#I know she's a scorpion but shh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wanderingaldecaldo · 2 years

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Hi! I'm WanderingAldecaldo, aka wash (or W). I'm a longtime writer, new modder and virtual photographer, and very much still taken with Cyberpunk 2077 and Mitch and Val and Rosalind Myers.

About me: mid-40s, bisexual, nonbinary, recently diagnosed audhd, married, cats, the usual nerdy stuff. Besides Cyberpunk 2077, you'll find content about Bioware, RDR2, Our Flag Means Death and Izzy in particular, various sci-fi and movies, random video games and music stuff, plus some politics.

I try to tag things well so if I can tag something for you, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Anons are off but DMs are open and private. I block empty blogs with default icons, I don't necessarily follow back, and I have learned that blocking and filtering are the keys to a good fandom experience on here. I run on a pretty deep queue (usualy 3-4wks) though I do occasionally go on reblogging sprees, especially on Fridays because, ya know, #fem v friday. (Also when I'm bored and goofing off at work. Shh, don't tell my boss.)

My OCs, links, and more after the cut.

Valerie Vermilion

StreetKid!V is my original V, and the first OC I've ever grown really attached to, despite having written thousands of words for several others in Bioware properties. Corpo!Val is from an AU where V is recruited into Arasaka in her teens.

Tags

#valerie vermilion (all) #streetkid!val (note: inconsistent usage, plus old posts not tagged) #corpo!val #val things (various)

oc profiles

Hilary Navarro

Hilary debuted in my StreetKid!V longfic, No One's Gonna Love You, as the family's best netrunner, and she will have a larger part in the sequel. 👀 She's bright, bubbly, and fun, just like her bubblegum hair. #hilary navarro

Travis (aka the Dirtbag)

Travis doesn't have a full name yet, poor thing. He's a sopping wet creature. He's a horrible awful man. He's my babygirl and I love him. #travis needs a tag i guess

Antonio (Tony) Varga

Tony was a childhood friend of Jackie who cut ties when he left the 'Tinos. He regrets never making up with Jackie before his death, but he'll make it up to Lupe. #antonio varga

Gabriella Varga

Older sister to Tony, and childhood crush of Jackie. A friend to all Heywood. She and Tony are still close. #gabriella varga

Apex Predators — Val & Mitch

These two have been consuming my brain since February 2021, about a week after I started the game. They started off with a spark of an idea that became No One's Gonna Love You, and I've still got more to go. I have a ridiculous number of WIPs for them; currently I'm working on the Corpo!Val AU story, and possibly after that I will write the actual "Apex Predators" fic. (I have finally accepted that I'm never gonna get to that fic, and will likely rename the ship because of that fact.)

#ship: apex predators (all) plus corpo version ship profiles

plus #mitch anderson

Business & Pleasure — Richard & Val

Richard belongs to dear friend @/dustymagpie. Corpo!Val isn't one for romance, but she still has needs. Who better to service them than handsome escort Richard Ripper?

#ship: business & pleasure

Panzerboys — Mitch & Scorpion

Mitch's dialogue in "I'll Fly Away" makes it pretty clear they didn't have a sexual relationship, but I'll die on the panzerboy hill. One day I will write their love story. #ship: panzerboys

Hilary + Carol — name tbd

Carol is my favorite (non-Mitch/non-Panam) Nomad. She's funny and smart and tough and a total milf and deserves some love. Carol is a real heartbreaker, love 'em and leave 'em type and never dates within the clan, but Hilary is gonna change that. #carol + hilary tag tbd

AO3

Into My Arms — StreetKid!Val/Mitch series

"Blaze of Glory" — mature; pining; 2696 words

No One's Gonna Love You (aka NOGLY) — explicit; friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, lots of angst (and lots of smut); 59338 words

"Work It" — explicit; PWP; 1798 words

"Cut Your Hair" — mature; fluff, light angst; 3032 words

"This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" — explicit; smutty angst? angsty smut? take your pick; 7045 words

"Lover's Spit" — explicit; more smutty angst, my fave! 4058 words

"Triangles" — Mitch/Scorpion/Fem V; explicit; PWP; 4418 words

"Changes" — CBP77 Reverse Bang entry based on art by silkspectre; Johnny/Fem V; explicit; PWP; 5468 words

"Know Your Rights" — for SteelPhoto as part of art trade; Jackie & River; teen & up; 1312 words

"Burning Chrome 2077" — collection of drabbles and ficlets from the Lizzie's 2021 spring prompt event; mature; allllll sorts of stuff, including bad poetry; 7162 words

Writing Tags

all writing: #wash's writing, #wip wednesday, #smutty sunday

meta tags: #about fanfic, #about writing

story-specific: unnamed corpo!val au brainrot, pre NOGLY, NOGLY, post NOGLY

Nexus Profile

Clothing Mods

Edgerunner Jackets — Cleaned & Recolored [fem & masc V]

Loose Fit Pants — Cleaned & Recolored [gender inclusive]

Cut-off Vests — Cleaned, Cropped, Recolored [gender inclusive]

High Heel Shoes — NPC heels with 7 Colors [fem V only]

High Heel Shoes — now ArchiveXL, 28 Styles [fem V only]

Cowboy Boots — Cleaned & Recolored [gender inclusive]

Pride Tees — Cropped & Recolored [gender inclusive]

Masc V Jeans — Refit & Recolored [masc V only]

Photomode Mods

Specialized Photomode Packs [fem V]

"Night Out" Photomode Pack [fem V]

NPC Mods

Mitch's Alternate Outfit(s)

Mitch's 4K Face Re-Texture — default and without scratches

Mitch's Jacket Fix — fixed the broken mesh of Mitch's jacket

Locomotion Mods (Placide to MA, Teddy to corpo, Scorpion to corpo)

pfp from this amazing piece made by my love @/impishbiscuit

header by me

art + VP I have commissioned

twitter (mostly nsft stuff, when I remember to post it)

mods I use

...more as I remember to add it

Credits: I totally ripped off was inspired by my dearest @/fereldanwench for this post. Love you, bb. 😘😘😘

Last update: 16 Nov; update about me, fics

#about me #personal #meta #mods i made #my screens #wash's writing #mitch anderson #valerie vermilion #rosalind myers #working au title: the president's merc #previously pinned post #mitch x val

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thegreatmachine17 · 4 years

Photo

(x)

#she ra #spop #she ra and the princesses of power #scorpia #perfuma #scorfuma #horde prime #I know she's a scorpion but shh #let me have this

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simkjrs · 2 years

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Would you be willing to do Uchiha Kaeru for the ask meme?

uchiha kaeru from the scorpion and the frog by @zarinthelwrites :)

favorite thing about them

i love how she makes things worse on purpose. and i love her sense of humor. its so inspiring how she was dedicated to making things hurt more for everyone involved, at everyone's expense. girlboss of all time

least favorite thing about them

the most frustrating aspect of kaeru's character is probably that she had the ability to change things, but wasn't interested in doing so, and didn't try. as the reader you constantly are wishing that kaeru would let go of her belief that there is no point in changing "canon" because the cycle will continue, no matter what... but it is also a really excellent part of her character that makes you think again about what kind of lasting change kaeru could have made, if she tried. could she have stopped the deaths of her clan? what about the oncoming wars? and what of the fighting that would continue even after naruto swore he would change everything?

having knowledge of canon events, kaeru knows that naruto & sasuke & everyone else will fall into the exact same cycle that they swore to change. kaeru doesn't change because the world around her doesn't change. she doesn't see a point. she has the people she cares about, and fuck the rest, really. she's a great distorted mirror of the naruto world i think, so even though her refusal to change is her most frustrating aspect i also think its one of her most interesting traits. queen

favorite line

it's so hard to pick one. she had the best one liners ever and they came practically every other paragraph. i am paralyzed by choice.

favorite one liner:

"I'm just tired. I'm done fighting people, Kaeru. I sacrificed my own life to avoid causing more harm."

"I died to cause someone a ton of harm, so at least I'm going to be continuing that trend."

favorite serious moment:

"You know, Naruto," Kaeru says. "I don't have any faith in you."

"What?"

"I don't believe you can save Konoha, or change the world, or even forge a lasting peace that isn't built on blood and rot."

"I--"

"Shh, I'm still talking. I hate the world that I grew up in, and I'm going to hate the world that you grow old in, and I'm going to hate the world that still exists long after you've joined me and Nagato in the ground. But, despite all of that, I am going to go, right now, and have Kabuto release every corpse in this war that he still controls."

Kaeru smiles at him, body dissolving into slowly falling white feathers as she continues to talk.

"You're a good kid, Naruto. So, just this once, I'll act like that's going to be enough."

brOTP

kaeru & tatsuma & maruten :) the way that they are best friends despite being a missing-nin, a ROOT agent, and a t&i agent respectively is literally the funniest thing in the world. i love how they all play off of each other and how they are all ride and die. probably one of the saddest things in this story is that we dont get to see more of them being the funniest friends around

OTP

hmm well we are venturing very far into the realm of head canons about someone else's OC now. i think kaeru likes women but also is not interested in a relationship like at all. but she would find it funny if someone flirted with her probably

nOTP

kaeru x a serious romantic relationship. shes happy being dying & dead. she doesnt want one

random headcanon

i think that when orochimaru left akatsuki it was because kaeru kept driving him to tears by virtue of her insufferable personality. and i think it really hurt orochimarus feelings that kaeru thought his attempts to experiment on & kill her were funny and amusing more than anything else. he wanted to be taken seriously but he just couldnt get any dignity from her. itachi chased him out of akatsuki on purpose but kaeru wouldve been perfectly happy letting him stay in the same space as her so she could keep poking him forever. he just could not take it anymore

unpopular opinion

is there such a thing as an unpopular opinion about kaeru? i think people who are mad that kaeru didnt go on a power trip with all of her cool abilities are just haters with no understanding of how much funnier it is that she couldve done something but didnt. "you wouldn't get it" -- me to all the SV commenters who do this

song i associate with them

trigger finger by coyote kid - the kaeru & sasuke song of all time

You've got a steady hand that's cold to the touch You've only got one shot but do you have the guts To make it count. Don't let me down

You've got guts kid but Is that enough to turn this around

favorite picture of them

using my own drawing for this.

#ask #ask game #long post

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amymel86 · 3 years

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Sooo.... I’m gonna share the first part of my ‘Jon was raised in Essos’ au because a) @vivilove-jonsa made me this gorgeous pci set (thank you so much, my lovely) and b) I cannot help myself....

(translations at the end)

(things may get changed)

Sansa sat straight-backed on her steed as she, Lord Royce and a few of her Valemen watch the bloody battle below. From their vantage point, up here, high on the ridge, the men look like warring insects - a scurry of territorial ants defending their nests. The noises though – that doesn’t seem insect-like at all. Battle-cries, bellowed commands, the screams of the dying – they all made their way up to them on the breeze.

Horridly human noises.

Sansa’s mare, Jonquil shifts her hind quarters, whether sensing her mistress’s emotions or simply spooked by the songs of battle, one could not be sure.

“He will live to see you again, my lady,” Lord Royce comments beside her.

No doubt he is speaking of his liege lord, her husband of seven moons, Harrold Hardyng. Sansa gives Yohn Royce a tight smile. Gently tightening Jonquil’s reigns, she urges the horse to calm her jitters and be still. “I am sure he will, Gods be willing.”

A murmuring chorus of “Gods be willing,” echoes through their little group as they continue to watch the battle unfold.

Truth be told, it had not been her husband’s face that had flit into her mind when fearing the lives of those little ants down there. It had been her brother’s. Robb’s war for a free and independent North had started against the Lannisters, sparked by the rolling of their father’s head, but now it continues after the invasion of dragons.

A newcomer on a dark gelding approaches Sansa’s right, coming to a standstill to view the chaos below. “We shall see if your invention saves us all, Sam,” Sansa smiles at the black brother beside her. Samwell Tarly had travelled to The Vale at the behest of The Night’s Watch with instructions to negotiate for supplies from their rich and fertile lands. Clear that the large man was not keen on the thought of his return, Sansa had grown fond of him and insisted on extending his stay. His fellow Nightswatchmen were not under any urgency to welcome him back.

“W-we can only hope, my lady.” His pale face was clammy as wide eyes took in the fighting below. The shouts, cries and screams met their ears making his horse even more skittish than her Jonquil.

Samwell was a very learned man, that was immediately clear. Sansa had appreciated his love of book, songs and arts but once she realised that within his fantastic mind there lay an idea that could finally get her husband to join her brother’s fight against the Targaryens, she had been even more pleased to have kept him close.

Oh, Harry had been keen on taking up arms – as keen as any young lord is to prove his skills on the battlefield and emerge victorious. He- of course – was most taken by the idea of winning The Vale its independence and ruling as King of Mountain and Vale. His kingdom may have warred against the Kings of Winter for a thousand years but together, he and Robb Stark might work together against the dragons yet.

But that had been his advisors main objection; how exactly does one win a battle against dragons?

Sansa still thanks The Old Gods and the New for sending Sam to her. Without his invention, she’s sure she would still be awaiting any and all news of her brother’s war from ravens and travellers in her high towers at the Eerie. Sam had no enjoyment for weaponry and warfare but he very much liked to solve problems and his huge Scorpion crossbows could be the answer to how it is they can kill a dragon.

Once she’d had that – once Sam had drawn up his plans and they were sent with a trustworthy messenger to Robb, then Harry’s advisors thought the scales may very well tip in their favour.

Sam takes a big gulp beside her. The leather of Sansa’s gloves creaks as she squeezes her fingers around the reigns. All eyes are affixed to the conflict below where tiny bodies mingle and crash against one another. A direwolf on a waving flag falls to the ground as its bearer screams and gurgles. Horses hooves thunder around the far outer edge, both cavalries clashing with shouts and whinnies. Jonquil whickers and claws her hoof into the soft peat earth. Sansa leans down to pat at her neck. “Shh, girl. It’ll all be over soo-“

A piercing screech comes from behind their ridge and beats from a monster’s wings stir the air enough to whip Sansa’s braid along with it. The men duck their heads, some horses rear and bolt. A huge, grey dragon flies directly over them, swooping down, heading toward the battle.

Sansa’s heart is trying to escape her body. “Which one is that?” she asks, head turning this way and that. Sam looks too shaken to form words and –along with most of the men – was trying to keep his steed under control.

“The-the grey one,” he finally says as they watch below, “there’s been no accounts of it breathing fire, my lady. S-some say it-it cannot.”

Yohn Royce pulls closer. “No accounts of it breathing fire yet,” he says, giving her a pointed look. Very true. A dragon cannot be trusted. And still – she squints her eyes, trying to focus in this grey autumn sun – it has a rider. What will he or she command of their beast?

Below, she sees their forces rolling out the three hefty Scorpions that had been hastily made. “Time to see if Tarly has saved us all or condemned us,” Royce mutters. Beside her, what little colour left in Sam’s round face drains completely. He looks as though he may well fall from him horse and empty his stomach. Two more dragons join the fray from the opposite end of the battlefield – the golden and the red, both bigger than the original grey, and both more deadly from all accounts. They screech at one another as if in excitement.

“Which is the king’s?” Sansa asks. If they can kill that one at least, surely their plight for independence will be taken seriously? Or it shall enrage him further and they shall be punished for it.

“It is not known for sure, my lady,” Lord Royce answers, eyes following the beating of great monstrous wings as they circle. “The golden is without a rider,” he tells her, narrowing his eyes and watching the others. “The rider on the red has a head of silver-white hair. I would surmise that to be Viserys while his sister-queen is safe at the Red Keep.”

“And the dark-haired rider on the grey?”

“Their War General; some bastard nephew loyal to Viserys’s crown.”

Jonquil shifts her weight and stomps at the soft earth again. “Another Targeryen?” Sansa asks. “Do they sprout up like mushrooms after hard rainfall?”

Sansa’s eyes follow the rider on the smaller grey dragon. Together they swoop low over the black troops of the Targaryen army. The War General bellows some command and the dragon forces scream their battle-cries with renewed vigour. A bolt from one of the Scorpions flies just to the left of the dragon’s head. It rears up, unfortunately unscathed. Sansa’s breath is held captive in her lungs as she continues to watch. A second bolt is loosed just as suddenly as the first, this time seeming to tear through one of the golden dragon’s wings. It crashes devastatingly to the battleground below, skidding to a halt and taking hundreds of lives with it. Valemen behind her cheer. But it is not dead. The beast lifts his great head and screeches into the mournful sky – a sound so loud and abrasive it makes Sansa wince. The rider of the grey doubles back towards the fallen monster and circles above – round and around he goes. They are too far to be able to hear, but Sansa wonders if this bastard dragon lord of theirs is commanding the animal to move. The golden beats his wings – once, twice, thrice, then screeches again for good measure. It does not seem to comfortably fold up its injured wing against its body as it holds it outstretched, somewhat awkwardly-looking. Another bolt speeds past them both. The rider of the grey bellows something very loudly, finally making the golden take action. It leaps forward, back toward the Targaryen line of defence, turns its head and belches out a huge hiss of flame that engulfs all it touches. Sansa can hear the screams from where she sits high on the ridge. Finally, the gold dragon leaps into the air, clumsily flapping its wings. It does not get far, only managing to land on a nearby rocky outcrop, out of reach of the Scorpion’s range.

“That one won’t be in battle for quite some time,” Royce comments beside Sansa, bringing her back to herself.

“We need to kill, not maim,” she reminds him. “If it still breathes there’s a chance it will heal.” She looks to him and he nods reluctantly. None of them have warred against dragons. They know not what to expect.

Sansa’s eyes return to the grey – the War General. Perhaps his is the one they need to eliminate?

Currently, it is circling with the giant crimson winged beast – they seem to be engaged in some sort of push and pull. The red screeches and pulls forward, spitting flame with every exhale – but the grey looks to Sansa to be trying to calm its companion – or the one rider is trying to dissuade the other. The scarlet dragon pushes forward heedless of the grey’s protests and Sansa watches in horror as it heads swiftly with every beat of its wings towards their weapons – towards the Scorpions, burning a path of flame as it goes. A bolt is losed, skimming passed the monster’s shoulder, but judging by the way it shrieks and pulls up, up, up until it disappears into the clouds, they had succeeded in injuring it at least.

Too busy staring at the sky to try and see where the red dragon went, Sansa’s attention is suddenly drawn back down to the battle when the grey dragon screams. It hovers where it is, clearly in distress. “What happened?”

“We-we shot at it but it swerved,” Sam tells her, “I think the rider fell off.”

***

Sansa and her retinue made their way down from their ridge when it was clear the Targaryen’s were retreating for now. It took a good while to manoeuvre the terrain and by the time they’d reached Robb’s and Harry’s battle line, many of the injured were being cared for and the dead being mourned. Perhaps she should have moved toward the tent heralding the falcon on blue as well as the red and white diamonds of her husband’s house. Instead, she urged Jonquil’s hooves toward the one beneath the wolf. Every now and again, the grey dragon screeched from above. Sansa told herself to be brave and found comfort in the thought that the other winged beasts seem to have left the battleground completely – leaving their fireless sibling behind.

Robb’s war tent is dark as Sansa enters. It takes a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the dim. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, mud and the metallic bite of blood. “You’ve seen what we are capable of now, at least,” Sansa hears her brother’s voice before he turns to see who had entered.

She runs to him, arms outstretched, not caring for the muck coating his armour. “Robb!”

“Sansa!” he is surprised to see her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“They have retreated, have they not?”

“We do not know for how long,” he says, pulling away from her embrace. He smells sweet – too sweet – sweet and earthy and... wrong. Her brother gives Lord Royce a scolding glare over her shoulder and as if to serve as a reminder, a guttural shriek is heard from above. “And there’s a dragon still hanging around. Go on – go.”

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr,” he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

“Who is this?”

“The Targaryen War General,” Robb answers. “The rider who fell from the dragon.”

Fascinated, Sansa crouches to the prisoner’s level. He looks so... ordinary. Granted, he’s a handsome man, but all tales of Targaryens speak of their unnerving, otherworldly beauty – of fair skin, of silver hair or violet eyes. Leaning closer, there are a few flecks of violet she thinks, in that one eye of his.

“Drējī gevie,” the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

“Can you speak the common tongue?” she asks.

The man’s lips twitch upward. “Aye, I can.”

Sansa stands, taking a step back. The prisoner’s eye follows her. “You sound northern.”

He nods. “My mother.”

“He claims to be the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and our Aunt Lyanna,” Robb supplies.

“Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa’s mind felt like a snow storm. She looks to Robb. “Can it be true?” Her brother only shrugs. Crouching down again she assesses this Targaryen War General with a gloved hand beneath his chin, turning his face this way and that to better see his features.

He looks like father.

“Hae skoros ao ūndegon, dārilaros?” he says, voice low and it takes Sansa a moment or two with his face in her hand for her to translate. Like what you see, Princess?

“Speak the common tongue!” Robb commands, giving his prisoner a swift boot to the thigh, making the man wince.

Sansa stands again. “Robb, if this is true then he is family.” If this is true then perhaps his loyalties can be swayed. With a dragon on their side, they may be able to get Viserys Targaryen to concede the North and the Vale yet. “What is your name?” she asks this would-be cousin of theirs.

“I have many,�� he grunts, trying to shift his painful leg. “My mother wanted to name me a Stark but that could never be. Am I a Sand? A Snow? Viserys used to refer to me as Nādrēsy when we were boys. Many of my men call me Morghe Vala.”

Nādrēsy... Bastard.

Morghe Vala?... Dead Man.

“And what should we call you, cousin?” Sansa asks.

Before their Targaryen prisoner gets the chance to answer, the tent’s entrance is a flurry as more come to join them. Around four or five Stark men enter and amidst them is the most welcome sight of her mother.

“Sansa!” she greets, reaching her quickly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Sansa, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Sansa is not sure what the apology is for but does not question it straight away, too glad to be in her mother’s arms.

Theon Greyjoy comes to her side, putting a gentle hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “My condolences, Lady Sansa.”

“Condolences?” She says, retreating from her mother’s warmth. She looks to Theon in askance, and then to the other eyes on her from around the tent. Oh. “...Harry?”

The quiet was deafening. She should have thought of him... why had she not thought to check on him?

“His wounds look deep and clean,” Theon tells her. “His death would have been swift.”

Sansa feels a little numb as her mother cradles her face with both hands. “The Stranger has him now, child. He is not in any pain.”

She blinks – feels like she should cry. Why is she not weeping? There was no great love between them yet but he was her husband and there was at least a companionship of sorts between them. Should she not be feeling the gnarled fingers of grief creeping up her throat?

The grey dragon screeches high above them making everyone look skyward as if they could see through the canvas of the tent. Sansa’s hand goes to her stomach. Harry had bedded her last night and she had washed him off of her as she’d bathed afterward. If she hadn’t – perhaps there would be more chance of a babe. They’d been trying for one for the entirety of their marriage with barely a glimmer of success throughout.

Is she callous to feel more melancholic over an empty womb than a dead husband? There is no time to ponder it and it is something Sansa does not wish to look too closely at.

When she looks to their Targaryen cousin he is already staring at her intently with his one eye, still sat there, bound on the floor. “Robb, untie him. Let him up.” Her brother glowers at her. “He is surrounded and unarmed, what harm can he do?” Sansa reasons.

“Theon,” Robb instructs with a nod of his head towards the prisoner.

Sansa steps closer to Robb as Greyjoy moves to sever the War General’s bonds. She ducks her head and lowers her voice. “If he is family, perhaps he can be swayed? If he joins us, we will have his dragon.”

“He is loyal to his kin,” Robb murmurs. “And besides, what use would his fireless dragon be to us?”

“We are his kin. Robb, if we can-“

“She is almost blind, too,” the deep voice of their prisoner says, interrupting. Sansa turns to see him now standing uneasily on his injured leg, rubbing at his wrists and still staring at her as though no one were here.

“Pardon?”

“Zokla,” he says, “my dragon. She is almost blind. It is why she’s still circling. She needs me.”

“Zokla?” Greyjoy repeats.

Sansa is quick to realise. “It means wolf.” She looks to Robb. Surely that must mean something? Surely, this cousin’s loyalties can be pressed upon? Surely, he wants to honour his mother’s family?

She’s about to say as such when their new cousin closes his one uncovered eye. “Issa jēda,” he says quietly, calmly.

‘It is time?’

Time for what?

The answer comes with another almighty shriek and a ground shaking thud making men shout and clamour. Outside the tent, a dragon roars for her master.

Robb draws his sword, his men follow. All weapons point at their captive who stands there with a small but defiant smile on his lips. “Call your beast off!” Robb commands.

“Let me go,” he counters.

“Call the dragon off or we’ll see to the thing ourselves!” Greyjoy demands, shoving his sword forward, the point of his blade lifting the man’s bearded chin. Their supposed cousin does not answer. A menacing growl vibrates through Sansa’s ribs from outside. “Send it away!” Greyjoy bellows while some of their men outside shout and holler for their King and others flee.

“She may not breathe flame, my lords, but how much damage do you think she could do to you and your camp before you manage to load those dragon killing weapons of yours? ....Let me go.”

Robb’s jaw tenses. The air is thick and waiting. He lowers his sword with a reluctant grunt. “Let him go.”

“And I’ll be taking her with me,” the Targaryen juts his chin in her direction. Sansa’s eyes go wide.

“No, you won’t!” her mother growls beside her, her cold finger slipping around Sansa’s wrist like and anchor. Their cousin watches the movement. He watches everything.

“Zokla,” he says and moments later a huge grey snout clumsily emerges through the tent’s entrance making the men closest to it leap away and cower. Her mother’s hand tightens on her wrist. The beast almost looks as though it smiles with that monstrous mouth and its forest of dagger teeth. It inhales, sniffing at the air within the tent, its snout taking up the whole space of the entrance. Maybe it can scent the tension or the blood still plastered to the armour of the men and slicking their swords. She growls. Low and dangerous.

Their new cousin moves closer to his beast, limping a little on his injury. “Easy, girl. Easy,” he coos, smoothing a palm between the dragon’s flared nostrils. She nudges into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He chuckles. “Hello, bump,” the man murmurs warmly to his monster. He then turns back to face the rest of the tent, uncovered eye finding her instantly. “Lady Sansa,” he addresses, voice low and honeysuckle-sweet “you will come with me.”

“Take me instead.”

“Robb, no!” her mother gasps beside her, fingers slipping from around her wrist. “If they have you then all is lost.”

Sansa knows her mother means their bid for independence. Robb has been the figurehead for this plight and the cause has been rallied behind in his and father’s name.

She must be brave.

Glancing at the Targaryen, it is the first time she finds him with his eye not affixed to her in some fashion. He seems to weigh and measure Robb’s desperate offer. He is a War General, he knows capturing Robb Stark, King in the North would surely spell victory for his uncle, she can see it written on his otherwise stony face in the way his brow creases momentarily before looking to her again, his gaze burning straight through her bones. “No,” he declares gruffly. “Jaelan ao.” I want you.

She must be brave.

The captive-turned-potential-captor offers Sansa an outstretched arm and open palm. “Māzigon, Dārilaros.” Come, Princess.

His expression is so earnest and resolute. As though nothing would sway him from taking her. Not even certain victory. Not even cutting short a war.

She can be brave.

Maybe he can be swayed yet? Maybe she is the one to do it?

“I will go,” she says.

“No!” her mother cries. “No, Sansa not again. They won’t take you from me again!”

Clutching her hands, Sansa barely notices as the dragon’s snout disappears and her Targaryen cousin waits in the entranceway, illuminated by the cold light from outside. “It is alright mother,” she whispers, “It will be alright.” Reaching over she takes Robb’s hand too. “I will bring him to our cause.”

“Sansa-“

“I will do it, Robb. Trust me.” She has been known to tame other beasts – why not a dragon?

She does not wait for her brother’s reluctant agreement, nor more of her mother’s pleading, instead she walks out with her spine straight, ignoring her new cousin’s offer of his arm as she goes. He chuckles darkly at that. “What am I to call you?” She asks as he follows close behind her. Sansa would rather engage in conversation than show her fear as they approached his dragon – his Zokla.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” he says. “Though most call me Jon.”

Jon? Such an ordinary name for a man who rides on the back of a dragon. The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Kostas ivestragon jaelan ao ȳgha.”

She’s trembling. Too focussed on the slow blink of the dragon’s golden eyes to try to translate. ‘Safe’? He said something about safe.

Jon says another command to his animal and it lowers its neck and shoulder in invitation. Her cousin helps her up. The beast’s scales are the size of her palms and warm to the touch. Sansa does not quite know how one seats themselves upon a dragon but she finds herself gripping onto two huge thorn-like scales that ridge along Zokla’s neck.

Even with his injured leg, Jon seems nimble enough to climb his mount. He settles alarmingly close behind her and slips a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Everyone has vacated the tent to watch them go. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Robb looks unsure and set-jawed.

I can be brave.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, Princess?” Jon murmurs low at the shell of her ear. The downy hairs on the back of her neck prickle. He holds her even tighter. “Zokla, sōvegon!”

Fly!

***

Valyrian sections translated:

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” (I did not know your Westerosi goddess of death to be so beautiful)The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr” (If I had, I would have jumped from my dragon as soon as we got here,) he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

***

“Drējī gevie,” (truly beautiful) the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

***

The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳla naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha.” (I told her to keep you safe.)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #zokla

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bruhlsbees · 3 years

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it was real enough || baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

summary: heike zemo spends her last moments with her son, carl, and father-in-law, heinrich, before the battle of sokovia

pairing: baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

warnings: i always say angst but this one is for real gonna rip your heart out, major character death, heike clinging to carl in their last moments, sad phone call that ends too soon

word count: 3,502

a/n: based on this set of sentences specifically "it was real enough", in mcu zemo's wife's name is not said, so i went with her comic name of heike, also according to his mcu fandom wiki - zemo's son's name is carl!

May 4, 2015.

“Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.” Helmut whispered, holding his wife’s delicate face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones before resting his own forehead against hers.

Heike grasped onto Helmut’s hands, closing her eyes as she embraced her husband, “I know...I know, but the sounds of gunfire- the screaming, Carl can’t sleep well, Helmut...I don’t know what to do.” She didn’t try and hold back her tears as Helmut kissed her face, peppering slow and gentle kisses as he listened to her sniffle, crying quietly, “I wish we could leave...go somewhere...anywhere!”

“I know, I know. I wish we could, but it’ll be over soon. Yes? You and Carl will be safe here with my father. He will take care of you while I’m gone and until I return, and then we will leave. Perhaps Latvia? Carl enjoys the sun there.”

Running his hands down Heike’s arms, Helmut squeezed her elbows, watching as she slowed her breathing, calming herself down before nodding in agreement, “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

Helmut leaned forward, kissing his wife once more before letting out a shaky sigh, not wanting to leave her. “Please, Helmut...please come home. I can’t lose you.” Heike admitted, her voice cracking.

To him, Helmut thought this was just a temporary departure, hugging his wife tight against him as he whispered sweet reassurances into her ear as he always did. Little did he know, this would be the last.

Before Helmut left to join the others of the EKO Scorpion squad, he stood in the doorway, doing his best to stay strong as his father held his wife and son, doing his equal best to stay strong. Heike and Carl, on the other hand, were not holding themselves together - he couldn’t blame them though, if it weren’t for his own bundle of nerves that were forcing him to stay calm, he probably would be in the same boat as them.

Kneeling to his son’s height, Helmut pulled Carl in for one last hug, holding him close as he cradled his head in his hands, “You look after your mother and grandfather for me while I’m gone. Can you do that, my brave boy?”

Nodding, Carl squeezed his father tight, his sniffles calming him down for the moment, leaning into his father’s kiss against his head before pulling back with him. Watching as his father stood, Carl stumbled back into his mother’s grasp, squeezing her tight as he buried his face into her side, crying into her shirt.

Helmut wished he could stay, to be with his family, but he knew that he had to go - he had to help protect Sokovia and make sure that his family would see the end of this. Feeling the tugs on his heart as he turned, Helmut forced himself to exit the home, closing the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, he heard Carl’s sobs break out, flinching at how painful they sounded. He wanted so desperately to turn and run back inside, but his walkie crackled on, turning his attention back to joining the other members of his squad.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 6, 2015.

The night had been filled with screaming and crying throughout the city of Novi Grad. Heike tried so desperately to ignore the sounds of gunfire and explosion, but it seemed the harder she tried, the louder they became.

Sleep for Heike did not come - not since the beginning of the fallout. Laying in bed with Carl, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back and kissing his head as he slept, flinching occasionally. Heike tried to hold back the grunts as Carl would kick her in his worst fits.

If Helmut were here, he would know what to do.

Blinking away tears, Heike sighed and looked over Carl to see the sun begin to peek through the curtains. Deciding that she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, Heike pulled herself away from Carl who was clinging to her, gently moving out of the bed and down the hall to the kitchen.

Heike avoided looking out the windows, not wanting to see the damage the city endured in just the one night. She knew it couldn’t be good, judging by the troubling noises that were heard all night and into the morning. If she were to look out the window, her mind would go to Helmut - wondering where he was in all this and if he would return.

Opening the cupboard, Heike pulled down a teacup and prepped to make a pot of cherry blossom tea, blinking away tears as the water boiled.

“So, what is your poison?”

Heike smiled at Helmut from across the table, the light tune from the piano brought the atmosphere down. The restaurant would soon be closing, but the two didn’t have any plans to leave anytime soon.

Scooping a slice from the cake the two were sharing, Heike, put the fluffy chocolate dessert in her mouth, blushing and shaking her head. “It’s silly...but...I love cherry blossom tea.”

Helmut couldn’t help but smile at the confession, not expecting it to be so innocent. Here he was, planning on inviting her to go get drinks, only to find out that her own personal poison was not liquor, but tea.

“Cherry blossom tea? I would have never taken you for the cherry blossom type of lady.” Helmut teased, stealing the last bite of cake before placing his spoon on the plate.

Heike couldn’t help but giggle, putting her spoon on the plate as well before shrugging, “I never was too fond of hard drinks. I always enjoyed a warm cup of tea. Sometimes with a turkish delight, if I was feeling adventurous.”

She couldn’t believe it, but she actually got cheeky and winked at him. They had been going on a few dates now, so this wasn’t too forward, but for her, this wasn’t in the norm. Heike was rather reserved, but with Helmut, something came out in her.

Reaching across the table, Helmut took Heike’s hand into his, squeezing her soft hand into his rougher one, “Turkish delights? My, aren’t you the rebel.” He teased, grinning at her when he noticed her cheeks going more red.

The sound of the kettle whistling pulled Heike from her thoughts, quickly pulling the kettle from the stove to calm down before placing on the cooler burner. Placing a cherry blossom tea bag in her cup, Heike poured the boiling water over the bag and felt her body relax when the scent of cherry blossom hit her.

When she settled the kettle back down, she picked up the tea cup, not noticing how shaky she was until the light clattering of the cup hit against the plate. Choking back the sob, Heike felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to take a drink of the tea.

She pushed the tea cup back onto the counter, burying her face into her hands to muffle her crying, not wanting to wake up Carl or Helmut’s father, Heinrich, as it was still fairly early. She had been holding in her tears for so long, her worries over where Helmut was at that moment stuffed down. Heike only wanted to make sure that Carl was okay, forgetting her own delicate state of mind.

Heike’s tears continued to fall, soon unable to even bite down on her lip to muffle her cries. What she was not expecting, however, was to be pulled into such a tender embrace.

When she recognized that it was Heinrich, Heike wrapped her arms around the larger man’s middle, sobbing into his chest as he held her, stroking her hair.

“Shh, Heike, it’s okay. It’s okay. He will be back soon.” Heinrich assured, humming lowly to try and take her mind off of the situation. Heinrich was very fond of his family, adoring his daughter-in-law and grandson. He knew this was hard on the both of them, with Helmut being gone, and he felt it was only fair to do what Helmut would do if he were here for them.

After a few long moments, giving Heike the time to calm herself down, Heinrich felt Heike pull back, sniffling as she wiped away her tears from her face and her nose. “Thank you…” She whispered quietly, her voice cracking from the painful sobs.

Smiling, Heinrich tucked Heike’s hair behind her ears and kissed the top of her head, “Carl needs his mother now more than ever, but that does not mean you cannot have your moments to break down. Even the strongest still need their moments.”

Nodding in understandment, Heike looked up at Heinrich and smiled, looking down at the counter to collect her tea once again, this time taking a sip of the warm liquid. The warmth calmed her down enough for her to catch her breath, processing what Heinrich had told her before taking another deep sip, finishing the cup. Heike set the empty cup on the counter before making her way towards the window. She knew she shouldn’t have looked out the curtain, but her curiosity got the best of her.

When she saw the damage unfold beneath her, her heart sank. She couldn’t imagine the lives lost, the damage it caused for everyone, all while the Avengers were doing what they thought was for the best. She didn’t hate them, no, she knew they were doing what they thought was best - but she couldn’t help but wonder if they ever stopped to think about how their actions would affect the towns they fought in?

“Carl will probably be waking up soon, perhaps I should make us something to eat?” Heinrich offered, approaching Heike and placing a gentle hand onto her shoulder, pulling her away from the window.

Pulled from the window, along with her thoughts, Heike looked up at Heinrich and nodded, “Yes, that sounds lovely, I’ll go get Carl...I just- I have to make a call first.”

Heike excused herself from the kitchen and made her way down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her before she sat on the toilet, opening her phone and scrolling until she found Helmut’s contact, pressing the ‘call’ icon and putting the phone to her ear.

She knew that Helmut wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer, she had tried just last night, asking when he would be home and trying to pretend in some sad way that everything was fine. This time, though, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pretend.

“Helmut...my love...it’s me again,” Heike began, steadying her voice before continuing, “I know you’re not able to talk right now and I’m sorry if this is interfering in any sort of way but I-” She paused, feeling herself being to choke up before she took a deep breath, “I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you. It’s silly to say over the phone, through a voicemail, but I fear something might happen that we both did not see coming...I know, I know I shouldn’t be talking this way, but one of us has to be realistic. Of course, I am praying, praying to anyone out there that this nightmare will be over, and soon you’ll be back in bed with me, but so far nobody has heard my prayers.” The tears that fell from her cheeks began to fall freely now, unable to be contained. Heike did her best to try and stop, to collect herself for the remaining seconds she had, but she just fought through them. “My only prayer now is that you return home safely...alive and well. I don’t care if you come back with a missing leg or in a coma - I’ll take care of you Helmut, I will, I just want you back. I need you back. Okay? I need to go now, but I just wanted to call and tell you how much I-”

The call dropping made Heike’s stomach sink. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at the screen and stared mortified as the voicemail timed out. Her face contorted, squishing up as she let out another cry, holding herself tight as the emotions took over her body.

The knock at the door was drowned by the sounds of her cries, it wasn’t until she heard Carl’s sweet voice that brought her to.

“Mama? Are you in there?”

Sniffling, Heike wiped her face and moved to the door, unlocking it and opening it up before staring down at Carl, his hair messy and still in his pyjamas. He had a concerned expression on his look, one that matched Helmut’s all too well.

“Were you crying?” He asked innocently, reaching his hands up to feel the wet spots on her face. Heike could only sigh, dropping to his height as she knew lying wouldn’t help him, “Yes, my dear. I was...but I’m okay now. Okay? I am just missing your papa is all.”

Pulling Carl in for a hug, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back as he squeezed the fabric of her shirt, “When will Papa come home?” He asked sweetly.

“Soon, my dear, soon. Once he is done helping Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers, he will come home.” She smiled, feeling Carl grow giddy at the mention of the Avengers and specifically Iron Man, before clinging to his mother tighter.

“Your grandfather is making us breakfast, why don’t we go join him so he doesn’t eat alone?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The night came quickly for the Zemo family - along with the growing destruction of Novi Grad. The streets below began to pile with cars and waste from the buildings and Heinrich went so far as to board up the windows after witnessing someone fall to their death. Whether it was purposeful or not, Heinrich wouldn’t allow Carl nor Heike to see the horrors of war - ‘least not more than they already saw.

The three of them were laying in bed together, watching old movies that were on some VHS tapes that Heike found in the closet. Carl, fast asleep in her arms, clung to his mother’s waist, while Heike, slowly began to doze off. She hadn’t been paying too much to the movie, in fact, she didn’t even know what exactly was playing, but she was happy to have enjoyed the peaceful moment, despite everything going on outside their home.

Unfortunately, the horrors did not end, and their peaceful night was soon ruined. The blood-curdling scream woke Carl awake, sending him into a crying fit while Heike held him, doing her best to calm him down while Heinrich held them both, consoling them as what he feared most soon approached them.

“I don’t want to die…” Heike whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kept Carl’s face buried into her stomach. She looked up at her father-in-law, eyes red as she shook her head. Heinrich could only frown, not knowing what to say other than pull her close, letting her cry into his chest. As a realist himself, Heinrich knew the possibility of the building they were in to be targeted was high, but there was still a part of him that wished for the alternative.

The flames that flickered outside the windows signaled that there was sadly no way out. He didn’t want his grandson, nor daughter-in-law to have to go out in such a painful way, so he did what he believed was the only thing he could do - hold them close and sing a lullaby.

Heike’s face was buried tightly into Heinrich’s chest, Carl’s in his mother’s. The sound of Heinrich singing an infamous Sokovian lullaby calmed them enough to not think so hard as to what was going on around them. As the flames rose and the song continued, what came next was more painful than seeing a child cry - but the death of a child itself.

While the heavy concrete collapsed on them, they were fortunate enough to not feel the pain, dying on the direct hit. Even though there was no pain, the three still lost their lives, not having a single chance of survival - which perhaps was harder than the hit.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 8, 2015.

Helmut had been digging for two days. Two days since the initial end of the battle when he returned home to find the building in pieces and when the smoke cleared enough for him to be able to search. He had been told that there was no use in searching, that it would take too long to find them and he didn’t need to go through that pain...but Helmut had to be the one, he wouldn’t sit back while some stranger dug to find his family’s bodies for him.

He ignored the painful cuts that dug into his palms, the numbness in his body a shield against the physical pain he was enduring. Helmut picked up piece by piece, tossing it over his side as he furiously dug deeping into the rubble, searching for any sign of his family. He hardly slept, continuing to dig deeper in the area he imagined his family to be. The surviving members of his squad became worried quickly, unsure as to what to do in this situation. They hadn’t lost families, ‘least not in the way that Helmut lost his. Nobody could understand what he was going through, and while they wanted to help, it became clear that Helmut found it worse to have help than do it on his own.

By the early afternoon of the second day, his motions began to slow, becoming weaker as the time went on. Helmut knew he couldn’t give up though, he wouldn’t, not until he found their bodies. It was a sad prayer really, asking whomever to let him at least find their bodies, but it was one he partially wished never came true - for he wished that his family had never died in the first place.

What stopped his movements was the arm sticking out of the rubble. He recognized the watch as being his father’s and his breathing stopped, catching in his throat. This was it, this was what he had been searching for, yet at the same time was dreading. Quickly moving the rubble off of them, Helmut let out a cry when he finally uncovered the bodies, seeing his father holding his delicate wife, and his wife holding their precious son.

He didn’t know who, but one of his squad members quickly rushed to him, pulling him off the bodies as he Helmut threw himself over them, ignoring the painfully obvious state they were in. The squad member held Helmut in his arms, letting the man cry as medical members carefully made their way up onto the rubble, doing their best to carefully collect the bodies and placing them in bags to be taken away.

Helmut’s eyes stayed on the bags, watching as they were loaded into trucks and taken to the nearest area for body collection and identification after the war’s aftermath. He felt his heart racing, his head resting against his friend’s chest as he blood soon boiled.

This was their fault. The Avengers, of all places they could have chosen, decided to come to Sokovia, their home, and destroy it. Destroyed their city, their homes, and families. Glaring into the distance, Helmut continued to let the tears run silent down his cheeks. He could picture his family’s death playing in his head. How scared they must have been and for him to be where? ‘Helping’ the Avengers as they hardly helped them.

And where were they now? The Avengers? Gone. Back to their own cities, their own homes, and families. And where did that leave Sokovia? The place they decided to play war at? In ruins...destroyed into nothing - leaving Sokovia and it’s people lost and without a home.

Closing his eyes, Helmut turned his head and rested his face against his friend’s chest, clinging to the front of his shirt before letting out a painful scream, soon faltering back into sobs.

Helmut would miss Heike’s hair, how soft it felt when it finally dried after being washed.

He would miss the sound of Carl’s laughter, how eager he was to be ‘just like his papa’.

Helmut would even miss his father’s awful snoring, and how Heike would always do her best to not be frustrated in the morning when Heinrich would ask how everyone slept.

No longer would he be able to kiss his family and hold them close, but only have the memories of their souls and the voice messages to hear the sweet sounds of their voices.

This was the only way now that Helmut had any way of being with his family, through the memories. It was real enough to get by, to feel comfort while alone, but it wasn’t real enough to move on.

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #baron helmut zemo imagine #helmut zemo imagine #zemo imagine #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #heike zemo #carl zemo

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 3 years

Text

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here). The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion. Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies - “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point. Sigh. Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever.

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY! But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices? What is that sexual gaze?

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell. They need the other 1/2. Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered. I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember? But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression. Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie. Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone. Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab. Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point. We are introduced to two one off characters named

Smash (human/female presenting) - can crack any safe built by man

and Grab (demon/male presenting)- expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah. Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality. Human/Demon. Femininity/Masculinity. Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it. I’m not even going there here. I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked. 90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID. They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps. Something stereotypically associated with masculinity. Not feminine. Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female. But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda. They are The Same. She shares the soda with Dean. HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing -

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode -

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay.

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders. Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn. Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push. I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push. A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ - she gives him a p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would.

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.] BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop!

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ]

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice. The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push. And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked. The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality. Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice. He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different. Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push. That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it.

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley. It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk and @deanwasalwaysbi for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

#my spn meta #spn analysis #spn 13x08 #bi!dean #destiel #deancas #hellerism #spn #supernatural #spn fandom #spn family #spn meta

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 3 years

Text

A warm spring day in Neville's 5th year was a perfect day to go out and find productivity by examining some greenery near the Black Lake. He had brought fresh parchment and a quill outside with him, and he scribbled down perfectly literate handwriting, observing a blade of gold and olive-colored grass.

And coincidentally, he was not the only student who needed a breath of fresh air and to break away from the horrid witch, called Umbridge.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her small, hand-knit bag that she slung over her shoulder.

She found a seat underneath a willow tree, sat close to the edge of the lake, and tucked herself close to the trunk, which made the perfect makeshift seat between its large and knotted roots.

Y/N sat cross-legged, and carefully emptied the contents of her bag.

A well-used sketchbook and pencil, and a few snacks that she had been gifted from the generous house-elves after she had skipped lunch.

A fluttering of wings drew her attention away from the beautiful landscape and watched with a smile as her sand-colored tawny owl perched himself on a gangly root close to her.

"Hello, Percy. " she smiled, and gently stroked the top of his feathery head with two fingers. He closed his eyes with a content chirp, making Y/N chuckle.

"I brought you a little snack. Are you hungry?"

She held out a small piece of bread, and let the owl happily snatch it from between her fingers.

Y/N then looked down at her sketchbook, feeling the urge to let her creativity discharge onto the paper. She scanned her surroundings longingly, trying to unearth any spark of inspiration. Her eyes scanned over large trees, and the captivating lake, watching as a few mermaid tails skimmed the water's surface and delved back down below. A small whip Scorpion scuttled along the ground near Y/N's feet. And when she grew frustrated that no inspiration had come to her, she saw him.

Neville Longbottom, her long time crush, seated on the lush terrain with his legs sprawled out, as he scratched words onto a piece of parchment, and gently biting down on his lower lip in concentration.

Perfect.

A sight for her sore eyes, and for a moment, Y/N can't tear her memorized stare away from the flawless presence about 20 feet away from her.

And when she could finally look away, it was straight down to her hands, watching as they mindlessly duplicated the stunning image not far from her.

Neville felt… strange. He felt the piercing stare of eyes on the side of his head. Nevertheless, he didn't draw his attention away from the violet petals of a beautiful flower. He figured that it was just his subconscious and panicked mind. It always felt that way, since he was known as the fool, the klutz, the screw-up of Hogwarts. He felt like people were always there to judge him.

But if only they were in his shoes. Then they'd know how hard it is to be him. To be Neville. For a moment, the feeling went away, and relief washed over him, but that feeling was short-lived, and the pressure began again.

Neville shifted uncomfortably and furrowed his brows just a bit more. He suspected it was just Draco and his obnoxious goons and decided to just let them stare and conjure up a plan to tease him.

He knew it would never change, and he would just have to live with that.

But, still, his conscience was persistent, and he found his attention pulled away from the delicate flower between his soft fingers, and surveyed his surroundings. And his heart skipped a beat.

Y/N had her beautiful eyes locked down in some sort of book, hand moving in gentle strokes across one of the pages, and her eyebrows knitted together, completely lost in her little world. Next to her, sat a small owl with unusually large eyes. It stared intently at Neville, and then let out a loud chirp.

Y/N smiled, looking up from the book, and up at her owl, speaking to it in a delicately inaudible voice, before realizing that it was staring at something. Neville's face flared as red as his house color, seeing her gentle smile and wave in his direction, and he could hardly lift his hand to wave back.

He watched as Y/N chuckled, then turned back to her book continuing to scribble with eagerness.

He tried to continue looking down at the fragile plant in his hand, but his infatuation with the girl nearby was all too much for his timid heart to handle.

Y/N sighed with relief, seeing him turn back to his original position, permitting the opportunity for her to finish the black and white sketch of Neville. She added finalizing touches, like the golden sun reflecting off of his chocolate-colored hair, and his beautiful long eyelashes that fluttered when he blinked.

She looked up one last time to confirm that she'd made the art perfect, but Neville was gone.

Her heart sank, knowing she had missed another opportunity to talk to him, but jumped out of her skin when she heard a cough on her opposite side.

Y/N quickly turned her head, to find Neville standing above her, wringing his clammy hands together.

"M-may I sit here?" He inquired politely, and immediately averted his eyes when hers widened.

"Absolutely."

Y/N's answer surprised Neville, but he thanked her quietly and accepted the offer of her hand patting the ground. As he lowered himself in between Y/N and a tree root, Neville caught a glimpse of the drawing in her hand and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"That's amazing!" He gaped with perplexity, referring to the art with a nod of his head. Y/N flushed and choked on her own words.

"Ooh, uh yeah…I-I mean thank you! Thank you." She stuttered, internally hexing herself for doing so.

"How in Merlin's Beard did you do that?!" Neville asked, reaching his hand out, and stroking the pencil marks on the well-used paper.

"Just practice I guess. Takes a lot of work, but it pays off in the end." Y/N so badly wanted to place her hand on top of his.

"What spell did you use to do this?"

"Sorry, what?"

"What spell?" Neville repeated, "I had no clue there was a charm for art."

"There's not…"

And Y/N thought Neville's eyes couldn't get any wider.

"REALLY?!"

The loud noise startled Percy, causing him to screech loudly, and flap his wings. Neville gasped.

"Shh, shh it's okay Percy!" Y/N soothed the owl, with a marvelously lulling voice, and Neville just stared in bewilderment as she was able to Instantly calm him, stroking the top of his head.

"I-I'm so sorry!" Neville whispered guiltily, "I didn't mean to scare him."

Y/N laughed sweetly, making Neville's heart skip a beat.

"It's alright. You don't have to whisper."

"R-right. Sorry." His attention was drawn back to the sketchbook. "So you really drew that yourself?"

"I did…"

"You're incredible…" Neville muttered and quickly realized that those words were not meant to leave his mouth.

"I-I mean, the drawing is incredible! A-and you are too! AGh… Merlin, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" He hid his bright red face in his hands

He heard Y/N laugh again, and found that her face was just as red.

"I don't think you're pathetic, Neville."

He looked at her with a deep marvel.

"Y-you know my name?"

She nodded, looking back down at her book with rosy cheeks.

"C-Can I ask you a question?" Neville spoke very quietly, turning to admire the lake a few feet away from them.

"Sure."

"Why did you draw me? There are plenty more interesting things to draw, than me."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, and Neville instantly regretted asking the question, afraid it made her uncomfortable, but before he could speak up, Y/N answered.

"I like to sketch things that I think are pretty."

She answered simply, closing her eyes as the spring air blew gently against her face, and leaned her head back on the trunk of the tree.

Y/N didn't see Neville's face burn an intense shade of red, or how he grinned from ear to ear, mimicking the way she leaned against the willow.

"You think I'm pretty?" He muttered.

"Well, yeah I guess. I think you're very interesting. You seem very nice." She opened her eyes, looking over at Neville, anxious with the sound of his silence.

He was still grinning like a fool as he stared out at the captivating body of water. Y/N found herself starting. He was even more handsome close-up, with the reflection of the water creating beautiful moving patterns that danced across his complexion. He blinked his ivy green eyes a few times.

"Nobody's ever found me interesting unless I'm making a fool of myself." Neville's smile quickly vanished, and he looked back down at his fidgeting hands and picked at a loose string on his cable-knit sweater.

"I can assure you, I think you're more than just a fool. Not everyone can see that, though I'm not sure why."

"Well, I'm not the bravest Gryffindor, for starters. Not as great as Harry Potter. I'm the only one who can't cast his Patronus for Merlin's sake."

"You're brave for trying at least. There's a reason I'm in Hufflepuff, you know. I couldn't do half of the things you Gryffindors could."

"Well sure you can. Hufflepuffs are amazing!"

"Yeah… really though, I think you're incredible Neville."

Neville had nothing else to say. This girl was not one to let him talk down on himself.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N coughed.

"I think we should get back before Umbridge sicks her evil quill on us."

This made Neville chuckle, a deep, butterfly inducing sound that made goosebumps crawl up and down Y/N's skin.

"You're right. T-thank you by the way."

Y/N looked over at him, realizing she was practically the same height.

"For?"

"Being so kind. It's not every day that someone wants to draw me."

Y/N blushed, and then got an idea, the thought evident on her face as her eyes lit up.

"Here." She ripped the page, and Neville stared in horror at the sound of tearing paper filling his ears.

"What are you doing?"

She pulled out a cleanly torn page, with the picture of Neville, and then held it out to him with a bright smile.

"A parting gift."

"You don't have to do this. Y-you worked so hard and-"

"It's fine, really. I always find the time to make more."

"Thank you. So much. Really, I mean it." Neville's face hurt from smiling so much, as he stared down at the beautiful artwork.

"You're very welcome." Y/N grinned and dusted off her clothes before standing up on her feet.

Percy fluttered from this perch and up onto her shoulder. Neville still hadn't looked away from his gift, and hardly noticed the girl holding her hand out.

"Need some help?"

He froze, locking eyes with Y/N, and unable to form even half of a syllable, with his bright burning expression.

Finally, he could move his head just enough to replicate a nod, and lifted a trembling hand to place in hers. And he would have melted into a puddle of happy-Neville right then and there if it weren't for the fact that he needed to get back to herbology class.

Her hands were warm and soft, and immediately he grew anxious that she would notice the sweat on his as she helped pull him from the ground.

When Neville was back on two feet, he had nearly forgotten how to walk, being so close to this beautiful angel.

He tumbled forwards a little bit, almost knocking Y/N over, and she laughed, helping him stand up straight.

"Oops!"

He quickly pulled his hand away and started to stutter, but Y/N cut him off.

"Hey, you dropped something."

She pointed down at the grass, and Neville noticed it as well. It was the same purple flower that he had been studying earlier. An idea of his own came to mind, and he stooped to pick it up, before holding it out to Y/N.

She gratefully accepted the beautiful plant and tucked it in the front pocket of her black school robe.

"Thank you, Neville! It's beautiful!"

"Y-you're welcome." He smiled shyly.

The two acquaintances walked up towards where they had originally come from, having a deeply intriguing conversation about this so-called "Dumbledor's Army" that Neville had spoken of earlier, and though both of them had been very shy and hesitant at first, they walked away with one thing in mind; they were happy that something good had changed.

A/N- I hope you enjoyed this little one shot!! I know, im not super experienced with the entire set up of this format, but I'll get used to it eventually!! Thank you!! ❤❤

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom #harry potter #x reader #hufflepuff

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Season 9, Mission 14: Fort Knox

Tour group

JANINE DE LUCA: All right Runner Five, Mr. Yao. There is only audio surveillance in this room and I have muffled the microphones. We can talk freely.

SAM YAO: I really don't like this, Janine. I mean, okay, they did let us into Van Ark's mystery base, but then they stuck us in this tiny room, insisted we take medical exams. Peter and Maryam still aren't back from the med bay. I can't believe we let them just inject us with tracking devices.

JANINE DE LUCA: We had no choice, Mr. Yao. It was take the subcutaneous trackers or leave Red Scorpion Base. General Bakari claimed he would meet us on arrival, but so far we have only been escorted by soldiers. The security here is intense. Barbed wire fencing, perimeter guard towers, patrols in unmarked uniforms. If our operation goes wrong, escape will not be... [door creaks open] Someone's approaching. [loudly] Which is why they'd better pay well for this job! Don't you agree, Sven?

SAM YAO: Uh... yeah. Yes. Mercenaries, us. Money, ooh, we want it.

GENERAL BAKARI: You can relax. I've relieved the guards in this section, shut down the cameras.

JANINE DE LUCA: General Bakari, there are others in our team -

GENERAL BAKARI: - still in the medical bay. We can't wait. The trackers you've received are a new security provision powered by bioelectric energy. They didn't tell you this, but it takes about 40 minutes for a tracker to stabilize in its new host. We've got that long before your every movement is monitored. That's just enough time. [drops bag on the floor] There are maintenance uniforms in the duffel bag. Put them on.

JANINE DE LUCA: General -

GENERAL BAKARI: I trust you weren't counting on a sentimental reunion, De Luca? There's a mission at hand. Red Scorpion Base has a secret you're going to help me liberate. All of you, out into the corridor. No time to dawdle.

SAM YAO: This place is just a maze of metal hallways, isn't it? Shh. Hey, do you guys hear that?

[distant metallic footsteps]

GENERAL BAKARI: A patrol coming from the intersection ahead. Duck into that store room, quick. [cloth rustles, footsteps pass] They've passed. Those maintenance uniforms will help at a distance, but the patrols here know all the authorized faces. Come on, this way. Speaking of faces, it's Runner Five, isn't it? You gave me this gammy leg. My own stupid mistake, I admit, chasing you on that motorcycle.

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps if you had not sided with Prime Minister Hakkinen, General, you might have avoided injury.

GENERAL BAKARI: Is that reproach I hear, De Luca? You were always so quick to judge. Sigrid was a monster, but with impressive ambition. It seemed folly to oppose her, so i toed the party line loudly when she was listening. Soldiers served their country, after all. I hear there's a thief in charge these days. Not sure your vote turned out much more righteous than mine.

SAM YAO: Hey!

JANINE DE LUCA: Don't let him needle you, Mr. Yao. The base, General. It is in excellent condition, especially given we have seen evidence it predates Z-Day.

GENERAL BAKARI: Very good, De Luca. Yes, Red Scorpion Base has been here for many years. Once we get to the next intersection, you'll see where it came from. Where's Tom, Janine? I was sure he'd be with your team.

JANINE DE LUCA: Tom... Tom was killed in action some time ago.

GENERAL BAKARI: Unfortunate. He had a weak heart, that boy. I saw it every day I sheltered you two after your parents passed. Thought I taught you to watch out for each other!

I'm not authorized for this part of the base. I've stolen passes, but if we're caught here, we will be shot. Do you see the turrets bracketing the door ahead? Machine gun emplacements, automated. Look at the symbol on the turret mountings below each gun barrel.

SAM YAO: Those are stars and stripes. Flags, American flags.

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: And past the door, a flag painted on the wall. They're not allowed to fly one outside. Red Scorpion Base was established by the American military 20 years before Z-Day. Black ops research, top secret, and they're still very much running it today. Quickly, all of you, there are a lot more patrols in the next section. Follow the corridor branch left, on the double.

SAM YAO: Look, Five, by the water cooler. That's the portrait of the last US president. God, this is crazy. There's still a US military and they're hanging around a base in Tunisia!

JANINE DE LUCA: A base somehow connected to Ernest Van Ark and V-type fungus.

GENERAL BAKARI: You already know about the local fungus, eh? The US military heard rumors of it decades before Z-Day, whispers unearthed by archaeologists in North Africa. They thought it had martial potential, set up a base here to dig for it. They hit on caves of the stuff underground. There's an archive room on our way. I'll show you what they found.

SAM YAO: Wow! Janine, look! Down the corridor to the right, that looks like the war room from, well, every movie with a war room ever. Ah, there must be a hundred screens in there.

JANINE DE LUCA: All cycling through images of landmarks. The Brandenburg Gate, Times Square full of zombies, a toppled Eiffel Tower. General, are these images current? What reach does this army have?

GENERAL BAKARI: Honestly, the US isn't what it was, but the man in charge of Red Scorpion Base likes to keep eyes everywhere. [drones whir] Come on, there are surveillance drones in these corridors. I hear some coming. Forward.

SAM YAO: [whispers] Likes to keep his eyes everywhere? Yeah, yeah, that sounds like Van Ark, doesn't it, Five? If the Americans are running Red Scorpion Base, is he backed by their army? The others are getting ahead. We'd best speed up.

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: We're in the main research annex deep underground. This is an archive room, oldest on Red Scorpion Base. If you want to know about the fungus, this is the place.

SAM YAO: But it's just a room full of dusty filing cabinets. Oh, and Polaroid pictures of scientists stuck up on the wall. Scientists in a cavern full of black ash.

GENERAL BAKARI: Certain branches under the Department of Defense saw huge promise in the fungus. They dreamed of perfecting a symbiosis to make humans faster, better, stronger. The early experiments went poorly. People died. The decision was made to destroy the fungus after it nearly escaped containment, every trace burned away.

JANINE DE LUCA: General, the glass tank in that corner, the blackened lump inside...

GENERAL BAKARI: A relic. This room is a memorial. The old research data is all locked away. The lump is a museum piece, scorched rock from a once red cave, long dead now.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then... the fungus is not why you summoned us?

GENERAL BAKARI: Not at all, De Luca, though not a bad guess. What I have for you is much more important. Come along through the far door. Incidentally, you see the old photo on the left, the one showing a team in bulky armor scouring rocks with flamethrowers? They still call Red Scorpion’s emergency response the fire team. These days, they wear powered exoskeletons, flamethrowers integrated. They're what comes for us if we make a mistake. We're short on time. Go.

SAM YAO: Loads of fancy computers in here, Five. Must be in a sciency bit.

GENERAL BAKARI: Ancillary data storage. From here, we can access files from the Red Scorpion's latter day experiments. Listen carefully, De Luca. The base contracted your team on my recommendation. Since Z-Day, Red Scorpion's been short-handed. They sometimes recruit outside personnel. Three months ago, one of my aides went MIA. Any deserter is viewed as an unacceptable security risk.

SAM YAO: Did you kill him?

GENERAL BAKARI: Fellow took a bad fall. I disposed of the body, arranged evidence of his flight to the mountains, suggested we needed help to locate him. Obviously, no one's ever going to find him outside, and our security head is getting desperate. Once she briefs you, she'll send you into the mountains to hunt down the deserter. There, you'll divert to designated coordinates. You'll find buried parts of a vehicle I've had hidden. Assemble it and escape.

JANINE DE LUCA: You are not coming with us, General?

GENERAL BAKARI: I'm rarely allowed off the base, and I don't intend to return to the UK to stand trial. I know you're thinking it, De Luca.

JANINE DE LUCA: You betrayed your nation. It would be my duty.

GENERAL BAKARI: And you always loved duty. As a child, you used to turn your night light out on principle. [computer beeps] Give me a minute with the computer. I'll get what you're here for.

SAM YAO: Um, which is what, exactly?

GENERAL BAKARI: Research from Red Scorpion Base, something that can change the future. The file I'm giving you is encrypted, I can't open it. Did you bring a computer expert?

SAM YAO: Sort of. We, um, lost our equipment, though.

GENERAL BAKARI: The file is too big to transmit without powerful equipment. If you were able to decrypt it, you might have been able to send key details out. As it is, you'll need to get this thumb drive to the UK intact. If anyone suspects you're smuggling data off the base, you're dead, understand?

JANINE DE LUCA: General, if we leave you here -

GENERAL BAKARI: I'll be fine, so long as the operation succeeds. Humanity, kin, and hope, De Luca. That's what this is for. Do not let me down. The head of security just pinged me. The rest of your team is done in the medical center. She wants to brief you all, stat. We need to get back. There's one more thing I need to give you. Through the door on the right. The doctors should be on their break. This way, run!

JANINE DE LUCA: General, is this a hospital ward?

GENERAL BAKARI: It's an emergency care area. Ah, here it is. Five, give me your arm. My research indicates you'll be the best subject for this.

SAM YAO: Wait, what-what are you doing? You can't just inject strange substances into people!

GENERAL BAKARI: The bio data in the injection is a crucial component of the information in the files. The only way to transport it is inside a living host.

JANINE DE LUCA: It's long past time you explained exactly what this information is, General.

GENERAL BAKARI: It's a cure, Janine.

SAM YAO: For what?

GENERAL BAKARI: For everything. Every ailment that plagues humanity, every virus, every infection. A panacea.

JANINE DE LUCA: That's impossible.

GENERAL BAKARI: No. It may take years, even generations to formulate a usable vaccine, but the germ of it is here. The zombie plague has brought such pain to humanity. I accept I played my part in it. But this data, the antibodies in Five's blood, and the files on that drive, they may be the one worthwhile thing to come out of all that death.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then I leave the decision to you, Five. Very well. Proceed, General.

SAM YAO: I'm just gonna, um, not be here watching that. Injections always make me feel queasy.

GENERAL BAKARI: Your trust will be repaid, Janine, I promise you.

JANINE DE LUCA: I hope so.

SAM YAO: Oh my God. Janine, Five, over here! There's a door with a little porthole. On the other side, it's-it's Van Ark! He's unconscious, hooked up to, well, it's like a giant dialysis machine. Looks like it's draining him.

GENERAL BAKARI: I was saving him until last. Good bait to get you here, but if I explained too soon, you'd only get distracted.

JANINE DE LUCA: Is Van Ark running the research department? What are the Americans giving him through those tubes?

GENERAL BAKARI: Van Ark running the place? [laughs] Not at all. The fellow at the top, no one ever sees. Nasty piece of work by all accounts. But Van Ark here, he isn't in charge of anything. Van Ark is one of the experiments.

#zombies run #zrs9 #s9m14 #fort knox #zr transcript #zrs9 spoilers

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nereol · 3 years

Text

Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Event (29/30)

As usual you can read this on AO3.

Daily Prompt: April 29 - dialogue -“You might be surprised by what you can live through.”

Technical Prompt: none

I'll Fly Away spoilers and original dialogues. So, Mitch. That's the 10th pairing I wrote for this event (even so this is not romantic). I won't finish all 30 days, but I definitely achieved the goal of writing as many pairings as possible. Mitch's just a nice guy, I guess he'd be an amazing friend!

Guilt, Grief/Mouring, Hurt/Comfort

Mitch looks up at Val, who's standing a few steps away looking at the fresh graves. "Do you know what it's like to lose your best friend?" Val turns to him, but looks at him only for a brief moment. "Mhmm." She swallows and looks down at her boots. "Name was Jackie."

"Uh-huh." Mitch scratches the back of his head. "How'd he go?" "Like everyone goes in Night City." Her voice is tense, and she looks back to the graves, arms folded in front of her chest.

Shit, he shouldn't have asked her. She clearly doesn't want to talk about it. "Anyway, come on, city girl." Mitch says as casually as possible as he stands up from the rock and crosses his arms. "Help me out with somethin'."

~~~

"Mitch - why me?" Val stands with her arms resting on the concrete barrier and looks into the distance. "Why'd you ask me for help?" Mitch, back against the barricade, looks over at her. "Eh, you seem like a good egg." "I'm serious." She turns her head and looks at him questioningly.

"I don't know, I uh..." He avoids her gaze. "I guess the fact that I'm still here to send him off right - that's thanks to you." Mitch takes a sip of beer and Val shakes her head. Then Mitch continues. "Your paths crossed. Just for a moment... but damn, was it the right one."

"Thanks, but you're wrong." Val says firmly, looking into the distance again. Mitch looks at her from the side. "If our paths wouldn't have crossed, he would be alive." Val adds before taking a sip from her beer bottle.

"What are ya talking 'bout?" Mitch shakes his head. "Talkin' 'bout the truth. Without me... Scorpion would be alive..." She swallows before adding in a weak voice, "...as well as Jackie."

Mitch pushes away from the barrier, places his empty can on the table, and turns to face her. As he eyes her frowning, he sees tears falling down her cheeks. "Hey..." He takes a step closer and puts his cybernetic arm around her shoulders.

Val turns her head away from him so he doesn't see her face. But she doesn't try to shake him off, which Mitch takes as a good sign. "Don't know 'bout Jackie, but I definitely don't blame you for Scorpion."

Val snorts, tears still falling down her cheeks. "Well, you should." Her voice is weak and even though they were silent tears until just now, Mitch can sense her tension. She tries to hold back the sobs, breathing shallowly, teeth clenched.

Mitch takes the beer from her hands and sets the bottle down on the concrete barrier to his right. "C'here." And Mitch turns Val toward him to pull her into a hug. She doesn't return the hug, just stands there, her arms hanging down. But as before, she doesn't shake him off.

Mitch says nothing, just strokes her back with one hand as Val finally lets loose, puts her head on his chest and starts crying and sobbing. As she slowly calms down, Mitch releases the hug and takes a step back, both hands on her upper arms. Val avoids his gaze, looks down. "Sorry... I..."

"It's okay." Mitch eyes her. When he met her a week ago, she was full of energy and cheer. A smile, or to be more precise, a grin on the lips and a sparkle in the eyes. At the AV crash site... sure she was tense there. But now...

"You wanna talk 'bout Jackie?" "I...", Her voice cracks. "Don't know... maybe..." Val looks off into the distance again and turns sideways to lean back against the concrete barrier, and Mitch stands next to her.

Val takes a deep breath. "I almost said he was like a brother. But we made out a few times and it would be fucking weird to call him a brother then." She chuckles low, still crying, and Mitch smirks at her from the side. "But since I don't have any family, Jackie's the closest..." Her voice cracks again and Mitch puts his arm back around her.

"The AV... the guy I needed to talk to... the whole shit started the day Jackie died." Val pauses. She's probably thinking about what she should tell him. Mitch says nothing, doesn't push her. "It's my fault. Without me..." She swallows hard. "I could have saved Jackie... and I could have saved Scorpion... and all the others..."

"Scorpion and the others... I don't blame you." Mitch squeezes her shoulders for a moment to emphasize what he's said. Val shakes her head and lowers her eyes. "Well, one of us, after all." She sobs again and Mitch strokes her back with his hand. "Shh."

"Now I feel bad... sorry." Val looks over at him briefly, but quickly drops her gaze again. "This was for you - for Scorpion and now you're comforting me." "It's okay. You helped me, I help you..." He offers her a small smile.

After a short pause Mitch asks, "Did you ever talk about it?" Val just shakes her head - he had expected that answer. "How long...?" Val interrupts him. "One month." The answer came so quickly, she knows exactly. "Exactly one month last night."

Mitch pulls her into a hug again. “Come on, V. Your a tough girl. You'll manage." This time Val returns his embrace, if only for a moment. "You might be surprised by what you can live through, if you just have someone to talk to about it." And as he pulls back, Mitch kisses her on the head.

---

One month wasn't planned. Just looked into my timeline and The Heist was May 1st and I planned I'll Fly Away for June 2nd. Coincidences...

#moxwrites2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #oc: val griffin #mitch anderson #aldecaldos #i'll fly away #prompt fill #prompt fic #fic

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adventuresloane · 3 years

Text

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 9

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

Read on AO3

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In a winding fashion, they'd made their way to Rockport, avoiding the main roads and the smaller satellite towns most of the way there. It wasn't the first time in the past couple of months they'd stopped in a place that could be called civilization. By now, they'd gotten far enough away from Goldcliff that the smaller settlements they came across would be unlikely to have heard about what Hurley had done. Anyway, they had to stock up on provisions and refill their flasks somehow, and spending a night or two in a real bed wasn't too bad either.

Rockport, though, was not a small settlement. It was big and hellbent on getting bigger. Even in the few days they'd spent here, Hurley observed how this place close to the desert's western edge had all the greed of a green bean vine, spreading into new territory overnight, seeming to stretch a little more every time you had your back turned. Former dirt roads were being hastily paved with stone, and a fine five-story hotel had been built to house the people who came here to board the eastbound train--along with some ramshackle inns to hold the rest.

Even in the tavern, they could feel the low rattle of the engines, making ripples in the sun-colored ale on the table in front of Hurley. "I can't believe I'm saying this," they began, "but how much longer do you want to stay at the inn? I think I prefer sleeping on the ground with the occasional scorpion to checking the bed for roaches every night."

"Uh-huh," Sloane said.

"Unless of course you wanna stay in that nicer hotel on the main street, but I doubt we have the money for that." They tapped their fingernail on the edge of their glass. "Anyway, aren't you a little worried being here? You saw the, um, wanted posters they've got up here."

"Not really. They've got my face all wrong," she answered quickly. It occurred to Hurley that, for the whole time they'd been here, she'd had her face turned toward the grimy windowpane. There was a new kind of energy to her that they hadn't seen before. She was restless, like she had the rumble of the railroad tracks running up her spine. Her hands fidgeted with some coins in front of her as she kept looking outside with a grin playing on her lips.

They followed her gaze and found, at the end, the building across the street, the only one nearby made of brick rather than wood. The sign above the door labeled it as the First Bank of Rockport.

Slowly, they turned back to her. "Are you going to--?"

"What if I am, bounty hunter?" She looked them in the eye this time while she gave them a smirk. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"It's not funny," they mumbled. In fact, even now, it seemed like the kind of thing they should have been trying to stop. But they weren't about to try dissuading her. They couldn't exactly moralize at her, given how long they'd been benefiting from the horse she'd stolen, and given how they'd been eating food almost certainly purchased with stolen funds.

She chuckled, then tipped her head back and downed the rest of her drink like it was her job. "Listen," she said, a little breathless, "let's go and get our stuff out of the inn so we can check out. If we time it right, it'll seem like we're leaving with everyone else who's getting on the train."

"And then what?" they said in a hushed voice. "You're just going to go ahead and do it in broad daylight?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. Give me your gun."

"What do you want my gun for?!"

"Shh! Will you relax? You know I don't actually shoot."

"I don't care! Besides, you've got your own, even if it's a piece of junk."

She sat back in her seat and huffed. "Fine. Come on, let's go." As she began to get up, Hurley put a few of their last loose coins on the table and waved vaguely to the bartender.

Once they were both out, she went on whispering, "I usually don't even have to flash a gun these days anyway. The mask and coat's enough to scare them as soon as they see me."

"And yet you can just sit around the bar in there like it's nothing?"

"I told you, they don't know what my face looks around here, just how the Raven looks. Anyway, I haven't been back in awhile. They're off their guard." She glanced at them. "I know what I'm doing, you know. You want money or not?"

"I know you do," they sighed. "Be careful anyway."

"Believe me, I am."

-----

They did as she wanted, helping to pack up their small collection of things and load them onto the horse's back. It was only when the two of them heard the train whistle fade that Hurley asked, "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What do you want me to do?"

With a shrug, she replied, "Not much. Just wait with the horse and be ready to leave quick. I'll meet you right outside town by that metal trough."

They took a moment before responding. "So you want me to go outside town and wait?"

"Yup. Don't worry, shouldn't take long." She gave them a grin, which was maybe supposed to be reassuring, and then hurried down a side street.

They watched her disappear. Very patiently, they counted out 120 seconds in their head. Then, with no one except the horse around to hear, they muttered, "Who does she think she's kidding?" and headed for the bank.

There was a reason Sloane had chosen to stake out the bank from the bar. It was the best vantage point around. But they knew better than to head back inside the tavern or even hang too much around the outside--that could raise suspicion--so they did their best to ride around the area looking busy while keeping the bank in view.

In spite of their efforts, they couldn't get a sense of what was happening past the brick exterior. From what little they could see through the tiny front windows, there was no movement on the inside. They couldn't see anyone, let alone Sloane, but if she was in there, she was certainly taking her sweet time. Or maybe they just felt that way, waiting with a nervous gut under the hot sun. They kept their leg from bobbing so they wouldn't accidentally kick the horse in the side.

It wasn't until they'd passed by for the sixth time that they saw something new. From across the street, they saw a dark shape move in the shadows around the back of the building. Sloane stopped every few steps to look up and down the quieter side streets, find her way out.

Hurley smiled seeing her and felt the tightness in their chest fade away as they breathed. Her steps were slow and smooth and purposeful, like those of a wading bird in a flooded field.

They were watching to see where she'd go, so that they could head that way too. They could still easily meet her outside of town, where she'd be expecting them. They would have done that, had they not felt the twinge on the back of their neck, the something inside them that told them to look to the left. When they did, they found themself outside looking in through the wide window of the tavern. Immediately, they made eye contact with the bartender.

They barely had time to process the fact that he must have been watching them for awhile, that he must have recognized them from earlier. He turned away from them quickly and squinted in the direction of the bank. He seemed to be looking through the wide, swinging doors.

There was no time. They rode into the street, and the shout burst from their mouth before they could think to stop it. "Sloane!”

Her gaze was on them in an instant. Everything but her eyes was hidden by the bandana over her face, but the way she threw her hands up at them communicated “what the fuck” well enough.

A moment later came the sound of other voices, indistinct but shouting. Sloane froze for a moment and turned at the noise. Then she brought her fist down to her side before hurrying over to Hurley, brow deeply furrowed. As she was jumping up onto the horse’s back, they started, "Are you okay? Good thing I was here, huh? Do you want to--"

"Keep your fucking head down!" For good measure, she shoved their head down with her palm before giving the mare a light slap on the flank. The gunshots started off seconds after they had begun to move. So did the screams. People who had ducked out their windows to look for the source of the commotion felt the gust in their hair as the pair of them blew by. Everyone who could was looking their way.

Hurley tightened their grip on the reins so that they would not slip from the sweat of their palms. “Where do we go now?”

“East!” Sloane called. She was looking behind them. “We'll figure it out from there!” That, they could work with.

She had a point about keeping their head down. The whole point of traveling around with her had been to avoid detection until the memory of their wrongdoing had died down. Lying low was most definitely not what they were doing at the moment, face fully exposed to the noon sun as the pistols clicked into the cocked position behind them.

The ram’s skull that they had collected was strapped to the side of the saddle where they had left it. They reached down for it and, after missing it a few times as it bounced against the horse’s belly, grabbed it by the horn and pulled it up.

It wasn’t good, as a mask. It was heavy, and they had to hold it up with one hand to their face while steering with the other, and they ended up peering through just one of the eye sockets as if through a gap in a doorway. But they saw enough. They saw the way people, unthinking, cleared a path for this glaringly white and glaring visage, high astride a horse, charging their way. It shocked all of them, awed some.

A few people tried to get in their way. A gathering burst from the general store with guns held up in the air. Hurley reacted like they'd been waiting for it all along. They pulled back on the reins, and the horse, from a full-on gallop, dug her back hooves into the ground and skidded to a stop, as they'd trained her to do. Then they whipped the horse to the side and down a street that would, they hoped, lead them straight back out of town.

"Shit," Sloane said, sounding a little awestruck herself. "Nice." It was.

They did their best to weave and dodge, to be a more difficult target. Eventually, as they left, the guns stopped firing, or else the noise of the bullets couldn’t compete with the wind and the pound of hooves in their ears.

They went the rest of the day, taking the horse down to a canter when they had shrunken and disappeared the silhouettes of the folks trying to pull up behind them. In the hottest hours of the day, they were down to a fast trot. It hardly seemed to matter. No one ever appeared on the horizon. It seemed that the town would leave their capture to bounty hunters.

It wasn’t until the approach of evening that they stopped altogether. Sloane dismounted first, dragging the pouch of money down with her. When she pulled the bandana down from her face, they could see her broad grin, the sweat shining above her lips. “That’ll show them.”

Hurley just kept staring down the burning red eye of the sinking sun. Their chest was so full that they couldn’t seem to catch their breath. “Is it always like that?” they asked in a hush.

“Well, not always,” she answered. “Lots of times, it’s hours before they notice I’ve been there, but sometimes it’s more exciting.” They had never seen her looking so light. Her teeth showed with her smile. Her head was up and her chest was out, moving as she breathed, and while it wasn’t the first time they’d noticed, the realized now more than ever how often she kept her eyes tilted down beneath the shadow of her hat and how she mostly walked around with her arms crossed over her core. Now she was shining, black and bright.

After several moments of staring at them, though, her smile dropped. “Oh, no,” she muttered. "Why do you look like that?"

They knew they were smiling. They could feel the ache of it. They hadn’t stopped the whole time.

Once in their life, they had seen a twister in the distance. It had been while they were a child that they had watched the gray-green clouds take shape. They solidified into something with purpose, intent, as they wound down and down to the earth. The sky’s gray finger gouged the earth and scraped away the land, left it clean and treeless. They saw it pick up the roof of a faraway house.

For only a few minutes before they were pulled inside, they had stood out and stared it down. They had felt the winds, even from such a distance, toy with their hair and try to push them back, and instead held onto the railing of their porch with both hands. Stood there in front of something that could destroy them just to feel the wildness of it.

That was how it had felt back there, only for hours on end.

They laughed to themself. No way that was the last time they would feel that again.

“Shit,” Sloane said. “Please don’t tell me you had fun.”

#yeah baby we are back!#hurloane #taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #the zone cast #taz fanfic #sloane #hurley #the wanted

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anistarrose · 4 years

Text

To See The Unseen - Ch. 4 (Gravity Falls)

Summary: The kids embark on a quest to take back the mirror, and Stan embarks on a quest to find his brother. Neither goes quite according to plan.

Warnings: canon-typical violence

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/20884673/chapters/50514815

Remember when I said last chapter had changed the most from the outline? This chapter has it beat by a pretty large margin, but I’m so glad it changed because I feel like it really went from good to great.

***

Come on, Ford, where are you…

Moving scenes flickered by Stan, like a projector wheel was whirring and spinning inside his head. Gilled alien children, playing in an underwater kelp forest. A group of humanoid beings celebrating as a sleek rocket ship lifted off in front of them.

A city burning. A smaller town rebuilding. A man offering a few scraps of food to a stray dog. Two chimeras with bat wings and scorpion stingers, chasing each other across a starlit desert sky.

Yet for all their diversity, none of the scenes showed anyone resembling Ford.

He’s got to be out here somewhere. I would feel it if anything happened to him, I’m sure I would —

A long-abandoned space station colliding with a comet. A small family carrying potted flowers up a massive, barren mountain. A world teeming with insects and arachnids, associating into families and societies and nations. A perfectly clear ocean, eerily empty for miles in every direction.

There are too many places he could be, Stan realized. I need to see more.

I need to see everything.

The images blurred together as Stan’s head spun faster and faster, but the universe resisted becoming known, writhing and shrinking away from him.

I NEED TO SEE EVERYTHING. I NEED TO SEE MY BROTHER.

The projector whirring intensified to a dull roar, as Stanley Pines grabbed existence by the throat and stared at it dead in its eyes.

***

“Shoulda figured the gate would be closed,” Wendy grumbled as they approached Northwest Mansion.

“Well, time to make Stan proud, then.” Dipper pulled a small crossbow out of his backpack, and fired off a few shots. The first bolt sailed harmlessly over the fence, but the second flew true and impaled itself in the security camera, spinning it around so that it pointed away from his party. “You want to lead the way, Mabel?”

“Sure do!” Mabel expertly scaled the gate with her grappling hook, then tossed it through a gap in the bars for Dipper to follow with. “If Pacifica asks, we’ll just tell her that we got lost in tunnels that mole people dug under the fence.”

Wendy shook her head. “First grappling hooks in the gift shop, and now crossbows in the closet? We need to get Stan back just so I can yell at him about leaving weapons where you kids can find them.”

“Hey, you carry an axe everywhere!” Dipper shot back as he landed on the other side of the wall, passing the grappling hook through the gate one last time. “And you’ve got to admit, these weapons come in handy all the time.”

Wendy shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m not a kid. I’m a responsible teenager.”

“That’s an oxymoron and we all know it,” Dipper told her as they set off towards the mansion.

“Less of an oxymoron than ‘responsible twelve-year old’ would be.”

“Shh, guys!” Mabel motioned towards a guard rounding the corner, and the three of them ducked into the bushes. Once he’d passed them by, they sprinted towards the front door, only to stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do we… just ring the doorbell?” Wendy asked. “It feels kinda anticlimactic after doing all this cool heist stuff.”

“Is it unlocked?” Dipper gave the door an experimental push, and sure enough, it slid open, revealing a grand ballroom lit by dozens of crystal chandeliers. “I guess we should just head in.”

“Aww, lots of cute animals!” Mabel exclaimed, rushing over to the nearest taxidermied squirrel. “And they must’ve been even more adorable when you were alive — weren’t you, Mister Fluffytail?”

“Why is there so much gravel on the floor?” Wendy muttered, kicking around a few of the jagged chunks of rock that were scattered across the carpet. “I woulda thought the Northwests would take better care of their stuff…” Her eyes followed the trail of gravel and dust across the ballroom, and up the stairs —

And to the balcony from which two Northwests glared down at them, one of looking far more ghostly and petrified than the other.

“Oh,” Dipper whispered. “So that’s what happened to that statue.”

“Dipper? Mabel?” Pacifica gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry, we had a really good reason for breaking and entering, I promise!” Mabel spoke up. “See, our grunkle spoke to me in my dreams and said that in order to lift his curse —”

Dipper and Mabel Pines? Nathaniel Northwest asked as his statue form began to rise up off the ground and out past the balcony. Oh, how convenient!

“Uh, excuse me?” Dipper asked. “I’ve never met you before, dude —”

The statue plummeted to the ground, smashing through the floorboards and coming just inches away from crushing Dipper as he jumped to the side.

You don’t even claim to know the very man whose legacy you fouled? I’ve met a lot of petty children in my day, but you put all of them to shame!

“Grandpa, what are you doing?!” Pacifica shrieked, covering her mouth with her hands. “Are you trying to kill him?!”

Nathaniel turned back towards her. Why wouldn’t I try to kill the meddling kids? Is mercilessly eradicating our enemies not the Northwest family modus operandi any longer? I didn’t think times had changed that much!

“No! It’s not! Even my parents or grandparents would never…” Pacifica’s voice trailed off, like she couldn’t help but doubt her own argument.

Oh, dear naïve granddaughter. Nathaniel shook his stone head. I can’t fault you for not knowing all your family’s history yet, but as much as I disagreed with my children, I simply can’t imagine them abandoning such a simple tenet. Nor can I imagine your parents, or your grandparents, or any of your ancestors, for that matter! How do you think we amassed the family fortune in the first place? Because it sure wasn’t by being kind, or charitable, or —

He staggered backwards as Mabel’s grappling hook caught him directly in the chest, and cracks began to spiderweb across his beard.

“That’s what you get for attacking my brother! You dumb old capitalist!”

I am not DUMB! Nathaniel roared. The world tried to suppress my genius!

His beard began to crumble even more, but a whirlwind of black smoke caught the rocky shards and hurled them through the air. Wendy knocked Mabel out of the way with a rolling tackle, then sprung to her feet and raised her axe just in time to deflect Nathaniel’s stone flagpole in place as he swung it at her.

“Pacifica?” Mabel pleaded. “A little help here?!”

“I —” Pacifica took a few hesitant steps down the stairs, and then froze. “I don’t know what to do!”

As Wendy and Nathaniel continued to spar, remaining at more or less a stalemate, Dipper frantically flipped through Journal 3.

“Come on, come on, I know there’s a whole section about ghosts in here somewhere —”

Nathaniel blew a plume of dust in Wendy’s face, but didn’t strike at her even as she began to cough. Instead, he turned to Dipper, and pointed a chipped stone finger towards the ceiling.

Searching for my weakness? Now now, we can’t have that!

Tendrils of smoke wound around the lamps and chandeliers, and their lights faded. Faint sunbeams from an overcast sky still poured into the mansion through the windows, but as the living combatants’ eyes adjusted, they saw Nathaniel’s statue form collapse to the ground, no longer possessed. His smoke-black, ghostly form was nowhere to be seen.

“Gah, it’s too dark!” Wendy cried, wiping dust away from her face. “I can’t see where he went!”

Mabel poked the lightbulb on her sweater. “Don’t worry guys, I got this!”

But nothing happened, even as she kept poking it more and more frantically. “Oh no! I must’ve ran out the batteries while we were in the bunker!”

“Look out!” Dipper shouted, and Mabel narrowly dodged a chair flung at her from behind. She whirled around and fired her grappling hook in the direction it had been thrown from, but it just harmlessly bounced off the edge of a table.

Nathaniel’s voice boomed from all around them. A lot harder to hide when you can’t see who’s attacking you, isn’t it?

Wendy picked up the same chair that Nathaniel had thrown, diving in front of Dipper and using it to shield them from a volley of broken lamps and shattered glass. “I don’t know, we still seem to be doing pretty well for ourselves!”

Nathaniel laughed. And I can’t wait to see how long you’re able to keep that up! It’s a good think I don’t grow tired like you mortals!

As Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy stood back to back to fend off a barrage of inanimate objects, Pacifica slid down the stairway banister and made a dash for the closest mounted animal — a ten-point buck, hanging on the wall just low enough for her to reach.

“What are you doing?” Dipper yelled as he noticed her pulling out her tweezers. “This is no time for —”

“You can thank me later!” Pacifica shouted back as she plucked a few hairs from the deer’s coat and tossed them into the lantern, then pulled a lighter from her pocket and set the oil ablaze. “Abracadabra!”

The resulting light didn’t quite illuminate the whole ballroom, but still cast a surprisingly far-reaching glow. It turned everything it touched grayscale, except the kids and Wendy, who still looked as brightly colored as ever, and Nathaniel himself — who no longer looked like an amorphous cloud of darkness, but rather an elderly bearded man, floating in the air and glowing a bright, impossible-to-miss shade of blue.

For a few seconds, he just stared at the transparent hands of his true form, until finally his eyes landed on Pacifica, bearing the lantern he himself had created over a century ago.

Young lady, he finally spluttered, what do you think you’re doing?!

Pacifica stared him down.

“I thought you were a kindred spirit,” she began softly. “I thought you were different from all the other Northwests… like me. But you’re really exactly the same as the rest of them after all, and…”

BLASPHEMY!

“And that’s not something I want to have in common with you!”

You want to betray your own ancestor? You want to be disowned?!

Pacifica flinched, her grip on the lantern tightening.

“You go, girl!” Mabel spoke up. “Tell him who’s boss!”

Pacifica whirled around, mouth hanging agape. “You really mean that?”

To her surprise, Dipper cheered her on too. “You heard Mabel! Give him a piece of your mind!”

“You’re not so bad after all, rich girl!” Wendy swung her axe through the air. “Don’t worry, we’ll back you up!”

Pacifica took a deep breath.

You can’t be serious! Nathaniel shouted. My granddaughter would never throw her lot in with you commoners —

“Thanks for letting me know how your lantern worked, Grandpa,” Pacifica interrupted with a smile. “I’m going to help to help these nerds exorcise you now.”

***

A fine mist of subatomic particles condensed on Stan’s glasses, then pooled into iridescent newborn dimensions. They dripped off the glass one by one, and fell into the spiral of foam rotating beneath him, ready to embark on eons-long journeys of existence.

For a fraction of a second, Stan considered looking away, but the thought escaped nearly as quickly as it had occurred to him — after all, he knew in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away even if he wanted to.

There was such diversity in the structure of the worlds, from the liquid droplets to the solid ice crystals to the bubbles of negative space in the foam. It was so much to take in, so much that you’d think it would destroy the mind of someone like Stan — but if anything, it was a comfort to behold, a reassurance to see how tiny and insignificant every tiny sliver of existence was on its own despite how massive and all-encompassing and significant they all became together.

Do not forget, an echoing voice sung in his ear, that you are also significant all on your own — perhaps not to the grand scheme of existence itself, but certainly to many of the people you share this existence with.

Stan rubbed his head. “Wait, what?”

This place encapsulates everywhere and nowhere, for now and forever. Anyone who can make their way out here, to this place no mortals are meant to see, can surely make a difference in the little droplet of reality they reside in.

“Um… thanks? I guess?”

Stan couldn’t see the entity smile, but he sensed it nonetheless.

You have done something extraordinary, Stan. But do not let that distract you from what you came here for.

“What I came here for? I… shit, I was looking for Ford! How — how long have I been here? How much time have I wasted when I could’ve been trying to find him?!”

Worry not. Your bond with your twin is strong, and that bond will guide you to him as long as you put your faith in it.

Stan nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

“Ford never gives up,” he reminded himself out loud, “which means he’s still out there, still fighting and surviving. He’s my brother, and I will find him, because I don’t give up either.”

He let a wave of sensations and emotions from a trillion different worlds wash over him, but it didn’t carry him off his feet this time, and he wasn’t overwhelmed and hypnotized by it.

Follow whatever feels most familiar, the voice told him. And above all else, trust yourself.

There were too many familiar sensations from the multiverse to count — too many advanced math problems and leather-bound journals and trench coats and broken glasses. And others still, things that were so tragically Ford that they ached — broken inventions and angry parting words and loaded crossbows and bloodshot eyes…

But nothing struck Stan harder than the bittersweet nostalgia.

It was distant and fleeting, like someone’s not-quite-lucid dream as they began to toss and turn and awaken; it was warm like a beach on a summer day while stinging like a splinter from a recently sanded wooden plank, and it resonated. It wasn’t a feeling Stan had ever expected to come from Ford, of all people — but it was so familiar, like a dream that could’ve sprung from his very own head.

“That’s it,” he whispered, and a light pink tail materialized beneath his feet, guiding him forward as he dove towards the droplet of reality that held his brother.

Thank you, whoever you are, he thought to the entity, and even though he hadn’t spoken out loud, something told him the message had been received.

He held his nonexistent breath as images materialized around him — a damp cave, an extinguished campfire, a black sleeping bag…

And sure enough, there was Ford, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up. There was Ford, alive.

“You’re okay!” Stan whispered, not even caring that Ford being awake meant he wouldn’t be able to communicate. “Oh my god. I mean, I knew you would be, but — holy shit, Ford. I really will be able to bring you home, won’t I?”

Ford rolled up his sleeping bag and stuffed it into a larger bag of supplies, which he slung over his back alongside a giant, rectangular case that presumably housed some kind of weapon. He marched towards the mouth of the cave, through which rays of morning light were beginning to peek, but then paused for a moment, and rifled through the inside pocket of his coat to procure something.

Stan floated closer to get a better look, only to freeze in place as he recognized the item — a photograph of two boys standing on a boat, with proud smiles on their faces despite the broken hull and tattered sails.

“You kept that picture?” he whispered.

Ford sighed and tucked the photograph back in his pocket, then looked up to stare suspiciously at the exact spot where Stan floated — and for just a moment Stan would’ve sworn that Ford could see him.

But then Ford shook his head and stepped past Stan, out of the cave and into the morning sun. As he adjusted the strap holding his weapon, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “it won’t be long.”

“You can count on that, Sixer. It won’t be long at all.”

As Ford set off, Stan closed his eyes and concentrated on the familiar elements of the multiverse once again.

“Man, this took a lot longer than I expected, didn’t it?” he whispered. “I hope those kids haven’t broken into any mansions without me.”

***

“Pacifica, above you!” Dipper shouted, just in time for Pacifica to dodge a massive chandelier that came crashing to the ground. Nathaniel dove back into the statue, possessing it once again as he took a swing at Pacifica with a crumbling arm, and Pacifica lost her grip on the lantern as she ducked, sending it clattering across the hardwood floor as the light flickered and began to fade.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mabel jumped onto Nathaniel’s back from behind him, covering his eyes as Dipper snatched the lantern up off the ground and held it upright as the flame roared back to life. Pacifica pulled out a nail file and threw it with uncanny precision, knocking one of Nathaniel’s already crumbling fingers clear off of his flag-bearing hand.

Oh no YOU don’t! Nathaniel roared back as his other hand detached from his body, plucking Mabel off his back by the scruff of her sweater and hurling her towards the mounted head of a massive elk. She narrowly avoided being impaled on most of its antlers, but one single point pierced through her sweater just above her shoulder and ensnared her in place.

“Hang tight, Mabel!” Wendy shouted, taking a swing at the animal’s neck, but she failed to notice the detached stone fist swing around once again — first clocking her in the shoulder and making her drop her axe, and then grabbing Dipper by the throat and pinning him to the ground.

“Shit!” Wendy gasped. “Let him go, you bastard!”

Nathaniel advanced towards the lantern, blasting Pacifica backwards with a cloud of smoke and dust from his stump hand while raising his flagpole over his head in preparation to strike Dipper.

Give me the lantern, Pines, he growled. Or —

“How about I give you an ass-kicking instead?!” Stan’s ghost rose up from within the floor like a blazing blue lightning bolt, and in the same fluid motion, he delivered an uppercut to Nathaniel’s chin that knocked his spectral form clear out of the statue and twenty feet straight into the air.

“You want a fucking ghost fight?! ‘Cause I’ll give you a ghost fight!” Stan crowed, flexing incorporeal arms. “I got my ghost brass knuckles right here!”

“Grunkle Stan?!” Mabel gasped. “How did you do that?”

Stan whirled around to face her. “Wait, you can see me? Fuck, I really shouldn’t be swearing then, should I?”

Dipper got to his feet, the stone hand having relaxed its grip around his throat. “It’s the magic lantern, I think. It reveals all the ghosts in range of its light.”

“And it used to be Grandpa Granite’s own magic lantern at that,” Pacifica scoffed. “Talk about irony!”

“Ha, Grandpa Granite!” Stan laughed. “That’s pretty good!”

Nathaniel slunk out of the lantern’s range, where he transformed back into a ghost made of smoke and ashes, but his eyes were glowing such a firey orange that everyone could still make out where he was.

“Quick, kids!” Stan commanded. “Get behind me!”

Mabel tugged at her sweater, still caught on the elk’s antlers. “I can’t! I’m stuck!”

An orange smile flickered on Nathaniel’s face, and he leapt back into the light towards Mabel.

“Don’t you dare!” Stan shouted, diving forward at superhuman speed to meet him, knocking him off balance with a left hook before jabbing a knee into his groin. Nathaniel howled and aimed a blow at Stan’s head, but Stan jumped out of the way with ease, then kicked Nathaniel’s legs out from underneath him and sent him tumbling to the floor.

“I’m guessing you didn’t take boxing lessons as a kid, did you?” Stan asked smugly. “I never thought I’d tell this to a ghost that doesn’t weigh anything, but somehow, you’re putting too much of your weight into your punches.”

So this is how you want to fight? Nathaniel hissed. Too bad my quarrel isn’t with you.

His hand swept up a pile of jagged porcelain shards, and with a blast of ghostly smoke, fired them in a volley towards Mabel. Stan dove in the way to intercept, but they passed straight through him, and Mabel barely extricated herself from the antlers in time to dodge.

I can beat him to a pulp, but I can’t affect the physical world enough keep my kids safe from him while I do. They’re the ones he wants revenge on. Stan realized. I’ve got to make myself his main target, somehow. Or…

An idea occurred to him that was so dumb he couldn’t help but grin, and Nathaniel glared at him.

What’s so funny? Are you excited to watch your family die?

Stan ignored him, struggling to stifle a laugh. It was a horrible, risky, completely harebrained idea, and it was exactly what he needed.

“HEY, BILL CIPHER!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!”

The room fell dead silent as the tapestry behind Stan lit up with a flash of golden light. It depicted a gray, one-eyed triangle looming over two pleading silhouettes surrounded by red and orange flames — but as a cold wind blew through the ballroom, the figures began to write in agony as the flames lit up blue.

Bill cackled as he opened his eye and casually stepped out of the tapestry like it was something he did every day. “Well, well, well! We meet again, Stanley! Finally ready to make a deal?”

“Oh, hell no!” Stan replied, pulling his 8-ball cane out of thin air to make an overdramatic gesture in Nathaniel Northwest’s direction. “I just thought there was someone here who you might like to reunite with. For old times’ sake, you know?”

YOU! Nathaniel howled. YOU DOUBLE-CROSSED ME AND LEFT ME TO ROT!

The cockiness deflated out of Bill’s pose as his eye went wide. “Hey now, let’s not jump to conclusions here! Give me a chance to tell my side of the story —”

Nathaniel lunged forward and grabbed ahold of Bill, seething with such an overwhelming rage that his whole body lit up firey and orange. YOU ARE NO MUSE! GO TO HELL, YOU TREACHEROUS AFFRONT AGAINST INSPIRATION!

Bill fired back with a blast of blue fire, but he looked shaken. “Alright, FINE! My side of the story is that I DESPISE you and every single atom that’s ever passed through your BODY!”

“Fight, fight, FIGHT!” Stan chanted. “Kids, get the camera!”

“FUCK YOU!” Bill shouted at Stan, only for Nathaniel to seize the opening and punch him directly in the eye. They continued to tussle, tumbling out of range of the lantern’s light, and Stan flew after them, disappearing from the kids’ view.

“I am so confused right now,” Dipper muttered.

“Stan knows what he’s doing,” Mabel assured him. “Probably.”

DIE, FOUL BEAST! Nathaniel roared, but Bill caught his fist in midair, and Nathaniel screamed as bolts of blue electricity surged up his arm.

Stan seized the opportunity, floating up behind Nathaniel and tapping his wrist, where a silver watch resembling the portal appeared. The clock’s hands whirled around the inner circle unnaturally fast, and Stan put on his cockiest grin as he raised his wrist for Bill to see.

“Remember, only nine more hours until we BOTH lose everything!”

The lightning bolts sparking from Bill’s hands shorted out.

“Speak for yourself!” he shouted, voice jumping up to an even higher pitch than usual. “I DON’T need —”

Nathaniel slammed his head into Bill, knocking him backwards and through the staircase.

“But of course you can keep wasting your time letting Cowboy Casper here beat you to a pulp,” Stan jeered. “I don’t mind waiting!”

Bill flew back out of the stairway, his whole body crackling with electricity as he summoned a vortex of fire around Nathaniel, trapping him in place — but Bill’s eye stayed fixed on Stan, even as Nathaniel thrashed and howled and cursed.

“If you want the portal on so badly, then just shake my hand, you idiot!” Bill shrieked. “I really don’t know how to make this any simpler for you!”

“If you really hate Old Man Northwest so much, then you should just trap him in the mirror and let me go for no price — because that handshake? That deal? That’s never happening, Cipher,” Stan shot back. “Go ahead, call my bluff! Wait out the last nine hours, and watch thirty years of biding your time go to waste! I’m sure you know exactly what a petty, stubborn asshole my brother can be, so let me give you one last warning before you make a choice you regret — I’m just as petty and stubborn as he is!”

Bill’s whole body lit up red as he slowly pointed one index finger at Stan, and fired another blast of blue flames —

And Stan sat up in his hospital bed with Bill floating over him, looking angrier than it ever should’ve been possible for any two-dimensional object to look.

“This isn’t over, Fez!” he hissed. “I’ll still get exactly what I need from you sooner or later, one way or another!”

“So you finally admit that I’m useful to you, too!” Stan gloated. His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t care. “I figured you’d come around soon enough!”

“You have NO IDEA how lucky you are that I need you alive! I would let you rot in that mirror FOREVER if I could!”

Stan stretched his arms, giving each of his biceps a celebratory kiss. “Ahh, I missed these bad boys! How’s it feel not to have a body, Bill? If only you hadn’t made it so goddamn obvious that you still needed me, I might’ve even given in and agreed to let you borrow mine!”

Bill vanished without any fanfare or even one final threat, leaving Stan alone in the hospital room with a recently-awoken and extremely confused Soos.

“Mr. Pines?” he gasped. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Stan assured him, places a hand on Soos’s shoulder as Soos rushed to his side. “Plan A didn’t go so great, but Plan B worked like a charm.”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Soos cried, wrapping Stan in an uncomfortably tight hug. “But who were you just talking to? I didn’t see anyone else in the room…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Stan told him. “Right now, I need you to call Wendy and the kids for me, ‘cause I vanished before their eyes just a couple minutes ago and they’re probably worried out of their minds.”

“Shh, not yet.” Soos wiped his eyes. “Just give me ten more seconds of hugging you and sobbing first.”

Stan sighed. “Alright, I suppose.”

***

(End notes:

Poor Bill, wasting such a dramatic entrance on a scene where he got completely and utterly dunked on. And there we have it, the conclusion of the main story! There’s still an epilogue coming to tie up the wide variety of loose ends I’ve created here, so keep an eye out for that sometime in November, if all goes according to plan!)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #pacifica northwest #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez #fic: to see the unseen #rosalia writes fic

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