is a call to action. It's time to stop letting these weapons companies profit off of the massacre of thousands of Palestinians. Find a location near you, get friends and allies together, and interrupt their business as usual to demand they stop selling arms and military technology to Israel.

Send an urgent message to demand Canada stop arming Israel and push for an immediate ceasefire to your Member of Parliament, the Prime Minister, and the Ministers of Foreign Affairs, International Trade, and Defense.

Dear [recipient's full name goes here], We are witnessing genocidal violence playing out in Gaza right now. Thousands of Palestinians have been killed, nearly half of them children. With a blockade on water, electricity, fuel and food, a quarter of all buildings razed to the ground, and over a million people displaced, UN experts have denounced Israel's actions as crimes against humanity. Meanwhile, weapons companies across Canada are arming -- and making a fortune off of -- the carnage in Gaza and the massacre of thousands of Palestinians by selling weapons and military technology to Israel. I am calling on you to do two things: to take immediate action to institute an arms embargo on Israel and to ensure Canada pushes for de-escalation and a ceasefire in Gaza. Sincerely,

Script Sample 2 from Palestinian Youth Movement

^This will open up a pre-written email in your chosen email app or site. Fill in the recipient line with the emails of MPs you wish to contact.

Script Sample 3 from CJPME's Email Campaign

^Complete the form to send an email to Prime Minister Trudeau, your local MP, and the leaders of the NDP, Convervatives and Greens. Canada must OPPOSE A SECOND NAKBA and dispossession of the Palestinians in Gaza by pushing for a ceasefire.

Script Sample 3 for mail:

(a mix of mine and a friend's)

I am writing to ask you to take immediate action to stop the genocide Israel is committing against Palestinians in Gaza as well as the onslaught of those in West Bank.

There is blockade on food, water, electricity, fuel, and the use of internationally banned white phosphorus to exterminate Palestinians. Aid is not able to enter Gaza because of this blockade. UN experts have named Israel’s actions as genocide citing numerous war crimes they continually commit.

While over 10k civilians have been martyr’d (4.2k of which are children), Canada has not even been able to NAME such crimes as genocide or call for an official ceasefire. This is not enough.

Canada needs to:

Call an immediate ceasefire to end bloodshed

Send humanitarian aid to Gaza.

Institute embargo on all military exports to Israel

Close the embassies, and sanction Israel diplomatically and economically.

FAX (NEW!)

Using faxzero.com is simple, just follow up the steps on the website. No fax machine required! Tell officials your demands and customize your letter by noting their complicity based on their role as a politician or gov official. Or keep it brief and simple, in large legible letters. 

Demands could include:

That you are a “Canadian” constituent That you are demanding an IMMEDIATE AND PERMANENT CEASEFIRE IN GAZA; That you demand a total withdrawal of financial (taxpayer) and commercial support and arms for continued occupation in Israel’s 70+ year occupation in Palestine; That it is shameful that [X] is choosing not to speak up for the deaths of more than 11,000 Palestinians, half of whom are children and thousands of others displaced; That Palestinians like all people, deserve life, dignity and justice; That Israel is breaking multiple international laws daily and Canada MUST meet its international commitment to promote and defend human rights under the Geneva Convention; That not putting these actions in place will harm constituents and undo acts of reconciliation with Indigenous peoples and other marginalized communities in Canada by not protecting the Indigenous peoples of Palestine; That unless there is concrete and everlasting action taken place, that there will be no peace until Palestine is free, and subsequently that you will not be voting for them (if applicable) in the next election.

Sign off with your name, address and postal code (if applicable, furthering that you are a resident on the stolen Indigenous lands otherwise known as “Canada”) Extended fax list: Scott thomson (president of scotiabank) - 416-866-5929 joe biden / whitehouse - 202-456-2461

(source: @/harlo.gif on IG)

[rye-in-a-coat]

MY SPARKLECARE THEORY

The Number.

Y'all remember when the ZCP told us to not call the phone number Rem gives to Bright? You should not, I'm not sure if it's an actual number in real life; but if it happens to be, no one who's on the other side of the line will be happy.

To avoid curious viewers to obliterate someone's phone, what usually is done in media ever since in the 1960's in the U.S. and Canada is to have the phone number's central office code to be 555 as it's almost* guaranteed no civilian person will have such number for personal use or will link to any business. This only applies in the North American Numbering Plan of course.

Why didn't the ZCP use a 555 number then? They actually used one in the same volume, the phone number Lo dials to call the Citycountrytown Casting Agency is 555-2737.

What I get from this is that, if they didn't use a 555 number for the number at the end, it is because the numbers in it themselves carry some kind of information.

Cross on blue and yellow background.

Such symbol has appeared before in Volume 1, where we see a escaped patient having it on a sign, and in Volume 2, where it is held by a protestor. As Eve mentioned once in this ask, such symbol which also appears in the blog, website and other stuff is NOT the hospital's logo. Then of what or who?

An anti-Sparklecare group?

It is clear that this symbol as shown in these examples, represents a statement against Sparklecare. What I supose is that, because Kittycorn doesn't want to reveal any further information of the protestors seen in volume 2, they will be relevant in a future volume or series. If we link these clues together, perhaps this symbol doesn't just represent the movement in general, but a specific organized group against Sparklecare, making it their logo. Then this would make Rem part of it too, and so Rem then becomes a very important piece in the story, because she's the infiltrated secret agent in the hospital. Knowing how heavily implied Doctor Party is to be an ESPer, he surely knows about Rem's undercover identity and about this organized group. Perhaps he's part of it too, if so, then they have another great important character against Cuddles.

A cipher?

Going back to the phone number, if the numbers in it are important and relevant, perhaps a piece of code is ciphered in it. My first thought was A1Z26 cipher, a simple sustitution code in which each letter gets a number assigned, so A is 1, B is 2; and so on.

The first six digits of the phone number, if you read them as 1-14-20-9 and decipher them using A1Z26, you get the word ANTI; which I really doubt this is just a coincidence knowing how it is implied this phone number belongs to an ANTI Sparklecare group.

The other four tho: 2425, are not that obvious. The possible combinations readable in A1Z26 are 2-4-2-5 (BDBE), 2-4-25 (BDY), 24-2-5 (XBE), and 24-25 (XY).

The only idea that comes to my mind is A-N-T-I-B-D-Y which is one letter off from "antibody". An antibody is protein belonging to the inmune system which will find, target and neutralize foreign and so-possibly harming bodies such as harmful bacteria and viruses.

An antibody's job is to protect the human body from what will harm it, and these anthries's hope seems to be to protect the patients from receiving any more harm from such heartless medical industry.

But Imma be honest, the four last digits are quite an stretch to analyze and I'm starting to doubt if the ANTI is a coincidence.

*A footnote.

If you want to use a 555 number in your media, DO NOT put as area codes 800, 888, 877, 866, 855, 844 or 833 before them. These area codes are reserved for toll-free dial numbers, to which the 555 office code is valid; so you may actually write a real phone number that who knows where that will link to.

[gold-rhine]

in terms of speculations, i usually only talk in terms of general themes\narrative direction and character arcs, i don't like to try and predict the plot itself, bc it often goes immediately into fanfic territory mixed with conspiratorial theories of like interpreting kabbalah symbols and shit

but i think natlan's plot beats were basically laid out plainly in simulanka's side quests about squirrels and frogs. like, there is a frogs tournament where they determine who's the strongest champion, which we already know will be natlan's centre premise.

we have a squirrel princess , who organizes a trial to find the Guardian who can then "awaken" a relic, which should save her kingdom. this is 100% mavuika, like hello?? we literally had trailer with her announcing the tournament, "winner takes it all", and then standing in front of glowing relic, talking about "igniting".

so, in this quest, there is a squirrels' kingdom, awaiting the Guardian who can reignite the relic. they are waiting for a long time, but the Guardian doesn't arrive. So long time ago, a squirrel Princess (not the current one) sealed off the kingdom.

We know natlan is isolated itself, i.e. sealed off. So i think previous ruler, not mavuika, closed it off long time ago, and all these years they repeat the tournament again and again, trying to find the Guardian who can reignite the relic and save them. I don't know who that ruler is, was it an archon or pyro dragon, or just a ruler, i don't know yet.

now, mavuika decides to break the cycle. She doesn't want to wait anymore, she thinks decision to seal off was wrong

this is what she does in the trailer. i think what's more, is that Mavuika will open the tournament to the foreigners to compete

now, we have another major character, the frog champion. This frog champion is said to be objectively the best champion, but he at first refuses to compete, bc he "made a mistake" and thinks he's not worthy. instead, he tries to get his friend to become champion. But then when dangerous situation arrives, he proves himself the best champion when he needs to protect the others.

SO. I think the reluctant frog champion is capitano. based on previous nation trailers, all principal cast appears in the trailer. capitano is repeatedly mentioned as being the strongest warrior by several characters. in trailer, mavuika addresses him directly, asking if he's brave enough, and they share a frame. I think capitano is gonna have a tragic backstory where he failed at smth critical before and now thinks he's not worthy, i think he will at first NOT try to compete himself, but have like. a friend or protege or smth, who will be competing, but then some emergency will happen and capitano will be forced to act, proving he's the strongest, so becoming the champion.

This, i think, is about capitano and tsaritsa.

Anyway, capitano, an outsider, being named Champion is a scandal and there is gonna be some conflict about it. I'm not sure how the dragons gonna play into it yet, but like. even if capitano is not the champion, the champion WILL be the outsider who Mavuika will accept despite her natlan conservatives being against it

BUT this is not the end. Frog champion couldn't reignite the relic and become the guardian. I.e., Capitano will be the winner of the tournament, "Champion", but he will not be able to "reignite" the relic that Mavuika wants.

Princess and frog champion then go to the Cave Of Eerie Murmurs, which is very khaenriah coded. In my most delusional dreams, we will have a khaenriah field trip, but at the very least, it should be a callback to the cataclysm.

In the cave, Princess and Champion go thru several trials together, mostly Princess is doing trials and Frog and traveler are helping. They succeed and pass trials. But the relic still DOESNT reignite. Then they talk to "records" of previous princess and champion, who are resigned to being ghosts and think there is nothing to do but wait. But Princess refuses and vows to FORGE HER OWN PATH, and this is what reignites the relic. Princess becomes the Guardian herself.

okay, so. idk yet what the titles translate to. Is Princess = Archon? idk, maybe not! Maybe princess is just a ruler, so Mavuika is NOT the archon, and like the winner of the tournament is supposed to become the Archon, i.e. Guardian = Archon. Or maybe Guardian is tied to Dragon Sovereigns! Or smth else completely!

What I *can* say, is that there is some sort of position of higher power - "Guardian". Only Guardian can save natlan. To become Guardian, you need to be acknowledged by the "relic". Mavuika will host the tournament in hopes that the winner will be worthy of being acknowledged by the relic. I think, capitano will be that winner. But, the winner will NOT be able to reignite the relic and take the high power. Winner and Mavuika will go thru ancient sacred trials (possible khaenriah related), Mavuika will be the one doing the most, they will succeed, BUT still not reignite the relic. Then Mavuika will rebel against traditions and forge her own path, and this is what will reignite the relic. She will become "Guardian", Mavuika, not the winner of tournament, will be the one who gets the higher power and saves natlan.

But after the kingdom is saved, Frog Champion is able to ALSO awaken the relic and become the guardian. And then Princess says she will turn the "trial" into "training grounds", where ppl can train and become Guardians too.

SO. Whatever power Mavuika gets, Archonhood, Sovereign Authority, idk yet, she will not be the only one. First, the winner\champion will share the same power, and then the natlan tournament will be changed from "winner takes all" competition into training grounds where everyone worthy can share the same power. Thats the natlan endgame

[mademoisellekalopsia]

Day 21: Case Coded

|| CONTENT WARNING || Day prompt based on a Fandom Artificial Intelligence Hiccups Hints of teasing Presence of an obnoxious character Implications of internal panic Mentions of frustration

The vibrant corridors were at a dim cast of light than the usually well-lit glow that the jester took note of. They have just woken up from a nap. Well, it is more so of deep pondering about their new life and recent events being in a virtual world and with an excruciatingly mad host that is keeping the said "world" meaning new home together. Can life throw any more curveballs whilst its at it?

The jester rubbed their eyes, making their way to the center of the tent they reside in for "forever" it seems like. Until they were unexpectedly teleported to a different area in the tent.

"Gah! Wuh…?" It left them in a slight woozy state. A hand on their head as they process what had happened.

"What just-," then, their words got cut off, when they heard a sudden yell out of nowhere near them.

"OH-****!" The triangle-shaped head hissed sharply at their fall, a frustrated look in their eyes. They turn to see the jester who was confused and felt the need to be concerned and question about what had happened to the both of them.

"What's going on exactly?" The jester asked with concern, their back slouched a bit and eyes seeking for an answer.

The triangle-shaped head slowly stood upright and spoke in a low and annoyed tone after a grunt, "Apparently, HE'S what's going on." they pointed over from afar.

They looked over to the host floating near the stage with a few of the other individuals, seemingly trying to talk about something while also hiding from him. The jester then noticed the host twitched in a jolt action, making the map glitch a bit out of place. Something is going on, alright.

Once the host was gone in a cloud, the jester and triangle-shaped head made their way to the others. A raggedy plush waved over to them, immediately greeting and checking them making sure they are not harshly affected from a current problem at hand.

"Hey, you two! Oh, I'm glad that you're alright." The raggedy plush spoke to the triangle-shaped head with a mellow, heartfelt tone of concern in their voice.

The jester then shot a question, "Has something happened?" They felt the need to ask as they stood their with a weary, yet confuzzled look.

The raggedy plush and a king piece looked at each other, before the place rumbled a quick second, leaving the group in a state of shock but no panic, or perhaps there is, internal-wise. The raggedy plush decided on explaining.

"Well, it's just a minor inconvenience. Don't worry though, he'll be able to fix it as soon as possible. I hope." By he, they mean the host. "But just so you know, do be careful whenever you're around him."

The raggedy plush ended with an advice. It left the jester curious to ask more.

"Why do you say that?" The jester spoke until shifting their head to another voice from the group.

"Because, you will be subject to a different kind of fun." With a sly, shut grin, an obnoxious rabbit stood with their arms crossed.

"Not helping!" The raggedy plush shook their head in disapproval to their reply.

The jester raised a brow before turning their attention to the triangle-shaped head. "He just have a case of the hiccups, technologically-speaking."

"What?" The jester plainly questioned in confusion and curiosity. But mostly confusion.

How does that work and make any sense exactly? And how did it all started? If one were to incorporate artificial intelligence having a case, it would involve something in their system unit like a malfunction in their coding or a foreign anonymity might have breached and entered into their functions.

"He's a bit aware of it, given that the whole tent is affected, not to mention, it might also not end well for us." The raggedy plush told the jester.

"Yeah, like how they were teleported out of nowhere earlier." The obnoxious rabbit spoke and emphasized, a thumb pointing over to the triangle-shaped head who gave a pissed off look at them.

"Wait until it's your turn!" They scowled back at the rabbit.

What has been given resorts to being similar to the natural involuntary action a human normally experience. If an artificial intelligent were to have it, it may or may not differ and stray away from that of a human body.

Precaution is taken in all seriousness for this matter. The jester figured that when the host hitched, it affects the place to change and individuals to teleport to some place different.

But that is only one result, possible there may be more, and the jester along with the others do not want to know half of it.

"As long as we keep our distance from him, I think we'll be okay." The raggedy plush tried to offer some reassurance to them all.

Suddenly, the tent shook side to side, a quick change of the place made the group hide anywhere that is safe, not wanting to deal with this nonsense.

The jester slightly hyperventilated as they hid, a hand on their chest to calm themselves down. Most of them, then, checked the place with hesitation once the shaking subsided.

"Is everyone alright?" The raggedy plush asked, the others nodding and showing themselves.

"Are you good over there?" Then they asked the king piece who gave a thumbs up in return.

Until another rumble shook the tent. The items and blocks floated shifting in places.

One of the items affected was the king piece's pillow fortress, which they took notice immediately and screamed, "AAH!" concerned for their safe pillow igloo that has disappeared.

Another rumble rose, it made the place shake and shift randomly. That case of his sure is active. Unfortunately, it teleported Ribbons and Triangle-shaped head to the stage rather than the floor.

"Oh my goodness!" The raggedy plush called out to them, checking and making sure if they were fine.

"We're okay…" Ribbons spoke with a wince at their fall.

The obnoxious rabbit chuckled. "That fall was comical, Ribbons! Do it again." Their grin grew in amusement. How could they find humor to that mishap?

With the third wave though, the obnoxious rabbit fell in a black hole that opened underneath them, sending them to fall on top of a floating block. They grunted, face planted on the cube. The two who were at the stage watched it happened, looking at each other.

"Eh, serves them right." The triangle-shaped head commented with no regret.

"Guh! When will this be over?" The obnoxious rabbit spoke in frustration and attitude as they sat on the edge of the floating block with their arms crossed, not happy about this inconvenience.

"We'll just have to wait!" The raggedy plush replied in return, ignoring the murmuring of irritation from the rabbit.

A few more of the earthquakes and changing of the map, it was in a rapid succession. The group figured that it must be quite a stubborn case the host has. They were all completely done with this. The group just want it to be over already. And if that thought was going to happen sooner than later, the host just had to add up to the internal panic and longing of rest as he made his presence known with the group after a long while. In a rushed and iconic host tone, they spoke with the accompanied sounds of the case that is somewhat similar to a human's sounds.

"Hello! my HUCK!-lucky stars-" The host exclaimed with glee.

They all called him out of his name in unison. Then the rabbit spoke. Their voice echoed faintly from above, still stuck on the same floating block.

"Uuugh! No luck with that? Could you please hurry it up! I've been up here for ages!" The rabbit dragged their groan, complaining as they looked down at the host.

"My-my, you should've called me!" The host snapped their fingers to return the way things are back to normal.

But they let out another hitch again, snapping their fingers once more. It happened again and again, until is was a quick cycle.

They all called out to the host again, making him stop in his tracks as he realized his distracted-self. He spoke. "Oh, my bad! HIRK!-RR'Rrr!" It comes out in a fuzzy static.

The tent shook with intensity, glitching a bit, now that the one with the case was at close proximity.

"UH! Do you have something to tell us?! The raggedy plush called out as they hid behind a couch.

The host looked at them. Not them thinking about it, floating mid-air for a few moments on why they were there instead of managing to resolve his case.

The host's eyes shifted to walled, a bright tone on their voice as they held their finger up.

"Ah-ha! Yes, of course. Now I remember why I'm here!" He said with a delightful tone. They all looked at him, anticipating provision of some good news about this matter.

"I still have them." The host said in a defeated and nonchalant tone, back slouching and hands fall to the side.

The group groaned in unison at the end, thinking that this particular episode is accompanied with a case and its about to go crazy or rather, it had already been crazy. It will be quite a long day as the group hid and scattered. This adventure was uncalled for.

[tgrailwar-zero]

Morning Invader, Rider, Pretender. It feels like it's been a while though I am pretty sure it has been exactly five minutes. We dreamed about a grail war where the Loch Ness monster was secretly a mecha and bombarded people with missiles.

PRETENDER: "Huh. Interesting." KUKULKAN: "Ooh... that's fun! I'd want to fight something like tha--"

CONSTANTINE: "If you get stabbed because you spent too much time jabbering, I won't pity you." KUKULKAN: "Sooorry..."

[vaguely-concerned]

A Stitch In Time First Read Reactions & Thoughts Monster Post Part 3

Stumbling over the finish line if not in style then with enthusiasm!

Part 1, Part 2

- Odo looked as if he could use a spell in his bucket; I had rarely seen him looking so run-down.

<3 I love one goo man 

“I’d better get this information to Captain Sisko,” Odo decided.

“Would you rather I tell him?” I offered. Odo looked positively drained; he needed to return to his liquid state.

Every time Odo is changeling-sleep deprived Garak starts to hear kill bill sirens and flash back to ‘the die is cast’. It is kind of sweet that he seems to be worried for his friend and not trying to gain an advantage or sneak around here tho. 

The ironies of the situation both amused and irritated me. Here I was, the invaluable decoder of Cardassian encryptions containing life-and-death information for the Federation—and they won’t trust me with the code to wake up Captain Sisko. Ah well, it was never easy being a Cardassian on this suspended chunk of desolation. And then I laughed out loud. But what about Odo? The last time I looked he was a changeling, a member of the race of Founders that was determined to destroy the Alpha Quadrant. Not only did he have the captain’s wake-up code, he also slept with the station’s second-in-command.

LMAO you know what fair fucking point garak. Tbf I’m sure there are some people who’ve been assuming you’ve been fucking the chief medical officer too 

But if Damar had thrown his support to the rebels … if it wasn’t a ploy… I wanted my revenge on him, yes, but not at the expense of liberating Cardassia. And it wasn’t just liberating the planet from the control of a foreign power. It was closer… more personal. I wanted something that was even more difficult to attain—redemption.

The doors opened, and once again I was alert as I stepped into the deserted corridor and moved past the sleeping quarters to my own. It was time, I kept repeating in my head. It was time to take our place among the planets and peoples of the Alpha Quadrant as a civilized and open society. It was time to repair the damage. “A stitch in time saves….” What? What was that expression?

*pats him very gently and lovingly on the head* This man can unironically fit so much character development in him

“You’re Khon-Ma, aren’t you?” She didn’t respond. “Being the only Cardassian on this station, I expected you a long time ago. What kept you?”

She should shoot you actually just for this

I stopped. What’s the point, I thought. All the stories were beginning to run together and they all had the same ending.

Smoking gun of ‘hm I think there might be some unreliable narration still lingering here’ lol. In a way all but openly admitting that like this is probably more like telling the truth for garak than telling the actual truth would be. From how we see him interact with Toran in the show I buy that the emotional truth about this is basically as he tells it tho — I think he’s angry and disgusted with himself more for having been unable to stop something from happening and taking that as being as responsible for it as the asshole who caused it, rather than actively making it happen himself. That’s the kind of pattern he has in so many other places in his life too, trying to navigate in the very limited space and with the very limited agency being submissive to personalities like Tain and Toran leaves you. 

“And they were all killed,” she said even more softly.

“End of story, Remara.” I considered telling her how I had exacted my own revenge upon Toran, and that my only regret was that his death hadn’t come sooner… but what was the point? Another treacherous opportunist dies after tearing another hole in the fabric. What’s gained except the potential for more damage? I rose. The station’s gravity felt like it had increased threefold.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. One way or the other I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Who gave the order?” she asked.

“What difference does it make? I did, if you like.”

Remara just looked at me. She lowered the phaser. Part of me was deeply disappointed. 

The ‘has he been thinking with his horny brain this whole time or is he passive-actively suicidal’ conundrum. I suppose there’s nothing saying it can’t be both but I also think it’s more on the second side than he’d like anyone to know. I guess there’s no easy way to tell the guy who saved your life that you don’t really care that much for said life most days, and if you were offered some plausible deniability…

“You’re going to have to leave this station. They’ll keep coming after you until someone succeeds. Goodbye, Elim.” She put her hand against the side of my face, and I felt the heat coming through. Perhaps her passion was a curse as a terrorist, but she was a whole person … and she had found redemption.

Chewing on the idea of being a whole person vs. ‘unfinished man’ and ‘mosaic person’ 

- Gul Toran is someone Tain has warned me to monitor periodically.

Ah so Four Lubak is the future Gul Toran (the asshole in the Natima Lang ep if I remember correctly)! I see. That also means his snarking about Toran being made Gul is entirely performative he’s known about it for years lmao that was literally just to be a bitch  yes wonderful

- The fact that Tain has an evil Romulan twin/soulmate and they hate each other fdskjfhdsa

- So interesting that it does take until middle-age and Palandine’s extended presence in his life before Garak’s sense of humor really emerges fully. It seems such an integral part of him in the show, it sure is Something that it basically had to be carefully tended to and supported like a lil flower by careful gardener’s hands (thank you Palandine I’m sorry your life is a nightmare) 

- But I must confess that the toast proposed by proconsul Merrok left me feeling much better about the whole affair.

. . . 

“At first I couldn’t think why you hated him,” I confessed.

“I don’t hate anyone, Elim,” he carefully explained. “I have a job to do—and sometimes it’s necessary to eliminate those enemies who can’t otherwise be dissuaded. And he was determined to block our interests at every juncture.”

“I don’t hate anyone” says man composed of about 98% hate per volume

“Oh yes, my boy—yes, you did excellent work. A job well done.” He had never complimented me with such unconditional enthusiasm. It was almost a demonstration of paternal pride.

“You see, I had this planned for a long time, Elim. But Tolan wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t take on the assignment, and he wouldn’t pass on the information. But thankfully he trusted you, Elim.” Tain patted me on the shoulder, which meant I was dismissed.

Weaponizing Tolan’s memory against him. Fucked Up. 

- Fear and isolation, Doctor. You can’t have one without the other. Fear isolates and isolation is fear’s natural home. Just as my orchids need carefully prepared soil to protect them against disease and pests, fear needs the isolated circumstances to deepen and grow without connective or relational interference. When fear is allowed to flourish in its dark and lonely medium, then any evil that can be conceived by the fearful imagination will emerge.<

This whole chapter is so fucking good, and it starts slapping right from the beginning. The way this works not only as a description of the larger crimes of Cardassia, but also the shape of his own life. 

‘My orchids’ is very sweet, and a phrasing that occurs several times. 

My feelings are spent, my moral rationalizations are empty, and I can’t say it’s not my problem when I’m pulling and lifting and throwing bodies of people who once only wanted to go about the business of their lives.

His life has been a series of violent deconstruction followed by reassembly of the broken pieces, and this should have been the most shattering of all but it comes across as almost peaceful. He finally gets to have his soul to himself enough to make something meaningful with it and put it together in his own time and in the shape of his own truth, even in the middle of such a painful realization.  

Colonel Kira once told me how many Bajorans died during the Cardassian Occupation, and my mind rejected the figure like a piece of garbage. We’d been in the service of the state, I had told myself, and the state had determined what was necessary. But now I understand why she hated me. More important, I now understand that constant burning, almost insane look in her eyes.

. . . 

Most of us who are left, Doctor, are insane. We have to be in order to survive and emerge from our isolation. It’s the only way we can live with the pain of what we did. Or didn’t. Each of us accepts the amount of responsibility we are capable of bearing. Some accept nothing, and these people are quickly swallowed by their isolation, their insanity transformed into a rationalized evil. A smaller group accepts total responsibility, and their insanity is an unbearable burden that cripples and eventually grinds them down. The rest of us carry what we can and leave the rest. For myself, Doctor, when a corpse is too heavy to bury I try to remember to ask someone to help me.

This man can hold so much fucking character development 2 electric boogaloo and HOW!! Imagine early seasons Garak saying anything like this! Even while I’ll also buy that early seasons Garak does have the capacity to get to this point in the end after enough work. AND the way it goes with his dream of Cardassia as a mass grave earlier/later on in the book — which also sort of indicates that the person he’s asked to ‘bury these bodies with’, as it were, before, was specifically Bashir. ‘You taught me to ask for help’. I’m so fucking soft for all the ways Garak is showing him that he touched his life in the very best and most beautiful way anyone could, no matter where they go from here.  

- “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just trying to reconcile statistical analysis with Romulan gardens.” We lapsed into a long, stony silence. Usually she knew better than to expect a real answer when she did ask about my working life. We both tried not to venture into certain personal spaces; often the attempt functioned as a barrier. I’m sure she knew that I was more than a data analyst at the Hall of Records. She also understood that the less she knew about what I did the more chance our relationship had to survive. For the same reason I never asked about Lokar. The less information, the less damage if either one of us was betrayed.

Garak that’s kind of sloppy, of course she knows something’s up if you’re making it that easy to figure out lol

Another interesting detail: Palandine seemingly never learns that Tain is Garak’s biological father, then. Very emblematic of the way all those secrets were still getting between them despite their best efforts. And lending even more meaning to the fact that many years later he lets Julian find out in uh perhaps the most direct way possible haha. 

“I’m of two minds. I know, that’s just another way of saying that I’m confused.”

Huh. I wonder if the way this is phrased suggests that that’s not a common expression in Cardassian and he’s translating it directly from Standard or something, or that his uh. Mental confusion/dissociation/fragmentation pops up enough that she’s familiar with it already here? 

“Yes. What if they’re right? What if they could help us reclaim something noble in ourselves? Where does that leave us?” We stood looking at each other. The night wind gusted through the foliage and I wondered where I’d be if I didn’t have this woman’s friendship.

What a soft way to describe it. Really drives home the like. Wholeness of what she meant to him. 

“It was a while ago, Palandine. I don’t know if they’re in the same place … or if they even meet tonight.” Her enthusiasm rendered me as helpless as it did when I first met her.

Julian/Palandine parallels time yet again 

I looked at Palandine, and she now radiated with such light that I turned away, inexplicably embarrassed as if I had seen something I shouldn’t.

So sad somehow that they kind of drift apart in this scene, where Palandine finds something that helps her and he mostly seems to come away lost and confused, if cleansed. (and he still can’t cry with someone else in the room) 

After Palandine had left, I had spent the rest of the night sitting in the Grounds near the children’s area.

How is this so goddamn sad fhkjshfa. They’re still just children, and no one is going to come pick them up from the playground, no one is going to protect them

- “Yes, of course,” I replied. I took a deep breath, and my disparate parts began to snap back. 

Adrift from himseeelf. This is kind of what I meant about Palandine maybe picking up on some of his — this stuff. Which structurally pops back up in The Wire too, with how he tells the stories. 

“You look like you’re not eating anything,” Prang observed. If Tain was the father of the Obsidian Order, Prang was its mother.

LMAO. And he’s constantly worried about his saddest son I guess. Tain/Prang most cursed DS9 rarepair idea???

- His other hand was now probing my skull behind the right ear. The man’s ambidexterity was impressive.

Lol diversity win: the mad doctor about to implant you with experimental tech is ambidextrous!

Oh. Oh no it’s the wire time. The fact that he’s one of the first agents fitted with it b/c his hindbrain distress tolerance is too worryingly low  for their comfort…

When I tell you that this wire will give you no trouble, as long as you don’t meddle with it, you can believe me. You know that, don’t you, Elim?”

“Yes, I do, Mindur.” The man had never given me anything but superb technology and sound advice. “Please continue,” I submitted.

“Good boy.” Timor thumped my shoulder again.

HORROR SHOW CULTURE ONCE MORE and also. Praise kink revisited and made more interestingly fucked up. Also submission theme thread. 

Do you think he’d meddle with the wire eventually even if he hadn’t been exiled. I feel like there’s a non-zero chance of that.  

- I remembered the Hebitian frieze and its lush background. Of course we were different people: it was a different world. The more the forests receded, it seems, the more we covered ourselves. Their world didn’t need an agent of the Obsidian Order to investigate a group of prominent Cardassians who “happened” to be spending their vacation together. It didn’t have Enabran Tain targeting one of his bitterest enemies, Procal Dukat, a powerful member of the Central Command. And I’m certain it didn’t have fathers who refused to acknowledge their sons. If we lived on the next spiral of the cycle of life, how did we know it wasn’t going downward?

a) ‘what if the glass is not only half-empty but also leaking’ yes very cheery Garak and b) one of the rare times he lets not just his bitterness with Tain but also his longing to be acknowledged by him fully shine through. To me it seems like that’s the one thing that’s still too raw for him to dwell on in this narrative. He mostly doesn’t get into or sit with the pretty obvious fact that he loved Tain, and desperately wanted Tain to love him too. You can see the traces through the whole thing of just how angry he is with him now that he’s dead (GOOD! HE SHOULD BE! HE SHOULD BE ANGRIER; IF ANYTHING!), but that particular element of it seems too vulnerable to keep in sight most times

- PYTHAS IS BACK BA-BEY! 

His grace was even more refined as he moved to the small house that was our assigned base of operations. If anything could have taken my mind off downward spirals it was the appearance of Pythas. 

And the mutual crush endures (also with me I love a sneaky little twink)

“What was good for you, Elim, was usually agreeable to me as well,” he wryly observed.

The way Pythas is like Garak’s shadow — except in Garak’s eyes he does everything ‘right’, he doesn’t seem to have that same aching need for connection, he follows his orders easily, he’s perfect and he reaps the rewards Garak never gets. Garak never even resents or begrudges him any of it. And yet they end up in basically the same place when all’s said and done, in the ruins of Cardassia, and Garak might even win out b/c his trials with the mortifying ordeal of being known mean he has some people in his life he’s starting to truly trust, the way Pythas seems to with Nal as well. Thinking. A lot of things. 

Over the years, his modest demeanor and quiet ways had turned him into more of a solitary person than I ever was. I had learned to withdraw my presence as a tool, but I was always aware of my need for contact, and that my value as an operative lay in my ability to engage others in a nonthreatening manner that drew them out. Pythas had learned to withdraw his presence as a way of life—and he moved through the world like a shadow. I was not surprised that Tain had recruited him for the “invisibles.” It took a special person to be able to operate in such unrelentingly anonymous circumstances—no family, no fixed base or identity—and there was no doubt in my mind that he was one of the most brilliant agents in the Order. Our relationship picked right up where it had left off at Bamarren. Other than Prang, I have never met anyone where so much was communicated with so few words. His eyes had a depth and eloquence that told me everything I wanted to know. How ironic that my lust for conversation was satisfied by someone who rarely spoke.

Ah, so if Palandine is the proto-Julian, as it were (and Parmak is the silver fox Ersatz Julian), Pythas is definitely the anti-Julian as well as Garak’s shadow hahaha. 

- Garak is undeniably a city boy at the end of the day haha. Pythas help him out there in the jungle he doesn’t belong here I understand why you’re so worried

- In a way it was touching: the old man reverting to the mind control exercises he had learned as a child.

Garak. The warning bells. Should they perhaps be ringing merrily in your mind at this combination of words and letters. Oh well. 

- “Yes, it’s me.” I squatted so that I was at eye level. I tried to soften myself, round off all the sharp edges.

Yes yes yes this is such a good description of that Thing he does. His ‘just a lil guy/tailor/gardener/funny spy man’ move

‘Carriers of disease’ and spreading poison motifs are back. Dukat Sr. uses it here to describe cowardice/Federation ideals/hashtag the SJWs/the forces that threaten to disrupt the status quo of the fascist state. 

- I left the containment field in place and stepped outside to clear my head. No matter how objective I tried to remain, I could never remain totally unaffected by another man’s horror. Fear was a contagious disease.

This seems right to me — I don’t think anyone who could truly shrug off other people’s suffering would have to make up such webs of justification and alienation as Garak does to do what he does. Maybe that empathy is why he’s so good at it and also why it messes him up so bad over time 

His *Working 9-5 slowed down & with reverb plays softly in the background* vibe about it is undeniably kind of funny tho

Contagious disease thread cont too, and not the first time fear is spoken of that way

“Who are you?” he asked for the second time, fighting against the toxin’s effect. This was one tough old warrior.

“Your worst nightmare,” I replied.

“Ah,” he croaked. “Then Tain sent you.”

- YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE fhdkjshasjh good for you Pythas isn’t there to hear it that is so embarrassing Garak (affectionate)

- Garak dreaming of being buried with the still-whispering mass grave of Old Cardassia… what the fuck I don’t think I’d sleep ever again after that haha

Of all of the people he dreams of, most of them are dead (or potentially soon about to be dead? Not entirely sure how that works out for Mila in particular. And I guess we technically don’t know if Calyx is dead, but after so long it seems very likely), except as we find out later Pythas. And Palandine isn’t there. 

NO. NO YOU CANNOT TELL ME THE FIRST THING HE DOES IS CALL JULIAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT  W H A  T 

“It’s not a medical emergency. Please, I realize this is an imposition.” There was a silence and I heard another voice in the background. Ezri Dax. A muffled conversation. The Doctor cleared his throat again.

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

This is so melancholy I want to disappear into a puddle of quiet yearning and never come back to solid form just put me in a bucket like the Odo. 

This is also the first time in this book Garak has asked Julian for help rather than Julian trying to approach him to give him help (and being rebuffed). He’s called for and he comes :’)

He gave me his puzzled look, which wrinkled his brow. I was always amazed at how deep the furrows were for one so young.

Soft little detail time yet again. Garak has been sitting across Julian for years just looking at this face and picking out new details. 

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” he quoted.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Shakespeare,” the Doctor replied.

“Hmmh.” I nodded in agreement, surprised that for once the author of the politically misguided Julius Caesar made sense.

Fhdskhfskjdfhsdjak you say that as if you didn’t quote the politically misguided Julius Caesar to your father’s face on a burning spaceship as you for the first time truly saw that he was as fallible as anyone else and invoking Bashir’s name in the process Garak

“Of who we are, Doctor. Our being. Human being. Cardassian being. But we have become these beings—are becoming, always in the process of becoming—on these other dimensional levels that are not limited by the measures of time and space. And the great determining factor of our becoming is relationship. Unrelated, I become unrelated. Alienated. Opposed, I become an antagonist. Unified, I become integrated. A functioning member of the whole.” The Doctor was thoughtful; his previous agitation had dissolved.

“You’re a scientist, Doctor. You have a deep understanding of this level. I don’t mean just the mechanics. You understand about relationship, the laws that attract and repel, the combinations that nurture and poison. Health and disease. Integrity and breakdown.”

“In your dream,” he said, “I presided over the burial of yourself and the people you were most intimately related to. Why?”

“You said, ‘for the good of the quadrant…. they must never be allowed to return.’ Why would you say that?” I asked.

“I can only think that….” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Garak. This is not easy for me. I still can’t help thinking this was your dream. Even if I was invited … you were the playwright.”

“Yes, but put yourself in that part. Why would you bury these people and cover up the pit?” The Doctor looked at me in frustration. “Please. Indulge me. It’s vital that I have your answer.”

“If you and the others were carriers of some disease,” he shrugged. “In our fourteenth century on Earth there was a terrible plague, the Black Plague, which wiped out half of Europe’s population. People believed that the dead bodies had to be destroyed, burned … buried … because it was the only way to prevent the spread of the disease….”

. . . 

The Doctor was studying me with an interest in his face I hadn’t seen in years.

“Well? Is it the Black Plague, Doctor? Or just the ramblings of an old spy on the eve of battle?”

“You’re an amazing man, Garak.”

“And my gratitude to you can never be adequately expressed. But I shall try,” I promised.

“Please. What have I done?” he asked genuinely.

“That time you extended yourself so generously and found a way to remove the wire from my brain without killing me …”

“I would have done that for anyone,” the Doctor interrupted.

“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I mean. All during the time the device was deteriorating, I was convinced I was going to die.”

“You were even resigned to it,” he reminded me.

“I was also convinced that it was all a dream, and I kept asking myself what you were doing there.”

The Doctor was puzzled. “But what you just told me, that our dreams are just another way we relate … ?”

“I had forgotten. That point of my life was perhaps the lowest. I had forgotten many things. When I ‘woke up’ and realized that because of you I was going to live—at that moment, I began to recollect some valuable information.”

“About dreams?” he asked.

“Yes. But specifically about relationships, and how they set the course of our lives. You not only ’saved’ my life, you also made it possible for me to live it.” The Doctor’s face darkened.

“What is it, Doctor?”

“The time I wounded you in that holosuite program ….”

“Yes,” I prompted expectantly.

“I never apologized for my action.”

“And you must never apologize!” I urged.

“Please, Garak. This is not the time to give me a lesson on how to behave like a hardened spy….”

“No, no, no. On the contrary, when you shot me, my dear friend, that was the next step in my process of remembering. I was going to sacrifice the others, the people you considered your friends, because that was the only way I could be sure to save myself. You opposed me. Indeed, you would have killed me if necessary.”

“I’m sure it would never have gotten to that point,” the Doctor muttered.

“You would have killed me,” I repeated. “For the greater good.” The cliche suddenly had another meaning for both of us. “This is my last trip to Cardassia. I’m not returning. You were in the dream for a very specific reason. Once again, you helped me remember. Thank you, Julian.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled warmly. “And by the way. It wasn’t the dead bodies that carried the disease. It was later determined that it was the rats feeding on the bodies who were the transmitters.”

“Then I guess we’ll go to Cardassia and look for the rats,” I said.

“Be careful, Garak. And look after my hot-headed friend, will you?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll look after each other,” I answered him. He moved to the door. “Did you really have a dream about Hippocrates?” I asked.

“Yes. Actually I did.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I replied.

First name use…

Disease contagion imagery, and this time it’s very clearly symbolizing y’know the fascism of it all. Weirdly moving that Julian takes a moment to gently imply that the disease isn’t inherent in the people Garak loves and has loved (or in him, for that matter), but in the conditions that created them. 

There’s so much going on here idk if I could start to pick it apart yet, I may need to let this percolate in my skull for a while before I know what to say haha. I think part of it is Garak telling Julian to never apologize for showing him the full truth of himself (not least because that also lets Garak see the full truth of himself in turn), and Julian finally relaxing about. Something. He’s been ashamed about something he can finally let go of. 

‘I thought it was a dream, and kept asking myself what you were doing there’.......I will never emotionally recover from this I want to write fic specifically about this lord have mercy on me

- *Tain Voice* with your hippie bullshit and your women! 

*tiny garak voice* woman…

Over the years we rarely met outside his office; only an emergency or drastic change of plan would alter the routine. Now as we walked through the late morning sun and pedestrians at a leisurely pace I experienced a connection to the surrounding bustle and energy in a way that felt almost normal. A father and his son taking a stroll. Tain was heavier, and I could hear his breathing labor with the effort. He’s an old man, I thought. He’s mortal. I’d never thought about Tain in this way, and I became protective as we approached an aggressive knot of pedestrians at the edge of the Coranum Sector. One man was about to run Tain down when I intercepted his path and bumped him to the side. I ignored his challenge as we continued. “Yes, Elim. I’m getting old.” It wasn’t the first time he picked up my thoughts; this was how our conversations usually went.

HE BECAME PROTECTIVE 

You know the way he keeps touching Tain’s arm and shoulder in The Die is Cast, like he’s steadying him or about to step in front of him to protect him or something? Yeah… he burns his hands on this stove over and over and over but he can’t stop trying to touch it :(

This was so typical of his manipulation. Just moments ago I was feeling protective of this benign old man, my father. And now… the irony filled my mouth with a bitter taste.

This is always & forever first and foremost an Enabran Tain hate zone

He moved to the covered seating area, where the sun filtered through the old vegetation. I had never been here with anyone but Palandine. With a long sigh he settled into a patch of sunlight on the low bench.

He’s like a fucking strangle vine he just winds himself into every single part of garak’s existence and chokes the life out of it 

“Yes,” I answered. The benign mask was slipping, and I began to see the depth of his anger.

. . . 

“You don’t know!” he repeated with a disgust I hadn’t heard since I was a boy and failed to record all the details of one of our walks.

Oof. Ow. Ack. 

“And all this while, instead of giving up your life to the work, hardening yourself into a leader who could inspire others and expand the vision, you’re playing out Hebitian fantasies with another man’s wife!”

“Yes. Just like Tolan!” I exploded. “Perhaps he was my real father after all.”

Tain rose like a man many years younger and grabbed my shoulder in a powerful grip. His anger was now a murderous fury and it was all I could do to hold my stance against the pain of his grip. His cold eyes told me I had betrayed him. Worse, I had failed him. He let go of my shoulder and turned away from me. My entire body trembled. When he turned back he had regained his composure.

The biggest sin Garak could commit in Tain’s eyes is to dare to separate himself from him in any way; to be anything but his mirror, to act as if he has any claim to his own soul. I feel like more than what happens with Barkan right after this, this is what Tain considers the real betrayal. 

Tain has never needed to hit him or become physically violent with him to keep him under control ever since he was a very small child, he’s relied on the terrorizing force of emotional violence. And as is so often the case with emotional violence, it’s been insidious and hidden enough, kept to private spaces and in the shadows, that Tain can pretend at plausible deniability b/c like. Who’s Garak even going to tell about it, for the longest time, if a miracle happened and he even found he could? Mila, who has joined the war on emotional violence on the side of emotional violence since probably before Garak was even born? (For understandable psychological reasons, but in unforgivable ways in the role of a parent.) I wonder if ‘making him’ lose control and expose himself and his violence for what it is like this (in public, even!) is also part of what he can’t forgive Garak for. This ah ‘slip-up’ is the first big crack we see in Tain’s image of perfect implacable control (which is very much still the impression you’re left with in Garak’s stories in The Wire too), in the same way that Improbable Cause/The Die Is Cast completely breaks that image down. He is getting old. He stayed in the game too long in the end and his iron grip is starting to slip and everything he’s forced to stay in place starts to slip out of that order with it.

Characterizing what Tolan was doing as ‘living with another man’s wife’ is SUCH a subtle burn tho lol like yeah maybe after the strictures of our society you SHOULD have married the mother of your child instead of outsourcing all your decency to the said mother’s BROTHER, Tain 

Aside from anything else going on here (and there is a lot going on)... does Tain even know who Garak is at all, just on a personal level? Why, after knowing him for like 40+ years at this point, presumably, would you expect him to have aspirations or the natural inclination towards leadership, have you ever met him??? He’s one of nature’s perfect right hand men (well. Maybe not entirely nature’s, Tain did this to him very deliberately on top of some basic natural tendencies lol), he’ll get you whatever you ask of him and I think organizing a team under him for you could be part of that when need be, but never has he shown the least inclination towards leadership. (In fact, despite longing for the recognition coming out on top would get him from daddy I mean his peers, he seems vaguely relieved each time Pythas gets to sit in the big important chair instead of him.) He isn’t Tain’s mirror, for all he dutifully tries to move in the ways that make it seem like he is. And Tain should be smart enough to know that, if the narcissism didn’t completely blot out his sight in this situation, and/or it’s just the ‘setting him up to fail and then acting outraged when he does’ pure maliciousness reaching its apex.

(In a kinder time and a kinder world I think Garak could have a real nice time being one of nature’s extremely devoted Partners rather than simply right hand man. And I would like to see it please)  

“From now on you will report to Corbin Entek.”

Oh, that’s the Entek of Second Skin, probably. Wish you a very ‘get vaporized for not knowing when to quit’ in the future entek 

As I watched him leave, I felt completely empty and wondered how I could feel such emptiness. This sudden, wrenching reversal of fortune … everything changed beyond recognition…. And yet … there was no anger, no self-pity … no fear. Only release. Release from the secrets. Release from the limbo where, ever since I was a boy, I had been trapped between imposed obligations and feelings of mysterious longing mixed with shame. I felt empty … and free.

Listen to that voice maybe garak (not that I think there IS any way out at this point or that there ever has been in truth, that’s kind of the tragedy of the whole thing, tain would never ever have let go of him)

- Mila goodbye time: 

“I’m afraid we’re not leaving you much,” she said. “The furnishings have already been taken away.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” I tried to keep all irony out of my tone.

“It’s your choice, Elim.” Her voice was just as neutral. “The house is yours to live in.”

Mother and son having a Carefully Extremely Civil conversation lol

“Do you know the circumstances … Mila?”

She looked at me. It was the first real contact we’d had in many years. She nodded slowly.

“Before I make my ‘choice,’ I need your help,” I said, surprised that the request emerged so simply. I wasn’t as angry with her as I wanted to be. Mila saw this and softened perceptibly.

This running thread that almost despite himself he understands and empathizes with her and her situation too much to be as angry with her as he probably should be. He understands her better than she understands him (than she could allow herself to understand him, even if she had the ability to). 

I think that these apparently contradictory elements of his personality are part of what makes him feel so real in some ways, too — interpersonally he can be incredibly petty and jealous and judgemental AND almost absurdly forgiving and generous, sometimes seemingly simultaneously, somehow. The classic containing multitudes meme but like forreals tho haha. That is what real people are like too. 

“I love her, Mila.”

“You’re a grown man, Elim.” I couldn’t decide whether she thought I didn’t know this or was seeing it for the first time herself.

“And Palandine’s a grown woman,” I replied.

“I don’t care about her. It’s you! You have to learn…” She broke off and passed me a cup which exuded the herbal aroma I’ve always associated with her and Tolan. Bitterbark and sweet groundroot. Moist rich soil.

“To control myself?” Mila blew on her tea. I shrugged at the obvious irony; I didn’t want to get into a fight.

. . . 

Mila sat on a bin and sipped her tea. She avoided my look. As I positioned another bin across from her, I experienced a deep pain in my shoulder. It was still throbbing.

“Tain���s angry … with me. He wants me never to see her again and … to kill Barkan.” Still she avoided looking at me. “But you know this, don’t you? And you know what’s possible. Because you have your own … thoughts about this. Don’t you Mila?” I persisted.

Again she jerked away from me. Tea from her cup slopped onto the floor. “There’s no time, Elim.” She put the cup down, wiped her hands on the protective smock she wore, and looked for something to clean the floor with. “There’s no time for this.”

The mother/child relationship here is… y’know I talk a lot about Garak’s daddy issues for obvious reasons, but the fact that his mother recoils in fear when he tries to engage some sliver of real emotional intimacy with her prrrrrobably did some similar amounts of shaping him huh haha. (and he does this too in many ways — that’s partially where his trouble with Julian comes from in this book, whenever Julian tries to get too close Garak flinches away or counterattacks, for all that he clearly longs for it as well.)

The  roundabout way you can tell her love for him even so tho. ‘I don’t care about her’. Palandine is not her baby, Elim, you are. Mila hasn’t been left with the luxury of love to spare for someone she doesn’t even know when you’re setting yourself up for destruction right in front of her eyes…. 

“I mean it, Mila. I would. But I think about her, feel her, all the time. Especially when I’m alone.”

Palandine/Bashir parallels once more and I really mean it!! There used to be a little Palandine in his head the way there’s a little Julian in there now. (and sadly she doesn’t seem to be there anymore, or maybe he’s just integrated what he got from her and let the rest go for both of their sakes, the same way he let Mila the regnar go when it was time.) 

“Sacrifices?” In frustration Mila took off her smock to wipe the tea from the floor. “Elim, you amaze me.” Shaking her head, she got down on her knees and began scrubbing vigorously, as if the spilled drops of tea were hostile agents capable of spreading disease and destruction.

“Really? Well, I’m pleased I still have the ability—”

“Sacrifices,” she hissed, her control escaping like steam from a narrow rift. “What was the name of that book you once gave me? When you first came back from Bamarren. The one you proclaimed as the greatest Cardassian novel ever written and insisted that we read it.” Mila was still on her knees, but now I was the offending spot she vigorously rubbed with her words and eyes. “Generations of one family, each faced with the same choice at a crucial moment. Do they serve their personal needs or do they serve future generations? Do they choose the comfort of their own lives over the life of the state and its mission? I read it, Elim. You told me to and I did.”

“The Never-Ending Sacrifice,” I answered.

“Yes. That’s the one.” She made a sighing sound as she stood up. Mila was heavier now, and moved with greater deliberation. She, too, had grown old. “I suggest you reread it.”

“Tain always came first, didn’t he? I suppose that was your never-ending sacrifice.” I no longer reined in the irony.

I’m CRYING this is SUCH a mom thing to do. Her teen son came home with a book he waxed poetic about and she read it to try to understand him and never told him until now. 

Also: disease contagion theme thread! To Mila, it seems to be tied in with the sentiment reading of it — the way her child’s suffering stains all her safe stable justifications and rationalizations that she needs to stay alive in this system. The remaining humanity that can’t be completely stamped out, even by Tain and a lifetime of fuckery. The ‘imperfections’ of life that can’t be subsumed completely into order. 

Garak I think it’s better if you don’t recommend that book to people it clearly leads to disappointing interpersonal outcomes every time haha

“Tolan understood and accepted his obligations,” Mila said coldly. “But he was sentimental. Like you. That was the one thing Enabran worried about.”

I smiled in sad recognition. Sentimental. Yes, Tain and Mila had definitely shared their confidences and judgments with each other.

“But I don’t blame Tolan. He was a good man.” Mila watched me as I rose.

“Yes. So you keep saying.” I wanted to leave.

“She’s nothing but trouble for you, Elim. End it now. Do what Enabran says and reclaim your rightful place.”

“My place,” I repeated.

“Now, Elim. Otherwise you’re in real danger,” she warned with a certainty that reminded me of the time she’d brought me to Tain after I’d left Bamarren. Mila always knew what was at the heart of the never-ending sacrifice.

“Thank you for your help,” I said, too weary for irony.

“What did you expect from me?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember,” I answered. “Have a pleasant trip.” I smiled and bowed.

“What did you expect from me?”/“To be honest, I can’t remember,” is THE realest description I’ve seen of a mother/child relationship. This might say more about me than I should be comfortable with probably but still. 

“Let Limor know if you’ll be living here.” I nodded. Yes, I thought, that would be my answer. My choice. She shook out her smock to determine whether or not to put it back on.

“Mila.” She looked at me and took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for my question.

“Who was Tolan?”

“My brother.” She decided to wear the smock, and I left.

I am SO FUCKING SAD. She puts the smock back on. That’s the closest thing to keeping either of them she gets to have, just the second hand reminder that they were there, small and innocuous enough that no one will know and no one can blame her. In the end Tain takes everything else, and she lets him because it’s the only way to survive him. GET OUT OF THERE ELIM PLEASE 

- On an impulse, instead of leaving immediately, I went down the corridor to Tain’s old office. The door was open, and I stopped at the threshold just as Pythas looked up from a now much cleaner desk. He smiled shyly and stood up.

“Please come in, Elim,” he offered. What surprised me was how pleased I was to see him. Just as I had felt he was the only other person who deserved to be One Lubak, I now believed he was the only other person who deserved to occupy this office.

He smiled shyly did he fhskja. Also Garak’s enduring lack of bitterness towards Pythas is amazing. ‘Yeah I would be mad but he really is that good if it had to be anyone it should be him’

- She stopped just short of my covering shrub, and the sight of her face shocked me. It was swollen and bruised. One eye was completely closed, and the other contained enough pain for ten. It took every bit of my willpower not to reach out and hold her. Her one eye held mine, I knew she wanted to tell me something so important that she was willing to wait all night if necessary. 

I’m so fucking glad Barkan is about to eat it for good. I only wish it could have gone slower and more painfully for him. 

I wanted to laugh, and it took a concerted effort to gather my disparate parts in order to integrate my will.

‘Disparate parts’ motif (dare we say mosaic motif?) detected

“At least the smile’s gone,” the first voice said. I was fully awake now. 

Barkan’s life is just being haunted by fifty shades of Garak’s shit eating grin apparently 

“Flaunting your ‘relationship’ in public like infatuated schoolchildren.”

“Yes, I suppose it would have been wiser to behave like experienced adulterers,” I replied with a sigh.

“You’re the lowest form of scavenger, Elim. You have no attachments of your own, and so you feed on the emotional vulnerabilities of others.

. . .

“But you’re a failure, Elim. You even failed in your attempt to assassinate me.”

“I didn’t fail with Palandine,” I said quietly.

LMAO gottem 

The chemical makeup of Garak’s brain during Barkan’s beating should probably have been studied by science it must be the strangest rave in there

The others were there—my fellow travelers, their voices murmuring tonelessly, producing a steady sound that permeated the medium and intensified our connection. Their voices speaking to me. Their faces, serene and loving, illuminating the darkness as they floated by. Everyone I have ever known. Family. Faces from childhood. Bamarren. People I had known briefly. People I have known forever. Loved. Hated. We were all just together now, sharing the same nurturing medium as we traveled along our currents until we gradually separated.

This… near-death hallucination or spiritual experience or whatever it is vs. his mass grave dream later… very birth vs. death themed

Faces formed and reformed. Each one superimposed on the next in a long line emerging from blackness. Maladek. Merrok…. The molecular structure of one giving way to the next…. Procal Dukat. Tolan. Floating into focus, receding back into the darkness. I shook my head, trying to stop the flow. The Hebitian mask. My face. I grabbed my “face” and screamed into it. The flow stopped. The molecules rushed together and instantly formed Barkan Lokar’s death mask.

I think maybe something came a tiny little bit completely untethered in his head in a way it’s been threatening to for a long time in this moment. It may just be my imagination tho who’s to say

- “Elim Garak. How the mighty have fallen. Welcome to Terok Nor.”

“Oh, I try to visit even our humblest outposts, Dukat.”

“This is going to be more than a visit, trust me. You’ll soon wish that the execution had not been commuted.”

a) ah garak/dukat sniping my old friend b) It seems Tain never spoke to him in that whole process, so that time in the park was probably the last time before ‘Improbable Cause’?. I’m only surprised he didn’t give Dukat the neutral face of displeasure to convey to Garak second hand honestly 

- “I’m sure you gave him a more ennobling position,” I said.

“He was executed,” the toady replied.

“A promotion of sorts,” I muttered. “Certainly in this place.”

The passionate enduring Garak/Terok Nor hateship off to an immediate and roaring start

- Real ‘he gave them the heebie jeebies. He had nothing else left to give’ vibes on garak in this part of his life 

- He arched his brows in a manner that told me he’d worked long and hard in front of a mirror.

There’s always time to appreciate some good Dukat dunking

“Your life means nothing to me. Just as my father’s meant nothing to you.”

“I beg your pardon? Do I know your father?” Dukat made a move to grab me and immediately stopped himself. I was impressed by his self-control; I knew how much energy fueled his hatred.

“No offense,” I went on, further testing his control. “Of course, Procal Dukat was a famous military figure. We all mourned his passing. But I never had the pleasure personally….”

At his most miserable, but also his funniest. It IS really interesting that his humor only really reaches its current state here, when he’s lost Palandine and everything else in his life. It’s almost like the only remaining way to be close to her. 

No, I decided that I was not going to sacrifice myself to Dukat’s desire for revenge. I would do this work; I would do it so well as to become indispensable to the station… and I would survive. I refused to be buried alive in this humiliation.

‘Sort of suicidal: yes; willing to go down in history as one of Dukat’s Ws… fuck no’

- I pick up their garments and mend them flawlessly. When they complain that the price is steep (because I’m treated like a slave doesn’t mean I’m going to start undervaluing my work), I just give them the smile—the smile she taught me.

Fdsahfasj hilarious. You go Garak you know your worth

- (About Pythas and Palandine) At this moment I am almost afraid to discover that they’d survived. A part of me has wanted to bury that part of my life. The defenses I set up to survive my exile are obviously still intact.

I am often joined on my walks by Dr. Parmak. He’s a charming conversationalist, with a first-rate mind. His perspectives are always provocative. He does, however, have a tendency to proselytize for Alon Ghemor and the “Reunion Project” (the name they’ve given their group to remind people of the principles that formed the original Union). Whenever we encounter other pedestrians along our route, Parmak engages them and attempts to win them over to the Reunion side. This often makes for spirited exchanges, and although I am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain, I rather enjoy this peripatetic politicking. It’s something I would never have done on my own. In some respects he is so much like you, Doctor. If I’ve found someone’s opinion insufferably boring, he’ll kindly but sternly lecture me on the value of tolerance.

The wistful longing of ‘in some respects he’s so much like you’. ‘Although i am subjected to the opinions of people who should be given a new brain’. ‘Charming conversationalist’, is he. Garak you are a nonsense person and I adore you 

One day I asked him how he had been brought to Enabran Tain’s attention. He never struck me as being a dangerous radical. It turns out that he was Tain’s personal physician, and that the great man had him interrogated because, the Doctor assumed, “he was concerned that I was in an ideal position to assassinate him.”

“I think he was more threatened by the fact that you were intimate with his weaknesses,” I pointed out.

“Well, certainly his physical infirmities,” he admitted.

“Which are also a man’s weaknesses,” I reminded him.

“The paranoia, the secrets, the power he held….” The doctor shook his head. “He must have been a difficult man to work for.” I smiled at his understated tact.

“He once tried to have me killed,” I said.

“Really? What did you do, Elim?”

“I survived.” The Doctor gave me a confused look.

“Survived … what?” he asked.

“Working for my father,” I replied. The Doctor stopped and just looked at me. His former fear of my eyes was long gone.

“A father who would murder his own son?” The idea horrified him. We were in the Barvonok Sector, where the tall structures of business and finance once dominated. “Oh, my dear Elim,” he said, this time with an empathy that stripped me of any illusions I had about Enabran Tain as a father. Surrounded by the piles of debris, oppressed by the low leaden sky, I finally began to surrender to the loneliness and loss that has preyed upon my dreams ever since I can remember. Even nothing is better than the ideas that have brought us here.

Go on without me I’ll be over here crying my eyes out 

- I wonder if Limor Prang was one of the people killed in Tain’s Obsidian Order purge in Improbable Cause. If he  was still alive that seems pretty likely huh. Well. RIP terrifying team mom I guess.  

- Garak got his business up and running for real through a deal with Quark! Puts some of their interactions into perspective haha

I don’t do well with the kind of emotional exchanges humans seem to engage in regularly, and I have little sympathy for those who confuse the responsibilities of family with their duty to the state; but I confess that I am deeply moved by this woman’s plight.

Well it’s good the guy you have a thing for was raised British then he’ll probably feel pretty much the same way you’re perfect for each other

At one point she looked at me and asked me to hold her. I did. As I tentatively put my arms around her, I was so afraid of her need that I tried to keep her body at a distance. She would have none of it. She collapsed against me, and the sobs that convulsed and rolled through her body found correspondence in mine. I bit my tongue until I could taste blood in the effort not to surrender. Gratefully, the door to the Promenade was closed.

He keeps claiming he doesn’t care for the human tendency towards displays of emotionality even as we see it draw him in like a stupid horny sentimental moth to the flame repeatedly. The lizard doth protest too much methinks

- Unless I have business I rarely go to Quark’s; I have little tolerance for noise and stupidity. So when he saw me he assumed that I had another proposition, and I observed him shift into his engage mode.

Fun to see how this changes over the years, then! By the ca. Season 7 part of the book he has a few regular tables and everything. Also isn’t it so sweet that his kind of snotty attitude about this has not changed at all since Bamarren haha <3

- “The dead are dead. Those of us left—who believe in the ideals that have guided our race for millennia—are faced with the threat of utter annihilation by the very disease that has brought us to this sad place. Federation ideas will finish the work the Dominion began.”

Disease/contagion imagery (This is Legate Parn speaking, and he’s basically espousing the same view as Dukat Sr. As far as he’s concerned the call is not and never has been coming from inside the house thank you ever so much lol)

On the other side of Madred was Nal Dejar, a sharp-faced, saturnine woman who had been a member of my last cell at the Order. She once came to Deep Space 9 on an assignment with two scientists, and refused to make any contact with me. Judging from her averted look, she was still refusing. Next to her was a man with a severely disfigured face that was still recovering from what appeared to be burns. One eye was completely covered, and I was careful not to be rude in my inspection.

OH so it’s the lady who came along with Gilora and Ulani! The one who does not care for foreign food 

Gul Ocett was persuasive in her quiet and reasoned strength. Indeed, the irony, Doctor, is that she was espousing the very argument I had made to you any number of times. Even now there was a part of me that accepted the logic of her argument, especially when coming from someone who was neither a fool nor an opportunist.

While you were stealth mentoring Julian in having enough spysmarts not go and get his beautiful twink ass killed at the first opportunity he was stealth mentoring you in the political and ideological underpinnings of democracy and the possibility of being loved BITCH!!!!

I simply smiled at him, genuinely amused by his amateur attempts to discredit me. I was surprised by my responses. I was here to play the role of double agent, and I found that as the meeting went on I didn’t have the energy for the requisite guile and misdirection.

Fdkjfhdsa ‘Aw. That’s cute’. He just doesn’t have it in him to work up the energy for cloak and dagger bullshit and it’s so good and so funny 

And then a strange sensation went through me, Doctor. I looked at the faces of these people. Here we are, I thought, sitting in the basement of a ruined civilization and conducting business as if nothing significant had changed. The enemies were still the same, somewhere “out there,” plotting how to “destroy our character” and colonize us with their political system. And we were down in the basement with our own plots and shifting alliances, tenaciously holding on to the very ideas that had brought us here. But what ideas, Doctor? There’s nothing left. Only fantasies of power. These faces with their masks. With the ironic exception of the disfigured face, the masks hadn’t changed. They reflected the usual range of hidden agendas, each competing for dominance and ascendancy with an energy commensurate to the amount of fear and self-loathing that fueled and motivated that person. I started to laugh.

Amazing showstopping revolutionary good for you Garak

It was him, Doctor. It was Pythas.

EIGHT MY BELOVED WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

“Thank you, Gul Madred, but I can find my way out.” I bowed to the company, and turned my back on them.

I continue to be so proud of him I have no words. And also this is why I don’t like Castellan Garak as a concept AT ALL. Leave him alone to his orchids and sewing and doctor fucking he’s been through enough he doesn’t need that in his life anymore he can do other things to help. Parmak and Julian would stage an intervention. 

- Oh my GOD the cardassians literally just left terok nor without him overnight like Sid’s family in Ice Age fhdskjafh

Garak has been combining the wire AND being a barely functional alcoholic all this time. So at any given time in the first two season the chances that he is not only high but also profoundly drunk are overwhelmingly likely. This explains a lot.  

Rom had a sensitivity, almost a delicacy that was totally lacking in his brother. Was there such a thing as a typical Ferengi? Most people judged him to be simple, as if simplicity was somehow a substandard quality.

Aw. Also maybe some hints as to his reconciliation with Tolan’s memory. 

“Well, Rom, the trousers and tunic fit quite well, don’t you think?” I pulled the tunic down at the back. “Don’t wear it so far up on the neck; it ruins the line. And I’d be grateful if you’d tell any interested parties that indeed I’m still here and very much open for business.”

“Oh, yes … yes! And I like….” Rom made a broad, awkward gesture toward his new ensemble. I thanked him, and we walked out onto the Promenade, as if it were just another business day. We said goodbye, and I watched him march proudly through the ragged celebrants. I had a fondness for him. It was an odd relief, especially at this moment, to converse with someone who literally meant everything he said. 

T________________________T surprise most wholesome dynamic continues to wreck me. 

He stood for a moment, studying me, trying to divine why I had not been allowed to join the withdrawal. Unlike the others who assumed that because I was a Cardassian I had a choice, Odo knew that I’d been abandoned.

“Was there any damage or theft?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I knew little about Constable Odo, but I was confident that he would never ask me questions that went beyond his function as security chief. He kept his distance and carried himself like someone who understood exile.

Odo appreciation moment as this is his last appearance in the book. Here’s to the small part of the fascist hivemind that harnessed those impulses towards the aim of becoming the world’s best and beigest mall cop. Unproblematic? No. But sometimes you simply love a good problem. 

The fact that the narrative of this section ends right before Garak meets Julian. Probably a matter of weeks, max. You big sentimental sap lmao

- Parmak, Ghemor, and I stood silently among the formations, inspecting the results of our work in the first light.“I mean no disrespect, Elim,” the Doctor said, “but the memorial looks even better.” I nodded in agreement.

“Please, Doctor,” I replied. “ ‘Restoration’ is fine for artifacts and museum pieces. When it comes to building a new community, I think what we did tonight is more to the point.”

“And we did it without murdering each other,” Ghemor added.

“How un-Cardassian of us,” I observed.

This all rules btw . Restoration is fine for artifacts and museum pieces it’s not for things that are alive. Gardener vs. architect/collector, Tolan vs. Tain. 

Alon said: “I think we should get some rest before the competition begins. We’ve done what we can.” It was a wise suggestion, but each of us knew that we were taking a step into the unknown, and sleep at this point was not really a choice. We had done what we could, and probably it was best if each of us retired to the privacy of his own thoughts. We said our goodnights, and as I watched them leave I felt an enormous gratitude that I had been given the opportunity to work with these men. Once again in my life I felt that I had been resurrected from the dead.

Nodding and crying gif. Yeah. Yeah… you’ve done all you could and no one could ask anything more of you. 

- “You know, Elim, I’m neither a soldier nor a politician. I’m a doctor.”

“I do know that. I also know that we’ve been betrayed by our previous leaders. Our only hope is that men like yourself can offer an alternative.”

“But you have the expertise that can….”

“Doctor, I have the expertise that comes from survival and compromise. There’s already plenty of that on the other side … and it’s not an alternative that will create a new and lasting union.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

“You’re a doctor, yes, and that’s your strength. I’ve learned something about your profession over the past several years. Don’t think like a politician. Think of the planet as a patient barely hanging on to life. Think like a doctor. How would you save this planet?” He considered what I’d said in his careful manner.

Just as it is vital for a person like Garak to have a little Julian Bashir who lives in his head, it’s probably also good for the Bashirs and Parmaks of the world to develop a little Garak who lives in their heads to go ‘yeah that sounds real nice in theory but now imagine that there are in fact bad people in this world (I should know) who’ll interact with that theory and then act accordingly’ . Garak realizing where he belongs in this whole process tho… 

“Ah, Doctor,” I stopped him. “You can’t go to your meeting like that.”

“Like what?” he asked with a puzzled look. Without explaining, I helped him out of his worn outer coat and showed him a ragged tear in the fabric. Despite his protests, I made him sit down and wait while I gathered my sewing kit and repaired the tear.

“Appearances are very important to these people. You can’t let them think you’re oblivious to details,” I said, as I reunited the torn and separated threads.

The Mila fussing-as-a-love language of it all…

- (About Pythas) The thought occurred to me that perhaps I should include him in a chant for the dead.

DAMN but also YEAH

- I moved to the constructed formation that stood in the space formerly occupied by Tain’s study and almost directly above where Mila’s body had been sadly abandoned in the basement. When I was a boy, I had unending dreams that centered around the memorials of Tarlak. As I lay on my pallet in the basement of Tain’s house, I would plan the scenario that would play out when Tolan took me with him to Tarlak. It would always involve me as the hero paying homage to a comrade fallen in a battle where we had both distinguished ourselves. I would tell the gathered assembly of notables every detail of the battle; people would weep, cheer, listen in stunned amazement as I explained how we had saved the Union from certain destruction. When I had finished, Mila and Tolan would escort me through the adoring crowd. What a terrible irony, Doctor, that those forbidding, impersonal memorials to the heroes of the Cardassian Union should ultimately become transformed into these ragged formations on the grounds of my childhood home … and that I would sit here, a middle-aged man, trying to mourn a fallen comrade who was still standing but barely recognizable. And yet, the irony of a Cardassia reborn with the help of a memorial built from the remains of Tain’s home didn’t escape me either.

Taking immense psychic damage with every word. When do you stop wanting your mom and dad to come pick you up and take you home, even when they’re both dead and kind of not your parents anymore in two different ways even before that? Never, probably 

- “What changed your mind?”

“Your friends, Elim. Very impressive people … and persuasive.”

“What had you expected?” I asked.

“The usual amateurs who never understood what was at stake … the hard choices that had to be made,” [Pythas] explained. “To be honest, I had thought your attachment to this Reunion Project was….”

“Sentimental,” I finished. He smiled knowingly at the reference.

CACKLING. All but openly saying ‘yeah I thought it’s was because you’re fucking the doctor and I know exactly what a god-awful simp you are’ fhskdjafhaskjdh

“As I listened to him speak of the responsibility that we had as survivors to the life that remained, I also realized how bitter and hardened I had become.” He stopped and looked back to Nal Dejar, as if he were making sure she was still there. She met his eyes with a communication I couldn’t decipher, and he nodded. “Nal nursed me back to where I could function … part of me wished she hadn’t. Until your doctor spoke about healing … on every level. It’s what the body wants, he told us … unless we choose otherwise.” Pythas sat with his head bowed for a long moment. “I’d become very bitter, Elim.” I sat on a rock across from him and gently put my hand on his. What was it about this place, I wondered.

Hmngh. ‘I’d become very bitter, Elim’. No matter what choices they made along the way, where they fucked up or where they did everything right, they both ended up in basically the same place, embittered and broken, until someone touched their life with kindness. Nal is Pythas’ Julian Bashir. Coming back to life not as an act of will but because there’s someone waiting for you there saying ‘I’ll help you through it’. 

“Do you know where Palandine is?” I asked. He just looked at me. “Is she still alive?”

In the darkness, it was difficult to read the expression in his one good eye. The silence that followed my question was broken only by his rasping breath. Behind her mask of disinterest Nal Dejar was studying me carefully. Even when she was a probe I was impressed by the strength of her focus. Pythas was fortunate to have her care and devotion.

I think Pythas and Nal Dejar’s whole deal could make for a really interesting story all on its own. Presumably they’ve known or at least known about each other for a long time now, since Garak has seen Nal around even though they’ve never worked together closely 

- Just enough light for lovers; just enough light to begin he says, only to open the next chapter/epilogue with ‘My dear Doctor’ and explaining how he finally decided to send the letter. Healing on every level? Maybe? If we’re real lucky??? 

- My dear Doctor:

Again, forgive my further tardiness in sending this—I don’t even know what to call it. Memoirs of a Cardassian tailor? I suppose that’s as accurate a description as any. You see, Doctor, I seriously debated whether or not I should send this to you. As I went over it I wondered who this mawkish and self-serving person was. Grow up! I wanted to tell him. Get on with your life.

Well, I am; and sending this to you is going to further that cause. As I said, I’m an unfinished man reassembling the pieces of a broken world, and I have asked you to be a witness because you would never judge me as harshly as I judge myself. You would never deny me the opportunity of a second chance.

I feel like those last two sentences are the most important ones in this whole book — it’s what all the rest of it is built on, what made any of it possible. And also it will haunt me for the rest of my days but like in a good life-affirming way lol

His playful grousing about ugh your vaunted democracy *eyeroll*  <3<3<3<3 come down to cardassia so you can have spirited debates turned makeout sessions/foreplay about it already julian please he’s setting you up for so many slam dunks here

I live with my orchids, which have unified and softened the increasingly popular grounds of my home. Their beguiling blooms, and the presence of children who come to play among the structures (as I did in Tarlak), help to dispel the somber mood that initially hung like those clouds of dust over our world. The sounds of their voices as they play function as a music that never fails to lighten my work. The children call it the “tailor’s grounds,” and the name has caught on. Yes, Doctor, I continue to work at my “new” profession. As you can imagine, there’s a good deal of mending to be done.

TAIN’S HOUSE TURNED INTO JUST ‘THE TAILOR’S GROUNDS’ BY THE VOICES OF PLAYING CHILDREN Y_____Y I hope enabran ‘let history be my judge’ tain gets forgotten for anything but his massive fuckup and that garak works some magic with what little fabric he has at his disposal to make the neighbourhood kids like. Stuffed toys he sews clothes for and he’s known as the person to go to when one is damaged so he can patch it back up good as new  while teary little faces watch intently and then brighten. Julian seriously pretends to be his medical consultant as they perform teddy bear operations, what with his extensive expertise in the field and excellent bedside manner. No arm is too amputated to be reattached and we can always find a good button to replace Mr. Tinny’s missing eye in fact he’ll see even better now. I have such hopes for them I have such dreams 

 I have expanded my shed in the never-ending quest to find my place. I feel that I’m getting closer, Doctor, especially as I continue to refine the structures. One, which began as a memorial to Tolan, has a crude but effective representation of the winged creature from the Hebitian sun disc—turned toward the radiating sun, reaching, striving, while the sun-fed filaments stream down from the body and connect with the bodies of people standing on a globe and looking up to the creature for this divine connection…. I’ve attached the recitation mask he gave me to the creature’s face, and somehow it has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.

You are always welcome, Doctor is one of those ‘you could slap that on my gravestone and I’d be happy about it’ lines. What a ride huh 

Aside from anything else about this book (I think we can safely let this absolute monster of a three part reaction post be testament to my enjoyment and admiration right I hope I have made no secret of it lol) I want to congratulate Andrew Robinson for getting a novel-length character study written in first person (my beloved) published — as I understand it that’s normally a pretty hard sell in the publishing industry haha he was living the dream I one day fervently hope to as well and the results rule

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: Assembly Required

The Missing Title

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: Enlisted to help a friend with a crisis you once specialized in, you find yourself in a foreign country getting ready for a mission in which the details you're unaware of. Reunited with a good friend, you follow his unhinged partner as you all prepare to stop more harm from being released onto the world.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Cursing, Illegal Activities, Terrorists, Politics, Bombs, Assassinations, Criminals, Secrets,

A/N: So I watched the series this summer, and while I hadn't anticipated to get hooked onto anything, a surprise appearance from Zemo had me falling in love with his character and now I'm writing this series and it'll just evolve forward into a story I've been daydreaming up these past few months. Also thank you to @imamotherfuckingstar-lord for hyping me up and encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone with the future topics of this story.

“Whatever, we just need to get inside,” Bucky dismisses Sam’s introduction to you. Truly, it’s a reintroduction, since you’d met him once or twice before, even if it was really only in passing.

From all the stories you’ve heard, you’re sure his attention was elsewhere, so you aren’t too dissuade by his stiff attitude. Sam offers you an annoyed glance in hopes that you, too, are either amused or off-put by the ex-assassin’s dour aura. With an alacrity you'd rarely seen in the past few years, his partner opens the auto shop's door and heads inside.

"What're you talking about, you wanna break Zemo outta jail?" Sam asks the man, clearly more perturbed by the incurring situation you'd stumbled into upon your good friend, Torres’, request. "Where the hell are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?" Following both the men with the little light their flashlights emit, you listen, unsure what exactly the job Joaquin sent you to help out on entails.

"We have no leads, no moves, nothing-" Bucky answers, but Sam cuts him off.

"-Except the one I just called in, yeah. What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars," Sam argues. Rounding the shelves of oil, dirtied gloves, tools, and mechanical parts, you try and watch your step. Albeit the darkness makes it harder than necessary to find your way without stumbling. Burner phone dug out of your pocket, you shine its faint light around your surroundings.

"And we also have eight super soldiers that are loose," Bucky reasons, his light casting downward as Sam shines it on him stepping over a rig. Despite not knowing James well, you know most people call him 'Bucky', and you know it's probably best not to interfere with the two men considering you're aware of Sam's indulgence when it comes to arguing. Hell, him and Joaquin could bicker for the rest of time. The thought elicits an amused eye roll on your behalf.

"Look, Zemo's gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours, no offense," Sam rebuttals, following suit as he steps over the rig. Suddenly his light is held still and there's a loud click before overhead lights come on all around you guys, lighting up what you can now see is a garage. Granted, the outside did have a sign indicating it was an auto-shop, you never know if it’s just a cover.

"Offense," Bucky comments, laying his flashlight aside on top one of the movable shelving carts. "Super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code." Lips parting in thought, you're about to speak up when Sam beats you to it.

"Yeah, and I've been on the wrong side of that code, Buck, and so have you. He blew up the UN, he killed King T'chaka and framed you for it. Did you forget that?" Eyeing his partner with a ludicrous look in his eyes, he quickly finishes his train of thought. "You think the Wakandans forgot about it? It's a rhetorical question- they didn't. I know why this matters to you, but come on, it's pushing you off the deep end."

Despite your abhorrence for bickering, there was admittedly not much you could contribute to the conversation. Though the name ‘Zemo’ sounds familiar, you can’t pinpoint its origin. Tucking your burner phone into your back pocket, you place your hands on your hips in waiting. A big breath puffs out your cheeks as you pray they come to some sort of conclusion sooner than later.

"Sam, we don't know how they're gettin' the serum. We don't even know how many of them there are. Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?" Though the topic is concerning, Bucky’s phrasing and search of consent elicit an amused smile.

"What did you do?" Sam asks accusingly, like the man’s already committed some sort of crime.

"I didn't do anything. The weakest point in a system isn't the software, or the hardware, it's the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lockup, it's nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond-“ Bucky starts to explain.

“-So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?" Sam questions.

"-Who knows? There could be many reasons. But the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated with all those bodies flying around left and right, it wouldn't be hard to slip down a hallway or two. And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated, someone could use the chaos to their advantage." With his thorough knowledge of the protocols, it’s clear Bucky has a plan.

"I don't like how casual you're bein' about this. This is unnatural. Are you... and- where are we, man?!" Sam comes back to reality, demanding an answer as hypotheticals really won’t do much for whatever super soldier problem is going on. In the distance the metallic sound of a hinge squeaking and a click of a lock signals a door’s been opened.

Eyes flitting to its source, the three of you watch in anticipation as a blurry figure approaches, its shadow cast upon the hanging plastic curtains of the auto shop. Lifting a section of said curtain, a police officer or guard of some sort enters. Considering the lack of people around, you assume he’s here to arrest you all for trespassing. Vision shifting to the men in hopes they have a better plan than you, the two of them surprisingly don’t move.

“WHOA, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa- what’re you doin’ here?!” Sam yells, clearly upset by the man’s presence.

“No, listen. Look, I didn't wanna tell you cause I knew you wouldn't let this happen. Okay?" Bucky says calmly, a confusing juxtaposition for you, to say the least.

"What did you do?!" Sam turns his attention to Bucky.

“Nothing, according to him,” you quip. Gears turning within your mind, you’re starting to wonder if this is that ‘Zemo’ character they were just talking about. The former Winter Soldier aims a glare at you momentarily before refocusing on Sam.

“We need him,” Bucky asserts.

"You're going back to prison!" Sam declares, focus and pointer finger now targeting the dressed up guard.

"If I may,” the man speaks, lifting a finger to weigh in the conversation.

"No!" Both Sam and Bucky simultaneously yell, their similarity amusing if it weren’t a serious situation. If this is that ‘Zemo’ guy they were talking about who’s in prison… then clearly they’re in trouble.

"Apologies,” the mystery man’s accented voice elicits your attention which shifts over to him. Eyeing him up and down, you feel like he looks familiar in a strange way, but your memory is failing you in this moment. As his eyes turn in your direction, yours dart back to the two men closest to you.

"When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your neck out for me. I'm asking you to do it again,” Bucky’s words elicit slight paranoia and anger within you. Torres didn’t mention the help you’d be giving was illegal. While you’d technically broken the law before, it’s not something you were ever hoping to do again. If something goes wrong… you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to get out of this, and going to jail is not an option. Hopefully Torres could work something out if worse comes to worst.

"I really think I'm invaluable,” mystery man speaks up again. While you’re distracted by the notion of mentally planning next steps, the comment elicits a mildly amused smirk from you.

"Shut up,” Sam commands the guard-dressed man. He spares a glance in your direction, tacitly seeking affirmation, which he’s granted. “Okay. If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission.” Sam directs the latter of his sentence toward the accented man, to which he subtly shrugs.

"Fair,” he comments, holding the black cap between his hands in front of him. It reads ‘JUSTIZ’ in white big bold capital letters across the front.

"Okay, Zemo. Where do we start?" Sam inquires, handing the reins--temporarily, knowing Sam--over to the man in uniform.

“Woah, woah! He’s the guy? The one you were talking about- the UN Bomber?!” You exclaim, hands thrown out in front of you as you gauge the two familiar men.

Sam sighs, running a hand over his face. “Why do you think we made such a big deal out of it?”

“The one and only,” Zemo—as you now know—responds all too calmly for your preference. Though what were you expecting, really? The man who supposedly (if you remember correctly) broke up the Avengers, according to the news.

“Correction: you made a big deal,” Bucky retorts, a disgruntled look sent in Sam’s direction.

“Nevertheless, first I need to grab a few items,” Zemo states, turning and walking back behind the plastic curtain in the direction he’d come from. Though the two man-children behind you begin to bicker again, you follow the criminal behind the curtain. This attracts their attention as they follow, intent on watching Zemo and making sure he doesn’t escape.

Opposite where he’d come in there’s another door. Pushing it open, you walk through; a few feet ahead Zemo confidently walks toward a black sedan-style car that looks like something out of an old Hollywood movie. “Woah,” you whisper, taking in all the little details of what’s clearly more a showroom than a garage.

“So our first move is grand theft auto?" Sam asks sarcastically, you assume based off his tone. Approaching a yellow-colored convertible car of the same antique classiness you slowly reach out and run your hand along the smooth metal, taking in the intricate detaling.

"These are mine. Collected by family over the generations,” Zemo informs, opening the trunk of the black car nearest the door you all had entered through. Though you can see him stashing equipment into a duffel bag in your peripheral vision, you follow Bucky and Sam suit as you marvel over the opulent vintage automobiles.

"I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum-" Zemo explains. Information cataloging in your mind, your heartrate accelerates slightly as your vision shifts between the men in hopes of gauging their mentality. As the known terrorist approaches the vehicle you'd just been examining, you feel yourself stiffen slightly. Surely if he'd wanted me dead he'd have killed me already, right? As he opens the right-side back door and rummages inside, it seems as though everyone's attention has returned to the one speaking. "-Because once it's out there, someone can create an army of people like the Avengers." Slow and deliberate with his word choice, you can tell that there may not be any secrets left unsaid. As the man's intense brown eyes shift over toward you, and then Bucky, your jaw clenches, and you swallow.

Uprighting himself, he continues. "I ended the Winter soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished." With this revelation, relief washes over you and your tension ebbs again. At least it seems, for now, that you're not on his list. Crossing your arms over your chest, you refocus on the information Zemo's relaying. "To do this we'll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes." While the terrorist walks off toward the other side of the garage, you turn and follow his figure.

"Join the party, we've already started," Sam comments, seemingly trying to piece together whatever plan Zemo is forming. Walking after him, you try to keep up considering the man seems to be taking lead.

"First stop is a woman named Selby--mid-level fence I still have a line on--from there, we climb," Zemo explains. While an eyebrow quirks in confusion at the term 'fence' you don't verbally question it. It's obvious whoever he's talking about is some kind of 'in' and while Joaquin hadn't taught you everything he knows, you can still follow along with enough context to understand what they're talking about.

--------

It'd been easy enough to get to the airport as it wasn't far, only about a twenty-minute ride in a taxi. While the men attempted to ascertain a location from Zemo, the criminal had been reluctant to indulge them, simply profiting a 'you'll know soon enough.' to keep them satisfied.

"So how was the flight here?" Sam inquires, finally turning his attention to you as the past half hour has been hectic. Sitting between Sam and Zemo, you try not to let the awkwardness of the whole situation get to you. Up front, an old man drives the taxi while Bucky had insisted on the passenger's seat. The ex-Winter Soldier stares out the windshield, yet something tells you he's eavesdropping, which you wouldn't put past anyone in this vehicle, honestly.

"It was fine. Short enough, though the constant 'we're here, now we're here, no, we're here- was somewhat annoying. Like, I just kept having to reroute and figure out how the hell I was gonna get to you when you guys couldn't keep still for even a second!" This elicits a laugh from your friend on the left, and you can't help but smile for the first time since you'd arrived.

"Kind of hard to do when you've got an agent on your ass," Sam comments, an amused smile on his lips as he leaves room for you to continue.

"Oh God, who is it this time?" Palming your face, you know that this mission is dangerous, yet you haven't been involved in this world for a while, and considering the subject matter, it's rather crucial you help them out.

"The new shield," Sam explains. He gives you a tight-lipped disapproving smile, nodding in understandance of your reaction. Eyebrows raised and lips parting in shock, you shouldn't be surprised, yet you are.

"That's why Joaquin warned me," a hum escapes your lips, "makes sense. Can't say I'm a fan, granted I don't know him."

"You don't need to know him to know he's doing something despicable," Bucky comments from the front, not bothering to even spare a glance in anyone's direction.

"Hey now-" Sam goes to start something, yet you interrupt him with a dissatisfied noise.

"So we know that whoever their supplier is, they've gotta have a lab. A professional one, one big enough to be producing the-" you glance at the driver in the rearview mirror, "stuff, and once we know where we're going I can start looking into a lead. Sound good?"

The distraction seemed to work for now as both your acquaintances respond in some form. Bucky nods up front, the two of you momentarily making eye contact in the side mirror.

"Yeah," Sam answers, arms crossing over his chest as he sits back in the seat. Luckily, the airport is already approaching in the distance.

Upon arrival all the doors are thrown open and the men evacuate the vehicle. Zemo lingers at the door as he holds it open. Unaware of the implication, you instinctively slide out on your left, following your old friend, Sam. "How much do we owe him?" You ask. As Bucky begins speaking with the driver and Sam dismisses you with a wave of his hand, you follow Zemo as he walks toward the airport's runway.

The infamous 'Avengers' follow you two suit, the both of them adorned with sunglasses, even if it's not the brightest out today. Readjusting your duffel bag on your shoulder, you aren't entirely sure what Zemo's plan is here.

"So all this time you've been rich?" Sam asks incredulously, and it's then that you realize the private jet the group of you are approaching is for you. Steps falling behind, your lips part in shock and surprise. Bucky notices your change in pace and offers a look back in your direction, a quirked brow. Small legs quickening their pace once again to catch up to the tall men, you contain your awe.

"I'm a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country," Zemo answers. Another revelation, another piece of information you hadn't known and hadn't anticipated. While the man may be an international terrorist and criminal, you hadn't paid the case too much attention as it was going on considering you were going through your own set of problems within your work field during that time.

"A Baron?" You echo Zemo's answer as you outwardly process this information. Though you're by no means stupid, the title is something you're not the most familiar with.

"Yes, the thirteenth, to be exact," Zemo responds, offering a look back in your direction before returning his attention to the man awaiting your group at the steps of the private jet. The puzzle only grows as Zemo greets the older gentleman in a language you don't understand. With extended arms, the well-dressed gentleman takes the Baron into his arms. Kisses placed on either cheek, you find the custom familiar. Smiles on both the men's faces, you feel taken aback. Mind reeling, you only find your curiosity toward this criminal growing. "Please," Zemo encourages you all to follow him up the steps.

Sam mumbles something to the older gentleman, and Bucky doesn't acknowledge him as he gestures with his hand for you to go up first. The older gentleman begins to take your bag off your shoulder, but your hand is quick to find its way atop his. "It's okay, I've got it. Thank you."

"Are you sure, Miss?" The elderly man asks in English. With a nod, he releases the strap of your bag and offers a polite smile. Following Sam up the steps, the other two men follow suit.

With help from the taller men to stuff your bag in one of the compartments toward the back of the jet, you find the only open seat is the one across from Zemo. It shouldn't be a surprise, despite Sam and Bucky's marriage-like bickering relationship, they're friends, teammates, and are more fond of one another than you'd guess they are of Zemo.

Before you know it, the jet is taking off and you're in the air for the second time today. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," the Baron extends a hand in your direction, eyes roaming your face as you do the same, taking one another in.

With a quick look toward Sam, you're sure the worry in your eyes shows. Just as the Baron is about to sit back and retract his hand, you envelop his hand with your own, much smaller one. A firm shake between you two, you aren't sure what Zemo will make of your past, but surely he'll find out at some point.

"It's fine," Sam says your name, catching your attention. Even if the reassurance is small, you trust him.

With a divulgence of your full name, you offer Zemo a polite smile. "I take it you and Sam are friends? Former partners, I assume?" he questions, his head tilting slightly as he gauges both your, and Sam's reaction. The latter coughs, suddenly turning his attention out the window. You take that as your cue to answer.

"We've worked together once or twice, but... really yes, we're more friends than anything. One of his coworkers and friends is like a brother to me."

"Apologies if that's a little warm, the fridge is out-" the elderly man from earlier hands Zemo a glass of champagne, "-but I will see if there is some good food in the galley," he informs the Baron. From his attire, you've realized in the short time between boarding and taking off that the man is Zemo's butler.

Accepting the flute, the Baron responds in a language that sounds akin to Russian, you'd guess. The butler laughs, "Oh, it's good to have you back, Sir." Although you're not sure why, a small smile graces your features as you watch the butler turn to leave, though he suddenly turns back. "Can I get you anything, Miss?"

With a look between the butler and Zemo, who simply repeats his earlier indulgence of 'please', you shake your head, only to furrow your brows, rethinking. "Actually, water maybe, if you can, please?"

"Of course, Miss." The butler offers a polite smile and nod before turning to retreat into the galley toward the front.

"A friend of yours?" You question, turning back to face Zemo. Swallowing the sip of champagne he'd taken, he nods.

"Something like that," he responds with a look you can only attribute to playfulness in his eyes. "Can I ask how you've wound up on this exploit alongside us?"

Eyes shifting toward the windows beside your seats, you feel your heart beating a little faster under his gaze Zemo stares intently at you. Unwavering attention, he simply sips his drink as he waits for an answer.

"I, um... used to work for the CIA in their R and D department," you admit, swallowing the thick feeling in your throat as you contemplate explaining the whole truth.

"Which is how you met Torres," Sam comments with a smile, swiveling in his chair as he engages in the conversation.

"Yeah," you respond, meeting Sam's gaze. "though none of us knew what they were doing at first, we were just hired as scientists to test and develop certain biological elements. Our friend--" you turn your attention back to Zemo, hoping to clarify, "--Joaquin, the one who's like a brother to me, he wasn't a scientist, but we came into contact a few times and considering we grew up together we ended up in similar fields: the government."

"And how you met Sam," Zemo assumes, to an exactly correct truth.

"Yes, eventually."

"So you worked in Eugenics?" Zemo dares to ask, blatantly. Though you hadn't been expecting the boldness, you aren't surprised by the question. It was reasonable.

"In some ways... yes, though we thought at the time we were only doing it for the benefit of the people's health. Eradicating diseases, testing possible solutions and seeing how they affected the gene code," you explain. "Things... changed, toward the end, toward the snap..." trailing off, it's clear to everyone that there's a story there.

Not interested in divulging your secrets and past traumas, you don't indulge the following silence. While Sam may know a few select details of what occurred in the R and D department, he doesn't know the whole truth of what happened to your unit. Only what their cover-up was.

"You don't know what it's like to be locked in a cell," Zemo comments, his thoughts obviously having drifted from the conversation. "Oh, that's right- you do." Turning his attention to Sam, he offers him a grimace along with false cheers, sipping his warm champagne.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?" Sam pressures, swiftly changing topics as he doesn't wish to go down memory lane, and certainly doesn't want to entertain anymore thought of your previous life, nor the onslaught of questions, ethics, and morals he knows Zemo would cave to if he had you alone.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes with a wave of his hand before flipping another page in the small book he'd produced from his jacket a few moments ago. "I was just fascinated by this," the Baron comments. Eyeing the front of the book, you don't speak German, however, you can recognize it. 'Das Offene Nein In Der Liebe' reads the title, though you don't recognize any words besides 'nein', meaning 'no', and 'der' which you're pretty sure means 'the'. Curious as to why Zemo is suddenly avoiding Sam's questioning under the guise of reading, your eyebrows furrow.

"I don't know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?" Zemo asks. In a sudden movement that makes you yelp and jump, Bucky has his gloved hand wrapped around Zemo's throat. Wide-eyed, you stare in shock and fear as you aren't sure what to do.

"If you touch that again, I'll kill you," the ex-Winter Soldier whispers, eyes filled with anger as he threatens the Baron. The thief quickly nods and Bucky retracts his hand, sitting back in his seat. Letting a big breath slowly filter through your lips, you try not to let the situation unsettle you. After all, from the fleeting moments you've been acquainted, Bucky's always been a wild card.

"I'm sorry," Zemo apologizes again, to your surprise. While you don't know either of the two men well, you hadn't heard them to be quite as... dramatic, as they've been the last hour. Still gathering yourself, you try not to meet anyone's gaze as your eyes travel to the flute Zemo still somehow holds in his grip. "I understand that list of names. People you've wronged as the Winter Soldier."

Your association with the man brought up, you let your gaze flit over to him, Bucky's face somewhat stoic on the outside, yet the faint view of his eyes from your position lets you see that Zemo's not wrong.

"Don't push it," the man warns, and you can't help but offer Bucky a sympathetic smile. While you don't know too much of his story or personal life, you've heard about how he's been through more than anyone could ever imagine.

"I've seen that book-" Sam speaks up, and you have no doubt he's trying to lessen the tension between the four of you. "It was Steve's when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man- he wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What'd you think?" Sam asks, turning the conversation into something more causerie.

"I like Fortie's music, so..." Bucky responds, finally shifting his attention back to Sam as opposed to staring out the window like he'd been doing for most of the conversation since take off.

"You didn't like it?" Sam asks, obviously offended in some way. Clearly his taste seems to differ from Bucky. Steve, though, was a different man. You hadn't known him personally, though you've heard all the stories everyone did growing up and during the time he was alive.

"Fortie's music is great, so- can't say I blame you," you agree, taking Bucky's side. Is it really taking sides if you're just stating your opinion, though? Sam clearly seems to think contrarily as he gives you a glare before turning his pressuring and quizzical look on Bucky.

"I liked it," Bucky states.

"It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive," Zemo pipes up, gesticulating with his hands to emphasize, "it captures the African-American experience." While you're personally not familiar with whatever movie, song, book, or album they're talking about, you can't help but find yourself biting back a smile. Sam's concerned look only adds to your amusement as he shifts his attention back and forth between the two men.

"He's outta line, but he's right. It's great! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye," Sam argues, finally turning an eye on you in question, "right?"

"I like Marvin Gaye," Bucky agrees.

"I... can't say I know Marvin Gaye," you admit embarassedly as your eyes turn toward your lap for a moment.

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye. Wait- what do you mean you don't know Marvin Gaye?! Everybody knows Marvin Gaye!" Sam argues, starting to go off about how Joaquin had to have shown you and how he'll correct that, that is, until Zemo speaks up again.

"You must've really looked up to Steve. But I realized something when I met him--"

"You met him?" The words leave your mouth before you cringe, palm coming up to your face as you remember. You hadn't been involved, but you'd seen the news. You knew what happened with Zemo. "Sorry! Sorry, I-" No one addresses your misstep, as you're sure they all know, or suspect, that it wasn't really your personal business anyways, even if the entire world knew what happened to some degree or another.

"The danger with people like him--America's super soldiers--is that we put them on pedestals," Zemo continues, reciting his line of thought on the subject as he ignores what you'd said, thankfully, and blows right past it.

"Watch your step, Zemo," Sam warns, obviously defensive over one of his closest friends.

"They become symbols, icons... and then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die, movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right?" Dark eyes turning on Bucky, Zemo clearly is bringing up what happened, what? Almost... nine, ten years ago? Silently counting on your fingers in your seat, you conclude: nine years. It's been nine years since Ultron rose and attempted to overthrow the world. Nines years since the Battle of Sokovia happened. Yes, it's all coming back now.

Zemo. Baron Zemo, royalty of Sokovia, right? There'd been something in the papers, something about how his family had tragically died and that was the reason he blew up the United Nations headquarters. That's what he's talking about. Tuning back in to the conversation, you follow his line of thought.

"As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull?" Zemo shakes his head, and you can't help but do the same. "That is why we're going to Madripoor."

"What's up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it's Skull Island," Sam interjects, Zemo must have said something about it when you were zoned out.

"It's an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary in the 1800s," Bucky explains.

"It's kept its lawless ways, but we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves." The Baron turns his attention on Bucky, "James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone..." with no outward reaction, he turns to you and then Sam. "You two will have a part to play as well."

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[bunnysbrainrot]

Sway

Relationship: Pedro Pascal x Reader, Bella Ramsey

Content: No smut (for now), fluff, dancing with Pedro while you’re all dressed up (teehee)

Summary: When Bella invites you to an eloquent party as their plus one, things take a turn when Pedro sees you on the dance floor.

A/N: The reader is a fan of Pedro, so there might be some parts that seem very 'fangirl-y', but it's part of the dynamic I came up with. :)

Inspired by Michael Bublé's 'Sway'

Bella was your best friend, out of anyone you knew, they were the one person you could trust with anything. But now, part of you regretted admitting a certain secret to them. It was a huge success when they were casted in ‘The Last of Us’, a video game held close to your heart for years. In your phone calls and texts, the two of you had shared your excitement for your friend’s endeavors.

After the rest of the cast had been announced, before the show’s airing, Bella shared who their main co-star would be. The moment they proclaimed his name, your jaw dropped. Pedro Pascal.

The Pedro Pascal.

You remained silent for a moment, jaw slacked and eyes wide. Bella had asked if you were okay, and instead of a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’, you divulged your feelings for the man. There was no resentment held toward your friend, but there certainly was a twinge of jealousy. Even still, your support for Bella remained untapped, unconditional, and undying. All of their hard work was finally paying off.

It was late May, cicadas starting to hum noisily outside. Your phone vibrated with a notification from Bella.

Hey, I have a random question

You replied with a simple "what's up?", earning a quick reply.

There's a party this weekend, well.. more like a gala.. I guess? It's pretty fancy, but I can bring a plus one. Would you want to go?

'Fancy' wasn't something you were used to, and you knew that it was still foreign to Bella; it made sense why they would want someone to go with them. You hashed out a few key details with them, and typed them in the notes of your phone.

-Dress code: elegant, dark colors, (black dress maybe?) -Time/Date: 9 p.m. 6/4 -Meet @ Bella's house around 5 p.m.

--------

You heaved a sigh, staring between the dresses hung on your closet door. With Bella's help, you narrowed your options down to these two. On the left, a floor-length, midnight blue evening gown. On the right, an ankle length dress, pitch black, with a slit down the thigh. Off-shoulder dresses weren't always comfortable, but the one you'd selected was tasteful for the dress code.

"Black is usually a safe option," you mumbled, hanging the blue dress back in the closet, and laying the black dress flat on the bed. You texted a photo of the dress with your accompanying shoes to Bella for their commentary.

Their reply was full of hearts and clapping emotes. Smiling, you carefully wrapped the dress in a garment bag, packed your car, and drove to Bella's house, makeup and all accessories in a large handbag.

--

After hours of touch ups and shimmying into your clothes, you both were ready. Bella dressed themselves in a stylish suit, to which you complimented. You sauntered to the bathroom mirror and took in your complete look, stunned by the person you saw staring back. Bella showered you with compliments, tucking your hair securely and inspecting the touches to your makeup.

"Alright, ready to go?" they asked.

"Yeah," you said, letting out a nervous breath.

Bella tilted their head at you, "You nervous?"

"Maybe a little bit," you admitted.

They gripped your hand, squeezing comfortingly. Bella's smile was kind as always, filling you with confidence you lacked before.

"Me, too."

--

The outside of the venue was purely extravagant. It was a large, stone building with beautifully carved columns and a large tapered staircase at the entrance. Bella's hand tightened in yours as you stepped forward, down the main walkway.

"You look amazing, by the way," they said softly.

"Bella, what if I totally screw up in there? There's probably tons of famous people, and I've never done thi-"

"You'll be fine, trust me. The easiest thing to tell yourself is that celebrities are just people, too."

You nodded, repeating what they said until it was all you could think. The polished floor of the foyer reflected your outfit clearly, the nervousness in your expression still clear as day. Taking a deep breath, you took note of different guests - some you recognized from various movies and shows you'd seen over the year. You gave polite smiles and gentle waves to those who greeted you.

Ten minutes in and you were sure you'd had enough introductions. Bella commended you all the while, giving you high praises that you were sure no one would keep in mind, but it was the thought that counts, right?

A table cascaded in soft linens presented name cards at each seat, one for Bella, and one with your name on it next to them. Other attendees began to file in to your table, but you began to notice their commonality. Every one of them took part in the creation of 'The Last of Us'.

Your body froze. Leaning over Bella, you craned your neck to peer at the name card next to their seat, and your stomach sank.

𝒫𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜 𝒫𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓁

He was here. And right now, some part of you hoped he wouldn't show.

Of course the cast of the show would be here, how could they not be? You mentally kicked yourself in the ass while Bella looked over you, concerned. They leaned over and whispered, a smirk on their face.

"You nervous to see Pedro?"

You glared, your voice in a low hiss, "This was a setup."

They only offered a shrug, "Call it an opportunity."

You felt the air shift behind you as someone passed Bella to their seat. An infectious laugh surrounded the table at a comment made by Troy Baker himself, who you had already greeted, but hadn't met fully.

Finally, inevitably rather, Pedro took his seat next to Bella. They exchanged niceties and it came down to your introduction. Pedro's eyes roamed over you in your black dress, slinking back up to your astonished stare. Bella, with a smug smile, rambled on about you.

"They're a pretty big fan of yours, so-"

"Bella, please, I can speak for myself," you nudged their shoulder lightly.

Pedro shifted his attention from Bella's antics to you, completely ensnared as you spoke, batting your eyelashes in a soft display of your infatuation. He repeated your name softly before a wide smile crept onto his face.

"That's a beautiful name."

Your anxiety spiked, drawing a wimpy joke, "Thanks, I got it for my birthday."

A beat passed before a roar of laughter escaped him. That laugh that had you blushing while you watched his interviews. That contagious smile that tugged cheek to cheek, making his eyes sparkle. All until this point, it was sheer infatuation for Pedro, but now, something stronger sparked in your chest.

Pedro, you noticed, had turned fully in his seat for the conversations you had, attention intent on your every word. He was taking in every crinkle of your eyes when you smiled, when you gave a false laugh, and the way your real laugh sounded hilarious. Your personality overtook him in the best way, he was completely infatuated.

Servers slinked to the table and gathered attendees’ food orders before dipping away. Drinks now scattered the table, and a glass of white wine sat within your reach. You grabbed it and drank carefully, hoping it could give you a tad of confidence.

Food and drink came and went quickly. You and your table-mates donned a bright blush to your cheeks. In the background music began to play, with live performers, no less. Bella grabbed your hand, tugging you from your seat to the center of the room. They placed their hands on your hips and began to move in time with the melody, smiling at you encouragingly. You rested your hands on their shoulders and returned their smile.

Others had started to join in on the dancing, swirls of rich, jewel-tone fabric melting together as you spun in Bella's arms. The two of you shared a laugh before Bella broke away, headed to the table.

"One sec, I'm gonna get a drink."

You nodded, turning back to the crowd with your arms awkwardly at your side. It wasn't until you felt an unfamiliar hand on your shoulder that you turned around and realize, it had indeed been another set up.

Pedro tilted his head to the side and offered a warm smile. You froze as if made of stone, reeling over how this happened.

"Bella told me that you wanted a dance partner," he explained, "They said that you should have someone taller."

This eased things a bit, drawing out a small laugh from you.

"Honestly, I feel like they've set me up with this whole thing," you retorted.

Pedro guided your arms over his shoulders, placing both hands on your waist. Though the gesture sent shivers down your spine, the casual conversation was sincerely welcomed. It proved that you could relax with a comforting presence in the midst of the celebrity crowd.

"How so?" His voice had softened with genuine concern. Maybe he hadn't been on this, after all. He could've been totally unaware of your hidden affection for the man.

You offered him a nervous smile, choosing to let part of the secret slip out.

"I'm a fan, and Bella knows that. I promise I'm not one of those crazy ones. I just really love your work."

He nodded, "You don't have to worry about that. I'm sure they wouldn't have invited you if you were."

The both of you let out nervous laughter; the hands resting on your back pulled you a step closer to him. The performer who'd been singing gave a large thanks to the crowd for hosting the event, which resulted in a series of whoops, cheers, and clapping. The next performer took the stage. A familiar face.

"Oh shit," you hissed, "they got Michael Bublé to perform tonight?"

Pedro nodded to the stage, "He's a huge favorite. They try to get him to every event, big or small. Can't deny a classic, you know?"

You shrugged in agreement before Michael started to sing the next song. The blaring of trumpets in a salsa-type rhythm made you smile. It was a song you couldn't refuse to dance to, no matter how hard you tried: Sway.

Whether it was the song or the alcohol moving your hips, you didn't know, but it was well received by your dance partner. Pedro looked down at your languid movements, matching the little routine you'd made.

Left, right, left, left. Right, left, right, right.

"Got some moves in you, hm?"

You managed a shy laugh, shaking your head at the compliment.

"Now, if you wanna dance to this song properly," he said, leaning down to your ear, "we gotta do it like this, okay?"

He pulled you flush with his chest, swaying your hips in time with each other. His hands gained purchase over your lower back, brushing over the fabric.

Pedro murmured, "I love your dress," his breath flew across your neck as he spoke. Every inch of you was set ablaze with his touch, firm yet gentle. "Sometimes these things are hard to dress for, but you nailed it."

You whispered to him, "To be honest, I was worried I was overdoing it. I don't really wear stuff like this."

He quipped, "Not at all, you look amazing in it."

As the music crescendoed your movements grew, the push and pull of your swaying turning into borderline sensual. You couldn't tell if it had been you or Pedro who'd set this pace, but you paid little mind to it.

"Sorry if I'm getting a little too into it," you apologized. Pedro's hands tightened their grip, holding you firm to him.

The tone of his voice shifted completely, now delving into elusive flirtation, "Don't worry about that. Plus, most of these guys are probably too hammered to care."

Pedro pulled away just enough to get a look at your face, his gaze roaming your features, down to your shoulders. One of his hands meandered to your waist, gripping firmly to string your hips along with his own.

"Besides, I'm having a pretty good time. Are you?"

You nodded, lips tugging cheek to cheek in a bright grin, "I am."

"Then we don't have anything to worry about," he replied, leaning back into you. The bridge of the song began, Michael's voice echoing around the hall while Pedro added more pressure to your hips.

Pedro whispered, "Turn to the right."

And so you did, bringing another smile out of Pedro, as you could feel it against your jaw.

"Attagirl," he purred. The praise, however small it'd been, sent heat through you. You arched your back, pressing further into him, noticing his hands wandering lower and lower down your spine. His fingertips brushed the top of your ass, drawing out a small gasp from you.

"Sorry," Pedro mumbled, "I'll keep my hands to myself." You could imagine the weak smile on his face as he said it.

Those wandering hands moved to the middle of your back, stiff and unmoving.

"I don't mind," you said softly, "Really, it's not a problem."

There was a sense of urgency in your voice - this didn't slip past Pedro, however. His hands travelled downward, past where they had been before, carefully evenloping the top of your ass.

"Sounds to me like you really don't mind. Is this where you want me?"

You gave him a nod, biting your lip to hold back the intrusive, raunchy reply you wanted to give him. Truth is, you wanted his hands elsewhere. Wanted - no - needed them to explore you, no area left untouched. You needed everything he could offer you, and you'd take it with greedy indulgence. You breathed against his ear, warm and panting softly until the song came to an end.

Pedro hesitated before breaking away from you. When he broke away, his smile had changed, pulled sideways in a smirk.

"Gotta say, if this was a setup," he laughed, "it's the best one Bella's ever done."

With some newfound confidence, you teased him.

"Well, if you ever need another dance partner, just give me a call."

Other dancers dispersed from the floor in a great wave, with you and Pedro coming in last to return to your table, with new drinks set at each seat.

"And how am I supposed to call you without your number?" Pedro jested.

You nodded toward Bella, who had returned to the table with a smug grin, "You can ask the mastermind about that."

----------

Hi guys! Thanks so much for supporting my writing. This is my first Pedro fic I felt confident about, so I hope it was well received. I know there wasn't something too spicy in this, but just you wait

much love, and happy reading!

-bunny

[heycerulean]

Saw your post about your characters and I'm so intrigued. What's the deal with the organization Teva founded? What's the story with Izo and the bombs? Why did Sio live so long: was it intentional or did that just Happen? And please tell me more about the illegal engineers. I'm so curious.

thank you so much for this ask!!! 1. TEVA + PeDC9A

PeDC9A- which stands for the Pavilic Defense Corps's Department 9, Division A- is a sector / unit / team that deal with department 9 (fieldwork) cases and are signified by the letter A. there's multiple of these groups, ranging from A-ZZ, but they were a newly created thing in 1951; the year a certain Vitatche Teva Vaskenvae was working in a place called PiDC6T, and absolutely hated her job. They asked if she wanted a new opportunity, she said yes, they gave her PeDC9A. She was a competent leader and damn good at keeping people in line, but she was also known for her tendency to not always follow the books; a terrible pick for a new group you want to succeed, but if you're a budget office that just doesn't see the use in foreign espionage and affairs, then it's a great pick to set it up to fail. Except, it doesn't! It does great, actually. Those first 26 teams that were set up (also called "vitatche circles") were some of the best things that ever happened with PeDC's new 9th Department, and set the stage for the later escapades once the great war actually starts. The rest of the main storyline pretty much follows the people in PeDC9A, and how they got there in the first place. 2. IZO AND THEIR BOMBS

Sytze-Vitatche Izota Deltevi, much like her boss- she worked under Teva- was a demolitions expert. Of course, you might ask, why- in a time of piece- does the magic CIA want a demolitions expert on their teams of foreign affairs? They do not need a demolitions expert. Well, it turns out, people who see buildings fall apart for a living are also incredibly talented at seeing how plans, or people, or groups can. At least, Izo was. There were a couple circumstances when she did actually get to blow things up. 3. SIO'S LIFESPAN

More or less, their job. Becoming an actual, sworn in, Pavilic Government Archivist means going through an incredibly intense process that has a decent chance of killing you because, more or less, what it's doing is connecting your blood with things that don't exist. It's a magic thing :) It turns out that being so connected to things that exist without existing like that (the religious trifecta; ghosts, world, gods) makes your own body just... process less. It also means you're less aware of it. She both forgets she needs to eat but can also get away with eating, like, once every couple days. She also lives to like 112. Which, to point out, she actually hates because her wife died of spooky magic lung issues when she was only 53. She wants her wife back. 4. THE ILLEGAL ENGINEERS

I love these two so dearly. They're on PeDC9A staff, under Viridian; Cetz is a CAT (cast-assisted-technology) software engineer, and Teq works with good ol' guns, but they both are. a little reckless with their technology. See, Cetz- through some crazy stuff in their childhood involving rivers, cults, and religious miracles in abandoned temples- is really attached to the Hand of Actions, one of their gods. This leads them to basically developing cybernetic enhancement, except it's less "lazer eyes and super speed" and more "i can hear the computers think and i see and can manipulate code just by looking at something". Which, CAT technology, specifically Beacon Industries brand CAT tech- the brand the government uses, basically an implant in your wrist- is incredibly sensitive. It's illegal to manipulate because it's incredibly dangerous, and unless you're some kind of surgeon, you are not trained on how to mess with it properly. Both Cetz and Teq ignore this. On Teq's side, it's a little less extreme; they (with the help of Cetz) hook their giant handmade magic gun (named Astarcye Ardea) into their CAT system, and this gives it more power and allows them to diagnose the problems within it faster. Eventually, Aetos (their team's medical specialist) finds out, but though he is pissed, he just adjusts for it in their vital records and threatens with leaking the information whenever he has to to make a point. He would never, but he can try to pretend he would (they do not believe him.) Atzia also knows because they walked in on Cetz updating it once and they were covered in blood. That's posted on my ao3! Viridian never finds out. Hopefully that all made sense. It's complicated and it's all been built on top of so much that i don't always remember what i need to go into depth about and what I can leave.

[beevean]

I find it such, such a shame that basically every single OC (especially on the heroes' side) that IDW introduced has gotten flanderised and/or milked for all their worth angst-wise and such, despite so many having interesting backstories (or even just the slightest hint of prior existence in the world) that you can do something with. Belle has been unsubtly swooped right into the background now that her story is over(?), Whisper is not allowed to move on from the loss of her team and keeps being subjected to more and more horrifying experiences related to it, Tangle has swiftly become the silly goose of the bunch as opposed to someone with plenty of intelligence and emotional maturity in the Tangle & Whisper miniseries, Lanolin randomly turned into what was supposed to be the Competent Girlboss which falls entirely flat anyway because the writing's got more holes in it than Swiss cheese...

It truly makes me wonder if, in a new comic or manga if/when IDW goes down, we should want new canon foreigner characters to be introduced in there. Both Archie and IDW have proven that they will eventually turn into a drama story featuring mostly just the OCs and disproportionately dividing attention to those, with the game cast easily coming across as an afterthought or being written OOC to facilitate that drama (such as everything with Silver getting kicked out of the Diamond Cutters he never joined in the first place, or Cream's inability to fight off Rough and Tumble ruining her and Vanilla's cooking and getting turned into a bawling mess in the process. And that was just from among the most recent two issues). I feel like it has to do with the fact both comics had/have the same writers, but I also understand that it's easier to write a character from scratch than needing to stick to guidelines from higher-up... Thus, maybe if a character from scratch cannot be written in the first place, it would make an improvement? Some strange moments aside (e.g. Sonic insulting Knuckles to Blaze, Sonic being a shipper on deck for Silvaze), I don't have much to complain about the stories that have only game characters in them. And that is it: I'm just here to see fun adventures from Sonic and his friends, not the woes and troubles of new characters who have either completely failed to catch or lost my interest over time.

(Sorry for the long ask, I wanted to add enough examples. Feel free to ignore if you would rather not talk about IDW again ^^)

Some strange moments aside (e.g. Sonic insulting Knuckles to Blaze, Sonic being a shipper on deck for Silvaze), I don't have much to complain about the stories that have only game characters in them.

I'm not saying this in a mean way towards you, but I do. I do plenty. IDW Sonic is a genuinely awful character that only recently has stopped to earn my ire. And you know why? Because the story no longer features him in the spotlight, instead focusing on the OCs.

Flynn has admitted that they prefer to write OCs because they "have less oversight", basically they don't have to deal with the guidelines that come with the canon characters. With this amount of unprofessionalism, I gladly accept the OCs attracting the worst of their writing degeneration, instead of ruining further characters I care about.

Now, yes, it is a shame that perfectly good new characters have been squandered (poor Tangle didn't deserve to become an annoying "ADHD-coded" uwu shipbait), but like. At this point it's the less of the two evils. The problem is not OCs or canon characters: the problem is writers who strut around in their workplace, thinking they're misunderstood geniuses and that it's their mission to fix the bad writing from SEGA.

[grimalkenkid]

Just a Joke

Fandom: Fate/Grand Order

Rating: T+

Pairing: Ritsuka Fujimaru (female)/Mandricardo

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

I just got started on the Atlantis arc, so some things in this will definitely be incorrect regarding post-Lostbelt story, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head until I wrote it all down. This is also quite a bit less polished than my usual stuff, and probably counts more as rambling than prose. Now, please enjoy my RitsuCardo thoughts and Ritsuka headcanons!

As the world healed, things came back in bits and pieces. Of course, there were still huge gaps in both history and geography, but no longer was Chaldea the sole point of humanity on a bleached Earth. They could finally interact with locations and people from Proper Human History as they navigated and stabilized the many singularities and anomalies caused by the Foreign God’s interference. So, when a singularity manifested over Ritsuka’s home town, the entire crew — both human staff and ephemeral Servants — were abuzz with excitement at seeing the place the last Master of humanity grew up.

All except for Ritsuka herself, that is.

She does her best to feign delight; she doesn’t want to let down all her friends, after all. But internally, she’s recoiling from the prospect of seeing her family again. Ritsuka loves them, of course, but their expectations were just too high. She’d been born with higher quality magical circuits than the Fujimaru clan had seen in generations, which probably said more about the family than it did Ritsuka herself. Especially when she turned out to be a third-rate mage who couldn’t even cast one spell without a Mystic Code. That didn’t stop the heads of the family from placing all their hopes on her; she was the last chance they had to stay in the mage game.

Leaving Japan for Antarctica had almost been an upgrade.

Da Vinci and Sion help Ritsuka narrow down the possible teammates, leaving a squad of just four Servants. It wasn’t that big of an anomaly, anyway; the danger wouldn’t be so great they couldn’t summon more Servants on-site. But to start, Ritsuka would be joined by Mash (as always), Pope Johanna, Astolfo, and Mandricardo.

Their forays into the anomalous areas are simple and straightforward, leaving ample time for the gang to explore the town. Ritsuka proves to be a fairly good tour guide, but of course they eventually run into some of her cousins, and she can’t come up with a good excuse to avoid visiting them. So the gang gets dragged back to their estate, eager to hear everything Ritsuka’s been up to while out of the country.

There’s back and forth about the truth of the disasters, widespread rumors, and what Ritsuka is allowed to reveal about her missions in the Singularities and Lostbelts. It’s enjoyable, and Ritsuka starts to relax until she sees the one person she wants to see even less than her overbearing mother…

Her fiance. Akuma.

He was from a slightly more prestigious mage family, but his ego and irritability drove away every single marriage candidate before the Fujimaru clan reached out to them. They’ve barely said some polite “hello”s before Akuma immediately starts berating Ritsuka for running away to Antarctica, accusing her of avoiding her familial duty to provide suitable heirs to their families’ legacies. Mash’s insistence that Ritsuka was integral to Chaldea’s success is able to dissuade him from pursuing that line of thinking further, but he continues to subtly insult her and maneuver her away from her friends whenever possible.

The Servants don’t intervene at first, thinking that Ritsuka will put him in his place soon enough or somehow charm him into acting decently. But she doesn’t. She’s too scared of letting down her entire family to risk driving him away and canceling the marriage, as he’s threatened to do so many times before. Her Servants trust that she’ll ask for help if she really needs it, but that assumption wears thinner by the day.

Then, one night after returning from a longer than usual battle with demonic beasts, Akuma is waiting for her, more than a little tipsy, and declares that they’ll consummate their marriage that night since she’s dragging her feet with the official stuff. When Ritsuka turns him down, he grabs her arm, calling her “no better than a hooker” due to how everyone is apparently allowed to bang her except him. Mash, Astolfo, and Johanna almost can’t believe this guy’s audacity. Mandricardo, though?

Mandricardo sees RED.

Within a second, he’s at Ritsuka’s side, grabbing Akuma’s arm hard enough to crack the bone and nearly throwing him against the nearest wall. “You’re engaged to the bravest, kindest, most selfless woman in the whole world, and you’re treating her like a broodmare! Someone in this room needs to learn some goddamn respect, and it sure as fuck ain’t her!”

“You her boyfriend or something? I’m not looking to take anything from you,” Akuma laughs through tears. “I couldn’t care less how many men she’s got on the side; I just want what’s mine.”

“That does it!” Mandricardo throws Akuma to the floor as Ritsuka’s cousins cautiously come to check out the commotion. “You think she’s yours?! Then fight for her! I hereby challenge you to a duel for Ritsuka’s hand!” Grabbing a bokken from a nearby umbrella stand, he points it at his inebriated foe. “Tomorrow, when the sun reaches its zenith, bring whatever weapon you wish to the courtyard, and we’ll settle this once and for all!”

Everyone is staring by the time Mandricardo finishes his proclamation. Ritsuka’s too worn down by Akuma’s abuse and the earlier battles to really process what’s happening, so Mash helps her to her room while Johanna calms the small audience that had gathered. Mandricardo and Astolfo sleep outside Ritsuka’s door that night, ready to protect her from the monster her family let into their midst.

Not that Akuma would try anything that night anyway. He was too busy readying his defensive and offensive spells to teach this ill-tempered brute not to meddle in the affairs of mages. By the next morning, Akuma is confident this “duel” will be nothing more than a one-sided beatdown.

Which, ironically, he is correct about.

The entire Fujimaru clan comes to witness this scuffle. The family heads are dismissive of the whole thing, only going along with it because Akuma accepted the challenge, though they don’t believe the outcome could really influence the plan to marry Ritsuka to him. Her cousins, however, are supportive of Mandricardo, and sit by Ritsuka as the two men face off, quietly expressing the hope that she will end up engaged to the man who clearly thinks the world of her.

Ritsuka doesn’t quite know what to think. She’d already accepted that she’d be Akuma’s wife eventually; the possibility of anything else never crossed her mind. But with Mandricardo actually fighting for her, she wonders if maybe — on the off-chance her mother will accept the outcome of the duel — she might like being Mandricardo’s wife better.

Johanna agrees to referee, laying out the rules clearly. “This is no fight to the death, and I will not tolerate any lethal blows. The duel will be considered done when one party surrenders or is rendered incapable of fighting. Are we understood?”

“Fine by me,” Mandricardo growls.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Akuma huffs.

Johanna nods. “Then… let the duel commence!”

Akuma immediately activates a cascade of defensive spells to ward off physical blows, then begins casting a spell to immobilize his opponent by increasing the air pressure acting downwards on him to an unbearable level. It’s a foolproof plan. Once Mandricardo is pinned to the ground by the very air itself, Akuma could easily dispose of this barbarian at his leisure.

What he fails to account for is the sudden spike in magical pressure coming from Mandricardo the moment he drops his civilian facade in favor of his armor and wooden sword. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Ritsuka’s friends were Servants. Why would he? Ritsuka may have had an abundance of mana, but without any control of her magic circuits, she shouldn’t have been able to manifest anything, much less a Heroic Spirit.

Akuma desperately tries to speed up his casting as Mandricardo rushes towards him, suddenly keenly aware of his own fragility. It works as intended, but the amount of force he’s able to apply is woefully insufficient to incapacitate a Servant. All it does is slow Mandricardo down. Akuma slings spell after spell at his foe, but he’d put all his eggs in the “air pressure incapacitation” basket, so the most he can do is give Mandricardo a few scratches by the time the Servant is close enough to swing his sword.

It’s over within seconds. Mandricardo smashes the magical barriers Akuma created with sheer, brute force. His Noble Phantasm sits in the forefront of his mind, which he dearly wishes to use, but doing so would break the rules of the duel. And so, he contents himself with driving Akuma back, step by step, savoring the increasing panic and terror swirling in the mage’s eyes.

Then, Akuma trips, falling backwards onto his ass, and Mandricardo raises his sword for one last strike.

“I give! I give!” Akuma blurts out in a panic. “Call off your goddamn attack dog, Fujimaru! I give!”

The tension permeating the household finally breaks, with half the family practically cheering Mandricardo and the other rushing to Akuma’s side to beg his forgiveness. Of course, the engagement wouldn’t be called off just from the outcome of one duel. There was no contract drafted, and Mandricardo didn’t believe for one second that Akuma would abide by the results if he didn’t want to. But even with all three heads of the Fujimaru clan desperately trying to hold onto their sole heir’s one marriage option, Akuma is well and truly done with Ritsuka.

“She’s all yours, brute!” Akuma bellows, batting the dirt off his pants. “I certainly ain’t fighting for her. Bitch isn’t worth the effort.”

That insult was the final straw.

Brigliadoro is summoned in an instant, and Mandricardo runs Akuma from the household and all the way to the edge of town, hot on the mage’s heels the entire way. He only stops because his mount could only manifest for short bursts, and Astolfo comes to collect him while Akuma puts all his wind-based spells to use putting as much distance between himself and those crazy people. The two Servants awkwardly arrive back at the household on Hippogriff’s back, where the other Servants, Ritsuka, and her cousins eagerly await their return.

Ritsuka feels like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. Even if her family is upset by Akuma’s departure, and she knows she’ll have to face their disappointment eventually, seeing Mandricardo rush in to defend her without hesitation is a memory she’ll cherish forever.

As he apologizes for going overboard, Ritsuka gives him a playful punch. “It’s okay,” she says with a relieved smile. “Guess you’re my fiance now, huh.”

Mandricardo freezes.

“Wat?”

A third-rate Servant like him? Engaged to the most perfect woman in the world? Impossible.

Then he remembers what he said. How he worded his challenge. The prize? Ritsuka’s hand in marriage.

And Mandricardo had won.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mandricardo spends the rest of the day in a daze, letting Johanna and Astolfo deal with Ritsuka’s mother and the other family heads. He wants to tell them that he didn’t really want to marry Ritsuka — that he just couldn’t stand seeing Akuma hurt her like that — but he can’t get the words out. He couldn’t bear to hurt Ritsuka himself by insinuating that she wasn’t worth marrying, but every time he hears a cousin say “Congrats!”, it’s like a lance going through his heart because he knows he can’t go through with it.

After all, he’s a Servant. He couldn’t keep a marriage oath, as he’d disappear the moment she doesn’t need him to help protect the world. If he was human, maybe, but…

Despite the lightness in her step, Ritsuka still sees how everything is weighing on Mandricardo. Before bed, she sits with him on the balcony of her house, just chatting like they had so many times before. She tells him that Akuma contacted her mother, officially calling off the engagement, and despite how angry she was with her, Ritsuka couldn’t be happier. Though, if Mandricardo isn’t comfortable with it, she can dial back on joking about her “new fiance”.

Mandricardo laughs. A joke. Of course it was a joke. He’s relieved, saying that he doesn’t mind the jokes… so long as she knows he wouldn’t actually be able to marry her.

Ritsuka laughs, too.

It’s just a joke. A playful bit of teasing. Nothing more.

But then why does it feel like Mandricardo lost something?

* * * * * * * * * *

The “joke” comes back to Chaldea. How could it not, with Astolfo bringing it up at every opportunity? He keeps asking to be invited to the wedding; no one’s sure if he’s joking, but Mandricardo and Ritsuka definitely are. Most people understand immediately that they’re only playing along with “being engaged” as an inside joke and start doing similarly. Some don’t realize that it’s all in jest until much later, usually after an earnest attempt to get details of a possible wedding out of the two.

It takes half a dozen Servants and a Command Seal to keep Kiyohime from challenging Mandricardo to a duel. She simply won’t listen until Odysseus proposes that all the Servants make an oath like he did when Helen’s suitors were on the brink of war: agreeing to protect Ritsuka’s future marriage regardless of who she chooses, even if it ends up being with a non-Servant. That pacifies Kiyohime, though she also doubles down on her attempts to woo Ritsuka.

Mandricardo thinks that’ll be the end of the jokes, but apparently it’s just too enjoyable to poke fun at him. He doesn’t object, though he and Ritsuka do keep mentioning that it was a joke.

Over time, they stop reminding people that it’s a joke. After all, everyone making said joke knows.

“Ah, yes. Of course, it’s a joke,” Chiron says with just a hint of that knowing smile. “I’ve long since known who she will choose to bind herself to. Hm? Who, you ask? Oh, one doesn’t need clairvoyance to see that.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Mandricardo and Ritsuka spend more and more time together. There seems to be nothing they aren’t comfortable sharing with one another. Neither has really thought of their “engagement” in a long time. The jokes don’t even feel like jokes anymore, but they never gave it much thought.

One day, when they’re just cuddling after a mission, Ritsuka finally asks if he wants to keep their engagement as “just a joke”.

Mandricardo is surprised to find that he already has an answer. “No, I want it to be for real… but I won’t be around long enough to make good on it unless you waste a Grail to incarnate me, yeah?”

“I asked Da Vinci to hold back one of the uncorrupted Grails.” Ritsuka snuggles into his chest. “It wouldn’t be a waste.”

Mandricardo doesn’t know what to say. He’d never considered his Master would use such a powerful object just to give him a second chance at life. But he also knows that Ritsuka wouldn’t lie like this. She already had a plan.

And what wouldn’t he give to continue being her partner once the world was no longer on the edge of catastrophe…

He holds her closer, like she’s the most precious being in his world, whispering against the top of her head. “Guess I’d better start thinking about how to propose properly then, huh?”