#ive talked with at least three different people partially about those thoughts

[opia-jpg]

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#i have a light feeling that my mom might be hinting at something #with the whole. mentioning my mood swings and sensory issues and poor social skills and such #i say i'm unsure because she's not one to be subtle in situations like this? so i feel like i'm projecting #but she did suggest (partially related) going to a psychologist #and the thing about me is that i'm very self aware about my many flaws and therefore have decided #that i can't fix them or that it's not that bad as long as *i know* the issue is there #which is starting to sound like an issue in itself? but i feel like im being way too dramatic every time #i know i'm just in a stressful spot in my life and that it will pass in a few months #but i am starting to seriously consider getting an outsider's perspective. just in case #im feeling down *all* the time lately but there's always a reason to blame so i feel like it's just rotten luck and not something within me #there's not enough time but also too much of it for me to make excuses for not being able to do Anything at all and i feel paralyzed #but isn't it just the everyday terror of being in charge of yourself #i wish i could come up with a definite answer but there isn't one and the childish part of me is so frustrated with it #i have a fantasy of violently breaking my arms that doesn't lead anywhere i just feel the urge consistently enough that it's a pattern #(ive never self harmed i know i won't that's why it's just a fantasy) #i crave complete anonymity i crave deep genuine human connection and i don't want to talk to anyone. ever again. #ive talked with at least three different people partially about those thoughts #but talking about it is difficult and like pulling teeth #im clumsy with my words. can't quite find the precise meaning i want. i stutter and hum and mumble #i hate talking but if i don't i will explode #i want to be taken seriously but saying things outloud makes them sound so harsh and i don't know if it is that serious #but it's a pebble of thought that i can't stop turning around in my head over and over and over until im sick #never! ending! story! jesus christ #vent post #← tagging just in case #pretend you've never read it

[staranon95]

DinCobb Week Day 1: Clan of Three (SFW)

@dincobbweek is finally here! ive never participated in something like this before so hopefully i don’t run away with any of the ideas lol. anyway, here’s my version of Clan of Three

AO3 Link

i could never stay away (not this time not from you)

“This was well earned, partner.”

The Marshal Vanth hefts the Mandalorian armour onto Din’s speeder. The man no longer seems to be morose at the fact of losing the armour and seems rather relieved that it’s all over.

“It was a good fight,” Vanth says, looking out over that half carven carcass of the krayt itself. “I hate to see that it’s finally over.”

“I thought you would be happy to see the threat to your town is over,” Din says as he secures the armour to his speeder. He covers the slab of meat while he’s at it, and the Child turns his ears down now that his easy source for a free meal is covered.

“I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the krayt.” Vanth sends him one of those easy smiles in Din’s direction, and Din has to look to the speeder, setting his hands on the helmet. “Listen if you ever find yourself in the area.”

Din nods once. “I’ll have to take you up on that drink. If it’s still available.”

“Hey, I hope our paths will cross again. But you got a friend in me, partner.” He extends his hand and Din reaches up to shake it, and it remains for a time, Vanth squeezing reassuringly before he slides his hand away in what can only be a deliberate move. “Oh, and you tell your people it wasn’t me that broke that thing.” He points to the Rising Phoenix before he’s walking off, armourless and relaxed, towards his people and the Tuskens.

Din sets his hand on the helmet and rubs his hand down over the crown of it. When he hears the Child coo next to him in a questioning tone, he realizes he’s still staring at Vanth’s retreating figure and the lean lines of his body.

He turns to the Child. “What do you think?”

The Child tilts his head, ears flicking upward.

“Want to get back to the ship or stay for the night?”

“Abwa.”

“That’s what I’d thought you’d say. Hold on.”

He lifts the Child and sets him in the bag that sits on the side of the speeder. The Child knows what’s coming and hunkers down as Din mounts the speeder and ignites the engine for the long road back to Mos Eisley.

This time his journey only takes a matter of hours rather than a full day. He knows where Mos Pelgo is now and it’s a fairly direct route through the rocky outcroppings and shifting dunes. Four or five hours by speeder? It’s not a bad ride, and he’s left undisturbed throughout the entirety of it, pulling into Mos Eisley just after the twin suns have passed their zenith.

He’s looking forward to the cool embrace of the Razor Crest. He can’t say he likes Tatooine for it’s sun and heat, and his flight suit and beskar’gam do not make for a cool system to work within.

He swings his leg off of the speeder and lifts the cover off of the krayt meat as Peli Motto approaches him.

“I take it your trip was a success?” She marvels at the slap of meat and snaps her fingers at her droids to come over and handle it.

“In more than one way,” Din says as he begins to take his equipment off of the borrowed speeder in an effort to return it to the Razor Crest.

“Oh! Mando, before you go.” She holds her hands up and looks to the Child expectantly, and Din nods. “Aha, come here you little womprat.” The Child extends his arms to be picked out of the bag, but his attention is still on the meat and to where the pit droids have carried it to an open grill. “So I guess you found it then? Mos Pelgo?”

“I did indeed.”

“What’s it like out that way?”

“Small.”

“Well, that’s frontier towns out there for ya.”

“Do you know of the town’s Marshal at all? Cobb Vanth?”

“Cobb Vanth you say?” Peli looks to the sky and then turns her attention to the Child. “Can’t say I have. The name sounds familiar, though. There was a rebellion a few years back before the second Death Star went—” she uses her free hand to mimic an explosion “—it could’ve been one of his names I was hearing.”

Din hums. He wonders if she’s recalling the story of the Mining Collective that attacked Vanth’s town, but Vanth seems the type to have been in the rebellion business awhile. Sticking up for the small folks. Building something out of nothing. Giving everything he has to those he’s decided to protect.

Including giving up a set of Mandalorian battle armour even if that armour could’ve saved him countless more times.

“So are you heading out tonight then?” Peli asks.

“I was thinking . . .” He trails off and looks to the ship then looks at the armour he clutches in a bundle.

He never did take the Marshal up on his drink.

“I think I might stay for a few days yet,” he says. “There are still some unfinished matters I have to see to.”

“Ah, well, that’s the charm of Tatooine then. Everyone’s itching to leave ‘til they realize there’s more to it than meets the eye. Some of the old timers like to say everything starts and end on Tatooine but that’s only because they’ve never been anywhere.”

Din knows he has a promise to keep. To find the Child’s people and bring him to them. And his own personal drive of locating Mandalorians, his tribe, his own people.

If he has a people.

“At least stay for a bite to eat,” Peli says. “Seems like the kid here is wanting to have something too.”

Din nods. This is something he can do.

There are many things in his life that would be categorized as unfinished business, missed opportunities and the like. If he has to admit it, he would say he’s tired—tired of the grind, of the running, of fighting, and it’s been a long time since he’s connected to someone so quickly like Vanth. Not since Cara Dune perhaps but their professions will lead them in different places. Vanth is here. He’s welcoming and he wants to see more of Din.

And Din, well, he wants to see more of Vanth. How he learned to use the armour. What it was like for him to use the Rising Phoenix the first time.

He might not be a Mandalorian, but he does possess certain traits and qualities a Mandalorian would themselves be admired for.

What if there’s something there? What if there’s a connection?

He can’t know unless he tries.

He sets out just as the first sun touches the horizon. The armour is safely stowed on his ship to make his travel lighter. The Child is safe in his bag, peering out across the sand as they race across it once more, coming into Mos Pelgo just after the suns have set. The town is clearly celebrating the defeat of the krayt and the new peace between them and the Tuskens. The cantina in the center of town is a lively and bright affair, and for a moment as Din pulls the speeder in front of it, he wonders if he shouldn’t have come. It’ll be a lot of attention on him, and he has no intention of being worshipped as a hero. That’s not who he is.

He lifts the Child out of the bag and holds him in his arms. He’ll likely be crushed if they head into the cantina with how full it appears to be.

He walks up the steps and into the cantina and immediately heads turn towards him.

“Hey! Look it’s the Mandalorian!”

The breath in his lungs feels tight at the sudden rush of attention, for people looking his way and wanting to greet him, but then he sees one person cut through the crowd easily—Marshal Vanth.

He’s still dressed as he was—red shirt, cargo pants with a blaster sat in a holster on his hip. The only thing he has removed is his scarf, exposing the lean line of his neck.

“Mando!” He looks genuinely surprised and happy to see Din, a bit pink in the cheeks from imbibing a touch too much spotchka perhaps, but he seems steady on his feet even as he claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon! What brings you out this way, huh?”

“I, uh, thought I’d might like to take you up on that drink.”

Vanth’s face splits into a wide grin. “Thought you’d never ask, darlin’. Come with me.” He slings his arm over Din’s shoulders, leading him through the full establishment and keeping the others at bay. “Leave him be, ya vultures.” But it’s all said in good jest and soon Din is being shown to an empty booth far to the other side of the cantina where he and Vanth can sit in peace.

“You mind if I?” Vanth holds up his hands towards the Child, and Din hands him over. The Child is already reaching for Vanth, and they did become close with one another while they negotiated a deal with the Tuskens. It’s why he chose Vanth to look after him if things were to end poorly. He knew, deep down, that Vanth would care for him. Just as he cares for this town and everyone in it.

“I was gonna miss this little fella,” Vanth says. “He sure does pull you in with those big eyes, now doesn’t he?”

“He has,” Din says, but his eyes are on Vanth himself and how relaxed he seems now, like a huge burden has been lifted. He looks happy to be here, and Din wants to bask in that for a little while longer.

They end up talking for a bit, Vanth more often than not and Din less so. Vanth doesn’t seem to mind that Din doesn’t talk about much, but when Din does talk, Vanth looks at him and listens. He asks questions. He asks for clarification if needed. But he listens, and Din doesn’t know about the last time when someone listened like this.

And as the night draws on and as the cantina slowly empties, Din is beginning to feel a deep-seated weariness settle into his joints and bones. The fight is over and now he must rest but—

“I got a spare room,” Vanth offers. “Could get something together for the kid here.” The Child has fallen asleep in the crook of Din’s arm, his ears downturned despite the hum and drum of the cantina.

“I don’t mean to put this on you.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. Just being a good neighbour. And I’m still the Marshal here. It’s my duty to look after folks. Come on. I won’t hear nothin’ about it.”

He follows Vanth to his house, this little place partially sunken into the ground as is Tatooine fashion. It’s a small place, but more space than Din is used to or has been treated to in a long time. Vanth sees that the Child is set down in something of a makeshift crib, and then it’s just the two of them and no one else.

Vanth stretches and rubs at the back of his neck. Then he turns his gaze to Din. “So what now, Mando? You looking to stay for a while?”

“For now.” He looks to the photos hanging on Vanth’s walls, the bookshelf covered in more knickknacks than actual books, the striped blanket over the back of the couch. “I feel as if there is unfinished business between us.”

“Business, huh?” Vanth brushes past him and sits down on the couch, looking relaxed and inviting. “Anything business you want to discuss right now?”

By the way he’s looking at Din, he knows what Din is meaning by the use of business.

“I’m not sure,” Din says.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a patient man. Now come here.” He pats the cushion next to him. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, I want to get a better look at you.”

Din feels himself flush and he moves slowly, deliberately, and sits down next to Vanth.

“There are a lot of things I can offer,” Vanth says. “But it depends on what you’re looking for.”

“And what if I’m not sure?”

“We take things at your pace.”

It’s a lot to consider yet what this halt in Din’s quest, but he thinks he needs this. He thinks he needs Vanth more than he realizes. Needs the respite. Needs the comfort. Needs the support.

He had offered that all to Vanth in the beginning, and now Vanth is here to repay the favour.

“My pace.”

“Mmhm.”

“Then I think it’s only right you know my name. It’s Din.”

Vanth smiles. “Nice to have it, Din. Call me Cobb.”

#dincobb #din djarin #cobb vanth #dincobbweek #dincobbweek2021 #dincobb week #star speaks #star writes #mandalorian

[youllallriseintheink]

Sanctuary

Request from Threadedsafetypin: a story about Jack helping Sammy to recover from ink infection.

---

Most members of the Joey Drew Studios music room knew that Sammy behaving strangely was status quo. So, when was Sammy first infected with ink, few people were alarmed. Complaining about seeing Bendy in his sleep? Stress. Increased irritability? Stress. Spacing out more often, seeming more exhausted, looking more drawn and bedraggled than usual? Poor guy really has to get a grip on his life- but at least he’s still functioning well enough to get the songs out on time.

Jack Fain, Sammy’s best friend, was the only one who realized that this wasn’t just one of Sammy’s episodes. He’d confronted Sammy about it a couple weeks ago, and it hadn’t gone well. He had snapped about his health being his own business and told Jack to go away.

Jack was used to Sammy being irritable, so he didn’t take it personally. “Okay. I can’t help you if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here for you when you’re ready to talk. I care about you, and want you to be okay. Alright?”

Sammy had grumbled an “alright,” and left. His symptoms had only worsened since then, and Jack was rather worried that Sammy would never be “ready”- at least, not until he was very ill. But he couldn’t think of any way to help the process along unless Sammy was on board as well.

Then, one day while Jack was working in the sewers, he heard footsteps. Only Sammy knew that he hid away in the sewers, so it had to be him. Jack got up to meet him, and saw that Sammy had a defeated look on his face.

“Remember when you said to come to you when I was ready? Well, I’m ready,” Sammy said, as though admitting a dark secret. He took off the white gloves he’d taken to wearing lately, revealing ink-black hands. “The ink did this to me, and tried to convince me that it was a good thing, but I can’t deny that this is a problem anymore. I don’t think that a hospital could help me, and I’m scared that Joey would kill me if it got out the public. I don’t know what to do.”

Jack stood stunned a moment, looking at Sammy’s hands. They clearly weren’t just stained, but tainted down to the bone. It looked like there were some pockets of ink just beneath the surface as well.

“It’s okay. I’ll find out what to do,” Jack promised.

---

“Norman, can you come with me for a minute?” Jack asked. “I need to ask Mr. Drew something he won’t enjoy answering, and I’m hoping that if you’re there next to me, he won’t kill me on the spot for it. Alright? All you’ll have to do is stand there. And you’ll probably get some nice secrets out of it.”

Excited at the thought of listening in on such a conversation, Norman agreed, and the two of them made their way to Joey’s office. The door shut loudly.

“Joey,” Jack began, in a tone one might use to calm down a wild animal, “someone I care deeply about is infected with ink. Now look- I don’t want trouble. I don’t have any personal reason to want your secrets to get out. Please tell me how to help him get better, and I’ll do it completely inconspicuously if it’s possible.”

---

“What did he say?” Sammy asked. The look on Jack’s face wasn’t especially encouraging.

“Well, he said that a hospital can help you- if we take you a couple miles from New York, first. He said that the ink is alive in you, and it needs to be taken away from the ink machine in order to kill it. If we don’t do that, the ink will live in you no matter what anyone tries to do to get rid of it, and you’ll be in and out of treatment for the rest of your life- which would likely be a very short, unhealthy one. So, that isn’t an option.”

Sammy didn’t understand why Jack looked so hopeless at the thought of killing the ink. “Okay,” Sammy said cautiously, “That sounds doable. What else?”

“Well, the thing is that once the ink is dead, it won’t be able to help keep you alive, so all that tissue damage, organ damage, and dehydration is actually going to hurt you. Joey gave me some tips on how to increase the chance that you’ll end up at the hospital alive, but it’s still possible you won’t make it.”

Sammy was in shock. “I-I might die before I make it the hospital?”

“Yes. Joey said that you should go home and eat something with a lot of liquid in it. I take it you physically haven’t been able to drink anything but ink in a while, have you?”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Sammy admitted.

“He also said that we should lance any obvious deposits of ink before we head out. I can help you with the lancing. And... one last thing, Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“I quit this place, because it’s dripping with a deadly biohazard. I definitely suggest you do the same- especially if you’re in the habit of drinking ink, which Joey said you might be.”

Sammy sucked in a deep breath. “Please tell me that’s everything.”

“That’s everything.”

“Alright. Thank you, Jack. Honestly, thank you.”

The two went to Jack’s place, and with a knife, they set to work lancing any obvious deposits of ink. Sammy had them all over- on his legs, on his chest, his back, and some fairly severe ones on his hands. One by one, they were cut open, squeezed out, and bandaged. By the end, Sammy was in a lot of pain, and Jack’s bathtub was stained not only with substantial amounts of ink, but with a fair amount of blood.

“I don’t feel stronger,” Sammy admitted, looking down with his arms crossed over himself. “What if Joey gave us this advice to trick you into killing me? Or he didn’t understand how far along I was?”

Jack sighed. He’d made a good point, honestly. But Sammy needed comfort. “He didn’t lie. I’m sure of it. Just trust me, alright?”

“Alright,” Sammy replied.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” Jack asked, “It might help you dread tomorrow a little less.”

“Are you sure you want me here? I’ll get ink and blood all over the place.”

“You will? Then we haven’t bandaged you up enough- you shouldn’t be leaking like that. And anyhow, don’t worry about it- it’s just one night, I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Sammy agreed to stay over, though all he wanted to do was wash off and rest. The next day, the two of them headed out of New York in Jack’s car.

“Alright, Sammy, you know the drill. Tell me when you feel the ink dying, and I’ll turn the car around as quickly as possible.”

Sammy nodded. It was only a few miles before he did.

“Now,” Sammy croaked. He was already looking greener. Jack found a place to turn around and took it. 

 “Everything hurts...” Sammy complained. It was true. He felt weak and heavy, as though a large percentage of his body had suddenly become dead weight. His lungs stung, and when his breathing was wet and slightly laboured. Pain was building in his head, in the cuts he’d given himself the day before, and especially in his organs. 

“It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise. Just hang in there, and drink some water.” 

Though it was hardly his most overpowering sensation, Sammy was very thirsty. Jack watched with concern as Sammy took one of water bottles in weak, shaky hands, took a sip from it, and then fell forwards, entirely limp.

 Jack slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He was going about 85 miles an hour, and he mentally calculated that he’d need about eight minutes to get Sammy to the outskirts of town and hopefully not too much longer to get him to a hospital. Risky as it was, Jack grabbed Sammy’s hand to check for a pulse. It was certainly there. A cop by the side of the road saw them, but let them go by- perhaps seeing that Jack was hardly doing this for pleasure. Thankfully, traffic was thin that day. Jack checked Sammy’s pulse again while at a stop sign- still strong, and pulled up in front of a hospital. He ran in, pushed his way past a line of people, and spoke to the secretary. “My friend is in my car. He’s unconscious and I have reason to believe that he needs immediate attention if he’s going to live. Please help him.” 

Within a minute, Sammy was being rushed in for medical attention, leaving Jack to wait in the lobby and fill out the necessary forms. Hours later, a nurse approached him. “You’re Jack Fain, the one who brought in Sammy Lawrence?”

 “Yes,” Jack answered.

“Well, Mr. Fain, we have some serious questions for you. What happened to Sammy? His condition isn’t exactly easy to identify.”

“His workplace is filled with a biohazard. He got infected and kept it secret for weeks. How is he? Is his condition stable?”

The nurse grimaced. “Stable, yes. He’s on life support, but we’ll be able to keep him alive. We’re not sure when or if he’ll wake up again since we haven’t been able to diagnose. Would you like to see him?”

“Sure,” Jack replied.

Seeing Sammy laying still as a corpse on a hospital bed, with three different IVs in his arm, a tube in his throat, and the beep of a heart monitor nearby, was not an encouraging sight. It moved Jack to tears. “Call me when he’s up. Or when it’s time to say goodbye,” Jack croaked to the nurse. With that, he left.

Jack spent the next few days fraught with anxiety. To make matters worse, the hospital had called Jack to ask where Sammy had worked and gotten infected. Jack had said he didn’t know, because he didn’t want to risk either of them being killed by Joey for leaking his secrets. If Sammy died, he’s have to wonder if it was partially on his own hands. Jack’s husband tried to reassure him that he’d done all that could be done, and Jack knew it was true, but it was still a scary time.

In what felt like weeks but was actually just a couple days, the hospital called Jack and told him that Sammy’s tissue damage seemed to be repairing itself and that he was responding well to treatment. Thankfully, none of his organs had been damaged enough to require a transplant. A week later, he was called to tell him that Sammy was awake again.

Seeing Sammy again was a massive weight off Jack’s shoulders. The dark spots on his body had shrunk significantly, and he looked much healthier, especially now that most of those tubes and wires were gone.

“Sammy. You’re alive.”

“Yep. I must be part cockroach because it takes quite a bit to kill me.”

Jack smiled. “Ha, yeah. The radio is calling you a walking miracle. Even though probably haven’t walked yet, since you just woke up.”

Sammy prickled. “No, I can walk. I’m not that weak!”

“Right, sorry. So, when you woke up, did they pepper you with questions on how you got into this state in the first place?”

Sammy took a quick look around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “Well, they asked me where I worked. I told them it was an ink manufacturing plant that I didn’t remember the name of. I think they bought it. Why, are people pestering you about it?”

“No. But I’ve been hearing about the investigation on the radio. They all want to know about the man who who somehow got several pounds of ink into his system and lived. As far as I can tell, no one suspects a thing about our old workplace, or magic. I think we’re free of it, buddy. I don’t think Joey is ever going to be in our lives again.”

Now Sammy looked like a weight had been lifted from him. “I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that until now.”

Over the coming weeks, Jack regularly visited Sammy in the hospital. He looked stronger every time Jack saw him. The news story died down without much fanfare. Sammy got out with a clean bill of health, and Joey Drew Studios gradually became a distant memory to them.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #sammy lawrence #Jack Fain #my fanfiction

[kikiscastleinthesky]

THE SOKKASM ZUTARA

I’ve seen a lot of tumblr blogs that ship zutara and I decided that is time for me to open mine too. So, yes, I’m a zutara shipper. And for the time being, my posts are going to be dedicated principally to analyze the ships in ATLA. 

Disclaimer alert:  I’m not forcing anyone to ship zutara. And I won’t accept hate because I (and many others) may have a different opinion, If you are one of those persons I invite you to leave, don’t waste my time and yours, because I’m not even going to reply. Everyone has the right to ship whatever they like and want, without been mocked, harrassed and humiliated. 

Well... now that everything is settled: 3...2...1 go!

I’m starting with this small analysis, because every zutara shipper has been attacked on why zutara and zutara is horrible yada yada but, this ocassion I’m gonna use all the attacks we get and defend it. 

I. Zutara is way the worst toxic relationship:

You call Zuko the abuser, the toxic and the bad tempered? Then you     didn’t get a clue of his redemption arc.

You call zutara toxic for:

a)     giving your mother’s closure and final acceptance into the group?

b)     saving each other’s life?

c)     being the “leading co-parenting” of the group?

d)     support you when you’re about to beg for his uncle forgiveness?

II. The cave scene didn’t mean anything, and just think about it, they would never ever get along well:•      

  Of course, I misunderstood Zuko confessing his own grief, probably he just hates her.

When Katara opens to her mother sorrow like she never did with anyone was like no big deal.

 That part when she offers to heal his scar with SACRED water was totally illogical.

And being the first person who he let touch his scar really said to me that they were absolutely toxic.

 Yes, he betrayed her initial trust. And it hurt, but guess who betrayed worst? The man who for three years was his father. But nope, Iroh, should never forgive Zuko, for what he did. (Right? Katara was betrayed and she should bever have interest in him, so Iroh would never forgive his abuser, right?)

III. Zutara is about getting in love with your abuser:

The abuser love? When did Zuko abused Katara? When did he forced to do something she didn’t want? Did he ever physically abused her or sexually assaulted her? Even if he tied her to a tree, he never humiliated her, he never hurt her or overpass against her. Or are you trying to make up his whole plot to eliminate all his attacks towards team avatar only rest in the female character? (Have you forgot how he betrayed his uncle? Or even himself?)

IV. Zutara is an age gap, it would be underage thing. “You don’t like Aang because he is a child and still pair Zuko, being a minor.” You want to hypersexualize two kids (Aang and Katara) into having sexual interest.

Katara would have been dating an underage guy too. She would have been 18 and Aang 16. I know! Age gap only matter when the man’s older. Both Katara and Zuko had gone through puberty, and both were in adolescence, both shared the same maturity level. Yes dude, there a huge difference in being a CHILD and being a TEENAGER, yes, still minor, But with puberty hit already.

Actually, I still believe even being 11-12 you can get like a… spark… a hint. Even if its not a relationship whatsoever, and not having sexual interest of any kind. If you really want to see what closest we get to a “real” attraction and potential between kiddos that age, you get S1Mike and Eleven (stranger things) / you get Chihiro and Haku (Spirited away) / you get Pazu and Sheeta. (The castle in the sky) –Wooo, that really changes things right?

But yet there are people that believe shipping zutara is “pedophile” I thought in seriously not replying to this stupidities but, here I am, dismantling their theories.

So, this is real life. An adult person trying to sleep with a prepubescent kid. So… there is no support on this. Because a ship is about two fictional characters in a fictional story.

What about fictional pedophilia? Well, we can change that: Fictional pedophilia is a psychosexual disorder when you ship an adult fictional character (+18) to have a sexual interest in a fictional prepubescent child (-12) and / or attempt to engage both characters in sexual acts.

So step one… are either Zuko or Katara either an adult or prepubescent child? As you can see in the image at the right, both have gone through puberty. Step two, are you trying to a couple of minors to get sexually involved? No, this is a love story, not porn. And before you yell at me for the porn zutara comics/fics on the web, I guess you should see the porn Kataang /fics comics on the web too.

But I don’t hate any ship. So, technically, neither Kataang, nor Sukka, nor Yukka, nor Jetara, nor Maiko is pedophilia.

Ok, yeah yeah its not pedo, but is statutory rape, so yet it’s illegal.

Oh yes, if we state that 18 is the age where you are considered an adult (at least in my country) both are minors, your term is partially correct. But guess what would be statutory rape too?

Sukka (15) and Maiko (16-17), both implied to have sex relationships and canon during the series.

The episode "The Southern Raiders" became (in)famous among the fandom for what is a truly epic instance of this trope. Zuko bumps into a very flustered Suki on the way to Sokka's tent, and she hurriedly excuses herself. He walks into Sokka's tent to ask him a question and finds him pants-less and surrounded by flowers and candles. He even greets Zuko with a suggestive "Well helloooo..." before he realizes who itis. After a short talk, he rushes Zuko out and sticks his head out to call for Suki. And if there was any doubt, Sokka is shown the next morning fiddling with a flower necklace for no apparent reason... except to indicate that maybe Suki had been “deflowered”.

And yet, if Kataang had sex, it would be statutory sex at some point too: 16 and 18 -Conclusions: Statutory sex takes all ships equally.

V. Poor Aang he would be devastated.

Kid, he’s 12, in the comics he’s 13-14. Or what? Haven’t you guys had a broken heart ever? Your high school sweetie? Or Aang’s so frail to not be able to find love? To close himself for a better opportunity? Seeking your own happiness in not selfish. What is selfish is seeking your own happiness at the other expenses.

And even that, we all know what would Aang do if Katara starts a relationship with Zuko. (Even if it wasn’t Zuko, I highly doubt he would like Katara dating someone else) He would go on avatar rampage. That is NOT healthy, that is NOT romantic. That is extremely possessive and selfish to do. It’s psychotic. Because Aang cares more about himself than Katara’s feelings, even if she would be happier without him.

VI. Zutara is all about sex interest.

Well once more you mistake chemistry with sexual needs. Wanting me to sleep with my husband means I only use him for sex relief? If I find myself sexually attracted to anyone probably means I just want to sleep with that person and nothing else.

VII. A hug is all zutarians have to acknowledge zutara:

We have a complete extended analysis in all the small details, but we like to use that forgiveness hug because in that hug you have more potential that all the kataang scenes all together. We have thousands of complete analyses, pages dedicated exclusively zutara. 

VIII. Katara “fell in love with Aang” and it’s not one sided.

Uh... Nope, just because two persons are good friends it doesn’t mean they are a good couple. Yes, the way the both of them interact is absolutely beautiful, But not romantically.

Do we see Katara’s view on romantically being drawn towards Aang? Yes, we see it, and yes, unfortunately, is one sided.

How Kataangers complete this:

·       The fortune-teller: I didn’t see like “Wow omg the avatar is going to be my future husband!” But… was like “uh… really?… well, I guess it’s him” Zutarians and Aunt Wu are the base for many backs up theories. ;) Aang is not the only powerful bender you know? And actually, that episode is way trying too hard to demonstrate the crush Meng has for Aang and Aang has to Katara. How is even healthy to accept that sometimes persons don’t like you back and it’s not the end of the world.

·       The cave scene: I forgot that Katara is telling him to be her boyfriend and they will live happily ever after. And really, it all gets us to a real Oma and Shu theory. Not to mention that they were “forced” to kiss because their kids innocence believed if they kissed, they wouldn’t die, and that Aang messed up things as well. But if you see it beneath, if she was truly interested, she would have told Aang: “wow omg we kissed, ok. let’s give him a clue…” nothing, she goes back in treating him same as always.

·       The headband dance: Well that’s a fair point yes. Actually, I felt something different…unfortunately Katara later had to tell him not to kiss her.

IX. Zutara is because you projected on Katara and had a crush on Zuko, because Katara and Zuko were your favourite characters and because is the bad boy style romance.

My crush was Jet <3, and zutara was the most logical endgame for girls. Ask any girl, ANY 14 yo who would like to date: A high school, nice and handsome guy or a 7th grader that had potential to be her best friend. (See the logic) 

And nope is not like “Insert fav characters of the opposite sex to ship them” You need to see real development.

I don’t know why they stereotype Zuko as the “bad boy” – relationship archetype. Zuko is never seen to be the classic fuck boy who treats girls like shit and suddenly there comes a lady to change him. Maybe he is a “bad boy” (confused though) in S1 and S2, but his redemption arc is literally the answer of why he is not “bad boy” anymore.

If Katara was truly and really romantically interested then she wouldn’t have friendzoned Aang. Once? Nope 4 times. And also… are we forgetting kind of imagery…

Friendzoned  

 When Aang fixes her a small necklace with the fishing  thread.

 When he kissed her at the invasion. She didn’t  reciprocate it. (I’m not even mentioning the mommy proud speech)

 When he wanted to talk about the kiss in the western  air temple (Comic love is a battlefield)

 When he kissed her at the play and she had to told  him to back off.

 Strange imagery

 She was June Pippinpaddleopsokopolis (Aang’s  granddaughter)

When Aang got shot, she held his body in her arms in  the exact way Mary held Jesus in Pieta’s sculpture.

 She was Sapphire Fire. (Aang’s pregnant mother)

After they got married, in the book legacy, she said  she enjoyed most seeing Aang becoming a man. (Honestly ladies if I got a BF  the least I want is seeing how the kid transforms into a man)

I’m looking forward to watch you grow into manhood  as I did to your father (Katara’s letter to Tenzin)

 I’m really  trying to deny Oedipus complex here.

Still hard for me to track Katara’s love interest for little Aang since all we see is more a relationship mom/sister or Harry/Hermione. I have heard rumours that Bryke wanted to give the ship “mystery” and “expectation” but I think they really messed up, I didn’t see expectation or mystery, I saw a child insisting to a girl that didn’t reciprocate. It wasn’t even like she didn’t have much of a chance, because her love interests:

Was killed by Long Feng

Gave him a hideous mustache and disappeared him after Azula’s attack in the western air temple.

Forced to be attached to a toxic relationship.

Apart that all those points I’ve mentioned, Kataang is not a relationship for me. Staying in a formal relationship with the first person they met of the opposite sex at 14 -12 (guys not even Disney does that, jeez not even studio Ghibli) and not having any chance to experience any other relationship. Never experiencing a broken heart, or someone better. I think that it gives the wrong idea, telling guys that no matter how long they are placed in friendzone, eventually the girl will fall for them. They just have to keep insisting.

You could say, but what a hypocrite! Snow White was 14 years old when she went to live with that prince! Many princesses are 16! And not to mention that many men were the first they met! Like Aurora, Rapunzel, and Cinderella. Well, you are right at one point. But ... the interaction of these characters changes radically, mainly because they never "give cute kisses" to their future husbands, nor do they treat them like their brothers or their children and ... the men were never friendzoned, except for Naveen at the beginning. You see the real attraction of teenage girls with an older boy. And I'm not saying that they should never be friends or support each other. Mulan and Chang were allies, friends, they supported each other, they saved their lives. But at no time was there the kind of interaction Katara and Aang had.

If Kataang was to be endgame, we would see Katara’s reaction to Jet, totally different, THAT kind of reaction was what I was waiting. (That kind of reaction is what every princess do, at least one time)

The same chemistry we saw in Yukka / Sukka. Honestly, I saw more chemistry between Haru and Katara.

Or at least give us some character development like: Aang, I know my feelings where not as you wanted but now I decided I want to be with you because (list everything here except he being the avatar), I really like you, perhaps we can give it a shot. Or like several things that could clue us that she is interested (come on people, two persons can kiss/hug/ have sex and that doesn’t imply they will be together in a formal relationship) But all we got was: Oh, right, he’s the avatar... suddenly I fell for him and I’m gonna kiss him fully in the mouth and that’s how I’ll tell him and that all my confusion has magically disappeared.

X. I’ve never saw that kind of spark between them. Again, it was “Just a hug”

Yes! That’s initially the whole point of it, a friendship hug, the truth of why we don’t need silly blushes. Because that forgiveness hug shows their initial relationship, they are friends! All their love needs to come first from a truthful friendship, by the contrary of calling the “immediate falling” like Aang did for Katara, it shows us that friendship love can evolve into something more beautiful, and that’s why we like the ship, because all zutara shippers know Zuko and Katara wouldn’t fall in love like that all of the sudden, they have to create the romantic relationship, and that’s what we portray in the fics.

What makes Zutara exceptional is that he, sees her, he hears her, he listens what she had to do, at anytime he forced her to do something she didn’t. And before a “teenager adolescence ship” he sees her as a human, with feelings with own ideals and goals.

And there is a complete and extremely well based analysis in: The crossroads of destiny + The southern raiders + The lighting saving.

XI. The comics show us how toxic they really where.

Their interaction in the comics was something I like to call: destroying a character. Not only Katara, who turned to be that awesome badass to the submissive girlfriend. From how I see it in the series to the comics there’s all I have to say: That’s not my girl.

XII. How Katara could be queen of a country that almost aniquilates her tribe and killed her mother? It would be a betrayal.

I think this argument is out. Not valid. Is like saying a Jew can’t date a German because of the holocaust. (German doesn’t mean nazi, just as Zuko, who was from the Fire Nation and didn’t order Katara’s mother assassination, and not every citizen of the fire nation means a ruthless killer). Is like saying that a Japanese can’t date a us citizen because of the bombs in WW2. And even if we see it “political”, is like… an aphrodescendant can’t rule a country that is racist, then Mr. Obama would have never reached the presidency.

Two persons can unify them, because they can demonstrate that being from different country that initally has not good terms can reach peace. The union between those countries represents the power of maturity, of overcoming adversities and the power of forgiveness. *Our lands now connected by love* And I want her to be queen, I want her to rule, I want her in charge, I want her in power. Imagine all the potential she could have (politics, business, negotiations, rebuilding, restoration, education, public health!! ***faints***) Not only for the fire Nation but for the whole world! Imagine that once Zuko abdicated they left to the south pole and she opened a fighting school and a healing school of her own (like master Pakku, but now her students are given a medical license that acknowledges them as professional healers) And this is just an idea. Like these ideas are hundreds. It would have been the perfect feminist role model!

XIII. Since the beginning, Katara was always interested in Aang and she always supported him and was for him when he needed her. That’s proof they were meant to each other.

If a girl expresses faith in your abilities, she loves you, she hugs you, and she supports you clearly she’s completely into you. Because obviously female best friends don’t exist.

#zutara #ATLA #Zutaradefense #Ifyoudon'tlikeitscrollaway #Noreplytohaters #Katarandzuko #Dismantlingtheattacks

[a-sweet-pea]

Cowboy: Part 3

Part 2 Part 4

“She’s a real dark brown, nearly black.”

Anne nodded, because the giant was looking down at her. That was one of those active listening things that felt polite to do. She was grateful for Boone’s love of his horse; she didn’t have to worry about talking to him as they walked.

“And she cost a pretty penny, but she’s worth double it, easy.”

The blurry patch of brown on the horizon was sharpening as they approached, becoming the absolute epitome of an old western town complete with dusty yellow buildings, dirt roads, a few horses, and people. It was far enough away that it just looked big, not gigantic, but they were getting closer. I hope I wake up before I have to deal with any other giants. I mean, Boone’s seems nice enough, but I’m betting the average rough-and-tumble cowboy-type isn’t quite as much of a softie. Or maybe they are, if I dreamed them all that way.

Anne looked up because he hadn’t said anything for a somewhat long pause. He looked away when she met his eyes, back to the road ahead of him.

“What is it?”

“Huh?” Boone stopped suddenly but Anne didn’t. The momentum sent her falling on her butt.

Anne pushed herself up again. “Is there was something wrong?”

“How do you mean?” His face was puzzled, but there was something a bit sheepish in his eyes.

“Well, you keep…looking at me.” He looked away briefly, and that was confirmation enough that Anne hadn’t been imagining it. All throughout his glowing review of Darling ( the horse) he’d been snatching glances at her when he’d thought she wasn’t looking.

“Oh, no, nothing wrong. I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. “Honestly, part of me cain’t shake the feeling you are a hallucination. I get ‘em regular when I’m soused, but they ain’t usually as pretty as you.” Anne smiled, and that got a chuckle out of him. “I just worry is all. I’m gonna look a right fool if I’m walking into town, talking to nobody.”

“Of the two of us, I’m pretty sure it’s you that’s imaginary.” Anne forced a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “After all, the last thing I remember is going to sleep in my bed; it only makes sense that I’d be dreaming this.” It sounded perfectly reasonable. But how can I be sure? “Oh!” Boone looked down at her. “Do you have a watch? Or anything with numbers on it?” He frowned, but reached his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a circle of tarnished brass.

“Got an old pocketwatch belonged to a pal ‘a mine. It’s busted though.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She reached out as if to take it from him, before realizing her mistake. She let her arms fall back at her sides again, sheepishly hoping he hadn’t noticed, as his giant hand brought a clock face the size of a monster truck tire up in front of her.

“It’s just…” she said, taking a step toward the watch, placing her palm against the glass, still warm from Boone’s pocket. “Numbers don’t work right in dreams. I figured out I was dreaming a few times that way.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This was utterly bizarre, but I think I’ll miss him when I wake up.

I II III IV…

Anne followed the silver numerals all the way around the circumference with both her eyes and an outstretched finger. They were all there in order, one to twelve. No incomprehensible squiggles, no switching places when she looked away and back again.

Anne snatched her hand back, as if the glass was burning hot. Why are all the numbers right?

“Well?”

She flinched at the sound, it seemed so much louder all of a sudden. She didn’t just hear it from above her head, it came from his chest too; a deep, resonant bass tone. And the surface beneath her seemed to vibrate with it. And even when he was silent, she could feel movement through her feet, a steady pulse beneath the skin. Skin. A hand. A giant.

“Miss Anne?” The pocket watch moved away and the hand moved upward. “You gone a bit pale, all of a sudden. You alright?” She was in front of Boone’s face now, his enormous face, easily three times as tall as she was. Two staring eyes, each bigger than her whole head.

“This…you are a dream, aren’t you?” His brows were furrowed, his mouth hung open slightly. Mouth. Big enough to swallow her whole. “I’m not…you’re not really…”

“Easy now, don’t get yourself all worked up.” The hand she was held in cupped slightly, and his other hand rose to make a wall around a portion of it. She backed away from the approaching hand, but quickly found herself at the edge of the mounds of skin facing a drop of twenty, thirty, maybe fifty feet to the sand below. “Whoah!”

Everything was dark and warm and close and she was on her back. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, you’re gonna give me heart palpitations.” The skin beneath her was creased and bunched up, it was a struggle to push herself upright. Even then, the prison of cupped hands was only barely tall enough for her to sit up in. “Now, look here.” Even at a whisper, his voice was loud enough to carry through the walls of flesh. “I’m gonna open my hands up again.” A crack of light appeared between two curves of flesh, partially obscured by a staring-grey blue eye. “I would see it as a kindness if you stayed put, ‘stead of running off the edge and fallin’ to yer death.”

Anne nodded in case he was waiting for confirmation. Light returned as he lifted one hand away leaving her sitting it just one cupped hand with a wall of fingers behind her. In front of her was the face of the giant cowboy, looking at her with worried brows.

“You alright?”

“I guess I…” Anne shook her head. “I thought that might wake me up. I-I thought I could wake up.” She put her head in her hands “Everything is so big…or I guess I’m just tiny.” She looked back up and flinched. Boone’s head was even closer now, probably leaning in to hear her. Her hands shook as she rested them against the skin of his palm. “I-If this…isn’t a dream…” Even saying it made her feel sickish, not least of all because each time she did, it sounded more and more true. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

“Not a damn thing.” Anne must have had a puzzled expression because Boone continued with mock indignation. “What, did you think I was gonna wish you luck and leave by the side of the road?”

Anne shrugged. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead; it was hard enough just dealing with everything as it happened.

“Look, maybe you’re dreaming.” He tilted his head. “After all, if I was a dream, how the heck would I know?” He chuckled. “Or mebbe I’m dreaming. Don’t see as it makes much of a difference either way. The way I figure it, you…you ain’t exactly in a position to go about town all by your lonesome.”

Anne shook her head. Just the thought of trying to navigate football-field wide streets of dirt and gravel and the stomping of giant boots and horseshoes made her queasy.

“If it suits you, Miss Anne, I’d be delighted to escort you wherever it is you’d like to go.”

Anne laughed, although she felt a bit like crying. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I-I don’t know how I got here, or how to get back home. I’m scared.”

Boone’s wide smile faltered. He spoke in a hesitant whisper.

“You, you ain’t afraid of me, are you?”

There was a lump in Anne’s throat. Everything about Boone was larger than life. Whenever he took a breath, she heard the whooshing of it above her, and every time his boot hit the dirt it sent a jolt through her body. Even his smile, warm and genuine as it was, was a reminder that he had teeth bigger than her head. Am I afraid of him? She was afraid, but it was of the bigness of the world, of how small and helpless she was in it. She was afraid of the faceless giants that filled the streets of the strange town ahead of them, their inscrutable motives and every thoughtless motion they made that could wound or kill her.

But Boone? Boo-Hoo Boone, with his soft heart and his careful hand and the hurt plain on his face at the mere thought that he might have frightened her?

“No.” Anne put a shaking hand on the tip of his thumb, curled in toward her slightly. Then she giggled with the nervous energy that that seemed a new permanent fixture in her body. “Just the town full of giants we’re heading to.”

Boone’s smile was so big it broke through the anxious fog, like a blade of sunnlight slicing through cloud cover.

“Well, don’t you fret about a ’town fulla giants.” he chuckled, and patted his chest with his other hand. “Just the one.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled wide. “And this giant’s got a Number 3 Smith Wesson that says nobodies gonna lay a hand on you if I have anything to say about it.”

Heat rose in Anne’s cheeks. “Thank you, Boone.”

“For such a little thing, you sure got a three-by-nine smile.” She could feel the blush in her cheeks, and she looked back down at the hand below her so she wouldn’t have to look at his face. “So,” he cleared his throat and spoke a bit louder, less…intimate. “How we getting you in town with no one else being the wiser? You’re an awf’ly small thing, I don’t think folk’ll notice. But better safe than sorry.”

“Yes, safe.” Anne nodded vigorously. “Safe is good.”

“I’ve got…an idea. Not sure its the most…proper.”

“Boone?” He was blushing.

“Uh.” He lifted his other hand to his shirt and unbuttoned the breast pocket (the one without a snotty handkerchief in it). “I reckon nobody would see you if you was…er…there.” Anne smiled. Cowboy era; that’s late 1800’s, isn’t it? Just coming out of the Victorian era. To be fair to Boone, there was something intimate about the idea of being in a shirt pocket. But it would be nice and hidden.

“Sounds good.”

He didn’t say anything, he just lifted the hand she was in so that it was right up against his chest. Before she could take a step toward the edge, the hand tilted beneath her and she fell back against his palm and tumbled down into cloth. The warmth, the the throb of a heartbeat against her back, the scent of sweat and man; they were immediate and overwhelming.

“You alright in there?”

Anne grabbed a handful of rough cotton and pulled herself mostly upright, but standing was impossible. She let herself fall so she was sat along the bottom seam, cradling her like a hammock. She looked up; Boones fingers were curled over the lip of the pocket, holding it open, and above them his bright eyes focused on her.

“Y-yeah!” She lifted a wobbly hand with her thumb up.

“Wonderful.” The fingers slid away amd the opening above collapsed to a thin line of light and air. The heart pounded at her back, a little faster than before.

A/N: Dropping that 2k update out of nowhere. ENJOY IT Y’ALL. @a-black-pegasus @questionable-breads

#giant/tiny #g/t fluff #g/t fiction #cowboy #indian in the cupboard #iitc #boone #asweetpeawriting #asweetpea #g/t

[ladylynse]

Crossroads: Part II

A Gravity Falls/Over the Garden Wall fanfiction

Happy birthday, @paperhoodie! Thanks again for drawing this lovely cover (also on deviantart).

Part I: Mabel and Dipper have dealt with a demon before, so when they wind up lost in the woods and are given two choices by a creepy kid with a lantern, they make sure to pick the third option—but every choice has consequences, even when you don’t play by the rules.

Part II: How much do you dare trust something that might not even be real? Memories, people...even reality itself?  (FFnet | AO3)

He became aware of the steady beeping first, and then aware of the fact that he was aware of it. More sounds and sensations swirled over him—the high-pitched whine of machinery, a firm mattress beneath him, the sharp smell of some sort of antiseptic, inconsistent waves of suffocating heat, a mouth that seemed completely deprived of saliva, and—childish babble?

Greg?

Greg!

Wirt tried to say something. He tried to move. He didn’t manage either. Not coherently, anyway. He managed to pry open his eyes—why was it so bright?—and lift a finger, but he felt stiff and exhausted. He wasn’t entirely sure he had actually managed to make a sound, either. If he had, it hadn’t been heard over Greg.

Greg was perched on the end of his bed in the hospital room—when had he ended up in the hospital?—and Wirt could feel the steady swinging of Greg’s feet through the mattress. Greg didn’t notice that he was awake; instead, Greg stared up at the ceiling, counting the dots on the tiles.

Greg’s voice—every sound, really—was distorted, as if Wirt were listening to it from underwater, but he could still make out the words. “Six hundred and forty-two, six hundred and forty-three, six hundred—”

A shrill series of beeps went off elsewhere, an alarm, but Greg continued unfazed.

The hum in the background grew louder, like someone had turned downed the volume on the rest of the world so that only the hum remained. Wirt shut his eyes again and tried to focus solely on Greg’s voice, but it was getting harder and harder to make out. He needed something to ground him. He needed…he needed….

The next time Wirt woke, Greg was gone. There was a nurse, doing…something…. Why couldn’t he think clearly? A syringe and an IV and—was that connected to his arm?

He tried to say something again and managed a sort of grunt that caught her attention. She smiled at him and said something, but there was water rushing in his ears, and he was just so tired….

Wirt lost track of time. Even once he became more lucid, everything seemed to blur together. Nothing made any sense, ether.

Greg came by daily, sometimes on his own but usually with at least one of their parents in tow. A couple of his friends stopped in, but never for very long; they’d all try to make small talk and then, when uncomfortable silence swelled too often for too long, invent an excuse to leave. No one really knew what to say.

He’d been in the hospital. He knew that much. He still wasn’t sure why. Until he’d caught sight of green leaves on the trees outside, he’d feared that it had never been summer at all, that it was still shortly after Halloween, that he’d never woken up until now and that everything he remembered—because he did still remember that, at least most of it—was just something invented by his subconscious.

Greg was the one who finally told him the story. No months’ long coma or anything terrible like that, just a horrible fever. Admittedly, it had been a fever that had stubbornly stayed upwards of a hundred and three for days, and with him eating nothing and sweating out or vomiting the little he did drink, his parents had bundled him up and taken him in, and there he had stayed.

Wirt remembered none of that.

“You weren’t acting like yourself,” Greg informed him the night Wirt was finally released. He sat on his bed, swinging his legs much like he had at the hospital; Wirt stood in front of him, desperate for answers. He had thought it was safer to ask questions in Greg’s room than in his; in here, their parents might think they were merely playing and not bother to listen in. “You kept saying weird things. Mom says you were delicious.”

Wirt frowned. “You mean delirious?”

Greg hummed and nodded. “But then the fever broke and you got better. I think it was because Jason Funderburker kissed you.” Wirt stared at him, but as Greg continued, blithely unaware of Wirt’s unease, Wirt realized he had been talking about his frog. “I wasn’t supposed to bring him in but he wanted to come visit you, too.”

Wirt swallowed and glanced at the table where the pet frog’s giant habitat sat, but it was empty. “I’ll have to thank him, then. Where is he?”

“In your room. He missed you.”

Right. He should have guessed. “How long was I gone?”

Greg’s legs stopped swinging. “Forever,” he said. Somehow, it didn’t sound like an exaggeration. “I’m glad you’re back now. Promise not to leave again?”

Wirt forced a smile on his face. “What makes you think I’m going to leave?” he asked instead, reaching over to ruffle Greg’s hair and diving to tickle him as he dodged.

The distraction worked. Wirt was glad; he couldn’t make that promise. Not yet. He didn’t think he could keep it yet.

It hadn’t been delirium. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been too real for that.

Mabel and Dipper, whoever they were, had helped him. Had freed him. He had to at least try to help them in return. He wasn’t sure how yet, wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to find them, but he was going to try.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, no. He’d hoped to get away before Greg found him. He turned as Greg trotted into his room and smiled. He didn’t want to lie to his brother; Greg didn’t deserve that. “I need to help a couple of friends.”

Greg was silent for a few seconds, taking in the duffel bag that was already stuffed full of clothes and toiletries and survival supplies and everything else Wirt thought he might need. Wirt braced himself for the inevitable questions: Why are you leaving? Where are you going?

Instead, he got, “Why are you packing your Halloween costume?”

“Because Summerween’s next week,” Wirt answered automatically, but even as he said it, he didn’t know if that was true. It was practically next week already, and he wasn’t sure when he’d met the twins (he was convinced they were twins, not just siblings). Time in the Unknown was different than it was here. Days there could be minutes here, so days here…. Mabel and Dipper were probably home by now.

Or they might never have made it back.

Then again, if time did pass so differently, it didn’t make sense that he’d lived two lives. Even if he couldn’t remember any more of his time in the Unknown than when he’d been with the twins, the lantern had been burning brightly; he’d been there for a while, or at least regularly. There wouldn’t have been time for years to pass between his visits. Something didn’t add up.

But they had been real. He knew that. He’d even gone to the library to do as much research on them and the little he knew about them as he could. He could recall everything from then clearly, much more vividly than if it had just been a dream. The names they had given him were Dipper and Mabel. They had a pet pig named Waddles and great-uncles named Stan and Ford. They had fought someone called Bill Cipher.

The names hadn’t proven useful, especially when the only one with a last name he knew was supposed to be a demon. But some of the other odd things they’d mentioned—Summerween and Weirdmageddon—had helped him narrow it down. He wasn’t sure how reliable the information was, of course, but every mention of those words—however sketchy—seemed to lead him to one place, and by combing through online newspapers, he’d been able to put some people with those names in that town.

It was a crazy idea, but he didn’t know what else to do.

So he was packing a bag, and he’d used his money to buy a bus ticket to Gravity Falls, and he hoped his parents wouldn’t kill him once they read the note he was planning to leave behind.

He had twenty minutes.

“That sounds fun. I’ll pack mine, too.”

“You’re not coming, Greg.”

“Why not?”

Wirt’s hands shook, so he stuffed the old army cloak into his suitcase to cover up his body’s betrayal. “Because I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Well, maybe I can protect you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. Wirt didn’t want Greg to try to sacrifice himself like that again. He took a slow breath. “I need you to take care of Mom and Dad.”

“They can take care of themselves. They have each other. Who will you have if you don’t have me?”

Wirt dearly hoped the answer to that question wasn’t the Beast or any other demon, including this Bill Cipher, but he couldn’t explain anything. He couldn’t explain how he had seemingly been in two places at once, living two different lives. He couldn’t explain his lost time there or even his lost time here. What if none of it been real after all, and he’d simply imagined meeting Dipper and Mabel and pulled out some tidbits of information from his subconscious while in a feverish state?

Or was this the life which wasn’t real?

Wirt swallowed. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure who he could trust. If that had been real and this wasn’t….

Nice illusions make the best traps. That’s what Mabel had said. And wasn’t she right?

You can be shown what you want to see. If you think everything is fine, you’re never going to fight it. How was he supposed to know what this was if illusions could be so convincing?

No. He had to trust that it was all real, somehow. As real as his previous trip over the garden wall and into those woods with Greg on Halloween. He didn’t have Dipper’s apparent understanding of deals with demons, but he could understand the gist of it. If Dipper had been right—partially right, considering this life was real, too—and he had still belonged to the Beast, then maybe he had been more useful to the Beast as a puppet. And maybe he had stopped the Woodsman from blowing out the lantern. But maybe he had still followed Greg back to this world, had still been able to live his life here….

Until the Beast needed him again. Until he was called back. To guard the woods. Keep watch for lost souls. Ferry people across the lake.

Keep the lantern burning.

And as long as that happened, the Beast didn’t need him the entire time. The lantern could have burned without its guardian in that quiet corner of the woods as long as he returned regularly to harvest Edelwood to feed it—and to keep children from finding their way out of the woods so that their souls could be claimed by the Beast, too.

He couldn’t remember falling ill at all this year, didn’t know if it had happened with any regularity or if this last fever had been mere coincidence. He doubted it, though. Fever, flame…. It had to be connected.

Especially since he couldn’t remember what had happened before he’d woken in the hospital.

Not really.

Dipper had said something about keeping the lantern lit, about being more useful as a puppet than as a tree, and then….

And then nothing, not even a blur or the vague sense of a fading dream.

That scared him.

Even more terrifying was the fact that he didn’t know if it was over.

This was the first time he was aware of it, but that was because Mabel and Dipper had snapped him out of it while he’d still been there. That didn’t mean he was free. It didn’t mean the Beast was gone, that the lantern had gone out, or even that Dipper had been right in thinking it a loophole. It didn’t mean the Beast couldn’t pull him back there and use him again.

“Wirt?”

He couldn’t remember what Greg had said, if he’d even asked a question.

“I’m going to go pack. You need me.”

Wirt turned, but Greg was already disappearing. No, he wanted to say. Don’t. What if I can’t protect you? I don’t want you mixed up in this. Not again. Please, just stay here.

But the words didn’t come. Greg was right: Wirt did need him. He was terrified. He didn’t know what he was getting into. Having Greg’s unshakable faith by his side would be a comfort.

But losing it, and knowing it was his fault? Could he really risk that? Again?

Wirt sighed, pulled out his wallet, and began counting his money; if this was going to be a trip for two, he needed to make sure he had enough to cover everything. Greg was not going to suffer because of him. Not again. Not in this. “I’m going to protect you, Greg. I swear, this time, I’ll keep you safe.”

The bus stop in Gravity Falls was nothing more than a sign and a bench on the outskirts of town. Wirt stepped off the bus and looked around uncertainly, carrying both his bag and Greg’s. Greg was humming as he followed Wirt. He didn’t feel…whatever this was. If he did, it didn’t bother him.

It wasn’t something Wirt could put his finger on. It felt like he’d stepped into an electrical field, like the hairs on his arms should be standing up even though they lay flat. He couldn’t hear anything, but there was still…something. Not a hum, exactly, but a…a….

There was a small pop. Wirt turned, spotting the redheaded girl leaning against a tree on the other side of the road as she asked, “So, who are you two attached to?”

“Um….”

“I’m Greg,” Greg said, bounding across the road to the girl as she blew another pink bubble. “That’s my brother, Wirt. We’re on an adventure!”

The girl popped this bubble, too, and cracked a smile. She uncrossed her arms and crouched down to Greg’s level. “Nice to meet ya, Greg. Now, what makes you think you and Wirt are going to find an adventure in boring old Gravity Falls?”

“Not sure I’d call it boring,” Wirt muttered, because if this place had demons, too, it couldn’t be. And Mabel may not have explained what she meant by Weirdmageddon, but if half of what he’d found online had even a smidgeon of truth….

The girl’s eyebrows shot up and she looked over at Wirt. “Sounds like you’d enjoy a trip to the Mystery Shack.”

“What’s the Mystery Shack?” Greg asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” The girl winked. “It also happens to be where I’m headed; my break’s over. I brought the golf cart if you’d care for a ride. I’m Wendy, by the way.”

Wirt had no idea where he should start looking, and he vaguely recalled something about the Mystery Shack, so he smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”

“Follow me. I’m just parked over here,” Wendy said, pointing, “and it’s not far. If Greg doesn’t mind squishing in the middle or sitting on your lap, Wirt, you can toss your bags into the back.”

“What brings you out here if you’re just on your break?” Wirt asked, glancing over at Wendy. She looked like she was about his age, but she didn’t seem the type to just hang out at a bus stop for no reason. “You can’t have very long.”

He saw the smile drop from her face, and her expression became more guarded. “I like the fresh air,” was all she said. He couldn’t bring himself to believe her, but he didn’t push it.

Once they were all settled in the golf cart, their luggage safely stowed in the rack at the back, the trip wasn’t very long. Wirt suspected Wendy had driven carefully for Greg’s sake, and he was grateful for that; the cart certainly looked battered enough to have been rolled at some point. He was already regretting allowing Greg to come along. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing here anymore.

Wendy stopped around back and told them they were free to bring their bags inside for now—“Safer than leaving them out in the open.”—although Wirt had no idea who would steal their luggage here. He wasn’t even sure they had followed a road into the place; the main road looked to come from the other direction.

That’s not to say the trail wasn’t well signed; it seemed like every few trees, there was a sign declaring the Mystery Shack, with an arrow pointing the way. But he couldn’t understand why these people would be advertising for it from anywhere but the main road. No one would be coming towards it from the woods.

Granted, from the looks of the place, he wasn’t sure too many people would be coming towards it from the road, either. It looked barely a step above the place where Lorna and Auntie Whispers had lived. Ramshackle, though not abandoned. Falling apart despite a patchwork of repairs, though clean enough to be loved.

The chime above the door went as Wendy led them in, and Wirt heard, “Wendy, did they c— Oh, welcome, newcomers! Behold the Mystery Shack, where all—”

The spiel continued, but Wirt stopped listening in favour of staring. He’d had his doubts just seeing this place from the outside, but now…. It was all so obviously fake. He could see the stitches holding the mermaid together, the antlers on that jackalope were much too large to even be plausible, the merchandise looked cheap and corny…. The missing S from the giant sign on the roof seemed to make the name true. This was more hack than anything else. Why else would there a wax head of Larry King just sitting on a shelf, glaring at them all from behind the counter? This place was one which was too confusing for people to make sense of it, not somewhere that offered a real sense of mystery.

“Wirt, Wirt, look at this! It’s just like that painting at Unkie Endicott’s! Of the ghost lady who wasn’t a ghost! And I think her eyes are moving.” Greg was grinning as he walked back and forth in front of the painting, staring at the canvas.

“You’ll have to pay if you want to see more than just the shop,” Wendy added as she plucked their bags from Wirt’s grip and slid behind the counter with them. “We might have a new Mr. Mystery, but the rules of the business haven’t changed.”

Mr. Mystery smiled rather sheepishly. “We have added a family discount now.”

“They got off the bus themselves,” Wendy said before Wirt could come up with some excuse as to why their parents weren’t around. “Apparently, they’re looking for an adventure. I figured this would be a good place to start.”

“Come on, Wirt.” Greg tugged on his arm. “Let’s go inside!”

“I don’t think….” This was the wrong place to start, but Greg was looking at him that way, and how much could he deny him? He was only here because of Wirt. He’d volunteered to go headlong into danger because of Wirt. Didn’t he deserve a bit of fun before that? “Um, you can go ahead of me, okay?”

He expected Greg to say something in protest, but he just chirped, “Okay!” and bounded through the door to the rest of the building. (Wirt wasn’t sure if it could properly be called a museum when it just looked like a tourist trap.) Mr. Mystery laughed and followed him, presumably to give whatever passed as a tour or maybe to make sure Greg didn’t break anything, which left Wirt with Wendy.

“Five bucks for kids,” she said. “Are you going in, too?”

“Um.” Wirt fumbled with his wallet for a moment before pulling out a bill and passing it to Wendy. “No. I can’t. I…geez, I didn’t think this through enough. Is there a good hotel in town? Or any hotel in town?” Now that he’d seen the size of this place—or rather, the size of the bus stop and one of the main tourist attractions—he was beginning to understand why there had been so little information about it in general. “I need to figure out where we’re going to stay.”

Wendy blew another bubble of gum and managed to answer without popping it. “Hotel’s not rebuilt yet. It wasn’t a priority, I guess; we don’t get a lot of people through here. But I can put in a good word with the guy who lives alone in the mansion on the hill if you don’t mind doing a few chores to earn your keep. That’ll mean more to him than money.”

Wirt was in no position to be picky, and it couldn’t be worse than what they’d encountered in the Unknown. “That would be great.”

Wendy sucked the bubble back into her mouth and then put her hands on the counter and leaned across towards him. “Consider it done, then. But really, Wirt, you wanna tell me why you’re here?”

He offered her a smile, though it probably wasn’t very believable. “We’re going on an adventure.”

“In Gravity Falls?”

He’d expected her to question why he and Greg were alone, not doubt their choice of destination. “Yes?” It came out sounding like a question, even to his ears.

“Why here?”

Wirt swallowed. “Why does the hotel need to be rebuilt?”

“Burned down,” Wendy answered without missing a beat. “But you, you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Gravity Falls isn’t exactly a place you’d just pick off a map. So why come here?”

The truth was crazy. Wendy might have lived crazy, too, but Wirt didn’t know that for sure, so he settled on a piece of it. “A friend told me about it. She was going to be visiting here, too. She’s looking forward to Summerween.”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Summerween’s tonight,” she said, “and you can’t really expect me to believe that you’re following a girl out here when you came with your little brother.”

“It’s not like that,” Wirt insisted, his cheeks burning as if to give lie to his statement. He was kinda sorta dating Sara, if he could believe the life he’d been living here, and he hardly even knew Mabel. “I just owe her and her brother a favour.” They’d saved him, but Wendy wasn’t going to understand that, and saying it would invite more questions than he could answer. He was having enough trouble with this impromptu interrogation as it was.

Wendy’s eyes narrowed, but the next second, she was leaning back in her chair as if nothing was wrong. “Maybe I can help you then, kid. Who are you looking for?”

“Mabel,” Wirt answered, a little annoyed at being called a kid (he wasn’t even that much shorter than her; she didn’t need to treat him like he was Greg’s age) but not annoyed enough to make a big deal out of it when he could use her help.

Wendy sat up. “Mabel. You’re looking for Mabel? Mabel Pines?”

Pines sounded right, but he’d never been sure if that really was her last name. “Mabel and Dipper.” Wendy could take it as either confirmation or denial, depending on the truth. “They helped me with something.”

“When?”

The question was earnest, but Wirt wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered. “Last week.”

“Last Tuesday?”

That was oddly specific. “I don’t remember.”

Wendy sighed. “Look, I’ll be honest with you here, okay? You’re right. Mabel and Dipper are supposed to be here. But they’re not. They’ve gone missing. Their parents thought they might have run away to come here a bit early, but they never turned up, and if it’s a kidnapping, there’s been no ransom. When Stan and Ford caught wind of this, they started searching everywhere, but even they can’t find them.” She said this as if Stan and Ford were far more likely to find the twins than the police, who were undoubtedly also looking for them if they were missing.

But maybe they weren’t really missing.

He’d met them in the Unknown, after all.

Except that didn’t make sense. No matter how many times he tried to reconcile it, it didn’t add up. He and Greg had hardly been gone any time at all. They’d returned the same night despite spending more than one night in the Unknown. But then he’d woken up in the hospital again after being back in the Unknown. He remembered months of this reality, months he wasn’t even sure he’d really lived if he’d been in the Unknown all along. But it was summer now, just as it should be, and it had been summer for Mabel and Dipper, too…. But then again, the lantern had been burning brightly, the same lantern that the Woodsman had worked so tirelessly to keep lit. Left alone for too long, it should have gone out.

Something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t real.

Or something was blurring the lines.

“I know that look.” Wendy again. “You know something. Please, tell me. They’re my friends, too.”

Why put signs in the woods, advertising where there was no road for them to be seen?

Wirt took a step back.

He never should have let Greg go off on his own. The Mystery Shack was small; that was to his advantage. If he yelled, Greg would hear him. But if he yelled, they would know—

Wendy vaulted over the counter, somehow easily clearing the various knickknacks and the jar of fake eyeballs for sale on the side. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. A hollow thud. There was a basement under here. He wondered whether this place, with all its fake attractions, hid its secrets below or above or in plain sight.

“Wirt. What do you know? Tell me. It’s important.”

Always doing what you’re told. Beatrice’s voice, sounding through his head. He hadn’t imagined meeting her any more than he had imagined meeting the twins, but if this wasn’t imagination, either….

If neither was imagination, then something was fabrication, and he didn’t know which. Not the twins, surely, if Wendy seemed to know them, but….

“Darkened dreams where demons run,” Wirt whispered as he took another step back, “twisting truth till all is done.”

Nice illusions make the best traps.

Just because he was free of the Unknown, it didn’t mean he was free of the Beast. This might be a trick, part of some plan he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what had happened. Dipper and Mabel must have done something, but what if he wasn’t really back? What if this was just the dream world? Did that mean that the Beast was controlling him back in the Unknown?

He stepped back against something—the vending machine, his memory supplied—and Wendy’s hand shot out to catch his arm. “Wirt! What’s going on? What demons are running around?”

He shook his head even as her grip tightened. That was just a snatch of poetry that seemed to fit his situation. Everything felt twisted, sculpted to suit the Beast, and he didn’t know—

Wendy pulled him up by his shirt and looked him in the eye. “Spill,” she hissed as he yelped and then found himself struggling for air, feet kicking uselessly against smooth plastic in an effort to find purchase and maybe help him get free. “Now. Dipper and Mabel are in trouble, and if you don’t tell me what you know—”

“Wirt!” came Greg’s cry, barely overrode by Mr. Mystery’s, “Wendy, what are you doing?”

Wendy dropped him, but one hand was closed around his wrist before he could run. “Soos, he knows what happened to Dipper and Mabel.”

Mr. Mystery—Soos—looked startled and put one of his hands on Greg’s head. It was meant to keep him from running as much as to calm him, Wirt suspected bitterly. “How could they know?”

“Don’t know. The squirt might be clueless, but this one definitely isn’t.”

“Wirt?” Greg asked slowly, giving truth to Wendy’s words. “What is she talking about?”

Wirt, not convinced he could break free of Wendy’s grip, just shook his head.

“I thought we came here for an adventure,” Greg said. “To help your friends. Like we helped Beatrice and she helped us.”

Wirt closed his eyes. “I wasn’t lying. I am trying to help them. But I need to figure out how first.” He looked at Greg, knowing he was the only one who was going to understand the significance of the next statement. “I met them in the Unknown.”

Wirt saw Soos and Wendy exchange glances as Greg tilted his head. “I don’t remember them.”

“That’s because you weren’t there.”

“But we got back together.”

Wirt shook his head again. “No. We didn’t. Or maybe we did and I…. I don’t know. I just know I was back there. And they helped me get back here. I think. I don’t know. I don’t know anything for sure. I can’t remember exactly what happened.” He turned to Wendy. “I think they might still be there.”

“And where exactly is there?” demanded Wendy.

“The Unknown,” Wirt repeated, knowing from Wendy’s narrowed eyes that she wasn’t impressed with that answer. “It’s…. I don’t know. It’s another place. People can get lost there, but things aren’t…. It’s not like here.”

“Another dimension?” asked Soos.

Wirt shrugged helplessly, but Wendy must have agreed because she finally released him. “Sounds like it. So how do we go there and bring them back?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember. When I was with Greg, we got lost trying to find our way back to the main road. We didn’t even realize we’d crossed anything, let alone ended up in a different dimension if that’s really what it is.”

“Then how did you get out of there?”

Wirt hesitated, not sure how much he could trust his memories, and Greg said, “I just remember being cold and wet. Was that from the snow?”

“No, we’d fallen into the water. I managed to get us ashore.” If that memory was real. Maybe it had just been the snow. Or maybe…. But he didn’t want to think that this world was the fabrication. “That’s not what happened to me last time. I don’t know how I got back here. I didn’t even realize I’d left here and was back in the Unknown until I met Mabel and Dipper. I…. It’s like I woke up and they were there.”

Wendy crossed her arms. “So what do you know?”

Wirt spread his hands. “I don’t know how much of this is accurate. The Beast…. The Beast is a demon, I guess. He haunts the forest and feeds on lost souls, and he was….” Wirt stopped. There was no good way to say this. “Dipper thought the Beast had been controlling me—”

“But he had to let you go!” Greg cried. “He promised. You could go home if I stayed with him instead.”

Wirt’s chest tightened as Greg confirmed the twins’ theory. He hadn’t wanted that part to be right. He didn’t want to think that Greg would ever feel obliged to give up so much for him. He was the little brother; it was Wirt’s job to protect him, not the other way around. He’d done a terrible job of it.

“You’re not there now, kiddo,” Wendy said, “which might explain some of this.” She had taken up a defensive stance and didn’t take her eyes off Wirt.

Soos held up one finger. “Um, quick thing, but had been controlling you? As in not any longer or not currently? That seems like an important distinction.”

Wirt sighed. “I’m not sure about that, either,” he admitted. “Dipper thought he could find a loophole so that it would be over, and maybe that’s what happened. Maybe that’s why I’m back here now.” Hopefully.

“But you never left,” Greg said in a small voice.

Wirt swallowed. “I was in the hospital last Tuesday, wasn’t I?”

Greg nodded. “The fever wouldn’t break. Mom took you in the night before.”

Wendy looked from Wirt to Greg and back again before stating the obvious. “So you don’t know if you’re really safe. All you know is that you’re back here. Without the Beast, as far as you can tell.” From her tone, she could guess a number of the things he hadn’t explicitly said. Wirt nodded anyway. “And he’s haunting your dreams?”

“Not…. Well, maybe? I…. I’m not actually sure. It’s complicated. I think…. I think he’s been pulling me back into the Unknown somehow.” It made his stomach twist to think about it. If neither world was a fabrication, then maybe he had been living in two different realities. Maybe the reason he never seemed to lose much time was because he was back under the Beast’s control whenever he was close enough to the In Between for the Beast to reach out and pull him through to the Unknown.

Whenever he slept. Whenever he dreamed. If he’d left a piece of himself back in the Unknown—

“Is this my fault?” whispered Greg.

“No, it’s not.” Wirt stared at Wendy, daring her to contradict him. She didn’t. Maybe she had a little brother, too. He hesitated and looked over at Greg. “You escaped. You’re free. That’s the important part. So try not to blame yourself for my mistakes. Can you do that?”

Greg nodded.

Wirt bit his lip. “I wish I understood this better. I’d give anythi—”

Wendy’s hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth. “Don��t finish that thought. Don’t even think it. That’s too dangerous, even in here. He’s too close.”

Who’s too close? But Wirt knew the answer to that, now that he knew the Beast wasn’t the only demon to roam the realms. Mabel and Dipper had been worried about Bill Cipher. He, too, was supposed to be gone, just like the Beast, but—

It’s usually not that easy to get rid of a demon.

Since Dipper had evidently been talking from experience, he should know. But they wouldn’t have told Wirt about their demon unless they suspected he could still get to them despite whatever they had done. Hadn’t they thought this Bill Cipher was the one who had trapped them in the Unknown? Maybe demons liked deals enough to strike them with each other and this one ensured the Pines twins were lost in the woods so the Beast could claim them.

In all fairness, Wirt wasn’t exactly sure someone like Mabel could ever be claimed by the Beast—she was entirely too much like Greg for that to happen any way but deliberately—but it wasn’t likely that demons actually struck fair deals.

Whatever had been between him and the Beast…. He had to hope that it was over, that Dipper had successfully found a loophole. Except it couldn’t be over, not if Mabel and Dipper were still in there. He’d…he’d have to find a way back. Not with Greg; he wouldn’t risk Greg again. And he might not know Wendy or Soos, but he didn’t really want to risk them, either.

If…if he didn’t come back, someone would have to see Greg home, and Wirt was sure they’d do that.

“I’m calling Stan,” Wendy said, putting her cell phone up to her ear. “He and Ford need to hear everything you can tell them. Until they get here, stay at Old Man McGucket’s. No exploring. We can’t risk that.”

“Risk what?” Greg asked, looking up at Soos.

No one answered.

Wirt had no idea where Stan and Ford had been coming from, but the Pines brothers arrived at Gravity Falls within two hours. Wendy had insisted on babysitting them in the meantime, even though Greg had spent much of that time happily chatting with Fiddleford McGucket, the man who owned the mansion Wendy had mentioned. Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how someone like Fiddleford could afford to live here, but he knew better than to ask. He was just grateful to have a roof over their heads while they were here.

Wirt had half-hoped that Greg would set off exploring the mansion before everyone else arrived, but he listened very attentively as Wirt recounted what he remembered. Soos had closed up shop for the occasion, but even with Greg counting among Wirt’s audience of six, it felt like there were too many people here. This was his story. His mistake. Did they really all need to bear witness to it?

Wirt knew that was silly; it just meant he had six more people who could help him figure this out. And as reluctant as he had been to involve Greg, having his brother here helped to ground him. Of course, Greg would occasionally chime in with questions Wirt couldn’t answer—Was the lake near where we took the ferry to Adelaide’s? So what happened to the Woodsman? Couldn’t you have wished on a star and visited Cloud City, too?—which invariably led to a discussion of the first time they’d ended up in the Unknown. Greg remembered that time with far more fondness than Wirt did. To him, it really had just been an adventure.

Not a nightmare.

The discussion invariably turned to ways to get Dipper and Mabel back safely. While the others started arguing over different tactics and possible strategies, Ford pulled Wirt into another room. Wirt might not have been able to figure out who was who right after meeting Stan and Ford, but it became very clear that Ford was the more serious of the two, for all that everyone seemed to care deeply about the younger Pines twins. Stan liked to joke, coming up with crazy ideas that must have some hope of working since they weren’t immediately dismissed by the others, while Ford….

Ford had a look in his eye Wirt recognized from the face that had been haunting him in the mirror since he’d woken up in that hospital room. There was grim determination in there, sure, but it was touched by fear. Not just fear of the unknown, of not knowing what had happened, but fear born of the intimate knowledge of what may have happened.

It made Wirt think there had been far more going on in this town than the newspapers had ever reported, even the columns that seemed at first glance to be fanciful stories written merely for entertainment.

The door shut on the others, closing them off, and Ford turned to Wirt. “I’m not going to leave those kids to the mercy of another demon,” he said quietly, “but I’m not about to dismiss the possibility that this is a trick, either. I’ve been tricked too many times to blindly believe anything anymore.”

Wirt didn’t know what to say to that—he still didn’t know if this was a trick, either—so he just nodded.

“If Dipper was right, and I have no reason to believe he wasn’t, you were possessed by the Beast. Whether or not Dipper truly found a loophole in your deal with him is a moot point as long as that connection is still there. We’ll need to break that to prevent further interpretations of your contract, especially if you aren’t sure of the terms.”

Wirt opened his mouth to ask how he was supposed to do that when Ford added, “But until then, we can use that connection to our advantage.”

“How?”

Ford smiled, but it was far from reassuring. “Meet me at the Mystery Shack in three hours, and I’ll show you.”

Soos apparently had to go out for a family dinner at the local café—Wirt didn’t ask, though there was obviously more to the story judging by the looks he’d received—and Stan had muttered about seeing to a few things so they could mount the rescue mission. Fiddleford had gotten excited about this prospect and stuck to Stan like glue, which he hadn’t looked thrilled about. Ford had obviously been expected to join them, but he’d said something about splitting up in order to have enough time to cover everything. The argument had still been going on when Wendy had pulled them away and told them to find costumes to wear.

She had agreed to take them out for Summerween before she met up with her friends, though she did say it would be fine if they decided to stick around. When Wendy had handed them both pails for candy, Wirt hadn’t argued. He didn’t mind the implication that he needed a babysitter this time; now, it worked to his advantage. It meant he could be sure Greg was sufficiently distracted.

Ford had never told him to come alone, but if Wirt was going to keep Greg out of this, he had to be sneaky about it. When they were passing the edge of town nearest the Mystery Shack, Wirt bent down to tie his shoe and waved the others ahead, promising that he’d catch up soon. By some stroke of luck, Greg believed him, and Wendy—if she had any doubts—didn’t call him on it.

Wirt fiddled with his shoelace for a few moments, waiting for them to get farther ahead before running into the woods. This time, the random signage was to his advantage, and he’d smuggled a flashlight along with a first aid kit under his cloak, so he could see where he was going without depending on the light of the (admittedly waxing) moon now that the sun had set.

Despite that, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice said, “That disguise won’t fool anyone.”

Wirt scrambled for the fallen flashlight before climbing back to his feet and brushing at his clothes. He swung the flashlight around wildly, looking for the source of the voice. The beam bounced off tree trunks and broken branches, leafy shrubs and spider webs, but nothing— “Who’s there?”

“Little lower there, Stretch. We ain’t all as tall as you.”

Wirt swallowed but lowered the flashlight. If he weren’t already acquainted with talking frogs, pumpkin-wearing skeletons, or bluebirds that had once been people, he would have found the idea of gnomes more disconcerting. Self-consciously, he straightened his hat. “Um…can I help you?”

“More me that’s helping you, unless you’re going to take over my post. I pulled the short straw when Shmebulock overindulged again.” The gnome squinted at Wirt and scratched at his grey beard. “No, you’re not from here. You’re one of those that’ve been drawn here.”

Wirt blinked. “What?”

The gnome pointed in the direction Wirt had been running. “The statue. It calls some of ‘em. Like you. ‘Smy job to make sure you don’t get where you’re going. So turn around or I’ll raise the alarm.”

“What?”

“Go on. Turn. Go back wherever you came from.”

“But…. I can’t.”

“Suit yourself,” said the gnome, and then he whistled, a shrill piercing thing that had Wirt wincing and reaching to cover his ears.

The whistle cut off abruptly. Wirt lowered his hands slowly, noticing an increased rustling in the underbrush that he wasn’t naïve enough to attribute to wind or the usual forest wildlife. And then his sweeping flashlight beam caught a second gnome, and a third, and then he started seeing them by the dozens.

He took a step back. “You don’t understand.”

“We understand plenty,” the first gnome said, grinning in a feral way that showed off rows of sharp teeth. He didn’t advance, but Wirt had no illusions about what would happen if he tried to continue in this direction. He didn’t want to get mobbed.

Wirt took another step back and shook his head, for all the good that would do. “I don’t care about whatever statue thing you’re talking about. I just need to get to the Mystery Shack.”

More gnomes had appeared, every eye tracking him. It was unnerving.

Wirt didn’t know what else to do, so he kept talking. “I’m—I’m trying to help my friends. Maybe you know them. Mabel and Dipper Pines?”

The hushed silence erupted into chatter, and finally a different gnome stepped forward, this one looking younger than most of the others. “You are acting on behalf of Mabel?”

“Um…I guess?”

“Or for Mabel?”

“Uh.” Wirt didn’t know why this mattered. “For her? She and Dipper—”

“We could tie him up,” a third gnome suggested.

“Throw him in the lake,” said another.

“—gag him—”

“—leave ‘im for the Manotaurs—”

“—the Multi-Bear—”

Wirt didn’t understand half of the snippets of conversation he caught, but he didn’t need to. “She needs my help!” he yelled over the din. “They both do. And they won’t get that if I can’t get to the Mystery Shack.”

The gnome who had been questioning him held up a hand, and with some grumblings, the others quieted. “Carson, escort him to the Mystery Shack. Don’t show him any mercy if he tries to lose you and double back. Steve and Jason, take his shift. Looks like this is an extra security night.” There were a few more mutterings, but no one challenged the arrangement, and Wirt soon found himself with the first gnome as his escort.

The others—except, presumably, for Steve and Jason, and the brown-bearded one who had been giving orders—vanished with unsettling stealth, quite different from the show they’d made in appearing.

Wirt, happy enough to leave behind whatever that had been, followed Carson in silence for a moment before finally asking, “What statue?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

“But I don’t know what it is!”

“That’s the way to keep it.”

“But what did you mean when you said I was drawn to it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“No one’ll tell you differently.” Carson picked up his pace, moving much faster than something with such short legs should. Wirt ended up practically jogging after him and spending all his energy trying to keep the gnome in sight and not eating a mouthful of dirt, which effectively put an end to the questioning.

He panicked when he finally lost sight of Carson entirely, only to hear, “Thanks for the candy, Stretch!” and realize that he could see the Mystery Shack through the trees—and remember that his candy pail had been left behind in the forest.

It was a good trade, as far as Wirt was concerned. He would’ve ended up giving most of his candy to Greg anyway.

Barring a few flickering lights, the Mystery Shack was mostly dark when Wirt approached. The steps creaked under his weight, and he suddenly found its name much more fitting in this atmosphere. He knocked twice and tried the door. It was unlocked, but all he saw inside was a lava lamp set up on the counter by the cash register and the glow of the vending machine on the opposite wall.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Wirt shrieked and spun. That hadn’t been Carson’s voice, nor Ford’s. It had almost sounded like—

His flashlight beam caught the wax head of Larry King.

It winked at him.

He turned away quickly, sliding down to sit with his back against the counter. Maybe this was all a mistake. Surely this place was just proof that he wasn’t really back in the real world yet, that this was all just another fabrication—

The vending machine’s buttons suddenly lit up in a particular pattern. As he watched, it silently swung forward as if it were on a hinge to reveal a gaping hole. Somewhere below, light pulsed. Wirt could just make out stairs before darkness ate away at them again.

In for a penny, in for a pound?

He climbed back to his feet and aimed his flashlight at the stairs. They looked sturdy enough, and obviously someone was already down there….

He went carefully, keeping one hand along the wall above what looked to be the remains of a missing railing. The other hand held the flashlight so it illuminated both his feet and the stairs before him. Very quickly, however, he didn’t need it; the light from below grew stronger, and as he put his flashlight away, he found himself in a laboratory of some sort.

Correction: what had once been a laboratory of some sort and had since been abandoned.

Wirt’s eyes swept over a number of exposed wires and clearly cobbled-together circuitry that were visible under the flickering lights. More than one screen had odd stripes of colour across it, and a couple were even cracked. He bit his lip and edged away from the nearest shower of sparks coming from a thick cable connected to a lever sticking out of the floor. The movement didn’t take him any nearer Ford, who was bending over some kind of key panel. “Is this…safe?”

Ford didn’t even turn around. “No.”

“Then why are we even down here? This place looks like a fire waiting to happen!”

This time, Ford did look at Wirt. “We don’t have a choice. We need to rip a hole into another dimension. I’ve done what repairs I can in the time we have, but I don’t want to leave Dipper and Mabel in another nightmare for any longer than I have to. Now come here. I need to analyze your brainwaves if I’m going to find the right dimension.”

“You…what?”

Ford sighed. “That Unknown of yours isn’t the only dimension. If the Beast is tied to it and you’re tied to the Beast, then you’re the best option for finding the right place. We’re much safer if we aren’t doing this blind, and from the sounds of it, you’ve been there frequently.” He held up his hands, which contained what looked like suction cups on the end of wires. “Come here.”

Wirt swallowed but allowed Ford to attach him to the machine. “What happens if this goes wrong?”

“Depending on what happens, you might not even know.”

“Comforting,” Wirt muttered. His fingers tightened their grip on his hat and twisted. “What, uh, are you hoping is going to happen?”

“Something I never wanted to see again.” Ford handed him a length of rope and a clip, pointed to a metal grip attached to the console, and added, “Tie yourself on.”

Wirt did as he was told, trying his best to mimic Ford’s own makeshift harness as the man fiddled with something on the console. The numbers on the nearest screen looked specific, but they weren’t coordinates. If it was part of a code, it seemed too complicated to be easily broken, even by someone like Ford who talked as if he’d done this sort of thing before. The numbers changed even when Ford seemed to barely touch a dial, and it all looked a little too much like guesswork for Wirt’s comfort. Needing a rope didn’t exactly fill him with confidence, either. “What’s this for?”

In answer, Ford walked over to a giant lever on the floor and threw his weight into pushing it forward.

Light exploded.

Wirt squawked and instinctively closed his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Colours danced against his eyelids, red shining through, and then—

Darkness began eating away at the light, a tiny solar eclipse.

Gravity decided to stop working properly.

Wirt’s hat was torn from his grip. He saw it fly through the portal, there and gone in the blink of an eye. He was already feet first towards it, so he twisted in a futile attempt to reach the tiny metal handle he’d attached himself to. He could see the knot of his harness slipping, weaker than the pull of the portal.

The wires tore loose from his head.

Behind him, the portal flickered.

“Just hold on!” Ford yelled. “I’m going to bring them back.” He was reaching to unclip his own harness, to let the portal drag him in. “Just keep the doorway open!”

The knot worked itself free.

Rope burned through his grip as he flew backwards.

Wirt’s scream was torn from his throat, and then the lab—Ford—everything—was gone.

Next or see more fics

#gravity falls #over the garden wall #otgw #otgw fanfiction #otgw wirt #gf fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #crossover snippet #gf snippet #otgw snippet

[isthatso7]

idk another part of my fic

a\n: this is my first attempt at writing if english( pls i need beta i suck

Title: Hyperspace blue

Characters: The Jedi Exile and Atton Rand

Basically, Exile and Atton meet on the Nar Shadaa under different circumstances. She works as a mechanic and he’s a smuggler.

UPD: posted it on AO3

Atton Rand woke up and sat up in his small, but cozy bed. His bedroom was filled with blue and pink glow from vibrant street signs and giant screens with giant faces on them. He needed to get ready; there was an another work waiting for him tonight. After a brisk shower and a scarce midnight breakfast he started to put his clothes on. He grabbed his old blaster with  holster from the desk and secured it to his belt. At last, he put on his ribbed jacket and left his rarely visited lair.

You know that feeling when your vessel is entering hyperspace? The sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, the feeling of acceleration that pushes you back into the seat. For Atton Rand, this feeling was like coming home, something that meant comfort and safety. You are in the alternative reality made of white and blue lines, and outside observers can mistake your freighter for an innocent and beautiful comet. He knew it was weak consolation and ships still could explode while traveling at lightspeed, but he still relished the idea.

“I know a place where we can change vessel’s ID. The owner is an old, partially blind Sullustan, but he’s the best you can find. ” Rand’s partner in crime was a reasonable guy he met while trying to make a living in the refugee sector of Nar Shadaa. Atton never really liked the Serroco gang, mostly because they were easy to jump to conclusions, conclusions that usually lead to violence. This guy called them family. But he was smart and really knew his job so they got along very quickly.

“And also there’s a female mechanic working there, a pretty gal, but she’s not the talking kind, and Force knows I’ve tried.” He sighed and stretched his arms and put his hands behind his head. They’d successfully accomplished today’s mission, and now they needed to hide hijacked vessel. A few more hours and they’d enter Nar Shadaa’s orbit, a few more hours and they’d be changing vessel’s ID signature and bringing it to the client. Another simple job done. He’d fallen into the routine of odd jobs and got used to never knowing where he is going to meet new day again. When they’ve arrived to Tien’s place, it was close to nightfall on the Nar Shadaa. But it’s hard to tell what time of the day it was  because there was no sun above you head. There were only dim street lights and animated neon signs.

The workshop was desolate at this hour. There were no customers and Tien was nowhere to be seen. The only working light was above the workbench where was sitting a slumped female silhouette. They both approached her and she didn’t noticed them at first, too consumed in examining some droid part lying in front of her while sipping caffa from chipped mug.

The girl lifted her gaze from her work and the light from the lonely lamp fell on her face. She looked a lot like those Serroco refugees, always with the blaster in the hand, ready to fight for their territory, their little piece of freedom, trying to protect each other at all cost. Her locks were jet black and she had a few short braids in front of her left ear and in the back of her head, adorned with little wooden beads. Her monolid eyes stared at them, her right brow lifted in a silent question. She had an unusual eye color - usually people with black hair had brown eyes, but hers were green. But what did he know about genetics? He was just a smuggler.

“Hey, Kano, is Tien here?” asked Atton’s companion.

“Well, Gar, he’s sleeping, because it’s one AM.” She smiled weakly with a sleep-deprived gentleness in her eyes.

“And why are you up?”

“I can’t sleep”.

“You look like you’re going to pass out any minute, Kano.”

She shrugs, “Still can’t sleep.”

Hm. That’s the mechanic he was talking about, thought Rand.

“I and my friend are in need of some services from the boss of yours.” He ran his hand through his short hair and smiled tentatively. Kano got up and looked out the wide glass window behind her. She grabbed a rag from the table to wipe grease from her hands. The mechanic was wearing dark blue jumpsuit with dirty, worn-out military boots. She noticed their starship on the previously empty landing pad.

“You’ve got a new ship?” She eyed them warily.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to wake him now.” Kano gulped leftover caffa and left.

***

Atton usually came around two or three times a week.

Sometimes he left the moment he got what he need.

Sometimes he tried to make small talk with the unfazed, steady and irreplaceable mechanic.

Usually, he started with: “Hello, Kano.”

And she would answer after a moment: “Hello, Rand.” And then she would put her face mask on to continue welding starship hull.

Sometimes he tried to ask her personal questions just to spite her. She made an impression of a person who probably was bullied in school, but never cared about it. An estranged girl that rarely let her thoughts to materialize in a form of spoken words.

“Do you live here? It seems like you’re always working.”

“I work every day.”  

“Why?”

She shrugged with a plasma torch recklessly swinging in her hand. Too cool to think about safety.

“What do you do after work?”

“I go home, take a shower, eat something, and fall asleep.”

“That’s really sad. Do you want to go out sometimes?”

“No.”

He rarely came around during the day, so most of his interactions with her happened during her night shifts in the poorly lit hangar or cluttered workshop. But he managed to catch the sight of little things about her. She had a stern gaze but a soft face. Her skin was sickly pale with a distinct green tinge. Her eyes were always looking at you with a hint of mistrust and suspicion, always watching out for sudden movements.

There was a look in her eyes that wasn’t obvious and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of it only once. But he understood it immediately. He saw them peeking through the cracks in her guise, eyes that reminded him of a wild animal, born and raised in the confines of a cage, malnourished and abused, only to suddenly become one day free and unrestrained.

“Why? Don’t you feel suffocated by loneliness?”

“There’s no need for your fake sympathy. I chose the job myself. I like it.”

Her smile was acidic. She knew he couldn’t figure out  what’s she was thinking about and tried to annoy her out of sheer curiosity. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he was acting like that with every person he found remotely attractive. Or maybe acting arrogant was just a part of smuggler’s professional work ethic.

“There’s no need to punish yourself, Kano. You deserve to have fun sometimes.”

“And you know how to have fun?”

“Yeah. A couple of drinks, beautiful companions and pazaak. And maybe some other stuff.”

She sighed and continued to repair broken protocol droid. Most of his jokes had zero effect on her. But he made her smile a few times. Atton would’ve never confessed to it, but he was proud of himself for doing that. That’s how he discovered most of her smiles were crooked and bleak. The only time he observed her having a beaming smile on her face was when she talked to an old rusty homicidal T1 utility droid.

***

Kano’s work attire never changed. She seemed to own at least dozen of navy jumpsuit, all in various state of weariness. He sometimes wondered what kind of clothes she wears outside work. He tried to imagine her in a sandy midi skirt and a ink blue jacket. But the jacket always turned to be very similar to the top of her jumpsuit, so he stopped and cursed his imagination. Usually he had no problem with imagining anyone in colorful outfit. Or without one.

“How old are you, K?”

He found out she hated when someone shortened her name. But she didn’t mind different pronunciations. Like, he heard people calling her “Kay-no“, “Kah-no” or even “Kah-nu”, but she never protested or corrected anyone.

“Don’t call me K, please.”

“So?”

“I’m almost thirty. And you, scoundrel?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Woaw.”

“What? I don’t look my age?”

“Really? Yes. What is the secret? You look twenty-two, flyboy.”

“That’s an ancient Sith technique. Only a few in this part of the galaxy know it.”

“Does it involve sacrificing a bunch of Jedi to an ancient Sith lord?”

“No. Just a lot of water and positive vibes.”

“Have you ever seen a Sith lord? A real one?”

“No, of course.”

“And you?”

“I haven’t too.”

“Do they really do that stuff?”

“I don’t know. I heard some stories, but you can never know the truth now that they’re gone.”

***

One day he strolled into the shop and Kano was wearing a white T-shirt. It hang a little bit loose. And that’s how he saw her pink burn scars all over her right hand and her neck. It only happened once. He tried asking how she got these scars, but she never answered. Hadn’t even stopped looking at the droid detail she examined.

“I’m going on a vacation,” She said suddenly when handing him the parts he asked for.

“Nice. Where to?”

“Telos IV.”

“If it was a decade ago, I would’ve been jealous of you. But now? C’mon, there’s nothing to see there. The ocean’s irradiated. Your skin will come off. Or the Citadel station will explode because of that shitty Peragus fuel.”

“They’re trying to rebuild. I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the zones where the atmosphere is restored. Almost like it was before.” She was delving into the old memories, he could tell it by her eyes.

“And who told you that? A shifty travel agent?”

“A friend of mine.”

“A friend? What kind of friend?”

Now he’s surprised. And maybe a little jealous. What, he thought she doesn’t have friends besides him?

“A kind that doesn’t lie about the peaceful landscapes.”

She wasn’t there the next time he visits. The almost blind Tien sat in her chair and a utility droid made a series of hostile  beeps following him around the shop until he left.

#atton rand #jedi exile #kotor 2 #my shitty writing #my fic #i'm suffering

[thatishogwash]

Shot Through the Heart

KuroDai Weekend Day 3, December 10: Free Day Your Chosen AU 

AO3

“This-” Kenma’s voice was soft, there was a moment's pause as he took a breath.  “-is a terrible idea.”  Kuroo smirked despite himself, in spite of the fact that most of his own people agreed with Kenma.  It was a terrible idea, but if it worked then it would benefit everyone in the long run.  He would be better fit to protect his people and the Fukurdani Alliance would be made stronger.  Kuroo Tetsurou did not have any secret ulterior motives, no, never him.

“Bo already agreed to it.”  Kuroo reminded Kenma, reminded the rest of the people in the room, once again.  Kenma let out a sigh but otherwise ignored this.  Kuroo knew by the shift in Kenma’s thin shoulders and the tilt of his head he had given up this as a lost cause.

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”  Kai Nobuyuki spoke up, voice soft and deep, but still respectful.  He was studying the live feed from the room their  guest was currently asleep in.  Yaku Morisuke was setting up an IV, checking heart rate and blood pressure, mostly pacing around the sleeping man and worrying with his ever present scowl.  Haiba Lev, who had volunteered to be Yaku’s personal bodyguard since the latter was a doctor and not a soldier, was situated in a chair in the corner of the room, his limbs nearly comically long and situated awkwardly.

“He doesn’t look like much,” Yamamoto Taketora spoke up, hesitant at first but gaining confidence when no one told him to shut up.

“He’s the leader of Karasuno.”  Kenma said, before Kuroo could tell Yamamoto how wrong he was.  “He rebuilt a broken empire, he gained control over his district in the Southern Ward in only a handful of years.  Karasuno is small, but everyone there has a specialized talent.  They’ve had a total of 15 attacks on them in the last three years alone, and Karasuno has yet to lose one single person in those attacks.  Only one group has even managed to make it near their compound and they were thoroughly wiped out.”  Kenma reported in a bored tone, never looking up from his phone.

“Do not underestimate Sawamura Daichi.”  Kuroo warned the small group of people in his office.  Even covered in cuts and bruises and gauze Sawamura looked like the boy nextdoor.  The kind of guy who’d help you carry groceries to your car or helped old ladies get their cats out of trees.  Sawamura was that type of man, but he was also cold and ruthless and terrifying when he needed to be.

“If Karasuno is so great why haven’t I heard of them?  And why wouldn’t he join the Group?”  Yamamoto asked, though there was no disrespect in his tone or manner, he was genuinely curious.  He’d follow Kuroo’s orders to the letter, but Kuroo had always encouraged questions, as long as they were done privately.

“Karasuno was a powerhouse for a long time, then they got nasty.  Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, you name it, they did it.  Their district became a dangerous place to be, the police practically abandoned it, well those who weren’t corrupt anyways.  The only thing holding it all together was old man Ukai, when he was killed everything turned to shit, even worse than it had before.”  Kuroo explained, settling down in his chair as he continued to watch the sleeping Sawamura.  It was a drug induced sleep, but from the dark circles under his eyes he needed it.  “Other groups came in and cleaned Karasuno out, killing off most of its remaining members. ��The smart ones went underground.”

“Sawamura Daichi dropped out of the Police Academy, disappeared for a couple years, before re emerging as Karasuno’s new leader, with the help of Ukai’s grandson.”  Kai continued on where Kuroo had left off.  There were very few people who knew that Sawamura had dropped out of the Police Academy because he had been shot twice in the Academy, Kai was one of them though he had never spoken about it after Kuroo asked for his silence.

“He’ll join because it’s the smart thing to do.”  Kuroo said more confidently than he actually felt.  There were always alliances being struck between each group, but you could never truly depend or rely on them.  The Fukurdani Alliance was different, made up of three groups currently but Kuroo was hoping Karasuno would be their fourth.

“It would be mutually beneficial for everyone involved.”  Kai admitted with a small nod.  Striking that alliance would require cunning and perhaps devious methods, Kuroo was all for that.

“Hasn’t Sawamura turned down your offers before?”  Yamamoto asked delicately.  Kenma looked up from his phone for the first time since walking into Kuroo’s office, and even Kai turned a knowing gaze towards him.

“Semantics.”  Kuroo shook them off.  The last time Kuroo had sent Sawamura a fruit basket, Sawamura had sent it back but this time the fruit was arranged to spell ‘Fuck off’.  Kuroo had laughed even though several of his people had looked horrified and offended.  Sawamura was polite even to the worst scum, Kuroo called it a win to be able to get under the other man's skin without much effort put forth.

“Maybe you should have Bokuto talk to him or someone from Ubugawa?”  Bokutu Koutarou was the leader of the Fukurdani group, and Ubugawa was the third group in their alliance.  It was a solid question, an even better suggestion, but Kuroo tossed them both away.  He had to be the one to make Sawamura agree to join the group.  Their past was a bit unfortunate, but it wasn’t enough of a reason for Sawamura to hold a grudge against him for 9 years.  Kuroo needed to know what the cause of Sawamura’s intense hatred for him was.

“It won’t work, Kuroo’s obsessed.”  Kenma was back on his phone again, voice most neutral but there was a hint of disgust in there.

“Do not tell me you’ve made me work on Sawamura for hours just for you to hurt him again?”  Yaku spat out as he entered the office.  All 165 centimeters of him vibrating with disdain at the thought.

“No one touches him.”  Kuroo’s dark tone surprised even him before he cleared his throat and sat up from his slouched position.  Haiba had even stopped mid-walk in surprise at Kuroo’s vehemence.  “I just meant we’re here to talk him into joining an alliance before his own group finds out where he is, talk and perhaps a little bribery.”  Sawamura would never accept bribery, at least the Sawamura Kuroo had known 9 years ago wouldn’t.  Then again the Sawamura Kuroo knew 9 years ago held a dark loathing for all those involved in the groups who ruled the four Wards, and now he was a leader of one of those groups, a group with a lot of blood on its metaphysical hands.

“Good.”  Yaku said, relaxing slightly.  Haiba continued his walk, slamming into the much smaller man as if he couldn’t see him from his tall vantage point.  Yaku swatted him away but otherwise ignored Haiba.  “His wounds are extensive but they are all surface damage.  It seems they didn’t have time to start breaking bones or cut off limbs.”

The Nekoma Group had very literally stumbled upon Sawamura and his captors.  Of course Kuroo had heard that the Karasuno leader had gone missing, but he didn’t think he’d be hidden away in his own district.  Sawamura had been in pretty bad shape when they got him out of the dark, moldy abandoned warehouse he had been in, but cleaned and patched up he looked a little better.

“Has everyone eaten?”  Yaku suddenly asked, frowning around at the group before sighing at their various negative answers.  “Come on, let's get you fed.”  Haiba cheered and Yaku kicked him out of the room before more gently extricating everyone else.

“I hope you know what you’re doing Kuro.”  Kenma said quietly once the room was empty, before following the small group out himself.  Kenma was the only one who knew about Sawamura and Kuroo’s past dealings.  The only one who at least partially understood Kuroo’s obsession.

Kuroo had joined the Police Academy nearly a decade prior, under a false name and to plant himself in a position of power to help the Nekoma Group.  Sawamura Daichi had been at the Academy at the same time, shiny eyed and bushy tailed and extremely attractive, if Kuroo was being totally honest, which he usually was.  Striking up a friendship and later an actual relationship with Sawamura had been thrilling at first, a chance to see if his acting skills were as good as he thought they were.

Except Sawamura turned out to have a great sense of humor and a truly wonderful personality to match along with that greek god-like body, and Kuroo realized the sort of trouble he had gotten himself into.  Then Nekomata was calling him back, and Kuroo knew that if he, or the person he was pretending to be, disappeared off the face of the Earth then Sawamura would never stop searching for him.  So Kuroo made Sawamura hate him, admitted to being the one thing Sawamura hated most in the world.

Now Sawamura was the leader of Karasuno and Kuroo was very much interested in knowing the man he had become, how getting shot had led to him becoming the one thing he hated most.  But Sawamura had decided to hold a decade old grudge against Kuroo, never letting the other man near enough to charm him.

Sawamura couldn’t avoid Kuroo now though, and Kuroo was going to take full advantage of that.  He hadn’t been lying to Yaku, no further damage would be added to the extensive wounds he already had, and Kuroo would hand him over the second Karasuno got a whiff that their leader was in Nekoma’s district but until then Sawamura was all Kuroo’s.

Kuroo decided he could use a little nap and got up with a smirk firmly settled on his features.

-------

Sawamura felt like shit.

Sawamura had been raised by his elderly grandparents, his parents innocent victims in a shootout between two wanna-be gangs.  He had been raised to be respectful, truthful, an upstanding citizen, and about a dozen other things, which included him finding other, more intelligent ways to describe things without swearing.

But Sawamura felt like shit because sometimes “intelligent” descriptors didn’t really get the point across about how terrible a person can feel.

The problem, Sawamura realized after spending half a moment apologizing to his dead grandparents for his foul language, was that he didn’t feel as shitty as he should.  He was sore, just about every inch of him ached in time with his heartbeat, but he knew he should feel worse.  The pain was kind of hazy, and it was with that thought that Sawamura realized his mind was a little hazy too.

They drugged him?  No, that didn’t make sense, they wouldn’t want to let him separate from the pain at all.  Being drugged meant he wouldn’t feel the full extent of the agony of losing a couple fingers or living through his shoulder being purposely dislocated.  All things they had promised to do to him if he hadn’t told them the information they wanted to know.  They had been slow and methodical, working up from open handed slaps to punches to small quick cuts to slow shallow stabs in the more meatier parts of his anatomy.

Sawamura also felt warm and clean.  He still felt a bit sticky and greasy, but cleaner than he should be after being strapped to a chair for three days.  He also seemed to be laying down.

Karasuno.  It’s the only explanation, they found him and he was home.  They knew how he felt about drugs, but Suga must have made the executive decision to give it to him anyways.  Sawamura had always believed he rather feel the full pain of any wounds and have all his mental faculties then be blissed out and unable to defend himself properly.

Sawamura was safe though so he let the drugs lull him back to sleep as he shifted closer to the warmth nuzzled against his side.  It was a person, Sawamura’s slow brain managed to supply, probably Hinata.  He had nightmares and he was known to sneak into various peoples beds, he had probably been making himself sick with worry over Sawamura being missing.  So Sawamura brought his hand up to ruffle the orange locks but something felt wrong.

Sawamura peeled open his eyes, not surprised when his left one didn’t want to comply, he vaguely remembered a punch aimed there.  There was indeed a person nuzzled up to his side, face buried against his neck and black hair tickling his chin.

Black hair?  Sawamura ran through the list of possibilities.  Nishinoya was the first one, but the body against his was far too long to be the 160 centimeter defender.  Ennoshita?  But the name was discarded as quickly as it entered Sawamura’s head.  Ennoshita might be a cuddler but he certainly would never do so with Sawamura, especially by sneaking into Sawamura’s bed when he was too drugged and hurt to say differently.  Yamaguchi?  No, that didn’t seem right either, the hair was all the wrong length too.

“More,” A deep, slightly familiar voice mumbled against his throat before reaching up to tap on Sawamura’s hand, where it had stilled in the messy inky black locks.

Familiar, it was all so familiar and Sawamura couldn’t place why because his brain was too sluggish from drugs to connect the dots.  It wasn’t just the voice that was familiar but the hair and body, even the way their persons were pressed together in sleep was familiar.

“Kuroo?”  Sawamura didn’t recognize his voice at first, it was too raspy and uneven.

“Bingo.”  Kuroo’s answer was breathed against Sawamura’s throat.  “I rescued you, now where’s my kiss?”

“Do you mean punch?  Get off of me before I strangle you.”  Sawamura’s last words were rasped out, his throat completely dry.  Kuroo rolled away from him before reappearing with a glass of water.

“Drink up.”  Kuroo smirked and Sawamura turned his head.

“Piss off.”  Sawamura ground out, felt a lick of shame at the poor language and rude manner, but he shoved that away because it was Kuroo Tetsurou, who deserved nothing better.

“You really have changed, those implicable manners are completely gone.”  Sawamura forced himself to sit up despite his body protesting, quite loudly, that all it wanted to do was lay back down and pass out for another 24 hours or so but like hell was Sawamura going to have any sort of conversation with Kuroo flat on his back.  “Careful, careful.”  The free hand of Kuroo’s fluttered around his body but Sawamura smacked it away, glaring at him and hoping it was effective even with one eye swollen shut.

“What kind of plan is this?”  Sawamura felt like someone was dragging sandpaper down his dry throat, but he forced the pain to the back of his mind.  “Torture me then let me heal before what?  More torture?  Or is this the torture, making me bare your company without a means of escape.”  The drugs must have really addled his brain because Sawamura thought there was a look of hurt that crossed Kuroo’s face before it was replaced with his regular smarmy look.

“That’s very rude Daichi,” Kuroo said his name with slow deliberateness, a gentle caress of forced intimacy that would have Sawamura grinding his teeth if his jaw wasn’t already throbbing in pain.  “I rescued you.”  Kuroo motioned to the spacious, mostly empty room.

“Like I’d believe anything that came out of your mouth.”  Sawamura knew he should play along, make Kuroo drop his guard so Sawamura could escape, but of course it had to be the one person Sawamura could not even fake a smile for.  Kuroo frowned, another look of hurt flashing on his face but Sawamura forced himself to remember that Kuroo was a complete psychopath, he lacked empathy and a conscious, and nothing he did would make Sawamura forget that.  He had the scars to prove it.

“You’re purposely making this more difficult than it has to be Sawamura.”  Kuroo said, disapproving but at least he was using his formal name again.  Kuroo pressed his lips to the glass and drank half of it before holding it out to Sawamura.

Sawamura took the glass in his uninjured hand, careful of the IV, and decided that he was already drugged, if the water held more than it’d make little difference.  He downed the water, his mouth and throat equal parts happy and angry about it.  It hurt to swallow, and it sat heavy in his empty stomach but felt a bit better.

“Hungry?”  Kuroo questioned, looking far too innocent for Sawamura’s liking.  “I’ll go get you something to eat, don’t try to do anything stupid.  Yaku stitched you up and he’ll have my skin if you pop a stitch or open a wound and please don’t purposely hurt yourself just so Yaku will kick my ass, that’s childish.”  Kuroo strode out of the room and Sawamura let out a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his body at the action.

Sawamura had tried not to notice any details about Kuroo, but of course he had.  They had last seen each other when they were 20, still a little awkward in their mostly grown adult bodies but there was no more awkwardness in 29 year old Kuroo Tetsurou’s movements.  The 10 or more centimeters Kuroo had on Sawamura meant he was lanky, but even dressed in a black suit Sawamura had noticed there was lean muscles on every inch of the taller man.  He still had that permanent bedhead, still had that smooth-looking dark skin, and the ever present smirk was on his face.

Sawamura tried to force himself out of the bed, to check out the room, thinking maybe they left a door or window unlocked because they thought he was too wounded or drugged to escape.  He couldn’t stand up, was actually slumping against the bed, his body refusing to listen to his orders, his brain slowly shutting down on him.  He had used up too much energy snarking at Kuroo and he couldn’t fight against the sleep that was slowly blacking out his vision.

-------

“He really hates you.”  Inuoka piped up, his voice surprisingly high pitched for someone his size, though not unpleasantly so.  He looked half nervous and half amused.

“Maybe someone else should bring him his food?”  Kenma offered softly but without any real feeling.  Kuroo knew better, could see the worry by the straight line of Kenma’s usually curved spine, the way he eyed the ramen dripping down Kuroo’s front.

“Stop upsetting my patient!”  Yaku yelled out after he made sure there was no actual damage done to Kuroo.  The ramen had been nearly cold by the time Sawamura woke up on his own and Kuroo had offered it in a flourished movement.  Kuroo didn’t think he’d have gotten a chest full of ramen if he hadn’t been snuggled up to the sleeping Sawamura, but really, he was so peaceful when he slept, how could Kuroo possibly resist?  It was really Sawamura’s own fault.

“Should I call Bokuto?”  Kai asked, dark eyebrows furrowed over dark eyes as he looked at the mess covering Kuroo.

“If he has enough strength to toss ramen bowls then maybe we should strap him down?”  Haiba questioned, making everyone quiet down and stare at him.  “Yaku has to go in there to check him over and if he hurts-”

“Sawamura wouldn’t do that.”  Kuroo waved his hand.  It had only been two days since Sawamura had arrived, and the only real interactions he’d had with the Nekoma group was Kuroo, Yaku, and Lev attempting to be intimidating while Yaku yelled at him to stop getting in his way.

“But Yaku-” Lev begun in a soft whine.

“I can handle myself!”  Yaku growled out, kicking Lev for good measure.  The tall man flinched but continued on.

“You make me stand in the corner and he is refusing drugs and he’s clearly regaining his strength, if he tries to go after you I might not be quick enough.”  Lev hovers over Yaku, shifting from one foot to the other, looking like an overgrown puppy despite the fact that he towers over everyone else in the room.  Kuroo smirked at the interaction despite the fact that he really needs to change out of his sticky, noodly suit.

“Sawamura wouldn’t hurt Yaku.”  Kuroo states again, cutting off their argument, gaining everyone’s attention.

“Kuroo-” Lev wrung his hands in front of him and Kuroo decided to put the younger man's mind at ease.  Lev didn’t worry about much, mostly about food, but Yaku was special to him, despite the older man being vaguely annoyed by the half-Russian one.

“Even at half his strength and doped up on drugs it wouldn’t stop Sawamura from overpowering you or Yaku.”  Kuroo stated simply.  Lev was quick, and when he wanted to he could be quite clever, but until he stopped slacking off in his workouts he’d always be weak, especially against someone like Sawamura who had been training his body since he was 12 years old.  “I’ve left out plenty of things that would be better suited as a weapon then a cold bowl of ramen, but Sawamura has never used them against me and he doesn’t even look at them when Yaku is in the room.”  Though at first Sawamura had been worried about Lev’s presence.

“Why is he refusing to listen to you?”  Inuoka asked and Kuroo could see it was a question that had been on everyone’s mind.  Nekoma was known as being clever and manipulative, one of the more intelligent groups in any of the four wards.  They found weaknesses and struck as a team, but they were also known to be fair and showed a willingness to listen to others.

“About a decade ago I joined the Academy under a false name and background, I was meant to learn their training techniques and find out what I could about how they handled groups so we could better defend ourselves.”  Kuroo went to cross his arms over his chest before he remembered the ramen.  “I used Sawamura to accomplish my goals, he was top of his class and on the fast track to be the head of a department but I was called back to Nekoma after a little over a year.  Sawamura found out what I was, apparently he’s pretty bitter about it.”

It wasn’t the full story.  No one, not even Kenma, knew the full story.  How much fun Kuroo had in provoking Sawamura, who was competitive but too polite to show it.  He had enjoyed showing off his better test scores and tried to beat Sawamura during their field training.  Theirs had been an easy rivalry, and a surprisingly easier friendship.  They ate meals together, Kuroo helped Sawamura with classes while Sawamura helped Kuroo with various obstacle courses and physical training.  They watched movies together, starting on the floor of eithers room then after a couple months ending up together in either of their beds.  There were soft, fond glances before slow, chaste kisses that turned into something more.

Kuroo hadn’t pined away, there was too much work to be done, especially when he was called back from the Academy.  Some of the older members of Nekoma had taken it upon themselves to push past their limits and break some key rules.  It had been Kuroo’s job to make sure those members were properly punished and that no one repeated their mistakes.

Kuroo had other people, but nothing really compared to the quiet comfort he had found with Sawamura Daichi.  Kuroo accepted that, knew that he was unlikely to ever fill that gap in his life with anyone besides Sawamura.  Some people were just irreplaceable, and Kuroo accepted that and moved on.  Or at least he thought he had before Sawamura reappeared as the leader to the fallen giant, the flightless crows that was Karasuno.  Kuroo had thought it was fate intervening, but apparently fate had decided to be a little bitch.

“That’s all?”  Lev asked, sounding unimpressed.  Yaku was frowning deeply, but Kuroo could tell the man was still working something out, not yet ready to discuss whatever was rattling around in his brain.  Kuroo shrugged and finally went to change out of his ruined suit.

-------

“Sawamura, would you mind if I asked you a question?”  Yaku asked, hesitant and soft in a way Sawamura hadn’t seen him be up to that point.  Sawamura found himself nodding automatically as Yaku carefully took out the IV, Sawamura was drinking fluids on his own now so it was pointless.  “Why wouldn’t you consider joining the Fukurodani Alliance?  It is a great opportunity for Karasuno, I have heard you’re quite skilled and strong, but you’re group is still new and small.”

Sawamura licked his dry lips, keeping Lev in his peripheral at all times while keeping his eyes trained on Yaku.  Lev seemed to sit up straighter at the question, it had taken Sawamura a while to realize that the tall, intense looking man had actually been pouting in the corner he had been banished to.

“I cannot make that decision solely on my own.”  He would need to consult with Ukai, though he would never say that outloud.  Of course most people suspected that the grandson of old man Ukai, former leader of Karasuno, was helping Sawamura from the shadows, but no one could pin down Ukai’s location, or even make sure he existed at all.  Sawamura wouldn’t confirm that for anyone, even the good doctor Yaku.  “But even if I could, how could I ever trust Kuroo Tetsurou?” Sawamura tried to keep the disdain out of his voice, because he knew he was talking about their leader, but it showed on the pronouncement of Kuroo’s name.  A completely different name then the one Sawamura had known him by for a year and four months.

“Yes, I thought the problem might be Kuroo.”  Yaku was frowning, clearly not understanding.  “Forgive me for being rude, but he told us about the Academy.”  Sawamura stiffened and those clever eyes of Yaku’s caught the movement.  “He didn’t go into any great detail, just that you were in the fast track to being something great amongst the police and he decided to spark up a friendship just in case.”  Friendship was putting it mildly, and Sawamura suspected Yaku knew it was a bit more than that.

“And he told you how it ended?”  Sawamura asked, not understanding how Yaku didn’t know why Sawamura could never trust Kuroo.

“Yes, but I don’t understand how that grudge could last a decade long or why you would let it get in the way of protecting your people.”  Yaku said, arms crossed and looking vaguely disapproving.

“I’m sorry,” Sawamura said, not sorry at all.  “But you would trust someone with the people in your care after they had shot you in the back?”  Yaku’s eyes widened in surprise and Lev fell out of his chair, the dramatics would have been comical if Sawamura wasn’t so angry.

“What?”  Lev wheezed out, the first word he had spoken in front of Sawamura.

“So he didn’t tell you how it ended then?”  Sawamura asked, not surprised at all.  “He revealed who he actually was to me, walked away and while my back was to him, shot me twice.”

“Excuse me.”  Yaku bowed quickly before marching out of the room, Lev scrambling after him.  Sawamura was left in his bed in surprise.

The surprise faded when Sawamura took notice of something else.  Something Yaku had always been careful to do up to this point.  Sawamura stood up from the bed, ignoring the various aches and pains in his body.  They had been taking surprisingly good care of him but it still had only been a couple days since he had been tortured for three days straight.  But Sawamura knew how to deal with pain, pain and him were old friends.

Sawamura went up to the door and carefully turned the knob.  He bit back his grin as the knob turned in his hand.  Yaku had forgotten to lock the door in his hasty retreat out of the room.

Sawamura was getting out of there today.

-------

Kuroo watched the live feed of the cameras placed strategically around his base.  Sawamura was loaded into a nondescript black SUV, safe and sound tucked back within the arms of his own family.  He had made a call before escaping.  Kuroo wasn’t sure if escaping was the right term since Sawamura hadn’t been a prisoner.

Kuroo would miss sneaking into Sawamura’s bed once the man fell asleep.  It had been a long time since Kuroo trusted anyone enough to actually fall asleep with them, but the warmth Sawamura radiated and his soft snoring, most likely the cause of a broken nose, easily lulled Kuroo to sleep.  Kuroo worried that Sawamura slept so hard he didn’t notice someone slipping into his bed, worried more than it took the other man minutes to wake up fully enough to realize he wasn’t alone.  Kuroo was a horribly light sleeper and could wake fully within the span of a breath.

There only seemed one way to truly solve this and make sure that Sawamura was safe as he slept.  Kuroo would just have to be in bed with the other for the rest of their lives.

Kuroo hadn’t pined away for Sawamura, but having the man in his own compound had made Kuroo realize he was missing something essential in his life.  He didn’t allow himself to be selfish, his family would fall and all the people who stood under his protection would be harmed if he allowed himself to be selfish.  But this was the first thing in a long time, perhaps Kuroo’s entire life, that he would allow himself to be selfish for.

It helped that their alliance would be mutually beneficial to both of them.  But mostly Kuroo wanted to be able to crawl into bed with the other man after a long hard day and let his breathing lull him to sleep.

It wouldn’t be easy.  Sawamura was terribly stubborn when he wanted to be.  Yaku had informed Kuroo that the other leader was under the impression Kuroo had shot him, in the back twice.  Kuroo would find the evidence that he wasn’t the shooter and he would convince Sawamura that they were better as allies than enemies.  Sawamura may be stubborn but Kuroo was patient.

#kurodaiweekend #kurodai #kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #haikyuu #my writing #fanfiction #mafia

[margarittet]

Why the SPN mixtape scene from 12x19 is screenwriting gold, and should be taught to the next generations of screenwriters everywhere - analysis

20 seconds. Two lines of dialogue, three gestures, a couple more camera angles. Episode 19, season 12 of a genre TV show “Supernatural”. A single strike of screenwriting and cinematic genius. The mixtape scene.

Robert Berens and Meredith Glynn, I bow before you.

This scene should be used as an example for future screenwriters how you can put maximum of meaning into minimal time and dialogue. Should be analyzed and taught at universities everywhere, how to achieve the most using the least. How to write for TV, where you only have less than an hour to built something spectacular.

WOW.

Let’s just peel off all the layers of these 20 seconds of footage and these 13 words. 13 WORDS.

(Cas knocks, Dean doesn’t say anything. Cas opens the door, apologizes for disturbing Dean in his room, and then takes a cassette tape out of his left inside coat pocket, and puts it on the desk, while tapping the label on it that says “Deans (sic!) top 13 Zepp traxx”.)

Cas: Um, I just wanted to return this.

Dean: It’s a gift. You keep those.

13 tracks. 13 words. The future. So number thirteen is important for the future. I mean, are you trying to tell us something here, writers?

(Dean takes the tape, oustreches his arm, and gives it back to Cas. We see Cas’ hand grabbing the tape, and taking it back.)

That tiny scene is ENORMOUS from the perspective of the narrative and the characterization. Let’s see what we can get out of it. (Prepare yourself: it’s gonna be long. Damn, how much meta can you write based on 20 seconds of television and two lines of dialogue?) (Hint: A lot.)

Thoughts in no particular order.

LotR reference

Let’s start with text, because text is kinda my thing. This is this:

I half expected Dean to roll his eyes at himself for acting like an elvish maiden - maybe he did internally. Anyway, we all remember how Aragorn and Arwen’s story ended, right? (In the movies at least.) 

It’s great how Cas and Dean re never strictly cast as a female mirror or male mirror in any of the romantic pararells that the show does. Their gender roles and characteristics are extremely fluid, and it’s wonderful.

2) The label

Deans (sic!) top 13 Zepp traxx”

First thing: “Deans” - not “Top 13 Zepp traxx”, not “The best of Led Zepp”. DEAN’S top 13 Led Zepp tracks. This shit is personal. Your favourite music says a lot about you, it’s like showing somebody your favourite book, or your favourite fictional character. ONE favourite track says something about what you like, feel, think. 13 songs of your favourite band, especially if that band is Led Zeppelin? You may as well get naked, because you can’t uncover yourself much more than that. This stuff makes you open and vulnerable. They will know what you like, what you enjoy, what you feel, what kind of stories your favourite music tells. It’s a mirror of you. Led Zepp is not a band with three beats and five words in the lyrics. It’s long, it’s literary, and it’s epic. It tells a lot about the person, especially a person who loves music and stories as much as Dean does. By showing Cas that he loves these 13 songs of Led Zeppelin, he told Cas he loves cock rock, sexual innuendos, shameless romanticism, fantasy references, biblical imagery, American blues, stories about life, death, love, sex, angels, Satan, mythology, science-fiction and Lord of the Rings. If this band is not a metaphor for the many sides of the real Dean Winchester, I don’t know what is. Dean showed Cas his non-performing side.

This is not even good gift giving, Dean, darling - a nice gift would be giving Cas music HE would enjoy, not you. Give him Beyonce (“Halo” would be nice, lol), give him rap, give him some Britney Spears. No, you gave him Led Zepp, with a NOTE that these are your favourite songs.

You wanted to show yourself to him. This is fucking intimate.

The cassette is a symbol for Dean, for Dean's heart, like the necklace was a symbol of Arwen's heart. That is why no matter what Cas did in 12x19, Dean is still on his side. Why he fixed his truck, gave him the Impala keys without thinking, tried to talk to him instead of fighting him, why he was so hurt Cas left before. That's why he didn't even consider taking the cassette back. Because he has made his decision, he gave himself to Cas, and he will not hear of Cas giving it back (you can't give it back, really). Just look how quickly Cas grabs the tape back. He even uses it later to highlight "we", waving it between him and Dean. This moment is showing us Dean has given his true self to Cas, and he is not changing his mind. This happened already, and no one witnessed it but the two of them. Cas only tried to give it back, because he thought that after what he was about to do, Dean would want it back. Nope.

Nothing to see here. Moving on.

“Top 13”

Yeah, these are his favourite songs, but not all of them, just the best ones. Why thirteen? This is actually a weird number of songs for a cassette tape, especially for a band like Led Zeppelin. It’s too few for 90 min, and too many for 60 min (usual lengths of tapes). So I see three reasons:

Dean just chose songs that send exactly the message he wanted to send, so he didn’t need more songs.

It’s a reference to season 13 - which, I believe, will be romance heavy and amazing.

It’s a reference to “13 Reasons Why”, a show about a girl’s suicide and cassette tapes since this is the same episode where Kelly kills herself, dies, and is revived by the Nephilim, (and therefore it’s canon that the Nephilim can bring people from the dead. Cas, anyone?)

All of the above.

“Zepp”

Besides the fact that liking Led Zeppelin says tons about the real Dean Winchester, it has also different meanings:

Led Zeppelin is a shorthand for seduction, but also for a cosmic romantic connection.

We know two situations where Led Zepp is mentioned in terms of seducing somebody. Jo mentions that hunters want to get into her pants with “some pizza, a sixpack and side one of Zeppelin IV”. This means pretty much the same as “they think they can impress me with cool music while they only know four songs played frequently on the radio, fucking posers.” See, I know Dean is better than to put Stairway to Heaven or Rock n’ Roll on his mixtape, since these are the most popular, i.e. impersonal of Zeppelin songs (although he may be partial to “Battle of Evermore”, since he is a huge nerd). Aaaaaanyway, the other time we see Led Zepp as a seduction technique is when Nick the Siren talks to Dean about some more obscure Led Zepp records - he outdid Dean with his knowledge of Led Zepp trivia - and Dean is bought. This is exactly the opposite of knowing only side A of Zeppelin IV. This is a real deal, and Dean is so mesmerized.

And then we have the literal “match made in Heaven” of John and Mary - and we know she used Led Zeppelin to test John as a potential lover. He knew all the lyrics (again, real, deep knowledge of the subject vs the superficial one), and she knew he was worth going for. I don’t think Dean is testing Cas, but I think that since John and Mary connected over Zeppelin LYRICS, the lyrics are as important for Dean as the music is. That’s why he used them to show Cas what he feels. And it also reminds him of his parents.

Plus, honestly, if reciting/playing Led Zepp lyrics to somebody doesn’t feel dirty and/or disgustingly romantic, you’re doing it wrong. “Squeeze me baby, ‘till the juice runs down my leg”? Really? 

Led Zepp is connected to John

Remember how, when we see Dean for the first time connecting with a kid in season 1, he teaches him that “Zeppelin rules”? That’s because Zeppelin is in Deans mind “father’s music”. It’s something you show your kid, something you can bond over. 

It’s a well known thing that we choose partners similar to our parents, so it’s not a shocker that Dean connects John’s music with his love interests. It’s nothing weird. If he was going for a girl, he’d look for somebody who is like more like Mary (and since she also loved Led Zepp - well, remember Jo?)

Led Zepp is connected to Mary. 

Since Dean and Mary are so similar, it’s not surprising that his first thought how to connect with his love interest is through Led Zeppelin (just how her was, when she met John).

“Traxx”

Ha! This one is great. They spelled it this way probably mostly to get our attention. “Tracks” was a legendary gayclub in Washington DC, and even now there is a gay club under this name in Denver, plus there are gay clubs all around the US and Canada that are called “Trax” or “Traxx”. Subtle and awesome. It’s a nice shout out to Dean saying he was in Purgatory in Miami.  

(Edit: Plus, as many people pointed out to me since I wrote this piece, XX is also a common shorthand for kisses. I knew that, but I wasn’t sure it was something Dean would do. But now I agree. I guess I didn’t give Dean enough credit for being sappy. :)

The whole “Deans top 13 Zepp Traxx” label is Dean “no-homo”ing the tape - “Dude, look how cool I am, ain’t got no time for good grammar and proper spelling, dude. Bro.” You know, in case Sam sees the tape, and there are questions. *eyeroll*

3) Music as a non-textual device

It was said once that even though Led Zeppelin is Dean Winchester’s favourite band, we will not ever hear it on the show, because the royalties are just too. Damn. Expensive. The show can’t afford it in their budget to put Led Zeppelin on the soundtrack, even though the band’s music is crucial to understanding Dean Winchester’s complexity. So instead of scraping more money, they pulled “High Fidelity”, and put music IN THE NARRATIVE. This, my loves, is pragmatism 101. Why to spend a fortune to put ONE Led Zepp song in the episode, when you could just send your viewers to their Spotify account and listen to ALL the songs there, thus creating their own soundtrack for this episode and the relationship between the characters. I wish I would be this smart. This actually achieved several goals at once.

All Led Zeppelin music is now a textual part of the universe and Dean’s character, not just two songs that he mentioned in season 4. We know the tape has 13 songs, but we don’t know which ones, which means all the songs can be there, until we are told differently - “Schroedinger’s Mixtape”. Some viewers can even no-homo the tape by picking the songs that are neither sexual nor romantic, but it will be HARD.

4) Michelangelo’s “The creation of Adam”

In the way this moment is shot, we are reminded where they stand in the beginning of this episode - Cas is the celestial being (who just has been to Heaven), and Dean once again represents humanity - the humanity that Cas is canonically in love with.

(On another note: Michelangelo is one of the most famous gay icons in history.)

5) This short moment showed us as well that there is so much stuff happening off screen that we never get too see. Who knows what else we don’t know? What else happened between these two characters that we never heard about? This made me think we should always be careful with the new showrunners, since they love puzzles, games, and pieces of information peppered over the whole season that are not always what they are. There is ALWAYS MORE. They love playing with meta reading, and it’s glorious. 

Also, instead of showing us the moment where Dean gives Cas the tape (what would be a regular thing to do), they showed us the BACK END of the situation. We have to construct what happened from the end, backwards. We know Cas got the tape, both characters know what happened between them when he received it from Dean, but we HAVE NO IDEA. We don’t get to see it because we were not privy to that moment. It was JUST BETWEEN THEM. It was an intimate moment that no one else got to witness, even the audience. And it makes it so much more important. It adds a new level of privacy and intimacy to their relationship, and it’s amazing, especially since the last few seasons seemed like they never are alone anymore. 

6) Why a cassette tape? Especially since we don’t even know if Cas has a way to listen to it? 

Because it’s a frikkin’ romantic trope!

In the world of storytelling mixtapes scream romance, and not much else (well, parental love, but that is so not the case here). It’s a thing that made me sit up and stare at the screen the moment it arrived, because I couldn’t believe they went there. I thought it was another queerbaiting moment, like the infamous boner prom-shot, but once they started sharing with each other how they felt, ALONE, ON SCREEN, IN WORDS, I knew it wasn’t. It was a way to show more casual viewers a symbol they would understand, while still staying in character. Dean would not write a love letter, or a poem, or even speak openly about his feelings, but he so would take time and effort to create a tape, especially since mixtapes were the language of showing your feelings that was in use when he was young and had his first crushes. And if Cas was more human, he’d understand it immediately. I hope he did anyway, he has got his pop culture references from Metatron, maybe some John-Hughes-references there.

The tape is new, the label is clean, words visible, plastic unscratched. If it was a tape Dean had before, it’s be dirty from lying in his car forever. Plus, noone makes mixtapes for themselves, especially when they already have albums - it’s too much effort for too little gain. It’s not John’s, because it cleary says “Dean’s”. Ergo - it’s freshly made. For Cas.

In conclusion: with the shortest piece of dialogue possible, and exactly three movements of the actors, they shot the narrative onwards and upwards on so many levels: 

Dean’s performing facade falling down,

Dean showing (and giving) his true self to Cas,

Hints of off-screen moments between them that we know nothing about (added a new level of intimacy), 

Cas being linked to the textual and intertextual codes for eternal love and sexual seduction, 

Some hints for the future,

Dean is humanity (and Cas loves humanity),

Bisexual!Dean,

Binding the show to its earlier seasons.

20 seconds. 13 words. I am blown away.

I probably could find more layers, but I think four pages of meta for 20 seconds of TV is enough for now. Thanks for reading! It was fun!

#supernatural #spn 12x19 #the mixtape #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #cas #screenwriting #brilliance #robert berens #meredith glynn #bobo berens #spn meta #dean is bi #season 12 #mind blown

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter 24- Goodbye (Reprise)

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Chapter Twenty-Four: Goodbye (Reprise)

16 ATC. Yavin IV.  

She would have preferred a later start to the morning’s meeting, all things considered.

When Nine wakes to the beeping alarm her mouth is dry and she can feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes; she rolls over, pulling her pillow over her head with a grumble of protest, and briefly entertains the idea of falling back to sleep.

“If you don’t shut that thing off-” across the tent, Lana’s voice is muffled; when Nine peers out from beneath the pillow she can only see a blanket-covered form laying prone on the far cot and then one hand poking out, a faint blue-tinged light gathering around the fingertips.

“Don’t you dare.” Dragging herself upright, she reaches out toward the desk and pokes at her datapad until it quiets. “There. Awake. Under protest.”

Lana pushes the blanket off her face, rubbing her eyes. “Believe me, I know. I didn’t set today’s agenda.”

“And I doubt Marr’s battling this hangover, either. I’ve never even seen him eat, let alone being able to drink through that mask.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” As she sits up, picking her tunic off the floor and slipping it over her head, her tone turns sly. “He could use a straw, I suppose.”

“With a little umbrella?“ Now that’s a mental image- she’ll be thinking of it through the entire damned meeting now. She makes a note to tuck a pin into her jacket pocket. That’ll keep her from laughing if it comes down to it. “I ought to shower. After all the torches last night I smell like a cantina fire.”

(More like sex in a burning cognac distillery, frankly, but she can’t tell her that.)

Lana sniffs the hem of her tunic and wrinkles her nose. “I likely should as well. We’ve got half an hour yet- shall we?”

***

She downs three tablets of painkiller with her caf and steps into the Command tent, trailing two paces behind Lana, at eight o’clock sharp. It could have been worse. Marr was always spare with words and today’s no exception: no pleasantries and no small talk, just a sound-cancelling shield up to discourage eavesdroppers and a secure connection to the Intelligence mainframe as they set to work.

She would have thought it would be a shorter meeting. No matter how urgent the work this wasn’t the right place for operational discussions, especially with their temporary peace with the Republic still nominally in place- too many ears, shield notwithstanding, and poor form besides. Clearly, though, she’d underestimated the power of Sith bureaucracy. Three hours in they’ve got both Darth Vowrawn and Darth Acina patched in via holotransmitter and little settled but titles, ranks and whether Lana’s office ought to be in the Citadel or the Intelligence tower-

(Oh, don’t remind me. Lana groans. It took two weeks to even move in once we’d returned to Dromund Kaas. Do you know why it took so long to set the offices up?

I wasn’t there, remember- I was only home two days before you sent me off to Balmorra. But I assumed it was a protocol issue, she shrugs. A Sith Lord in the east tower. Goodness knows we mustn’t go against tradition.

That’s what I thought initially, too, but as it turns out it was rather more straightforward. When Intelligence personnel were all reassigned after the disbanding it left most of the building vacant, and the Citadel tower’s always been crowded- by her expression, she knew it from experience- particularly for the lower-ranking Sith. When word got around there was space for the taking, they claimed it.

That oughtn’t to have been a surprise. She’d just avoided the old headquarters building back then, after all- the Minister’s last act in office had been to build a remote access protocol for the archive, and there were far too many memories in those halls. Just like Sith. Always taking our toys away.

I took them back, Lana says with a grin. But a few of them didn’t take kindly to being evicted. It really made quite a mess.

That’s Intelligence for you. Two parts breaking and entering, a dash of poison, three parts embassy parties and one part wondering how people fit that much blood into their bodies.

Her smile broadens, teeth flashing white in her pale face. Yes, well. I was never very fond of parties.)

-and she simply starts pulling up dossiers on her datapad and ranking them in priority order as she keeps one ear to the conversation.

“I would advise returning the Watchers to service, but that decision will ultimately be yours.” Darth Marr gestures toward the hierarchical map projected above the table. “They were originally reallocated to the military and to Production and Logistics, however-”

She makes a noise despite herself: what a Force-damned waste. She remembers Watcher Sixteen working on a particularly tricky substitution cipher once, years ago; he’d had it decrypted and translated from Bothan before she finished her breakfast. Imagining all that brilliance gone to calculating troop numbers and patterning out fluctuations in grain prices- “Get as many of them back as possible, if they haven’t been ruined already.” Looking up from her notes as both Marr and Lana’s heads snap in her direction, she sets the pad down and folds her arms across her chest. “You know they were never meant for that sort of careless handling. You’ve taken-” oh, what’s a comparison they’d understand? “You’ve taken lightsabers and used them to toast your bread.”

Lana blinks and Vowrawn’s hologram scowls at her, but Marr only nods, impassive as ever behind his mask.

“An appropriate analogy,” he rumbles. “If we are to hope to regain an advantage over the Republic, we must use our resources to their full potential. Should you require any other former assets returned to your employ-” his gaze is turned toward Lana, now, but she can’t help feel as though he’s still partially talking to her- “that may be negotiable.”

“Yes, my lord.” They must have said that a hundred times in those few hours, the two of them; Lana inclines her head in a deferential half-bow. “I’ll prepare a list, with Cipher Nine’s assistance.”

“Then we’ll adjourn until tomorrow. While this truce served us against Revan, it will soon be over, and we have spent far too long having blinded ourselves to our enemies’ plans.” With a wave of his hand, Marr deactivates the projectors. “No longer.”

Well, she thinks as they step out of the tent, past the guards and into the midday heat, it’s about time.

***

And as we sat staring at the Republic, the Emperor destroyed a planet. Lana sighs. To say nothing of the Eternal Empire sneaking in through the back door.

Zakuul surprised the Republic too, to be fair, she shrugs. And I don’t know that handling Ziost differently would have done much good. Even without Kovach’s treachery, without Theron’s Jedi and Saresh’s absurd invasion attempt, he would have set our people to killing each other until he got what he wanted. How do we kill someone that doesn’t need a body, someone we couldn’t even see?

Interesting questions. In that moment Valkorion’s sitting beside her again, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, far too close for comfort. She tries not to flinch away when she catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye. How do you?

By the time she can turn to look at him fully he is gone.

That was then, old man, she says aloud, and hears Lana startle on her other side as the world snaps back into motion. I can see you now.

Lana’s hand is cool on the back of her neck.

***

At noon they gather in the center of camp, Republic delegates on one side and Imperials opposite, to say their goodbyes.

She doesn’t have to make a speech, thankfully. She isn’t nearly high-ranking enough for that. Instead she listens quietly, hands clasped behind her back, as Grand Master Shan and Darth Marr address the gathered crowd for the last time. (It reminds her a little of the speeches on Victory Day, when Coruscant fell- she was only a child then, still in primary school, but she remembers the parade, the figure of Darth Baras projected ten stories tall in the central square. All grand speeches were the same in that way, she thinks: the same platitudes, the same shallow promises.

The Sith Code has it right in one respect, at least. Peace is a lie.)

At the end of it the troops disperse to finish the work of disassembly, of loading the shuttles and troop transports, pulling down the tents and lowering the banners. They are left standing on the makeshift dais, turning to face each other, three and three, just as they did in their safehouse on Rishi.

It seems like so long ago. Has it really been less than a month?

“Are the terms we discussed still agreeable?” Satele’s tone is even, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I’ve no particular desire for war today.”

“Our fleet departs for Dromund Kaas,” Marr replies, “the Mandalorian clans to Rishi and yours for Coruscant, and this is neutral space. We will not pursue unless given reason to do so.”

“And you shall find none.”

There’s an odd sort of formality to their cadence and when the two of them nod to one another the silence hangs in the air, almost palpable; beside her, Lana’s holding her breath. She catches Theron’s eye and he barely moves, one shoulder rising and falling in the slightest little shrug- if there’s something she missed he doesn’t feel it either, clearly.

More Force nonsense, then. It always came down to the Force in the end, no matter how hard the rest of them work, how many times they- Force-blind, defective, inferior- go to the wall in their masters’ names. It always will, probably. She’s used to it by now.

Doesn’t make it any less bantha shit, though.

“Then we will meet again on the battlefield, Grand Master.” As Marr speaks the breeze picks up, the air moving again. “But not today.”

Satele nods. “It will be as the Force wills it. I-” Then she stops, still looking upward at Marr as her head tilts subtly, and for a moment she’s almost staring through him, mouth still half-open around a word, her hands dropping to her sides. Behind her, Theron’s face scrunches in concern; he takes a step forward, but before he draws even with her Satele blinks and her gaze shifts rightward, straight at her.

It isn’t the first time she’s been stared down by a Jedi, but her expression’s something entirely different- in the past they always looked determined (the good ones, she supposes) or angry (the not-so-good ones, who often as not she didn’t need to fight at all, who only needed a little persuading). Satele looks-

-she looks worried, just for a second, before her face settles back into its usual calm solemnity and she keeps speaking as though nothing at all had happened, waving Theron back with a slight turn of one hand. “I don’t pretend to know the future, but yes, we will meet again. Until then, may the Force be with you.”

“May it serve you well,” Marr replies, and then they say no more.

(I don’t remember that, Lana says slowly. But perhaps it was a vision.

Of the future, or-?

She shrugs. It’s possible. With power like Satele has, the Force sometimes works in unpredictable ways.

You say ‘has’ as though you think she’s still alive.

I’ve no reason to assume she isn’t. I sensed Marr’s passing from halfway across the galaxy, and we had enough eyes on her to know that she survived the sack of Tython. She hasn’t been in contact with anyone- even Theron’s tried, without success- but if she’d died after that I would think I would have felt it.

She frowns, considering. I suppose. But they didn’t see each other again, did they- Marr and Satele? Before he died? It seems so long ago. It’s hard to remember.

Not in person, so far as I’m aware, though I suspect Grand Master Shan may have been meant to be part of the conclave on the Terminus but ended up delayed, just as I was. There were other Jedi there, yes?

There were, and Republic soldiers too. Still, it means she was wrong.

I can only imaging that interpreting the future might be rather subjective. It’s not a gift I share. Her nose wrinkling, Lana looks to her. Nor would I want to, I think. Imagine knowing what will happen and not being able to do anything about it.

An uncomfortable idea, indeed- a chill runs up her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. I wonder what she saw when she looked at me.)

Marr’s the first to turn away, dismissing her and Lana with a gesture as his guards fall in at either side. Opposite them, Satele starts to walk toward the far edge of the platform; Theron, turning, says something too quiet to hear at this distance and his mother shakes her head. I’m fine- her lips form around the words, then press together in a narrow line as he replies- leave it be, Theron. We’ll speak later.

He sighs as Satele descends the stairs, and then it’s just the four of them left- her and Lana and Theron and Jakarro, one final time.

She raises an eyebrow at Theron, a silent question, and he runs one hand through his hair and makes a face. Fair enough.

“So. I guess this is goodbye.” Theron’s looking at Lana, not at her, when he says it.

“I suppose it is. It’s certainly been…” Lana stops, clearly thinking better of whatever she way about to say. “It’s been an experience, hasn’t it?”

She can’t help it- she laughs a little at that, and Jakarro growls amusement and Theron grins as Lana flushes. “That’s one word for it.”

“I get what you meant,” Theron says. “And yeah, it definitely was. Maybe not one I’d care to repeat, but- well. We got through it, and now it’s back to real life. Like a really weird vacation.”

“Are you heading back with Theron, Jakarro? Much as I hate to admit it, the Empire isn’t the wisest destination for you.” Looking up at the Wookiee as he roars out a reply, she shifts her focus down to Dee-Four for the translation.

“We’re headed back to Rishi!” The droid sounds suspiciously cheerful, which never bodes well, and more to the point-

Lana says it before she can. “Jakarro, you hated Rishi.”

He gestures for emphasis, and Theron has to duck to keep from getting bowled over. “Exactly! That is why I must return!” Dee-Four keeps translating over a series of ever-louder roars. He clearly feels strongly about this. “Those pirates are the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen, but they have potential. I’m going to whip them into shape.”

“Hear, hear.” Shae Vizla, walking past with a few of her clanmates trailing behind, raises a fist in agreement. “Not worth my time, but someone ought to do it. Plenty of credits there if you’ve got the stones to tame that mess. You catching a ride with our ships, then?”

“We have a few stops to make first, but we’ll be there shortly.” She wishes, not for the first time, she understood more Shyriiwook. She’s pretty sure that’s not what Jakarro actually said.

“Fair enough. And Cipher?” Shae pauses in front of the dais and nods her head in her direction. “You find any more fights that good, you know where to find me.”

She grins. Short a punch in the teeth that’s as much respect as she’s ever likely to get from a Mandalorian. “I’ll keep that in mind. Ret’urcye mhi.”

Her pronunciation’s shitty and her mouth catches on the glottal stop, but Shae just grins. “Not bad, Imp. Not bad. Ret’urcye mhi.”

“Well, then”- turning back to Jakarro as the Mandalorians continue across the courtyard, she holds out her hand- “good luck, big guy. Dee-Four, try not to let him rip too many arms off.”

Unexpectedly, he pulls her in for a hug- oh, stars, that might have just been a rib cracking- as he sweeps Theron and, surprisingly, Lana, in with his other arm, nearly pulling them off their feet. “Be safe, little friends.”

“I- oof- I will.” Extracting herself from his grip, Lana takes a deep breath. “And you too, Theron. Be well. I suspect you’ll have an easier time of it without me around.”

“Now you admit it?” Theron blinks, then chuckles. “You’re probably right, yeah- but you too, Lana. Try not to get in too much trouble, all right?”

“I’ll do my best. Cipher-” she looks toward her- “I’ll see you back at the tent. I’m going to go start  packing things up and we can continue our earlier discussion.”

When she nods agreement, Lana steps down onto the cobblestones and sets off toward their side of camp; Jakarro, with one last wave, heads toward the Republic shuttle pads. After a moment, they’re both out of sight behind the rows.  

Theron turns to her, then. “So-” too loud, meant to be overheard even if they can’t be sure anyone’s listening- “you’re finally getting rid of me, huh?”

“I will admit, I’m a little sad to see this end.” She gestures around them, at the little camp that was their home. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me, too. C’mere.”

It’s a brief embrace, chaste and appropriate in sight of the soldiers still hard at work clearing the courtyard. If she had any sense that would have been the end of it.

He whispers in her ear, though, as his fingertips brush along her back. “Do you still think you can get away, or-?”

“I’ve just got a few things to take care of,” she murmurs in reply. “Give me an hour or two, but I’ll send you a message.”

“Good.” Theron takes a step back, his voice picking up volume again. “Take care, Cipher. See you in the ops reports.”

“Not if I’m doing my job properly,” she says, and he winks before he turns away.

(I should have known. Lana sighs. But-

We were careful, as I said. Not careful enough, of course. She raises one hand to her throat at the memory, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Although I’ve been meaning to ask you- what happened to Jakarro? Do you know?

Lana shakes her head. He and Dee-Four did go to Rishi. When the war hit, though, Zakuul blockaded the hyperspace lanes. The pirates and smugglers didn’t stand a chance. I looked for him when I started to pull the Alliance together, but- she frowns. Nothing. And they weren’t exactly inconspicuous.

No, they weren’t. She sighs.)

Back in the tent, she throws her things into her duffel- everything needs washing in any case, so there’s no point in folding- and strips the linens off her cot. Lana’s still packing, setting everything neatly into her own bag, and looks up as she dumps the sheets onto the floor.

“I’ve got people coming to haul everything away. Don’t worry about taking those to the laundry crates.”

“Perks of rank, hm? All right.” The console needs to go, too; she starts an erasure program, setting the storage chips to purge their data. A hammer would be quicker, but the unit could be reused. Waste not, want not. “I’ll start making holocalls, unless you’ve got another task for me.”

“Hm? No, I think anything more than that can wait,” Lana says, rummaging under her cot for a stray tabard.

She nods. “Fine. You don’t have any particular objection to non-humans, do you? Some of my contacts are a bit on the unconventional side. I’ll need to reorder my list-” she holds up her datapad- “if you do, though it’ll be your staff. It’s up to you.”

“Define unconventional.”

“Nothing scandalous. Chiss, mostly. Twi’leks. One Nautolan, if she’ll hire on. Sweetest-looking face you ever saw and she could kill you in a dozen ways with a credit chit and a roll of spacer’s tape. Also a trained receptionist. I was thinking of her for a bodyguard for you, at least until Zhorrid’s been managed.”

Her bag fastened, Lana lofts it across the tent with a wave of one hand until it settles just next to the entrance. “I’ve no objections. If you think they’re suitable, I trust your judgment.”

“Famous last words.” Setting her transmitter on the desktop, she dials in the first address. “It’s been a few years. Let’s see if anyone remembers me.”

***

She oughtn’t have worried.

For better or for worse, people in her line of work have long memories. She learned long ago not to burn bridges unless she didn’t have a choice and it makes the calls that much easier; a dozen conversations later, she’s got their first agents heading back to Dromund Kaas- three Minders, two Fixers, five security specialists including the Nautolan and, in a stroke of excellent luck, Cipher Seventeen. Her only failures are Minder Eight (hugely pregnant, when she answers the holo; she only laughs and points to her belly before Nine can even ask. “I’m sorry, Cipher, but I’m afraid I’ve retired from that particular line of work,” she grins, and Fixer Twelve peeks over her shoulder and waves hello) and one old Nar Shaddaa contact who simply hangs up on her (in retrospect, she did promise she’d call him the next day, didn’t she?).

All in all, a good start.

Two soldiers peek through the tent opening as she disconnects the final call. “Sorry to interrupt, Lord Beniko- and Cipher. Thought you’d told us to come and pull the tent down, but if we should come back later-”

“I was just finishing up.” Tucking the holo into her belt pouch, she rises, stretching. It’s later than she thought. She should find Theron. “I’m sure I can find somewhere else to be.”

Lana nods, too. “I’ll find a sunny corner to meditate in. Once we’re home again, Force knows when we’ll next see actual daylight.”

“D’you want us to take your bags to loadout?” The second soldier chimes in, even as she’s already starting to take one of the desks apart. “We’ve got to head back that way either way, and it’s no trouble.

One less thing to do. Why not? “Fine. Let me just grab my rifle-” she picks it up from its resting place atop the duffel bag, sliding it into her back holster until it clicks; no one touches her guns but her and her team, a lesson she learned the hard way early on. That misfire nearly cost her a finger- “and it’s all yours. I’ll see you in a few hours, Lana.”

She barely sees her wave as she steps out of the tent- she’s already looking down at her commpad, typing out a message.

Did you still want to talk? Free now until shuttle launch.

His reply’s immediate.

meet me by the war table?

She smiles. On my way.

***

When she reaches the stone table it’s bare, now, all the monitors and equipment already hauled away and only faint outlines on the ground left as signs they were ever there. In another few weeks the vines and weeds they’d cut away will have grown back and there’ll be no trace of them at all save only the wrecked shuttle across the clearing and the perimeter sensors left in the field; in a year even those will be gone, rusted relics mixed in with the crumbling stones. It’ll be as though they were never here.

It’s a sobering thought.

She doesn’t see Theron at first. When she turns, though, there he is, leaning against the wall of one of the ruins, and he smiles at her when she

“For a little while there I thought you might be standing me up.” Taking her by one wrist, he draws her around until they’re out of view of the archway.

“Oh, you know,” she says, “no rest for the wicked. Plus, I had to pack.”

“More work already?” Theron wrinkles his nose at her. “It’s bad enough that we’re back to the same damn war, but they could have given you a day off, at least.”

“We’re not big on vacations in the Empire.” After a moment, looking at him still frowning, she reaches out with her other hand to touch his arm. “That came out less funny than I meant it. I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye, Theron, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Us being on opposite sides again, you mean.”

She sighs. She should have known he’d think of things that way- he never was going to be the no-strings type, no matter what he said. “Yes. But we knew that was going to happen from the beginning.”

“I- yeah. Sorry. I’m just not-” he shakes his head, leans down to brush his lips across her forehead and despite herself she tilts her chin up into the kiss. “I keep thinking that now I’ve got to go back to real life and make myself forget, that all of this was a mistake, but-”

“You do. I do, too,” she says against his throat. “And you’re allowed to make mistakes, Theron, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You’re allowed to want things even if you know they’re bad for you.”

“You aren’t- you weren’t bad for me. You saved me.”

She closes her eyes as he cups her head in his hands. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”  

“I know that. But you weren’t.” Another kiss, punctuating the words. “Somehow I didn’t picture this, that first day on Manaan.”

“Quite a ways from Mysterious Ally, hm?” She grins as he mutters something against her skin. “And to think I thought you’d be dull.”

“Really?” It’s only mock offense in his voice, and when she glances upward he’s grinning too. “Not roguishly charming?”

“You’re more the brooding type, but I had you figured for Standard Republic Issue- too serious. Hot, though.”

Theron laughs out loud at that, hands drifting downward, settling around her waist. “I take a while to warm up, ‘s all. Though I’ll admit I was wrong about you, too.”

“Oh, do tell,” she purrs, leaning against him. They’ve got a little time, still. She doesn’t need to leave quite yet.

(She doesn’t want to leave yet. She tries not to think about that too much.)

“Only if you promise not to get mad.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You popped up on holo down in that base, covered in Selkath blood and half on fire, and I thought-” he stops-  oh, stars, is he blushing again?- “I remember thinking, y’know, crazy doesn’t normally do it for me but damn- ”

“Ah, romance,” she says dryly, and winks. “You hid it well. I rather got the impression you loathed me.”

“Thought you said it was overrated. And no, I just- it’s hard training to break, you know? All we ever learn from day one on is you versus us, but once we knew each other better-”

“Oh, it is.” He’s still got a scratch along one cheekbone from yesterday and she traces it with an idle fingertip, curling in closer as his arms tighten around her. “And yes, I know. Though I meant what I said before. I am going to miss you.”

Theron’s quiet for a moment, his head tilting into her touch. “I’m going to miss you, too. I wish you-”

“Don’t.” She lets her hand dip lower, presses her finger to his mouth. “Don’t.”

“Do we just say goodbye, then?”

(She should have known better. Leaving is one thing; leaving is easy. Forgetting is easy. But she doesn’t want to hurt him and someday she’s probably going to have to and that-

That complicates things.)

She nods. “It’s easiest that way.”

“What time is it?”

Turning her wrist, she looks at her chrono. “Nearly four. Why?”

“We still have an hour, then, don’t we? Before we need to be on the shuttles?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then we can say goodbye-” Theron nudges her hand aside, catches her mouth with his and she shouldn’t but oh, to the Void with that; she is allowed to want things that she knows are bad for her- “in an hour.”

She lets him push her back against the wall.

***

And- well. Not exactly love at first sight, but you know what happened after that, she finishes, grinning, with a little shrug of her shoulders. He went back to the SIS, and I went back to work, and that was the end of it. No one else ever knew but Vector.

(His nose twitched as she slid into the seat beside him on the shuttle back to the Terminus, and after a moment he leans over to murmur into her ear. “We wondered where you’d gone. Agent Shan, hm?”

Killiks and their damned pheromones. She never could get anything past Vector, not that she’d ever really tried; he could read her like a book.

She sighed. “Spare me the lecture, Vector, please. I know.”

“Lecture? Never.” As he adjusted the harness straps across her body, he raised the edge of her collar to hide her neck. “We were only going to compliment your taste.”)

I do know, Lana mutters, rather too well. But you’re honestly telling me that nothing happened between then and Ziost?

Nothing happened. We never even spoke, and I was telling you the truth on Ziost. I didn’t know he was there until Kovach mentioned his name.

And after that?

She shakes her head. We spoke once, briefly, a few weeks later. Not in person- she clarifies as Lana’s brows start to creep ceilingward- I was shipboard off Alderaan and he was on Coruscant. I- I gave him the implant he wears now. He probably told you that.

He did. I’m not sure he meant to. Lana rubs her forehead. It was on Asylum, and we were both very drunk at the time.

And the next time I saw Theron, she says quietly, outside of five years of carbonite dreams, was here.

The day I called him, when I was sure you were alive, was the anniversary of the day we thought you’d died. I didn’t even think of it at the time, but- Lana sighs. He was a wreck, Nine. The war was hard on all of us, and I knew you’d been lovers, of course, but I didn’t realize how much he- she trails off.

(She remembers the night of the party. ‘I mourned you,’ he’d said, curled beside her, and she never really understood the depth of what he meant until now.)

Theron kissed me on Ziost. Did he tell you that, too?

Lana blinks, surprised. No. He didn’t.

Before it happened- on the orbital station, while we were in the medical bay; I’d told him that you knew. He was trying to prove your point about objectivity. I stopped him then, but-

Was I right?

She chuckles. What do you think?

I think that right now you deserve to be happy despite everything that’s going on around us, despite everything going on inside your head, and I think Theron looks better than I’ve seen him in years. And I think- Lana smiles- it would be awful of me to be anything but happy for you.

Thank you, she says; Lana stands, then, with a barely stifled yawn. But do me a favor, won’t you?

Hm?

She stretches out until she’s laying flat on the couch, sprawling across the space left vacant by Lana. Go talk to Koth. Don’t keep dancing around things- it’s better to have it all out in the open.

You ought to take your own advice. I saw Theron sneaking out of here yesterday morning.

She makes a face- guilty as charged. Do as I say, not as I do. Still.

But I don’t think I want-

I know that, she says. I don’t mean sex, or romance, if that’s not what you want. Just… talk. I don’t want something else ruined because of me.

You didn’t- Lana stops herself. All right. But tomorrow, I think- for now, I should sleep. As should you.

I will. I might see if Theron’s still awake, first. I…

(She isn’t used to any of this.)

I miss him.

I know. Lana smiles. Good night, Nine.

***

Up next- Interlude III: Liminal Space. A holocall, two leads, and a cure for insomnia as we return to present time.

(Don’t worry, we’re not skipping over the shuttle entirely, but that’s a memory better shared with someone other than Lana, I think. I leave it to you, readers- how much do you want to hear about that final hour?

And for those of you who are familiar with this week’s spoilers (5.4): yes, I plan to continue this story regardless of how things play out. How I’ll approach that particular turn remains to be seen, of course, but I do have an idea- one of the seeds of which appears somewhere in this chapter.)

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #cipher nine #theron shan #writing is the best form of denial

[thisaintascenereviews]

Album Review by Bradley Christensen Led Zeppelin – Self-titled Record Label: Atlantic Release Date: January 12 1969

Led Zeppelin and I go back a few years, because this isn’t the first time that I’ve talked about this English band. I talked about 1970’s Led Zeppelin III about three years ago, I think, and I didn’t like it much. Despite featuring “The Immigrant Song,” a song that I first heard through School Of Rock, the album had this folksy / folk-rock sound that I didn’t care for much. I might like the album more now, because I’m a bit more into folk music, just not a whole lot. I felt like that wasn’t the best place to start, but ever since then, I’ve always wanted to get into their stuff. I just never knew what album to start off with, because they have so many iconic songs, albums, and moments in their discography. I could have been the most basic music fan alive and went with Led Zeppelin IV (well, that its unofficial title, anyway), because it features their most well-known song, “Stairway To Heaven,” but I didn’t do that, actually. I went with Led Zeppelin II, because that’s the only album from them that Target had. I’m not talking about that one today, however, because I thought I’d go in order. That’s because I picked up their 1969 self-titled debut LP and Led Zeppelin IV at Walmart the next day, since I was coincidentally going there, but Led Zeppelin II is the album that I reintroduced myself with. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome, and I’ll talk about the album more in my review coming up soon, but I wanted to talk about their self-titled LP. This album’s actually quite interesting, because if anything, you can talk about the band’s unique, interesting, and unexpected sound that took over rock music. Led Zeppelin is one of those bands that everyone knows, even if you don’t listen to them (or rock music in general), and they’re one of the most interesting bands in all of music. The iconic duo of Robert Plant and Jimmy Page are hard-rock’s version of Lennon-McCartney. The quality of the music is honestly debatable, as Led Zeppelin is considered one of the best bands all time, but I don’t know if I’d put them up there with The Beatles. My point is, though, Led Zeppelin is monumental within rock music. At the time, which was the late 60s, rock music was still in its infancy. Psychedelic-rock was very popular around this time, even though The Beatles, coincidentally, moved towards a “back-to-basics” sound. This would mark their final “era,” but it was still a thing. It was still around, and a lot of bands had a very psychedelic sound to them. A lot of these bands had a very harder-edged guitar tone to them, and it was partially influenced by blues music, and how electric and intense the guitarwork would be. Blues-rock definitely helped to influence 70s, 80s, and even modern-day hard-rock, but Led Zeppelin was one of the first bands to take blues, psychedelic, as well as basic rock music, ultimately mixing them together to make for a hard-rock sound that no one really had heard before. Later on in their career, they would add folk-rock to their sound, especially with their third LP, which I already mentioned, but their first couple of albums were more straightforward hard-rock and blues-rock. Their self-titled debut LP, however, is where everything began. This is one of the albums that people remember, especially for its cover, as it’s a very iconic album cover that a lot of people recognize. The album is quite good, too, though, and it’s got some awesome, awesome songs, whether it’s “Good Time Bad Times,” “Communication Breakdown,” “Dazed And Confused,” “You Shook Me,” and “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You.” This is the first album that people were introduced to both Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, the latter of which produced this LP. Led Zeppelin’s debut LP is quite good, and I’d even say it’s a great record, whether it’s an album itself or a debut album, but it’s got some issues. The only real issue that it has is the problem that I have with Zeppelin as a whole, and it’s mainly that their stuff is just repetitive to me. Listening through these three albums has been a bit exhausting after awhile, even though I like them a lot, because they’re all the same kind of sound / album. I mean, Zeppelin II and Zeppelin IV did add folk influences and sounds, so I’ll talk about that when I get to those albums, but Led Zeppelin’s self-titled LP doesn’t have that. It’s a very bare bones rock album, but it still has a blues-rock / hard-rock sound that’s very new, unique, and different for the time. A lot of psychedelic bands had a proto-hard-rock sound to them, but Led Zeppelin is one of the first bands that took it further by taking out the psychedelic aspect, and taking a more bare bones / back-to-basics approach with the sound. I think this LP wouldn’t work as well if it didn’t have Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, because it’s not about the overall sound, even though the band did help to really change the face of rock music by introducing a harder-edged style of rock music into the mainstream, but it’s about the execution. For starters, Plant is a fantastic vocalist, although his vocal style is very loud, over the top, and raucous. He wails a lot of the time, but he’s got a great range and control to his voice, which ultimately fits the style of music. Plant, as well as the whole band, is a bit rough around the edges here, but that’s to be expected. It’s their debut LP, but the seeds are, well, “planted,” for the lack of a better word. Jimmy Page, too, is one of the best guitarists of all time, and it shows throughout the album, because he’s got one hell of a talent. That’s what I mean by how it’s not about the overall sound, but it’s about the execution, since Page is a great guitarist that knows how to write some great songs / riffs. I hate to say that it’s all about the “guitars and stuff,” but when it comes to this band, it kind of is, because they helped to pioneer a relatively new kind of rock music. Blues-rock was definitely a thing, at least sort of, but hard-rock in general was just starting to become more of a style. Bands had that style, and you can hear a lot of bands with harder-edged guitars in their music (“Sunshine Of Your Love” by Cream is very much what I’d call a hard-rock song, just to provide a good example and that came out in 1967), but Zeppelin is a band that took that sound to the next level. This LP is technically bare bones with its sound, as there’s not much to it, aside from how they helped to pioneer this kind of sound, but this album isn’t very diverse, for better or worse. It’s not a long album, only around 45 minutes, but if you’re not into it, it can be an exhausting listen. Like I said, it’s been somewhat exhausting listening to their stuff, because I’ve listened to a few albums on repeat from them, and they all sound pretty similar, but at the same time, they’re great albums. This LP is awesome, and if you’re into rock music whatsoever, this is mandatory listening. Led Zeppelin is a band that probably influenced a lot of your favorite bands, both rock and metal. Heavy metal music was in the process of being developed during the late 60s and early 70s, but I wouldn’t be surprised if tons of bands were influenced by Led Zeppelin (I can totally see a lot of traditional heavy metal bands in particular being influenced by Robert Plant’s vocals, as a lot of these bands have huge, epic, and over the top vocalists), so what are you waiting for? Give this LP a listen, because I highly doubt that you’ll regret it.

#led zeppelin #jimmy page #robert plant #whole lotta love #good times bad times #dazed and confused #rock #blues #rock and roll #heavy metal #blues rock