#i nearly had one writing it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

Text

Ghost!Robin Part 10

Here's another WIP Wednesday! Hope you enjoy.

Story Summary: Danny was invited to dinner at Wayne Manor to meet Jazz's boyfriend and his family for the first time. He worked hard to make sure no ghost business would interrupt the evening. But when he arrived, all he could focus on was the ghost of the dead Robin that seemed to haunt Jason. Looks like he was breaking his promise.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

----------

Alfred let out a put-upon sigh. “You, and you alone”—he gave a look to everyone at the table—“may ask Mr. Danny a single question. All other questions must wait until Mr. Danny has finished his dessert and informs you he is willing to answer more of them.”

“What the fuck does Jazz mean when she says ‘spoilers’?”

Danny sighed and leaned his chair back as he looked up to the ceiling. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair. You deserve an answer to that, dead boyfriend number two.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“I’m finally not the only dead one in the family. Sorry, but I’m gonna revel in that a bit longer.” Danny grinned at him and set his chair back on the ground. “So, spoilers. Well. My grandpa is kinda the Ghost of Time. Responsible for maintaining the time stream to bring about the future that has the best outcome for the most amount of beings. We met a few years back when he was ordered to kill me but became my mentor instead. Since he’s the ghost of time, he sees all futures and doesn’t really exist in the present. Sometimes he refers to things that haven’t happened yet as if they have or brings up events from centuries or millenia ago as if they happened yesterday. Bit headache inducing if I’m honest, but I’ve gotten used to it. Jazz doesn’t like it when I share details about what Gramps has let slip about her future.”

“No I do not. I’d rather live my life as if I have some degree of free will!”

The silence from the Waynes was only disrupted by the increased typing from Tim and Barbara.

“You know what,” said Jason after a beat, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Jazz, your brother’s life is insane and I say that as a zombie from a family of vigilantes.”

Danny shook his head and swallowed a bite of ice cream. “You aren’t a zombie. Zombies don’t retain any memories of their lives and they can’t think. Not sure what you are, to be honest. You’re ghostly in some way as evidenced by Robin and his ability to use and eat ectoplasm. Which you also recognized, if by a different name. Though, I will reiterate, ectoplasm shouldn’t bubble or collect in pits in the living realms.”

Jason stared at him for a moment before stabbing his spoon into his own pie. He muttered something under his breath and projected, restraint, hold it in.

Danny sighed. He really shouldn’t drag this out any longer. His remaining desert was gone in a few bites.

“Fine. I’m done. How do we want to do this?”

Jazz cleared her throat, “If I may, I have a suggestion.”

Bruce nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“Look, if we take the time to answer every single question about the Infinite Realms and ghost culture, history, biology, and psychology, we will be here for years. Now, Danny’s partner Tucker is our tech guy. We can have him send over a document tomorrow with much of the information we think would be necessary for you to have. You can review it on your own time line and verify it with Justice League Dark or whomever. And you can formulate a list of questions you need further clarification on. Sound fair?”

Jazz was the best. Danny sent her a wave of love you, thanks, you’re amazing and she squeezed his knee under the table.

Bruce hummed. “And what do you wish to talk of tonight?”

Jazz leaned back slightly and looked at Danny. “Danny? I think this is all you.”

Danny nodded. To the table he said, “Over half of you are in danger from the Guys in White. I suppose I should start with showing you how.” The ecto-trackers he had pulled out earlier still sat ignored on the table. He grabbed his own version and took a position kneeling between Bruce and Barbara. Tim got up to stand behind him. Everyone else also got to their feet and started moving closer.

Danny clicked his tongue. “The screen is too small for all of you to see. Jason, stay seated over there. It’ll be easier to show what’s going on with you if you and Robin aren’t right next to each other. Damian and Cass, you are the next most affected so come over. Everyone else, I’ll show you the exact same things just after.”

Cass gave him a single nod and slid out of her seat. Damian didn’t say anything, but pushed his chair out and stalked over. He stood as far from Tim as he could while still being able to look over Danny’s head at the small screen. Cass took her place between the two.

Whatever, their family drama was not his problem. He turned on the machine. “So this device tracks ectoplasm. My design is the most sophisticated on Earth. Green is free ectoplasm—ectoplasm that isn’t part of a ghost or sentient being. Purple indicates a liminal human. Blue is an unknown ghost. Red is a known, unfriendly ghost. Yellow is a known, friendly ghost. Orange is a halfa like me. The intensity of the color indicates the strength of the being.”

“What is a liminal human?” asked Bruce. “You’ve mentioned them before.”

“I didn’t go over that?” asked Danny as colored shapes began to appear on the screen. A bright orange blob appeared in the middle, himself. He was surrounded by three purple blobs, Cass and Damian were the brightest, Steph the dimmest at the other end of the table. But what really drew his eye was Robin. He was mostly blue, but a wave of blue-organge-purple connected him to Jason who was mostly purple. Both of their main beings had some of all three colors mixed in. Danny had never seen anything like it.

But he couldn’t focus on the strange display right now. Saving the image, he decided to ask Jason later if he could show Frostbite and Tucker to get their insight. “Liminals are humans who have been exposed to ectoplasm in some way. Either through death or long-term, low-level exposure. Overtime, it makes you death-touched and that changes a person. Everyone is different. Jazz has a degree of super strength, a ghostly obsession, and true empathy. Tucker has some technopathy; Sam a green thumb like you wouldn’t believe.” Though, this was Gotham, home to Poison Ivy. “Or, well, maybe you would, living in Gotham.” Danny pointed to the purple blob that represented Bruce. “This indicates you have quite a high level of liminality. Jazz”—he pointed to where she was, her color clearly brighter than any of the Waynes—“is currently the third most liminal person I know of on Earth.” He then pointed to Stephanie, a much dimmer purple haze. “And Steph is only lightly touched.”

Bruce hummed. “So this Ghost Investigation Ward will use a device like this to track any of us who have any sort of ectoplasm in us.”

“Yeah. Only theirs isn’t nearly as good.” Danny looked to his sister. “Jazz, mind passing the GIW device down?”

“Of course.” The GIW ectoplasmic radiation sensor had their signature sleek, white design. It was passed down the line from Jazz until Bruce was able to hand it to Danny.

“Thanks.” Danny took it and turned it on. “So the GIW design looks good, but can’t differentiate between different types of ectoplasm. As of now, they aren’t even aware of liminals.”

This device, when it turned on, showed a black screen with a white bar that went up and down at a steady pace. A loading bar was visible on the bottom labeled “Scanning.”

“As you can see, theirs takes a lot longer to get readings.” It finished loading. “Here we go.” Danny was a large green shape labeled “Phantom.”

Robin was also a green shape, though he was distorted with a tail leading towards Jason. He had no label. The others, excluding Stephanie who wasn’t displayed at all, showed up as a green haze.

“Thanks to my parents, they have good readings on me which is why my name shows up. They aren’t usually too focused on identifying ghosts, though, which is why Jason-Robin doesn’t have a label. I’m a special case. The rest of you are safe from a distance, but that haze means they’d take you in for questioning at the very least.”

“Hn. What is the range on these devices?” asked Bruce.

Danny shrugged. “My stuff? From anywhere. I track through the Infinite Realms, not by Earth. GIW? Jason-Robin, they’ll be able to detect something from probably ten miles out of city limits, but they’d need to be within half a mile to get an accurate location. The Fentons? Mile or so. They get an exact location or nothing.”

----------

I don't really think I have much to say about this segment. The info dump has started! Thank you Jazz for keeping people on track. Alfred will help her if he feels people start pushing too much.

Tag List Part 1

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks, @miraculousandmore, @gildedphoenix, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @letmesayfuxk, @phoenixcatch7, @skulld3mort-1fan, @abaowo, @dhampir-princess, @idkmrpianoman, @sarina-elais, @ballzfrog-blog, @undead-essence, @spookytragedyshark, @flyingpansaurus, @akintoabitch, @marivictal, @8-29pm, @justreadingthefanfics, @happybear135, @kisatamao, @spoopyspoony, @adorablechaos, @sara0055, @screamingtofillthevoid

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #anger management #ghost!robin #my writing #i had no idea where to stop this one #the scene just keeps going!#it would not have been nearly this long if my work hours hadn't been weird yesterday #the bats are definitely not happy right now

377 notes · View notes

katierosefun · 9 months

Text

hm maybe i’m going to get flack for this, but i genuinely don’t understand how some self-claimed fic lovers can be the same people who a) pressure and harass writers into producing more and more stories, regardless of their current health or personal lives, b) pressure writers when they aren’t updating fast enough, again, regardless of their current health or personal lives, and c) now, apparently, feed their supposedly beloved writers’ stories into ai bots. it’s becoming incredibly disheartening and clear that some folks don’t care so much about writers and really care exclusively about feeding whatever greedy need they have to just consume.

#caroline talks #don't mind me. maybe i'm just in a particularly horrendous mood because of the weather or whatever #but like. listen. as someone who has had a largely positive experience fic writing + fandom in general #i have still had several instances which still leave a sour taste in my mouth #you can't say 'oh my god i love your stories i would love to read more' in one second #and then go 'why aren't you writing anything how come you're taking so long this one isn't as good as your others' in the next #which like. thank god i haven't had too many of those messages but sometimes. when they DO come in they make me pause #listen to me: a reader's impatience will never be worth as nearly as much as a writer's well-being. okay?

176 notes · View notes

mokeonn · 2 months

Text

I think the most upsetting thing about being a recovering addict is seeing how other people talk about addicts. A vast majority of Americans fucking DESPISE addicts and they are constantly demonized at every turn, God forbid that addict is homeless. It's honestly shocking to see how fast addicts are brought up as a "gotcha" to shoot down arguments for social or housing programs.

Like damn, I'm already dealing with trying not to abuse this substance and getting my life together, which is hard enough on its own, I don't need the knowledge that the average person thinks I am the scum of the Earth. I don't like knowing that if I am ever homeless or in a tough living situation, I will be one of the first people thrown under the bus. I'm already going through enough, I'm already the victim of a very upsetting illness, I don't need to deal with the vile hatred of the average person in my country, too.

#simon says #i wanted to vent because i saw a post talking about 'i would rather help everyone. even addicts too' and I was so upset #like that is such an odd thing to clarify but also they had to because you just KNOW if you dont it'll be assumed they're excluded #or people will write comments wanting to exclude them #and it's so fucking sad and upsetting #ill see posts saying to make things better for homeless people and a majority of the comments are arguing because addicts are mean #'oh they dont wanna get better' if I was homeless my sobriety would be the first thing out the window #it's just so upsetting to see and hear nearly every other day #like im suffering from a mental illness that makes me crave and want to actively abuse substances that harm me #and im the bad guy here???#im the bad one for destroying my body because my actual brain demands it??#fuck you.

32 notes · View notes

confetti-cat · 2 months

Text

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT -#since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it)#I tried this one instead!#pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful!#cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions?#Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story.#So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one.#All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time!#I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

30 notes · View notes

saltydoesstuff · 11 months

Text

Every Universe

"I love you." She uttered, barely above a whisper. "I love you in every universe." "Do we end up together in every universe?" He asked. "No," She replied, and the painful memories of those life times flashed behind her beautiful eyes as she reflected to the 'back then's. Yet, she smiled, "But I love you anyway, how could I not? My soul yearns for you, even before it had come to know you. It remembers, I remember." "Does it hurt?" She was silent for a moment, "A lifetime without you hurts more then a lifetime when we are not together." "I love you." He blurts out unthinkingly, desperate. He reaches out for her hand, taking it and holds it in both hands in a grounding grip. She looked down at their hands and smiled, relishing in the bitter sweetness. "I know." She confesses quietly. She held his hand tightly, trying to ignore the buzzing within her body- threatening to tear her apart atom by atom. "But you aren't mine. Not this time."

#rottmnt x reader #could be any turtle here #all up to you all :)#it's nearly 4 am but i had to write something down #the angst be angsting #may i make a proper thing out of this?#i have no clue- but i love the idea #like mc is able to travel between universes or something- or sees the future #basically some doctor strange shit #they have lived through countless timelines/lifetimes with the turtles #some good some bad- but one thing is for certain is their bond #context to this would most likely be soulmates #but not a love at first sight soulmate deal- like they are aware of the pull but the relationship still progresses naturally #but mc knows how it ends- in some way or another she loses the love of her life and now she has to do it all over again #she remembers everything but they don't- she has to live through the pain of loss while they are right in front of her-#just they are not what she had before #MMMMM I love this kind of trope #an endless cycle of loss and pain- yet beauty and love #i'm very sleep deprived #hopefully i can start getting actual requests done soon kjfds

127 notes · View notes

cosmetichorror · 1 year

Text

Spoilers for twilight princess manga but Why does almost no one mention that Twilights arm LITERALLY gets cut off in the manga?

Like, not even a deep cut, just straight up- HWAPAM, gone. And then he drowns/bleeds out in that shallow water.

I want to see a fic where my boy Twi takes off his shirt and just has this LONG deep scar around upper arm/shoulder and Wind, being the nosy 14 y/o he is, asks what happens. Then, he casually answers “Oh yeah, at the start of my journey my arm got cut off.” And everyone just stares.

But then he waves them off and reassures them with “Oh, don’t worry! This goat god reattached it for me.”

I’ve seen MAYBE three fics about this. Someone write this or harass me to do it because left to my own devices I feel like I’ll forget about this

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linked universe fanfic #lu twilight #lu wind #linked universe twilight #please #someone write this for me #why does NO ONE MENTION THAT #I FORGOT THE MANGA WAS RATED T WHEN I FIRST READ IT #when I tell you my jaw DROPPED #I nearly screamed and I had to put the book down and think for a minute #I kept staring at the page #fun times #I feel like twilight is just as bad as Wild #lu wild #because everyone loves that tag #Wild and Twilight making the chain grow grey before forty

378 notes · View notes

abhainnwhump · 3 months

Text

Whumper lines Whumpee's clothes with tiny wood slivers (or glass shards if you really want to be sadistic) and watch them scream and squirm in pain as it cuts into their skin.

#story time #I was helping unload wood that was in the back of a trailer #it was me and some other people and while they were doing one side I decided to do the other #one of my friends watched me grab one off and said in a deadpan voice “Abhainn do you need help”#“Nah I'm okay. Don't worry!"#then I proceed to not be okay as I nearly fell over how much it weighed and she had to help me #and yes I did end up with some wood in my sleeves and hands #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompt #whump tropes #sadistic whumper #abused whumpee #creepy whumper #domestic whump #torture whump

24 notes · View notes

strawberriemarswrites · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER TWO

Chapter Summary: You go out for drinks with your coworkers, with an ulterior motive to see your neighbor at the same time. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, SFW chapter) TW: Creepy bar patron, attempted drugging, Barto committing a little violence in your name Ao3 Link: Chapter Two (4,566 words)

Two weeks passed without incident. In fact, your perfume even turned back up. It wasn’t where you normally kept it in the bathroom, but sitting on top of your dresser right in plain sight. Go figure. Bartolomeo hadn’t said anything about any suspicious activity around, either, so maybe you were just being a little extra spacey. After all, you were more accustomed to having a roommate or your parents around to help fill in the gaps, so maybe you just needed to be a bit more mindful while you adjusted to living alone.

(Nevermind that you had looked atop the dresser for that perfume, and it wasn’t there before.)

In that span of two weeks you were able to convince some of your coworkers to try a different bar. More specifically, The Sound Barrier, where Bartolomeo worked. Robin was intrigued by the prospect of somewhere new, and agreed. A fellow archives technician, Nami, also agreed, stating she was eager to con some free drinks out of a different sort of crowd than the usual haunts. You were unsuccessful in convincing Vivi, one of the conservators, but she talked another conservator, Drake, into going. Rebecca, an archives specialist, also declined, apologetic as she already had plans to see her aunt.

Of the usual pay-day drinks crew, three out of five (including yourself) wasn't bad, and the addition of Drake meant there would be an extra bit of robust support, given the unfamiliar territory. Plus, Bartolomeo would be there working, so you'd have more than enough people looking out for you that night.

Still, you couldn’t shake the ominous feeling looming over your head. With both you and Bartolomeo out, that left your apartment unprotected from another break-in, a thought that chilled you down to the bone. You considered asking the neighbors that lived below you if they could keep an eye out, but you weren’t entirely trusting that they wouldn’t already be occupied with their usual bickering. And given you were pretty sure the neighbor below Bartolomeo was a near-sighted old woman, that took her out from the running as well. You could ask the landlord, but he should have already been on the lookout for suspicious activity, so he wasn’t likely to have your best interest at heart, either.

You had to rely on blind luck that your apartment would be safe.

You shook your head, trying not to dwell on the thought for too long. It was supposed to be a fun night, you couldn’t let some hypothetical creep ruin it. With one more look in the mirror, you headed for the door, scooping up your purse on the way and double-checking for your wallet, phone, and keys. Just as you were triple-checking the door was locked, your phone pinged — Robin was outside with Drake and Nami already in the car. You cast one final look at your door, the ominous chill threatening to creep back up your spine, before you shoved the feeling back down and hustled to the elevator.

Everything would be fine. Damn it all, you had to believe that if you wanted to have any fun tonight.

The car that waited outside wasn’t Robin’s, but instead an unfamiliar silver SUV. The backseat window rolled down to reveal her sitting behind the driver, whose silhouette you eventually recognized to be Drake as you approached. Robin smiled and opened the door for you, ushering you in.

“Told you so,” Nami said from the front seat, grinning at Drake smugly.

“I’ll be damned,” he said as you buckled in. “I thought Nami was messing with me when she said you lived here. Didn’t expect it to be —”

“On the shitty side of town?” you interjected.

Drake nodded, pulling away from the curb.

“What’s the name of this place again?” Nami asked.

“The Sound Barrier,” you answered, fidgeting in your seat. “Thanks for taking me up on this one, by the way. I thought maybe we should try something new.”

Robin smiled knowingly. “You’re sure it doesn’t have anything to do with this mysterious neighbor of yours?”

“Uh... well,” you hesitated, scratching the back of your neck. “Maybe a little.”

“He better not say anything if he catches me getting free drinks from one of his regulars,” Nami said, pulling up the map on her phone.

“If he doesn’t, I will.” Drake said.

“What are you, a cop?”

You giggled despite yourself, feeling a little more relaxed. You didn’t know Drake particularly well, so it was a relief to know he was on the sterner side. Even with that reassurance, you must have still looked a bit uneasy, given that Robin leaned a bit closer to you and asked, “Everything all right?”

Her observation skills were both appreciated and unnerving at times, with very little getting past her. She seemed content enough to make it known she was aware something was up, but you didn’t want to worry anyone else with the break-ins, especially with the current lull in occurrences. However, you knew Robin would be suspicious all night if you didn’t say something.

You smiled, trying not to let the twist in your stomach show. “I’ll be fine. Just nervous — I’ve never seen Bartolomeo outside of the apartment building.”

She tilted her head. “You think he might be different in public?”

“It’s more... He’s never seen me outside the apartment, either. So it feels like this is a chance to know more about each other in a different way than we could from just the brief meetings.”

She laughed, putting a hand up in front of her mouth, though her smile was still clearly visible behind it. “Like seeing something in its natural habitat.”

You laughed, too, adding, “I guess I’m also hoping that I’ll live up to whatever expectations he might have in his head.”

“I think you will,” she said, dropping her hand to reveal her still smiling. “If it helps ease your nerves any, it’s likely he could be thinking the same thing of you.”

That did reassure you some, the tension in your shoulders dissipating. You nodded, and switched subjects, chatting with Robin and Nami, with the occasional input from Drake. The worries you’d had in your mind drifted far behind you as you finally felt like you’d be able to enjoy the night ahead.

Act like you always do, Bartolomeo told himself over and over again. Just gotta act natural.

“You gonna wipe down the same spot all night?” a voice called to him over the live band and bar chatter. He looked up to see his coworker and best friend, Gambia, leaning against the register and giving him a gap-toothed grin.

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes and pushed off the bar counter, draping the sanitation rag over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have to if you did your job right.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Gambia said, pushing off from the register. “Definitely doesn’t have anything to do with that girl you keep talkin’ about, right?”

The lights were dim enough in the bar that Bartolomeo didn’t have to worry about his ears turning pink. “It might. Not like it’s any of your business.”

“It is if it’s bothering you. She break your heart or somethin’?”

“No!” he snapped a little too quickly, then reeled it back in. “She’s coming by tonight. I don’t wanna make a bad impression.”

Gambia snorted, “You? Bein’ worried about what someone thinks? Doesn’t sound like the Barto I know.”

Bartolomeo folded his arms and leaned against the back bar, averting his eyes. “Just what this one thinks.”

“All right, fair enough,” Gambia said and put his hands up defensively. “Just wish you’d said somethin’ sooner — maybe Gramma would’ve let us get out the good stuff.”

Bartolomeo cast a sideways glance to his friend and smirked. “Don’t go tellin’ everyone about it, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. Don’t let it distract you from doin’ what we’re paid to do.” Gambia nodded toward the door. “Speakin’ of which...”

Bartolomeo turned, feeling his heart skip. There you were, sticking out like a sore thumb in a place like this. You were joined by a dark-haired woman and a redhead, who were both equally gorgeous. Beautiful, even. Any other day he’d gladly let either one step on him. But you were perfect, and the only one he had eyes for. He then noticed that bringing up the rear of your group was a tall man with narrow glasses and a scar on his chin, and Bartolomeo felt something in the back of his mind begin to panic. What the hell was wrong with him? Was it that you hadn’t mentioned one of the drinking friends was a guy? It wasn’t like you couldn’t have guy friends, that’d be ridiculous. You were a grown adult, you could have whatever friends you wanted.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sudden flare up of jealousy that swelled in his chest. He refocused his attention to you. You were conversing with the dark-haired woman, who was slowly surveying the area. Her eyes found Bartolomeo, and an odd, almost shrewd smile graced her features before she leaned a bit closer to you, and immediately you whipped your head toward the bar with a wide grin. You waved as your group ushered you along toward a curved booth, and he waved back, unable to keep from mirroring the grin on your face.

“So that’s him, huh?” Nami said to you as Robin and Drake sat down. “You weren’t kidding when you said he’s kind of scary-looking.”

“I thought he’d be scarier,” Robin giggled. “He looks more like a big cat to me. Or a rooster.”

“More like an Oni,” Drake commented, adjusting his glasses. “Vivi and I finished work with a set of masks a few months ago. He reminds me of one of them.”

You turned pink, fidgeting. “He’s not so bad when you know him.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Nami said with a smirk. “And that judgment will be based on whether or not we get the first round free.”

While your group was settling in and figuring out drink orders, Bartolomeo was resisting the urge to jump over the counter to greet you. Any hope he had of appearing casual amidst his internal struggle was crushed when Gambia nudged him.

“That her?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already tell, a shit-eating grin on his face.

The limited lighting did nothing for the bright red that crept up Bartolomeo’s neck. “The one on the left, yeah.”

“Aw, she’s real cute,” Gambia said and nudged him again. “And you still haven’t asked her out yet?”

Bartolomeo turned even more red.

The blonde sucked his teeth, “Oooh, better do it quick. She looks the type to get snatched out from under ya.”

That statement made Bartolomeo’s stomach churn. He knew Gambia was just talking shit, but something deep inside him fumed at the thought of you with anyone else. He shook his head, pushing down the dark voice in the back of his mind once more. It’d be fine. Sooner or later, either he’d ask you out or you’d beat him to the punch — just not yet. It didn’t feel right yet.

You rushed over ahead of Nami, weaving between other patrons with laser-like focus as you found your way to an empty barstool and hopped up. As Bartolomeo side-stepped to stand opposite you, you grinned and stuck out your tongue. “Told you I’d get them here.”

He grinned back, making your heart skip a beat. “About friggin’ time. I was wondering when they’d give in.”

“You make it sound like I forced them,” you said, putting a hand over your chest in mock-offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m naturally persuasive.”

His grin turned lopsided. “So you’re telling me you didn’t bat those big pretty eyes and beg them to come?”

Your heart skipped another beat. He thinks my eyes are pretty?

Nami approached then, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as she leaned over you with a cheeky grin on her face. “Are you all done catching up? I’m dying for a screwdriver already.”

Bartolomeo’s gaze drifted to the redhead behind you, and you tried not to read too much into it, fully aware that Nami caught the eyes of everyone. Still, you couldn’t stop your chest from tightening. With a sheepish smile, you gestured to her and said, “Nami, Bartolomeo. Do not let her convince you to forget the tab.”

“Oh, you killjoy,” she whined, pouting. “Between you and Drake, how am I supposed to have any fun?”

“I can start you off with that screwdriver,” Bartolomeo said with a smirk, putting both hands on the bar and leaning forward, his arms holding him up like an A-Frame. “Anything else I can get for you pretty ladies?”

Again, your chest tightened. Right, he worked at a bar, it only made sense that he’d probably be turning up the charm as part of his job. His “pretty eyes” comment earlier probably didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Then his gaze met yours, and everything fell away. The dim lighting cast dark shadows over his features that made him look all the more intimidating, his amber eyes practically glowing. Between the broad shoulders, the eyes, and his fangs, for a moment you thought he might lunge forward and bite you, sinking sharp teeth into soft flesh with intent to consume you whole.

And then you thought about how maybe you wouldn't mind that.

It occurred to you that Nami had ordered the other two drinks, and Bartolomeo was waiting on yours. Snapping back into reality, you stuttered, “Whatever hard cider you have on tap.”

He smiled, further evoking the image of a hungry predator, and nodded. “You got it.”

Damn his smile. You probably should not have found that as hot as you did.

As the night progressed, you did your best to balance your attention between your coworkers and Bartolomeo. You felt a touch guilty that the scales weighed so heavily in the latter’s favor, as you really did enjoy chatting away with Robin and Nami as well as learning more about the normally reserved Drake. But you couldn’t help yourself from looking over at the bar to try and catch Bartolomeo’s eye, blushing every time he smiled at you. Eventually, Nami decided it was time to start charming some of the other patrons for free drinks, disappearing into a crowd gathered around the small stage at the back of the establishment.

“You think she’s going for the band?” you asked Robin, catching brief glimpses of red hair weaving and bobbing effortlessly amongst the horde of metal heads and punks.

“That’s likely her end goal,” Robin said, sipping at her Manhattan. “She’s probably scoping them out first.”

“And she does this every night you go out?” Drake asked.

You shook your head. “Not every time. Just when she knows she can get away with it.” Hopefully Bartolomeo doesn’t notice. On reflex, you found yourself once again looking over at the bar, smiling at him. This time he was busy with another customer, but you didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched into a wider smile when his eyes flicked over to yours.

“You can go sit at the bar if you really want to.”

Robin’s voice made you start, and you fidgeted with the napkin under your drink. “But — I’m out with you guys, not him. I don’t want to be rude...”

“You’re not being rude,” she said, nudging you lightly. “You wanted to see him tonight, you can go see him. I’m sure Drake and I can manage.”

Drake nodded. “Just don’t let him give you any trouble. We’re right here if he does.”

Your heart fluttered and you stood up, thanking them both and making your way back to the bar.

Bartolomeo nearly tripped on his way to your seat, shooting a glare at Gambia when he noticed and laughed. If you noticed, too, you didn’t show it, giving him that goddamn gorgeous smile of yours that made his heart race. After ordering another hard cider, he leaned atop the counter, his forearms supporting his weight as he bent at the waist. “So uh, you havin’ fun?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

You nodded as you took a drink, pointing to the band. “Nami’s out there doing her thing. Drake — the guy over there —” you gestured over your shoulder “— he’s never come out with us before. Robin got him talking about reptiles though and they didn’t stop for like twenty minutes.” You propped your chin up in your hands. “So I’m over here to bug you while they talk about fossils. I’m all yours.”

It took a not-inconsiderable amount of effort not to blurt out do you really mean that? However there was no hiding the waver in his voice when he said, “You can come bug me anytime, sweetheart. Dunno that I’ll have anything as interestin’ to talk about, though.”

Shit. Did he just call you “sweetheart” out loud? It just popped out, he couldn’t stop it. But he then saw your cheeks turn a very pretty shade of pink, and he latched onto the nickname, immediately forgetting his panic over using it. He wanted to see that blush more.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, switching to resting your cheek in one palm. “Honestly, even if I don’t understand at all what someone’s talking about, just listening to them gush about what they love is fun. Anything can be interesting if it’s talked about with a lot of passion like that.��

Bartolomeo grinned. “So, you’re telling me, if I talked your ear off about baseball, you’d just let me do it? No filter?”

“Pretty much,” you giggled, tracing a finger around the rim of your glass. “I’m surprised baseball’s your topic of choice though. You don’t strike me as the sporty type.” You paused, then giggled again. “Pun not intended.”

“Nah, not particularly. It’s just the first thing that came to mind,” he laughed, standing upright and reaching to his back pocket for his wallet. “I do have this really cool card though that someone left behind one night a few years back. Autographed and everything.”

He showed you the card, depicting a green-haired batter holding three bats — one in each hand, and one between his teeth. You had to admit, it looked cool as hell. “What if someone comes back looking for it?”

“Screw them, finders keepers. And like I said, it’s been a few years. I doubt they’ll come back for it at this point.”

You stifled a snort and took another drink. “So if not sports, what is something you’re really passionate about?”

As he was about to answer, his attention was drawn to the front door, a pair of customers coming in and taking seats at the opposite end of the bar. “Just a sec, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

He couldn’t resist dropping the nickname again. The flush in your cheeks was worth it.

Drake kept an eye on you from the booth, still chatting with Robin about this and that. Vivi had convinced him to go on this outing in her stead with the premise of giving him an opportunity to know his coworkers better, but he knew part of it was a concern for the venue. He’d been to plenty of bars in his life, including a fair share of metal and punk ones, and they’d all been about the same as far as rowdiness. Though, in his experience, the grittier places tended to have the better behaved clientele oddly enough, so while he felt Vivi’s concern was a bit misplaced, he didn’t want to offend her, knowing she cared a lot about the safety of her friends.

Admittedly, he’d been a little shocked to find that this neighbor of yours that Nami and Robin had been gossiping about was so rough-looking, considering in comparison you were on the smaller and softer side. But Drake was never one to judge anyone for their tastes, even if he subconsciously found himself a bit more wary than usual. No doubt the girls would both be reporting to Vivi that the rumors of Bartolomeo’s intimidating visage were true, and if they didn’t he certainly would.

It was at that moment, however, when you were left alone, that someone on the other end of the bar sidled up to the empty barstool on your right, a beer glass in hand. Greasy black hair, a thin, wiry mustache that made him look like a catfish, wearing a fedora and cheap dress pants. Drake caught the action in his periphery, watching carefully as the man tried to push for your attention. It was eventually given, and based on the way you cringed away from him, it was definitely not a comfortable exchange.

“Robin,” Drake said, his voice low as he nodded toward your seat. “We need to help her.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed, and with a sigh she stood. “How underhanded. He came up to her while Rooster was distracted.” She gave Drake an almost mischievous smile, putting a finger up to her lips. “I need to run to the ladies room anyway. I’ll go get her so we don’t cause a scene.”

He nodded, trying not to stare at the sway of Robin’s hips as she gracefully moved to the bar to collect you. You looked beyond relieved for the excuse to get away, throwing a quick wave over to Bartolomeo (who was still somewhat occupied with the new customers) as you slid off your barstool, the creep left alone to stew.

And then Drake’s stomach dropped, his nerves on high alert. You left your drink unattended.

Something that Bartolomeo didn’t miss, either. He was watching from his peripherals as well, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end when the creep had approached and started to harass you. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to pay attention to the drink orders while keeping an eye on the unsavory intruder. He had relaxed slightly when the dark haired woman came to collect you and you both went off to the restrooms, only to be put on edge again when he saw an all-too-familiar movement.

Something was slipped into your drink.

Oh. Hell no. Bartolomeo finished writing down the new drink orders and moved to the tap, giving the unaware sleazebag a death stare that would have made the grim reaper look away. Thankfully, he was distracted by another patron, and his seat was on the way to the tap.

Drake saw the slip as well, and stood to confront the miscreant. He only made it about two steps however, before he saw Bartolomeo pass, and slyly swap the glasses.

The two men made eye contact, with the sharp-toothed bartender giving Drake a knowing smirk before moving on.

The creep was none the wiser, turning back to “his” drink and taking a long pull.

As you returned to the bar with Robin, you stared at your glass, and your stomach churned. With a curled lip, you pushed it away, looking at Robin over your shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Robin leaned over the counter and flagged down the other bartender. “Can we get the tab?”

After the bar had closed, a very, very inebriated man in a fedora and cheap dress pants was stumbling down the back alley. “Stupid stuck-up bitch and her stupid stuck-up friend,” he slurred, one of the few coherent things he had managed to say all night. “Stupid fuckin’. Bartenders and their. Fuckin’ rules.”

He tripped over his own feet and landed on the concrete with a pained shout, nearly biting his tongue. He just wanted to have fun tonight. He hadn’t had fun in a long time. He couldn’t even get a prostitute these days. Probably because all the ones in town knew him by name and knew he always stiffed them on the payment.

With a groan he rolled onto his back, trying to blink away the spots in his eyes. Why were the buildings all warped? Why did he feel like he was going to vomit up his whole stomach? What the hell was that shape looming over him with orange eyes?

“Man,” the shape above him said in a gravelly voice that sounded both too close and a thousand miles away, “you look fuckin’ pathetic.”

The creep writhed on the ground, further proving Bartolomeo’s point, and slurred back, “Nnno, yer prophetic...”

Bartolomeo cocked his head, sneering. All he could think of was how this pig, this scum of the earth, was allowed to keep living for so long. How many other bars had he hit up trying to pull what he nearly did to you? What would have happened if you’d encountered him elsewhere? Your friends looked out for you, sure, but what if you’d been alone?

Bartolomeo would have swapped the drinks even if it hadn’t had been you that was targeted. No one tries to drug someone in his bar and gets away with it. What he couldn’t do was convince himself that if it happened to anyone else, he’d be going as far as he currently was to make sure it never happened again. The creep tried to sit up, and Bartolomeo put one foot on his chest, tilting his head the other way. After another beat he lifted his foot, then slammed it down on one hand with a sickening crack.

This guy picked the wrong place, and he really picked the wrong time.

The creep let out an agonized yell, eyes wide and suddenly alert as he scrabbled at Bartolomeo’s boot. Bartolomeo crouched down, putting more weight on his foot and brandishing a switchblade, pointing it right between the man’s eyes.

“Now that I got your attention,” he drawled, “I’ll speak nice and slow for ya, so maybe it’ll stick in that roofied brain of yours.” He lazily held the blade between his thumb and middle finger, swaying it back and forth. “I ever catch you around here again, you’re gonna lose this hand.”

He put pressure on it for emphasis, drawing forth another pained yell amidst a symphony of crunching bones.

“I ever hear about you trying to dope up anyone else, I’ll take the other one.”

The creep was practically foaming at the mouth, unable to form coherent words between the blinding pain and the drugs in his system. Bartolomeo let the knife slide down, the tip landing right on the bridge of the man’s nose and making him go stock-still.

“If you ever. Ever. Mess with that girl again? With what’s mine?” He bared his fangs in a snarl, “The only drinks you’ll ever get are gonna be through an IV. Get me?”

The man nodded, whimpering feebly.

“Perfect. But, just to make sure you don’t forget...”

Bartolomeo lifted his foot, then slammed the switchblade into the man’s palm. The scream that echoed in the alley made it all the more worth it. He yanked the knife out and wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt before standing, casually nudging him to the side with his boots as he began the walk home. He found himself humming a random tune along the way, satisfaction welling in his chest.

After all, he promised to take care of anyone who dared to mess with you.

#bartolomeo #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #bartolomeo x you #one piece x reader #reader insert #yandere!bartolomeo #yandere #i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time #ifdyokaat #this was a fun one to write #fun fact: i picked drake as a coworker because i realized most of the ones i had in mind were ladies #let me know what you think o3o we don't see him nearly enough until we get to wano so i wanna know if i did him justice #another slightly less fun fact but i think it's funny (and no one on Ao3 has caught it yet):#the creepy patron is vander decken lmao

52 notes · View notes

bratprivilege · 5 months

Text

I am like literally begging the Internet to write image descriptions at this point

#sometimes I swear when a fandom gets an ID blog the individuals who had been writing their own just stop #just assuming the ID blog will pick up the slack so they don’t really need to worry about it anymore #how many times do we have to say an ID on the original post is 1 million times better #than going dumpster diving in the notes of every single mystery image on the dash with little to no context #hoping for the off chance that somebody somewhere has actually written one in a reblog #I see descriptions way more often than I did 10 years ago but still not nearly often enough #and I feel like the number of descriptions I see on my own dash has dropped significantly while I was gone #during those several months where I straight up couldn’t use Tumblr because they broke any excuse for accessibility on the app #don’t know if people just went ‘hey that one blind person I know is gone so I probably don’t need to bother with this anymore’ or what #but my dash is once again flooded with images that mean nothing to me and I seriously need to do a big unfollowing

22 notes · View notes

kunikidas-lost-glasses · 11 months

Text

Headcanons and short drabbles for my BSD Fix-it AU

!Contains Spoilers for the whole DoA arc!

TWs: Mentions of OCD, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of crying, mentions of slight gun violence, mentions of screaming, mentions of heavy injuries, mentions of medical related stuff (p.ex.infirmaries), mentions of chronic pain

All characters might be ooc.

Pairings: Shin Soukoku, Bramcraft, at first Ranpoe and implied developing Mushiranpoe,later mentioned Mushiranpoe, Chuusigzai, lightly implied past!Fyozai (it’s up to interpretation if romantically or platonically but it’s written more in a platonic way), implied Tachihigugin, Fyolai, engaged!Suegiku, Montcott

The ADA managed to defeat Fukuchi and obtained the page

Fyodor and Nikolai got away though.

The moment Sigma wanted to shoot Fyodor, Nikolai appeared next to Fyodor through one of his overcoat portals and pulled the other with him through it.

It did send Sigma into a panic attack and Dazai too got nervous because of this but as soon as the ADA managed to obtain the page, he got a lot calmer and told Atsushi to write that Fyodor loses his ability on the page, knowing that it not only would send the russian into several existence crises but also knowing that the chance that he would try to erase all ability users would become much lower then.

Dazai knew Fyodor for years and he knew how much his ability tortured him since his early childhood. He knew that Punishment plagued him and took over a lot.

Fyodor’s ability was strong and was just as intelligent as the one who wielded it so that his ability slowly but surely started to affect his mind a lot wasn’t unexpected.

When Dazai touched Fyodor for the first time years ago, the other basically melted into his touch after Dazai touched him despite his threats that he would kill the other if he would dare to touch him.

The heavy weight of Punishment, the sharp and piercing feeling of the powerful ability raging inside of him whenever he felt threatened as well as its influence on his mind faded to nothing for the first time in his life.

When they met again, Dazai was almost sure that Punishment affected the other’s mind completely since he had gotten more cruel and heartless but also because he worked so tirelessly on his goal to erase all ability users so now he was almost completely sure that erasing only Fyodor’s ability would stop the other.

He was right. Upon feeling his ability fading away until it was completely gone, Fyodor went, just like Dazai expected, through a whole existence crises

With his ability fading, Fyodor also slowly gained full consciousness over his mind again and fully realized what had happened, even though he couldn’t remember events where Punishment had taken over his consciousness nearly completely.

After everything, the russian spent weeks in his bed, not only recovering from his physical injuries he had from their prison escape game but also because his mind struggled to process the fact that Punishment was gone and that he was only Fyodor now. No Crime. No Punishment. No vessel for Punishment. Just Fyodor.

He also had to process the fact that he gained full consciousness again and had to deal with all the guilt because of what happened which was eating him up alive for quite some time.

The one who took care of him the whole time was no other than Nikolai.

Nikolai who had put his clown attire away by now. Nikolai, who violently shook Fyodor after saving him, screaming at him for not getting out of his mind and for stopping him from being free, screaming that he hated him so much. Nikolai who had held a gun to Fyodor’s head, hand shaking before dropping the gun, letting his friend go and kneeling in front of him, sobbing. Nikolai who slowly learned to accept that he loved Fyodor and who slowly tried to believe that he could be free together with Fyodor.

He knew that Fyodor returned his feelings but he also knew that Fyodor waited until Nikolai had everything sorted out.

And Fyodor did wait. He waited patiently and eventually, when Nikolai was ready and both got more stable as well as used to their new quiet life, living undercover and when Fyodor was physically fully and mentally partly recovered, they got together in one cold winter night.

Their relationship was beautiful actually and it was based on mutual deep understanding and a bond which already started to form when they both met while living on the streets in the Ukraine as young teens.

Dazai was still secretly searching for the whereabouts of Fyodor and Nikolai for nearly two years, despite knowing that it was nearly impossible to find the russian if he didn’t wanted to be found, scared that his plan didn’t carry out exactly as he hoped that it would but after nearly four years passed, he was almost completely sure that the rat and his clown wouldn’t try to start a war again.

Sigma and Bram joined the ADA

Sigma’s entrance actually started with the elevator crashing down and he passed it by staying on Dazai’s and the ADA’s side, nearly managing to shoot Fyodor, instead of running away or going back to the Decay of Angels.

Bram on the other hand, kind of had to stay with the ADA but he actually didn’t mind.

Aya begged the agency not to kill Bram and eventually they gave in and gave Bram an entrance exam for multiple reasons, one of them being that he can’t be on his own, slashed in half like this but also that if they would pull out the sword, he would have no control over his ability, just like he told Aya so they somehow needed to keep his ability at bay.

After Bram passed the entrance exam and managed to prove his good motives, which wasn’t that hard for him since he never wanted to cause a vampire outbreak to happen and got forced into biting people/since he joined the DoA against his own will, Dazai touched the sword, nullifying it, so that they could pull out the sword without hurting Bram any further.

With the sword out of him, he was able to regenerate his body in a matter of a few days.

At first he even refused to Dazai touching it, scared that his ability might lash out completely like he had told Aya but Fukuzawa’s ability kept his vampirism at bay and allowed him to control it much better

By now he has a full body again and can make his own decisions again without being bound to anyone but he still has to use a cane since after not walking/not even having a full body for literal centuries he still struggles with walking and kind of has to relearn it.

He also has to relearn how to use his hands for the exact same reasons.

However, he can also transform into a large bat again so he usually chills, hanging upside down from the ceiling or hanging upside down on the side of Sigma’s desk, sleeping in his bat form. (Sigma put a little metal bar on the side of his desk specifically for Bram.)

Sigma and Bram kind of get along pretty well. They already got along back when they were both in the DoA but could barely talk/get to know each other since they barely saw each other outside of the meetings of the organization.

Besides this, Sigma was nearly always busy in his casino and Bram was very well hidden and most of the time guarded by Fukuchi in some way.

Fukuchi got defeated completely.

The Hunting Dogs had to go under police investigation but after they were proven to be innocent and to be not involved with the DoA, they got a new leader. They couldn’t split the Hunting Dogs up since they would die without the operations.

Jounou and Tecchou got engaged a few months after the war against the DoA.

Atsushi brought Bram and Aya to Dazai where he could touch the vampire, nullifying his ability and turning the people who had been turned into vampires back into humans.

Yosano saved multiple lives that day since the injuries which some people had before they got turned into a vampire returned shortly after they were fully human again.

Upon seeing Akutagawa again, alive, healthy and fully human again, Atsushi thought he wouldn’t believe his eyes at first but only a couple of seconds later after standing there like frozen, staring at the other, Atsushi dashed forwards, tackle-hugging Akutagawa with such a strength and with such a speed that he knocked both of them over so that they both fell on the floor.

Atsushi hugged Akutagaw so tightly that the other heard he would hear his ribs crack before Atsushi sat up a bit, yelling at Akutagawa for being so stupid for sacrificing himself for Atsushi and asking if if he could imagine how it felt to fight against him as a mindless vampire.

He really tried not to cry but he failed. Miserably.

When he tackle-hugged Akutagawa for the first time, tears where already in the corner of his eyes and upon feeling the other again, hearing him breathe and smelling the familiar faint smell of tea like which the other nearly always smelled, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling and it got worse when he was yelling at Akutagawa but that didn’t stop him from doing so.

Akutagawa just listened to him quietly (it drove Atsushi a bit crazy to be completely honest)

Eventually Atsushi actually talked himself that much in rage, that he ended up confessing accidentally to Akutagawa which caused him to shut up immediately staring shocked at Akutagawa who looked at him with wide eyes too, before hectically trying to scramble away and get up to give Akutagawa space since he was nearly completely sure that the other was disgusted now but Akutagawa actually grabbed him before he could get up fully and pulled him back so that he lied on top of him again before hugging him, telling him that he felt the same causing Atsushi to start to sob all over again.

Akutagawa lied there with a faint smile, slowly rubbing the bag of the other and he would never admit it but he too, had watery eyes

Normally he would have never reacted like this or would have shown such a soft side of him but after what happened, even he couldn’t stay as cold as usual

Soukoku watched them with little smiles on their faces, how they continued to lie on the floor curled up together in a tight hug, talking quietly about everything.

Fyodor’s downfall actually started with underestimating Soukoku’s bond and with sending Chuuya to Dazai in order to kill the latter without realizing that Chuuya was already long out of his vampire state.

Chuuya was the one who carried Dazai out of the hallway to a safe place, who did first aid on Dazai who was heavily injured from the elevator crash and who guarded him until everything was over.

Dazai managed to snap Chuuya out of the vampire state by nearly making him and Fyodor drown (it was actually part of a big plan c of Dazai which was the plan he would have to use in the worst case. That Chuuya got turned into a vampire wasn’t his first plan but it was included in one of his “worst case” plans.)

Chuuya punched him hard later for nearly drowning him and saying such things before he “drowned” but upon noticing that Dazai was sticking extremely close to him and refused to leave his side the whole time and also upon seeing that he was truly shaken up too (no matter how hard he tried to mask it), he just sighed and hugged his partner.

They stayed like that, quietly hugging each other and Dazai basically clinging to Chuuya, holding onto him and hugging him so tightly that Chuuya struggled to breathe for a moment and he buried his face in the redheads crook of the neck for a long time

Later, they would never talk about the fact that Dazai was shaking like crazy during the first time of their embrace but when Chuuya realized it he just slowly started to rub the younger's back and buried his face in the others brown messy locks. They didn’t need any words at that moment.

Dazai became even clingier to Chuuya than he was before.

Ranpo and Yosano would stick close together and also stick close to Fukuzawa for the next months, not wanting to get separated for longer than a day.

Yosano would never forget the sight of seeing Fukuzawa and Ranpo lying unconsciously on the ground, bleeding out from stab wounds.

She stayed at their side until they woke up again after she had healed them.

After they woke up again, she tried to appear put together and greeted them with a relieved smile which quickly turned into a wobbly smile after she heard Ranpo complaining about his head hurting and about starting to complain about the fact that they didn’t listen to him in the first place.

He quickly stopped complaining after he noticed that Yosano had gone quiet and after Fukuzawa noticed her teary eyes, he asked her to come to him. Of course she did so and he pulled her into a tight hug.

It was the first time in years that Yosano cried.

Ranpo started to complain about getting left out so Yosano huffed out a laugh and pulled him into a bone crushing hug too.

While Fukuzawa and Ranpo were allowed to leave her infirmary the same day, the people who had been turned into vampires had to stay for a bit longer. Some of them only woke up days later.

The reason why they had to stay a bit longer was because despite Yosano successfully healing them and despite vampirism getting nullified, they felt worn out and exhausted and seemed to recover much slower. Even after a month the most still had to take things slow since their bodies quickly started to feel worn out and they often felt exhausted from doing the smallest things. After some months went by, the symptoms got lesser and lesser though.

Yosano had asked Bram if they could turn into vampires again but Bram told her that this was impossible.

As soon as Yosano allowed people to visit people in the infirmary again, Poe and Mushitarou were next to Ranpo’s bed.

Poe basically refused to leave Ranpo’s side and held his hand tightly.

Mushitarou stood next to Poe with a little smile on his face.

Mushitarou had started to slowly get along a bit more with the detective but they couldn’t really hang out since Ranpo had been in fighting against the DoA with the others while Poe acted as a supporter from the back rows.

However, he got a lot closer with the writer, after all, he lived with him.

As soon as they’ve gotten the information that Ranpo had gotten injured by Fukuchi and was now being healed by Yosano, Poe nearly fell into a panic hole and it was Mushitarou who carefully took the phone out of Poe’s hand, saying that they would come over in a minute, before he hung up and started to calm the writer down who already struggled to breathe evenly and had shaking hands.

He wasn’t as good at it as Ranpo was but surprisingly he was able to calm the other down in no time.

Now, standing next to Poe, next to Ranpo’s bed, he did felt strangely relieved that the detective was fine and seeing Poe babbling about how scared he was as well as scolding Ranpo for being so reckless while Ranpo patted the others head and squeezed his hand, telling him to calm down, his heart felt weirdly warm upon seeing them like that.

The ADA actually threw a huge celebration party over two whole days to celebrate their victory over Fukuchi and the DoA. It was an even greater celebration than when they won against the guild

When Lucy finally saw her girlfriend Louisa at that party again, she basically dropped everything she was holding and ran to her, pulling her in a bone crushing hug.

Louisa was a bit startled at first but then giggled and hugged Lucy back, burying her face in the crook of the other woman's neck.

Lucy would never admit it but she did in fact cry a little bit upon finally being able to hold Louisa again and upon seeing that she was healthy and alive.

The two would stick close together for the rest of the evening.

Lucy also proceeded to kiss Louisa’s scar which she had from Nathaniel’s attack, telling her that she still looked beautiful with it.

Bram was able to reunite with Lovecraft.

The two of them had been in a relationship back in the medieval era but after Bram got sliced in half and got taken away like a trophy, Lovecraft had been unable to find him again for centuries and when he found him again, he had already been in the hands of Fukuchi.

All that Lovecraft wanted, was to free Bram from Fukuchi but he knew that Fukuchi would use Bram against Lovecraft, hurting Bram even more in the process and the last thing Lovecraft wanted, was to make Bram suffer even more than he already had to so he couldn’t do anything beside staying close to the vampire and following them wherever Fukuchi took him.

The time where Bram had been on the ship had been hell for Lovecraft. He stayed underwater, underneath the ship where he was forced to listen to how Fukuchi treated Bram, how Bram tried to refuse biting people and how tired, hollow and exhausted the voice of his partner sounded.

Lovecraft wanted to sink the ship oh 8so bad, dragging Fukuchi down with it and killing him underwater and taking Bram with him, since Fukuchi was defenseless against him there. The world underwater was Lovecraft’s world, his element and a mere human was defenseless against him there but he knew that there was a risk that Bram got injured if he really did so and he didn’t wanted to risk that so he was forced to stay underneath the ship, hoping that one day he was able to get Bram back.

When Bram saw Lovecraft again, he froze and stared at the black haired man with wide eyes.

He was sure that he would never see Lovecraft again, that he had lost him forever.

Bram had never stopped thinking and dreaming about the other but he didn’t even dare to hope that he would see him again.

Lovecraft didn’t look any different than he remembered him. He wore different and more modern clothes and he looked more tired and worn out than before but beside that he still looked exactly how he remembered it.

It didn’t took long until Lovecraft noticed that someone stared at him and when he spotted Bram, he too froze for a moment.

He only managed to say the other’s name before ran towards him, using a bit of his vampire abilities to move faster. However, he tripped shortly before he reached Lovecraft due to his legs giving out but Lovecraft quickly catched him and hugged him.

He held him so carefully as if he would hurt him if he hugged him any tighter.

He had always been careful with Bram since the vampire always nearly felt as fragile as a human in Lovecraft’s arms, despite being an immortal being and since Lovecraft was well aware of his strength he was always careful when touching Bram but now he seemed to touch him even more careful than before.

Bram however, hugged him as tight as he could, burning his face in the other’s shirt and closing his eyes.

Nobody saw the tears which escaped his eyes. Only Lovecraft could feel them and only he felt that Bram was shaking slightly.

Lovecraft on the other hand, was still trying to process that he finally was able to hold Bram again and that Bram was okay.

After a couple of moments he buried his face in the others long gray hair and closed his eyes as well. They didn’t need any words. It has always been like this.

They stood like this, hugging each other for a long time and even afterwards, they would stick together.

Lovecraft would always visit Bram whenever he could and they also started to meet up at night again. Usually Bram would fly down to the harbor where he met Lovecraft. Then they would talk for hours again, like they did back when they first met. They would talk and sleep, holding each other. They would dance and sometimes they would just sit somewhere, watching the night sky and remiscene about the old times.

Bram often thinks about his kins and his family. After all, he is the only vampire who survived and who is now walking freely around on earth again. He misses them greatly and often he blames himself for not being able to defend them.

Lovecraft is always there for him when the thoughts get too dark.

Sigma is allowed to carry a gun with him constantly.

He is also practicing to use his ability more precisely and is training to use his ability in order to overwhelm enemies through flooding their mind with so much information that they pass out.

He often gets paired with Atsushi when they go on missions.

They both spend a lot of time together and they became best friends.

When Atsushi saw that Sigma was alive, he nearly cried. The “death” of Sigma would leave his mind and he mourned about the death of the other, despite not really knowing him so when he saw him again, he couldn’t believe his eyes before he ran over to him, telling him how relieved he was to see him alive and well.

Sigma was completely caught off guard at first. Nobody ever was so glad about seeing that he was fine. In all his years with the DoA he was merely a replaceable tool and this boy was nearly crying out of relief and happiness upon seeing him again despite not really knowing anything about him.

It made Sigma feel warm inside and his heart felt like it got squished but in a good way. It was the first time he wondered if this is what “home” felt like.

Later he asked how he could ever thank Atsushi for his kindness. He showed him back at the sky casino but to his surprise, the other didn’t want anything and told him that he’s just happy that Sigma is fine.

By now, Sigma, Atsushi, Lucy and Kyouka often spend time together. Sometimes they visit Lucy at the Café, sometimes they go shopping together, sometimes they go and get Crépes together and sometimes they just talk for a while at the office of the ADA.

Sigma and Atsushi both judge Dazai’s shinegans.

Sigma got together with Chuuya and Dazai some time after the war against the DoA.

Chuuya and Dazai were already a couple for years but after the events in Meursault, they also got together with Sigma.

Dazai already started falling for Sigma early into the events of Meursault while Sigma slowly started falling for Dazai after the latter saved them from drowning.

Chuuya already started to admire Sigma when he saw Sigma aiming the gun at Fyodor’s head, showing true strength and bravery and it didn’t take long until they both fell for each other after meeting too.

However Sigma was a bit intimidated by Chuuya at first so it took him a bit longer to warm up to Chuuya.

They love each other deeply and while Sigma and Chuuya would die for Dazai even though they would never admit it, Dazai would live for them.

However, Dazai is also still getting used to receiving this much genuine love and affection from two people.

Sigma is also still slowly getting used to being treated like a human being instead of a tool/ is still getting used to not getting used the whole time and also to finally having not one but two places he can call home (the ADA and Dazai and Chuuya).

During the first time after the war against the DoA, Dazai had to use a wheelchair for a long time after crashing down with the elevator, breaking his legs in several places and breaking other bones as well.

After months, he could walk a bit again and started to use forearm crutches as soon as he could walk for longer periods of time again.

Eventually he only used one forearm crutch.

He had to keep using a forearm crutch for years.

After a long time, he used a cane instead.

He already struggled with chronic back pain from a failed suicide attempt where he fell on his back, injuring his spine and since he didn’t seeked help from Yosano until months later, the spine healed more badly than anything which is why it now often hurts and cracks, making sitting straight hurt like hell after some time and the serval injuries he had after falling down with the elevator added more chronic pain and his legs couldn’t support his weight fully anymore without hurting like crazy until years later. The pain never fully faded though.

He hated needing the help of others but slowly he started to allow it.

Kunikida has to practice things like tying his hair into a ponytail, braiding his hair, tying his shoes and writing again because his new hands are still weak and very shaky.

It caused him multiple breakdowns already due to feeling utterly useless, especially now that he can neither do a lot of paperwork or use his ability as fast and often as before.

Dazai and Ranpo are the only ones who know about Kunikida struggling.

Dazai actually helps Kunikida when his mental health is particularly bad again and helps him to calm down when he finds him locked in one of the toilet stalls in the bathroom of the ADA again, breaking down on particularly bad days when his hands were shaking so much again that he couldn’t do anything which required precise hand movements.

Previously, Kuniikida would check on Dazai every evening to see if the other was fine and if he had eaten anything. Now it’s Dazai’s turn to check on his partner regularly.

At first Kunikida hated it, but slowly he started to accept the support and help from Dazai.

Dazai, Kunikida, Chuuya and Sigma regularly meet up somewhere during weekends to spend some time together. Most of the time, they just talk about work and about life but sometimes they watch movies together at Chuuya’s apartment which he shares with Dazai and Sigma.

After Sigma and Kunikida got to know each other through their work at the ADA, they started to get along pretty well and Chuuya and Kunikida got along well anyway. They love to rant about work and about Dazai’s bs while drinking expensive wine.

Sigma sometimes bakes cookies for the whole ADA.

Fukuzawa refused to exchange any of the ADA members with Mori after he found out about the lie he told Yosano.

He was furious.

He knew that it would have consequences but for now he didn’t worry about it.

Sigma’s OCD and his panic disorder which he developed during his time with the DoA got even worse after the war against the DoA.

He never told anyone about it and normally he was able to hide his compulsions, his panic and the distress which came from not performing compulsions very well but during the first time after the DoA was defeated, everything got even harder to hide.

Dazai noticed him writing a word on a word document over and over again, deleting it before writing it again and noticed how Sigma grew more and more distressed. He didn’t confront him about it right then at the crowded office of the ADA but he instead asked him if he could help him with something to snap him out of the thought spiral.

At home, he confronted Sigma about it, and while Sigma at first panicked, eventually he told Dazai about it.

By now, both Chuuya and Dazai support and help Sigma whenever his fear and his OCD get too much for him.

The Hunting Dogs came personally to the ADA to apologize for everything they did as well as for believing that they were guilty.

Tecchou also apologized less formally and more emotionally to Yosano and thanked her again for saving Jounou’s life. After all, they had wanted to execute her so he would have understood it, if she would have refused to help them.

Kenji was thrilled to finally meet this friend Tecchou talked about and he cheerfully greeted Jounou, telling him that he was happy that Jounou was okay and also telling him that Tecchou had been worried sick about him and that he was even willing to place Jounou above justice which was obviously so dear to him. (You must be really good friends then! :D)

Upon hearing this, Jounou just smiled at Tecchou who looked away, a tiny bit embarrassed.

Of course Jounou already knew about what happened and he had already scolded Tecchou for nearly 15 minutes for placing him above justice and his mission and for also nearly killing a whole child in his blind rage.

He can’t deny that his cheeks had been a dark red shade upon hearing this though.

Teruko and Sigma stay far away from each other though and Tachihara keeps a respectful distance to the former casino manager too, knowing that Sigma probably never forgives them for making his casino fall from the sky, killing everyone in it but he understands it.

That Sigma doesn’t even want to look at Teruko, whether it’s because of the guilt he feels or because of the fact that they killed the people he viewed as his family, is fully justified. At least in Tachihara’s eyes.

The Hunting Dogs now are always there to help the ADA if they would ever need more help with a case or with fighting against an enemy.

Tachihara stayed with the Hunting Dogs but he still meets up with the Black Lizard regularly and he actually lives with Gin and Higuchi.

Sometimes he meets up with the Black Lizard and with Chuuya at the bar to which they always went to drink and chat for the whole night like in the old times.

There is no bad blood at all and all enjoy their meetings greatly.

He sometimes misses his time at the Port Mafia but as long as he can meet up with them, it's alright.

He couldn’t leave the Hunting Dogs either.

Both, Port Mafia and Hunting Dogs are like a family to him so he tries his best, to connect both worlds as best as he can.

At Home, with Higuchi and Gin, they don’t talk about their jobs anyways. There it is just them. No Port Mafia and no Hunting Dogs unless there is really something someone needs to talk about with their partners/unless there is something someone wants to get off their chest.

Dazai still has awful nightmares about the events at the Meursault Prison.

Sigma also suffers from night terrors about the same events.

When Dazai wakes up from one of those nightmares again, he usually directly checks if Chuuya and Sigma are still there with him, listens to their breathing and to Chuuya’s little snores as he calms down.

Sometimes he gets out of their bed and goes into the kitchen or the living room where he sits on the couch, staring holes in the air or staring at the ceiling while he tries to calm his racing mind down.

Most of the time, Chuuya and Sigma wake up shortly after Dazai left the bed though and grow alarmed immediately, causing them to get out of bed in no time and to search for their boyfriend.

After they found him, Chuuya usually can tell directly what is going on and they comfort him and gently urge him to come back to bed with them.

Sigma reacts much differently than Dazai.

He often dreams about the DoA, about Fyodor, about his casino or about falling down from the casino but most of the time, he dreams about the elevator which is crashing down with a rapid speed, with Dazai still in it.

Those dreams are often bloody and horrifying and Sigma often wakes up screaming for Dazai, hyperventilating and crying.

Chuuya and Dazai always calm him down and are there for him. All three of them are awful at comforting but it works for them.

Most of the time, Dazai hugs Sigma, rubs his back or gently saws back and forth while Chuuya is verbally trying to comfort him and holds his hands, caressing the back of them and assures Sigma that he’s safe here with them and that they are okay.

They also help Sigma to calm his breathing again and gently prevent him from tugging at his hair/pulling at his hair since it’s something Sigma does when he is stressed, scared or panicking.

They also always let Sigma talk about his nightmare and look out that his panic won’t get worse again.

Dazai also always lets Sigma feel his pulse, knowing that this can calm Sigma down more than anything.

He always regulates his heart beat to a calming, slow one too to calm Sigma down more when he feels his pulse.

When Sigma feels better again and Chuuya gently urges him to try to sleep again, knowing how exhausted Sigma is after the panic attack and assuring him that they won’t leave his side.

They often lie curled up together in one big cuddle pile then, Sigma lying between them and both hugging him.

Chuuya and Dazai often quietly talk about everything when Sigma fell asleep again.

Dazai always stops Sigma and Chuuya from overworking themselves since both tend to do so due to Chuuya’s workaholic tendencies and due to Sigma’s anxiety and perfectionism.

Ranpo scolds the whole ADA for multiple hours that they didn’t listen to him in regards to the DoA case and brings it up over and over again.

He basically won’t let anyone forget that he warned them and that they wouldn’t listen to him.

The agency is now much more careful with accepting cases and Fukuzawa wouldn’t let anyone who was still recovering, no matter if mentally or physically, go on any more dangerous/more shady cases for the first time until they were fully recovered again.

Ranpo moved into Poe’s mansion as well and now lives with Poe and Mushitarou.

Mushitarou actually got together with Poe and Ranpoe after a while.

He’s the happiest he’s been since quite a while.

Aya often visits the ADA after school.

Fukuzawa thanked her and Lucy for their support and their selfless actions to support the ADA during the vampirism outbreak.

Bram only rarely has to go to investigate a case with others. Most of the time he is sleeping somewhere in the office.

Now Kunikida has to scold two for sleeping/lazing around at the office during working hours.

Dazai is again trying to get Atsushi to do his paperwork, driving Kunikida crazy.

However, when Dazai sees that Kunikida is struggling again, he sometimes snatches some papers from the stack on Kunikida’s desk and actually does a bit of Kunikida’s paperwork for him.

At first Kunikida told him to stop but eventually he just let Dazai help him. He couldn’t stop him from doing so in any way since if Dazai really wanted to do something, there was no way of stopping him and deep inside he was thankful for Dazai’s help.

Dazai shows Bram the most weird songs to exist.

Surprisingly, the truce between the ADA and the PM is still on going but Dazai and Chuuya already agreed to not moving into separated apartments if the truce gets broken, not wanting to give up their life living together and living together with Sigma so soon again.

All three agreed that if the truce should get broken, they would move into an apartment which is neither close to the ADA or the PM and which belongs to neither of the organizations.

Lovecraft sometimes comes over to meet Bram at his dorm or at the office of the ADA. Especially when it’s bad weather outside since Bram dislikes going out so Lovecraft comes to him instead of Bram meeting him at the harbor.

The first few times he came to the ADA, everyone was very weary around him and not even Dazai made any comments.

The very first time, even Fukuzawa came out of his office to talk with the guest, ready to fight if needed.

By now, they are still weary about him but have gotten used to him just randomly appearing at the office or in the house where their apartments are, especially when it’s raining or storming outside.

It became a normal thing.

Kenji even sometimes offers Lovecraft some tea or snacks and greets him happily upon seeing him, asking him how he’s doing.

During the first time he visited, Lovecraft also told Kunikida that if they should ever hurt Bram or just try to do so, he would destroy the whole agency.

Bram was asleep at that moment. After he found out, he scolded Lovecraft a bit.

Bram and Lovecraft love to complain about everything to each other.

Lovecraft sometimes brings Bram fruits.

Bram loves fruits. It probably has to do with him being able to transform into a bat.

After Kenji found out about this too, he often brings Bram fresh fruits, especially when Bram has a bad day, in order to cheer him up.

Sigma teaches others how to play different card games.

Chuuya sometimes comes over to pick his partner up from work when he can leave his work early for once.

He also is always willing to pick one of them up from work if one of them isn't feeling well but the other one is stuck in a meeting.

When Atsushi first saw Dazai again, after the latter finally was allowed to leave the infirmary again, he tackled hugged him and hugged him so tightly that Yosano had to remind him to be a bit more careful.

Atsushi refused to let Dazai go for quite a while and cried his eyes out.

Dazai was sitting there like frozen for a moment before awkwardly patting Atsushi on the back, laughing and telling him that he is happy to see him too while trying to ignore the fact that his eyes got a bit teary too.

Kunikida and Dazai’s reunion was much quieter but also very emotional.

They were finally able to hug it out too.

The whole reunion of the ADA was very emotional.

The ADA isn’t framed anymore and went back to their normal routine, even though there are a few changes and even though the war changed everyone a bit.

They do take cases again however and even though Dazai warned them that there might be another war against another ability user, they are enjoying their time now and they are prepared a lot better for new battles than previously.

#Me? Posting own content since literal months?? Unbelievable #No really. I am very sorry for not uploading any headcanons or drabbles for so long #I had no ideas but when I had ideas; I was too scared to post them #Funny right? After nearly one year of posting I get scared to post smth (When does my blog have its anniversary again?)#I was scared that people might think that I don't understand the characters or smth bc I mainly write fluffy ooc content when in truth I do #I kind of felt like I needed to prove that I understand the characters? But today I thought who cares. Posting that stuff makes me happy #And there are so many really nice people who like my stuff and who support me and my work and I wanna give them something to read again #Soo here we are!#Please enjoy my Fix-It Au. Is it probably very ooc? Yes? But does it comfort and is it very fluffy? Yes.#It's one of my comfort AUs tbh #I hope you all like it as much as I do #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs hcs #bsd nikolai gogol #fyolai #bsd headcanons #bsd sigma #bsd nikolai #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd atsushi #sigma bsd #soukoku #ranpoe #bsd ranpo #bsd poe

65 notes · View notes

coquelicoq · 6 months

Text

i like the natsume dub, but i'm glad i watched it with subs first. for one thing, the japanese voice acting simply cannot be beat. for another, the dub translates nicknames into english - for instance, the little tatsumi that hatches from an egg, turning natsume into a teen dad, is called "eggy" in the dub instead of "tama" (which unless i'm mistaken is a shortened form of the japanese word for "egg") - which isn't a bad thing, but it does end up creating the possibility of a little misunderstanding once you get to taki's first episode. because if you couldn't hear the japanese, and you were accustomed to characters getting jokey english nicknames like eggy, and you heard that a character who hadn't talked for almost a year was named something that sounded phonetically like "talkie", would you assume that she had a completely different name in japanese that was a pun on the japanese word for "talk"? because that's probably what i would have assumed lol. but luckily i watched it in japanese with subs first, so. crisis averted!

#natsume VO: everybody talks‚ but for nearly an entire year‚ that 'talkie' girl tried not to. <-what it sounds like he's saying in the dub #you can practically hear the air quotes #especially because when it's her first episode you have no idea that she's about to become a recurring character #she could be another one-off guest character natsume meets once and maybe encounters a second time three seasons later #as opposed to his new best friend. you don't know that in her first episode #so given that this could be her only appearance...it wouldn't be that crazy for her to have some novelty name For The Lulz #like i probably would've watched the whole show thinking ah yes here is Natsume & his friends Tanuma Nishimura Kitamoto and Talkie #i would have come on here and made a total fool of myself spelling her name like that #people would have been like tf are you talking about dude #i'd be like you know‚ the girl with the spell circles?#and they would have been like DO YOU MEAN TAKI?????#i would have had to retire. never show my face here again.#natsume's book of friends #translation #names #puns #my posts #natsume yuujinchou #taki tooru #watch me write this whole thing about how the dub makes it possible for you to think her name is a pun when it obviously isn't #and then have a japanese speaker come on here like 'actually 'taki' IS a pun in japanese. the dub perfectly translated this joke'#that would be so funny. what if

31 notes · View notes

bearhugsandshrugs · 4 months

Text

WIP Name Game

Got tagged by @chocolatecatcupcakecheese and @mythrae-writes

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

lmao okay

Amnesia Enver

Echoes

Folie à Deux (technically still WIP)

Worthy

Spoils of War

Unnamed

Revenge is a dish best served hard

Divorcee

All four corners of the world

god. Nine people. I'm sorry @justporo @littleplasticrat @the-littlest-raindrop @bloodlessbhaalbabe @aurasyn @just-hereto-blog @sky-kiss @mr-oldman-appreciator @adevilyoudo

#some of these wips i had nearly forgotten about #most of them are smut LOL #anyway if you want to know about a particular one message me!#my writing #ask memes

15 notes · View notes

tswwwit · 1 year

Note

Could we get a taste of that new work you started…👀

Heck, have the whole thing! This is for that AU of an AU where Ford captured Bill/Bill was his familiar, and Dipper freed him, like an idiot. Here's the first fic and here's some needed backstory.

---------------------------------------

Dipper leans over to let his fingers trail through the water. It’s oddly warm to the touch. Bill’s voice carries, weird and echoing, over the river and through the empty city.

Which Dipper’s ignoring, for the moment.

Not like he’s missing much; he can't understand the lyrics anyway. Bill’s demonic singing continues over his inattention.

This dream is distinctly… not a good one. On the surface, at least; Dipper’s not terrified, but only because of his company.

He also might be a little jaded at this point.

Truth be told, he’s visited a lot of dreams at this point. They’re Bill’s go-to meetup spots. Though Dipper hasn’t really been the biggest fan, so far, he’s never been in any danger. That he knows of. Bill’s made sure of that.

Bringing Dipper to a dream that lacks his idea of 'pizazz', or gore, or immediately evident monsters is a new tactic - but at least it’s not a bad one.

It’s eerie, for sure. The silence beyond Bill’s yodeling adds an extra layer of ‘creepy’ - but the boat is nice, the company’s familiar. Even the water’s warm against the tips of his fingers, leaving clean, bright lines in the river -

Dipper yanks his arm back with a start, and he shakes the water off rapidly. Some of the red drops leave spots on his shirt and pants..

The broken surface of the water bleeds bright red. Like wounded flesh.

Dipper grimaces. He’d back up, but there’s no space in the gondola.

And - as a bonus - it looks like it’s attracting more glimpses of half-formed shadows. Of course. Dipper can only catch them out of the corners of his eye - dim, too-lanky shapes he never fully sees through the fog in the alleyways - but maybe it’s best to ignore those, too.

Still not a bad dream, necessarily. Things could be way worse.

But like everything to do with Bill, it’s unnerving. With a side of ‘constantly feeling you're being watched’.

“Ahem,” Said triangle clears a nonexistent throat. Bill thumps the stick on the bottom of the river, the one he’s been using to guide them along the city canals. “Hello! Listen up, sapling, I’m serenading here.”

Dipper shuffles around until he finds a shaky seat back in the gondola. Bill doesn’t bother. He doesn’t have to worry about balance, with his floating in midair thing.

“This is… interesting.” Dipper says. Bill brightens up, lower eyelid rising. So that’s a start - but he’s not sure how to follow it. He tucks his arms around his legs instead. “Why are we-”

“Vide stellas quae tremunt!” Bill continues his song without any notice of the question. Dipper tries waving at him, but he’s already closed his eye.. “Amoris et spei!”

No explanation, then. Dipper rolls his eyes.

God forbid Bill not have attention on him for ten seconds.

“I sense,” Bill says, tapping under his eye thoughtfully. “That you might not be appreciating this, kid.” Said eye rolls in its golden socket. “Why am I not surprised!”

At Dipper’s shrug, Bill grumbles something under his breath, and pushes the gondola along. Silent, for a moment.

Dipper shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Absent the music, this place is extremely eerie. There’s a light fog on the canals, and he doesn’t dare look into the alleys.

In a way, he understands why Bill’s like this. Needing company. Demanding attention. Being demanding is part and parcel of his demonic nature, and he was also stuck in a prison for thirty freakin’ years. That alone would make someone deranged.

Bill was just insane even before that.

Thankfully, irrepressible as always, Bill starts humming some other tune. Dipper’s glad he started again; he must be in a better mood. Bill’s huge eye narrows slightly in contemplation.

Then he lets out a low, self-satisfied cackle, and rubs two hands together. A third arm keeps steering the boat.

Dipper rolls his own eyes.

Yeah, this is definitely going to pan out like Bill expects. Because everything Bill’s done has worked out great for him.

Bill said he had plans for Dipper, but he’s taking his sweet time getting to them. It barely seems like there is one, most nights.

Whatever he’s after, it might work better if he focused on his goal.

Instead, he’s making Dipper focus on him.

Every time they’ve met up - and it’s been months - Bill’s clearly making some kind of effort. He’s hinted at a deeper truth, dozens of times. He taunts, and he talks, and even teaches on a whim. His methods are obscure and bizarre, they seem out of place - but Dipper gets the sense that Bill genuinely thinks it’s important.

He must really be distracted by his ego, because so far? His ‘plan’ doesn't seem all that sinister. It’s like he’s barely started it, or it’s genuinely not-terrible - which is why Dipper willingly joins Bill in his dreams.

Okay. That, plus a certain amount of sheer, idiotic curiosity. Dipper’s not perfect.

But he knows Bill’s trying to show him something.

Maybe if Dipper got it - whatever ‘it’ is - then he’d be able to thwart the plan. But until he finally gets it, or it comes to fruition or… Until something really evil happens, he guesses, then they’re just going to keep…

Meeting up? Hanging out? Dipper’s not sure which phrase fits right.

Judging by how it’s gone so far, that ‘until’ might be a while.

So long as Bill’s just reveling in attention, though - there’s no reason to stop him screwing himself over. Freedom seems like a big deal to him, and if the last few months are any indication? He’s been enjoying it immensely.

Feeding Bill’s ego a little can’t hurt, and it’s. Not bad, really.

Dipper just. Doesn’t have a lot of people to talk with who aren’t family, and Bill’s always up for a conversation. Even if it mostly devolves into bickering about stupid things, and Bill’s awful, awful jokes - Dipper’s finding he doesn’t mind that much. Bill’s quick-witted, weirdly charming for a person who’s a shape, and his magical knowledge has a depth that’s breathtaking. Even if it comes in an annoying golden package.

Whatever works, works, though. As long as Bill’s eager to hang out, then Dipper might as well indulge him.

After all, Bill could be up to worse things than bothering Dipper. And when it comes right down to it - he’s kind of fun. In an insane, demonic way.

Dipper’s still cautious. He’d be an idiot not to be.

But so far, Bill’s keeping his word.

Come to think of it, the plan must be one of the reasons Bill’s still here, in this dream. He’s making sure this isn’t a nightmare, while he tries to convey his… something. Possibly in a manner that won’t completely chase Dipper off. But if he can figure it out, before Bill manages to be super evil -

Dipper tucks his arms around himself tighter in the chill of the fog. He shakes his head to clear it.

This is novel, and interesting -

And very, very dangerous.

He’s got to stay wary. Reminding himself that Bill is absolutely insane.

“What, you chilly or something?” Bill sets fists on his angles. He was humming for a while, but now he looks curious. He even floats in a bit, while the stick keeps steering the gondola without a pilot. “This is what you get for having a crappy endothermic system.”

“Shut up.” Dipper tucks his legs together too. The temperature, if anything, seems to have dropped by a few more degrees. “Didn’t you make this dream? Can’t you control the-”

“Ahem. Unlike some amateurs, I know how to set the atmosphere.” Bill shuts his eye, somehow managing to look self-assured without a face. He wags a chiding finger at Dipper, floating close enough to flick his nose. “You wanna keep your empty nightmares on refrigerator settings. Fits the whole ‘eternally preserved’ theme.”

“And how does singing bad opera fit the ‘theme’?“ Dipper smacks Bill on the side. Dumb move, it only hurts his fingers - though Bill's not cold, like the air. It makes him pause. “...Hey. That wasn’t in Italian.”

“When in Rome, speak as the Romans do! And they were chatting in Latin before your forebears had forebears.” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. “It's the source of Romance languages!”

A minor detail. One Bill’s using to avoid the question - and he only resorts to being a pedant when he’s caught.

Dipper narrows his eyes -

Then seizes the opportunity.

And the triangle.

As Bill thuds against Dipper's chest, he wraps his arms around him tight. Bill flails a bit, muttering something impossibly muffled against Dipper's chest. How does that happen, he doesn't even have a mouth. Dipper decides to ignore the impossible, yet again. Squeezing Bill a little harder, like he could crumple him like tinfoil. Knowing that he won't.

Man Bill’s warm; radiating off him like a personal, annoying space heater. Dipper can already feel the sensation returning to his fingers, gripped tight on Bill's edges.

And frowns. “Wait. I thought this was supposed to be nightmare Venice, not Rome.”

“Cripes, what a pedant.” Bill groans, the hypocrite. Dipper can’t see his eye - he’s rotated it around to face forward - but he’s sure he’s rolling it as well. He floats lower in Dipper’s lap, and one raised finger jabs the soft underside of Dipper’s jaw. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties. I couldn’t take you anywhere!”

Bullshit, Bill’s arrogant enough to take anyone anywhere, and be smug about it.

And if he’s trying to pretend he’s not in a good mood, maybe he should stop glowing so bright.

Dipper squeezes him a little tighter. Bill’s been caught, he can’t escape - and while he hasn’t totally settled down, he’s letting his legs dangle over Dipper’s and only kicked him once. It was barely a tap.

“I get it. You’ve never spent much time in Italy.” And Dipper smiles. This’ll get to him. “Bill Cipher claims to be the dream demon extraordinaire - but he never managed to bother a Pope.”

The sharp, indignant noise Bill makes is so, so sweet. Dipper jostles the top hat with his cheek, just to bug him more, and listens to the ensuing weird burble with a grin.

In the end, Dipper gets a thoroughly informative rant about the intricacies of both Italy and Rome and parts of an empire that he’s pretty sure never existed. Bill’s alight with indignance - and amusement. Possibly at his own bullshit.

Dipper really, really wishes he had a notebook with him.

Talking with Bill is always fascinating, and infuriating. Half of this has to be bullshit. Some of it might be true. Dipper… should really check out more history books. Maybe then he’d have more chances to call out Bill’s bullshit, with facts. For the moment, questioning him on every aspect pokes enough holes to help sort out the fiction.

It’s an easy conversation, and a long one. Bickering with Bill takes ages, makes Dipper struggle for words, he’s usually a little annoyed - and it’s oddly pleasant. In that Dipper doesn’t have to be pleasant. Or even nice. Bill absorbs it all with infinite confidence, and shoots back with pointed ripostes.

“-And that’s why garum was crappy, and ya shouldn’t miss it.” Bill finishes. He pats Dipper’s arm twice, and, reluctantly, is released. He floats up above the gondola as it drifts, slowly towards a dock. “But I think we’re getting off topic.”

“How? We-” Always argue, Dipper was about to say. That was before he stood up; now he’s thinking better of it. “Shit.”

He tries to balance as the gondola shakes; some of the blood-water laps over the sides. Crap, arguing with Bill is one thing, but he didn’t want to literally rock the boat.

Bill floats up further, watching the sloshing - and starts laughing.

Dipper glares, but the stupid tiny canoelike thing is shaking under him, he grips the sides. Since they’re next to the dock, he smacks a palm on it. It steadies things, barely.

“Pfft, loser.” Bill’s lower eyelid is raised in amusement. He watches Dipper struggle for another moment - then laughs harder, before holding out a hand. “C’mon already!”

Dipper takes the offer, absurdly grateful. Bill’s hand is very warm, like the rest of him.The black void of the not-flesh is a strange non-texture under his palm, steadying him before he falls. Dipper fumbles for a moment before holding onto it tight. Even though the boat is about to capsize, Bill’s got him.

Bill brightens up and squeezes his hand back. Not hard, surprisingly, maybe a little teasingly, and it makes something flip around inside Dipper’s chest.

Bill hauls Dipper bodily up onto the dock, with surprising strength and a cackling laugh. Dipper feels a quick slap just above his hip as he briefly stumbles.

Crap, that was fast. He almost backpedaled into the canal again from sheer surprise - but his grip on Bill means he only lent back for a moment.

Bill, the asshole, thinks it was amazingly funny. He’s leaning forward, another sixty degree angle in the air.

Dipper flips him off, heart racing fast. He wonders how Bill managed - but, right. He’s a demon, of course. Physics don’t matter. Those weird, noodlelike arms defy them on the daily.

One of said arms prods Dipper in the stomach. “Man, kid, talk about clumsy!” Bill’s still chuckling. His surface flickers with amusement, eyelid raised in a smile. “I shoulda let you go for a dunk!” Then a thoughtful rub under the single, narrowed eye. “Though I do like you less dissolved. At the moment.”

Dipper narrows his eyes. His valiant attempt to crush Bill’s hand in his own fails at the complete lack of bones inside.

Bill’s insane and weird and clever. He’s the strangest being Dipper’s ever met - but whatever his motives are? It’s - so far - been fine.

Dipper’s not dunked. Or dissolved. Hell, if anything, he should always be more terrified. With what Bill does. With what Bill is.

Best of all, that wasn’t a handshake. Even though Bill’s still holding on, it’s not in the right position for one. Interlaced fingers don’t count, he’s sure.

Dipper struggles at the touch, and gets his hand back, eventually. He wipes it on his pants, trying to shake off the thought.

It definitely wasn’t a shake, because they didn’t make a deal. If they had, Bill would be gloating about it. Dipper can put that single heartstopping moment behind him.

He’s still thinking about it as Bill leads him through the city. The conversation is mostly Bill rambling, their usual light bickering.

Dipper may be wandering around a nightmare, but with his palm flat on the warm surface of Bill’s back, at least he knows nothing else is going to freak him out. Bill would get huffy about not being the center of attention.

“So whatd’ya think of the main dream? Took the blueprint off a guy with agoraphobia.” Bill tugs one one of the passing door handles - which doesn’t move. When Dipper looks closer, it’s literally painted on. “No indoors, anywhere!”

“It’s kind of…” Dipper thinks about it. Nearly silent streets, cold and misty. Even if Bill wasn’t here, it’d be… “Empty.”

“Uh, duh, that’s the point.”

“No, I mean,” Dipper scrunches his face up, trying to think of - he isn’t much for horror movies, but exposure to Bill has shown him enough. “There’s no ominous signs of who was here, either. Like, I’d think there would be… half-eaten meals on the cafe tables, or, like.” He snaps his fingers, trying to think of remnants - “A single, empty child’s shoe.”

"Oh, very nice! I like how you think, sapling.” Bill taps Dipper’s temple, twice, before patting his cheek. Dipper leans away before he can pinch it. “Even if it’s not your thing, you always got something going on in that bonebox, don’tcha?”

Dipper just shrugs. He can’t not think. A dream demon liking what he does think is… morally questionable.

And, maybe, kind of neat.

“We don’t see enough of each other these days. A few hours at a time is nothing.” Bill continues, waving over the scenery. “Not that I’m not a fan of you letting me whisk ya off in your dreams - but what about reality?”

“Nope.” Dipper drops his arm, folding both of them over his chest. “Not happening.”

Freeing Bill was…. Arguably morally gray. Dipper doesn’t regret it, but Bill is an asshole, and Ford was convincing. The main advantage of Bill’s freedom came with their deal, Bill was in a terrible position to bargain.

The second best part is not having Bill on Earth anymore. He’s still dangerous, but not immediately so.

To reality. No so much for people hanging out with him.

“C’mon, kid. We’d have way more time together when you aren’t conked out!” Bill sidles closer. One thin arm wraps a couple times around Dipper’s waist, while the other waves broadly over the scenery. “A full Europe trip, just for two.” A brief pause. “Not that you’d get this kinda quality in your mundane version of that continent, but whatever.”

“If you say so.” Dipper hedges, that sound extremely subjective. Bill blinks at him with genuine surprise; it makes Dipper fidget for a second “I haven’t been out of Gravity Falls in-” Hell. When was the last time he went back to Piedmont. Or anywhere else. “...It’s been a while.”

Bill takes another second to stare. Then sighs. His enormous eye rolls around and around in its socket, in yet another exaggeration.

“Well, think about it, kid. One of these days, we’ll get to it. Me and you, on Earth!” Bill prods him firmly in the chest, eyelid raised in a smile. “We could take a long stroll through the streets, check out a couple cafes, crush a couple local governments- Then teleport over to a boulangerie for pastries! It’d be a great time!”

Insisting on reality. Again. Dipper holds back a sigh.

Letting Bill into the world - even with the compromises Dipper managed, is a horrible idea.

But right now Bill’s off in his own little world - literally, in a way - and that concept isn’t one he’s going to accept. Not the tactic to take to argue against it.

“I guess it’s a nice thought. Or fantasy, anyway.” Dipper pats Bill twice on the edge. “You’d stand out a little too much.”

Even Dipper needed a couple weeks before he got used to Bill. He’s a giant demonic triangle made of maybe-gold. Bill Cipher, in reality, would send pretty much everyone screaming, or reeling in horrified awe.

Probably, Bill would love that. Right up until it meant no cafe service.

“Yeah, yeah, most humans have no taste. Doesn’t mean it’d ruin the occasion!” Bill wags a chiding finger. His arm slips from its loop around Dipper so he can rest a fist on his edge. “What’d’ya think shapeshifting’s for?”

“For wha-” Dipper starts - then jerking back, as Bill’s form changes.

Dipper turns his head away, shielding his eyes against the bright light. And grimacing.

This demonic drama queen. The light isn't typical for his changes, he’s doing it for show. Whatever Bill’s turning into, he hopes this shape won’t have too many limbs, or infinite teeth - or worse, pick him up again -

Trying to smack Bill is always an option, though. Especially when he’s trying to be dramatic. Dipper lands the punch easily, operating on muscle memory -

Into something warm. And firm - but much softer than gold.

Bill starts chuckling. There’s a slow, rhythmic motion under Dipper’s knuckles.

Already, it’s far from the worst Dipper’s had to deal with. Bill’s not on fire, or scaled, and there’s no huge tongues licking out between his tiers. He’s not even slimy this time, though certainly more…. organic.

Dipper opens his mouth to tell Bill off, blinking rapidly -

“So! What’d’ya think, sapling?” Bill’s grin is wide and white and close. Too close, his sudden surge in makes Dipper lean back on instinct. “Ya like the look?”

Dipper stares.

“Eh?” Bill prompts again. Now he’s wiggling his eyebrows.When he doesn’t get a response - he sticks out a tongue - a pink, human tongue, Dipper watches it flick back in. “Where’s the insult?”

Right. New shape. Bill… wants feedback, something to stroke his immense ego. Dipper should….

Say something. Probably.

He looks again at that face. A human face. Bill’s standing there, intimidating; he has eyebrows and a nose and white teeth in a wide smile on this - Dipper looks down, then slowly up again - human form, leaning over him.

“Um,” Dipper says, eloquently. He does another once over, lacking for words, until he meets that single golden eye. And swallows, once. “...Hi.”

“Not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Bill continues. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, smoothing back his hair - then digging a finger into his fleshy cheek, and twisting it. “I think it’s a pretty accurate translation!”

Dipper nods. He opens his hand by fractions, until his palm rests flat on Bill’s chest, then thinks better and grips the shirt instead.

Okay. This. Is a new one.

Bill’s face - he has a face - is all angles, with a pleased, smug, too-wide grin. He thankfully still has only one eye, otherwise Dipper wouldn’t know where to stare - and he's very much up in Dipper’s personal space. Warmth still radiates off him, just like before.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bill says dryly. He grasps Dipper's side, just near his hip. His hand is bigger now, and - and Dipper shakes his head to clear it. “So! You and me, strolling through the city-”

Bill rambles on, per usual. The familiarity is steadying. Dipper squinches his eyes shut - then blinks, but nope. The scenery hasn’t changed.

This is. Normal. For Bill. Because this is Bill, showing off again. They can move on.

Will move on, because Bill’s looking like he wants to continue their walk. Dipper should. Follow him. That’s the right thing to do.

The first step is turning away. Easily done, if he stops gripping Bill’s shirt so tight. Forcing himself to loosen his hold works - but now he’s touching Bill’s chest again, and that isn’t great. Though it’s very solid, like Bill - because it is Bill, in a different shape, he needs to remember that. The shirt is soft, though when he strokes it. Maybe silk? Dipper -

Should stop touching it, what the hell.

Bill keeps rambling, arm warm against Dipper’s back. Dipper nods out of habit, stepping forward as Bill leads them on through the city.

Dipper forces his arms to his sides, holding them rigidly in place. He’s keeping them to himself. Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about that.

Not that anything is, but. It might make things weird if he did think that.

Which means Dipper can relax, if only a bit. Demonic self-absorption has some benefits after all.

This is only another strange shape Bill’s taken. He’s turned into way weirder ones, for way longer - and for dumber reasons. Whatever prank he’s pulling is - Anyway, it’s only lasted maybe two minutes, it won’t be much longer. If that’s even how long it’s been.

Come to think of it, how long has Dipper been asleep? Dream time and real time never entirely track, and from this perspective they’ve been hanging out for a few hours. Longer than their typical meetup, since either Bill has ‘business’, or Dipper wakes up. Usually the latter. Eight hours real time is more like two or three in the dream realm -

…Which might be why Bill complained about it.

Bill keeps commenting on the city. Gesturing around. Possibly describing how conquerable it is, as he guides Dipper along on the midnight nightmare stroll,

Dipper isn’t sure what, exactly, the current topic is. He isn’t paying much attention.

He rubs at his forehead. He doesn’t feel much more centered, even with Bill’s arm around his waist again. Still warm, and somehow more solid. Certainly broader.

It also pulls him in and around, until he’s confronted - again - with Bill. His golden eye alight, looking him over skeptically.

“What, is this boring you?”

“I- what? No.” Dipper says. He nearly touches that chest again, and then the arm - but the biceps aren't any better. Technically speaking. He clenches his hands into fists, holding them to his own chest. “...Okay, maybe a little.”

Compared to some random nightmare city, recent developments are much more distracting.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Bill tuts, pulling Dipper in until their sides squish together; Dipper still doesn’t know where to put his hands, he tucks them over his stomach. “See, this is why we gotta get more hangout time!”

Bill’s other arm waves over the dream, and a space in it parts, folding up the rest of the scenery. Like opening a curtain, the city is shoved away to two sides, pleating like in a skirt.

The space opens into a void full of not-quite-stars.

Dipper leans in closer, and feels Bill’s arm tighten.

There’s a myriad of images floating in blackness. Things floating through space that’s not space, with a huge pyramid, black and ominous, somewhere in the distance.

The real heart of the nightmare realm Bill comes from, he’s seen glimpses before -

The one Ford told him never, ever, ever to take a single step into.

“You have a point, sapling. And I’ve had it with the tours of these run-of-the mill mental meanderings.” Bill never stops talking. He’s almost proud of it. “Now that I’ve cleared the squatters out, you should come crash at my place!”

Dipper yelps as he’s hauled up - damn it, he should have expected that - and braces himself on Bill’s shoulders. He nearly falls, Bill’s grip shifting, until he clamps his legs around Bill tight.

Not that he would fall - Bill wouldn’t let him - and he’s always been inhumanly, unfairly strong. The arm under his butt and the hand on his back would stop Dipper from escaping, even if he wanted to drop to the cold cobblestone ground.

“Cut it out.” Dipper kicks out from sheer indignance, anyway. Damn it, he knew he should have seen this coming - and Bill nearly stumbles to keep him in place. “What are you playing at?”

He’s done with this prank. With having to look at that face, with its. Everything. With Bill hauling him around like he’s a pet, damn it, he made that clear long ago, when Bill was still imprisoned.

Now he wants to bring him to the center of a mess of insanity and nightmares, what the hell is with that.

Maybe Bill can actually drive people insane. Because part of Dipper - the part that keeps saying ‘okay’ to their meetups has already started a horrible, insidious whisper.

Telling him everything else has been okay. Wondering if it would really be that bad.

“You clearly don’t care for the the terror atmosphere, kid. I’m fine with ditching it for the moment.” Bill jostles him in place, grinning wider at Dipper’s glare. “I got options! We can set up something else.”

“Like what.” Dipper says, flat.

“Look. Bribing you, Pine Tree? It's hard,” Bill says, with some chagrin.. “I’ve already given you power - not that you’re using it - and you got the pleasure of my company. You’ve even got some of the secrets of the universe on hand, but you keep dodging chances to hang!” His eye narrows. “What’re you really into?”

“I-” Dipper hesitates. Without a retort prepared, he’s not sure what to say.

“Name it and I’m there, kid. You did me a major favor, we’ve been walking out for a while - and I’ve been nothing but a gentleman when it comes to us.” He puts a strange emphasis on the word, one eyebrow raised. “What’s not to like?”

A lot of things, honestly. None of which Dipper can say.

Demon, for one. Dangerous, definitely. Insane, absolutely - and through all of that. Dipper has kept meeting up with Bill, even though he could use any of the dozen wards Ford has tried to foist upon him.

Bill’s hand is stroking his back, there’s an arm underneath him and it’s weird and -

God, Dipper wishes Bill wasn’t still in this shape, it’s throwing him off. For a prank, it’s weirdly well constructed, there’s no uncanny valley. Now his mind is racing

Actually, didn’t Bill say it was a translation?

Like. If Bill was a human, this would be how he looked. Still all angles, in a way. Unnaturally strong, oddly fascinating, and with amusement evident in the sharpness of his smile.

“Good! You’re thinking about it. Lemme know what’s cooking in there.” Bill’s grin is white and wild, a dangerous shape on his face. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

A smile that, now that Dipper looks at it, isn’t all that sharp. If he tugs the corner of the lips with his thumb, Bill makes a face, sticking out his tongue -

With a start, Dipper realizes he’s been staring at Bill’s mouth.

Bill snickers, but doesn’t respond. A slow smile, with his single eye half-lidded, and close enough that Dipper can feel the breath on his face. Dipper’s heart is going triple-time, and Bill’s very very close.

At some point Dipper wet his lips, involuntarily. He watches as Bill’s eye glimmers, then slowly shuts.

And -

The blare of the alarm cuts through things like a knife.

Dipper sits bolt upright in bed. Heart pounding.

For a full ten seconds, he flails at the sheets blindly, surprised - until he remembers where he is, and lets his arms drop.

He stares around his room with out seeing it. Still bleary, blinking slow.

What…?

Dipper sits there for another long moment. The sun isn’t even up, why did he set his alarm so early. He knows why he did it but. Now it seems ridiculous.

He wanted to make it less than eight hours. To make it cut off before Bill was expecting it.

Before either of them expected it, this time.

“Shit,” Dipper says.

He fumbles around for the cup on the bedside table. His mouth is dry, and he needs something to center himself, but he only manages to knock it over.

The memory of the dream - a lucid, very real event - is stuck in the forefront of his brain. Dipper can’t shake it. All of the Bill-dreams have been vivid, but this one is even more so.

He almost -

Dipper rolls over, sheets tangling around his legs, with the memory searing bright in the forefront of his mind.

Even when he pulls the cool pillow against his face, it doesn't help it feel any less hot.

That thing keeps running through his head, no matter what he does. The memory's too vivid to be anything less than real. How close he was. The warmth. How Bills eye fluttered shut, along with the vivid picture of his mouth, lips slightly parted.

He's never - but then Bill was -

Dipper hugs the pillow tighter, letting it absorb him in its comforting softness. Even the tips of his ears must be red by now.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

He should have listened to Ford. He should have taken those warnings to heart.

He’s heard so many of them.

Don’t talk to demons. Don’t get involved with their magic, don’t make any deals, don’t interact at all except to eliminate them.

And do not, under any circumstances, speak too long to Bill Cipher.

Ford's smart. He knows how to handle almost every situation, and he's cautious enough to come up with almost every eventuality.

Dipper never had a warning against wanting to kiss an evil triangle. He swears a little more into the pillow, tense and frustrated.

God, he's an idiot.

Bill’s weird. He’s insane. He’s all about every aspect of twisting a mind into absurd shapes - hell, he is a shape. Not a human. Not good.

And not into anyone, as far as Dipper can tell. On the very rare moments the topic has come up, Bill’s been disparaging at best - and even if he was, it would still be a terrible idea.

Dipper pulls the pillow tighter around him. He thunks his head-and-pillow combo against the mattress, embarrassment writhing in his chest.

He’s going to get up in a moment. First, to make some coffee - a lot of coffee -

And second, to come up with his own plan.

Bill knows about everything, or at least he claims to. He definitely likes it when people are crazy, but odds are? He won’t appreciate this kind of madness.

But with any luck - and some careful work, on Dipper’s part -

Bill Cipher will never, ever know about this.

#Me: Oh hey I could write a quick little short for this idea!!#Also me: *staring at nearly 6k* _ :(´ཀ`」 ∠):_#I invite you all to imagine the following with me #First that Dipper is going 'shit shit shit' for a long while about this revelation #He hasn't taken any of the hints for a variety of reasons. Partly self-esteem but also the triangle thing. And Bill's ALWAYS obscure #Never directly talking is 'fun' up until it isn't #And second that Bill has been going #Why'd he have to wake up JUST THEN?? Talk about crappy timing #Just a demon holding his (He thinks) soon-to-be lover. Five centimeters from a smooch #Then *pop*! He's left holding empty air #Augh!! The twenty-seventh date was going so well! Makeouts almost happened!! Oh well I'll get em soon enough #Man I am such a great boyfriend Bill says to himself very smugly #The upside of this AU of an AU is that they both had time to get Squishy Feelings about each other instead of starting off with hate #The downside in a way is that now Dipper unlike before has PLENTY of time to overthink the hell out of this #Good luck Bill you'll need it to get him into bed. Now that he's not in the moment enough to spring for an impulse driven by hate-lust #It's gonna be a while until these losers officially get together but hey that's technically the same #Just in one instance the sex came first and in this one the feelings did #Mind you any 'ily' is a long way off; they're still settling in at this point. Give em time #answers #When will my ability to write short things return from the war *wraps shawl around self and stares distantly at the wine-dark sea*#Gonna give a thumbs up to pchelaus for the kick that motivated me to finish this

126 notes · View notes