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#and just went how goes writing
starry-bi-sky · 2 months
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(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)
...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.
She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.
Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.
The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.
Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.
He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.
He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.
But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.
And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.
His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.
Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.
Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.
"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.
"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more
Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"
Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.
On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.
And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.
Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.
Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?
She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.
Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."
She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?
Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."
"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."
Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."
The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.
She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.
But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.
"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.
Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."
Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.
(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)
"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."
"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."
"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"
Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."
Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."
It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.
"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.
Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.
She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.
"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."
(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)
(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)
Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.
Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."
With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#older brother danny#sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining.#sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he.#bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me#because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him#which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he#friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on --#-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes.#not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs#a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know#he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks#but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post#when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock#and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot#so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th#waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't#- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought#a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is#'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.'#not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the#fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes#“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny.#sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have
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jadewritesficshere · 10 months
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Painting
Modern!Eddie Munson x Female!Reader
Contains: nudes, mutual masturbation, phone sex
18+ only
Eddie flopped face down onto his mattress with a sigh. After working all day, playing at the Hideout, and then hauling all of the bands' equipment, he was wiped. He wanted nothing more then to smoke and go to sleep. His phone pinged with a notification. A contact under the name "Loser" had messaged him, causing a split second of confusion before a lazy grin spread across his face when he realized it was you (he had forgotten he changed it when high). You had been unable to come see Corroded Coffin play tonight as you had made previous plans.
Loser: How did it go?? Good?? Bad??
Loser: Was that one chick who wants to be a groupie there??
Eddie: went ok. Y u jealous?
Loser: just curious lol
Eddie: sure. Wbu?
Loser: Good! Robin and Nancy came. We had a nice dinner. We did paintings! Robin's looks better then mine. Mine looks like shit 😔 now just taking a bath and relaxing.
Eddie: show me?
Loser: lol no???
Eddie: y not? I'm sure it good
Loser: you sure?
Eddie: yes
Loser: fine
Eddie doubted your painting looked bad. You always tore yourself down, even when you did amazing things. He always wanted to throttle you, but knew he would be a hypocrite if he did. Eddie rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. He would convince you one day that you were awesome, but until then he would just have to keep reminding you. His phone dinged with a new message from you. He opened it and saw a picture attached and-
Immediately dropped his phone. His heart picked up speed. His eyes widened and face flushed. Eddie dove for the phone as if it were a life preserver and he was drowning. He couldn't believe his eyes. He licked his lips and stared at his phone.
A picture from your neck down. Bubbles in the bath around you. Water was running down your collarbone towards your tits. Your nipples barely covered by the bubbles. One boob having no bubbles around it at all, but your hand flipping him off blocked him from seeing more. He was greedy. He wanted to see more, and had never imagined you would send him this to begin with. Eddie looked down at the tent that had formed in his boxers.
Loser: ask nicely next time 😤
Eddie groaned and his dick twitched. You had totally misunderstood him, he had wanted to see your painting- of course he was more then glad for this outcome. However, he couldn't quite unsee what you had sent, nor would he want to. Eddie reread your text. Next time means more than just this once. Means maybe he could see more. Means maybe he has a better shot with you then he thought. He already overthought things with you many times, and now his brain had just switched to overdrive.
A million thoughts ran through his head as his hand traveled south. He paused briefly," Oh fuck it." He grabbed his dick over his boxers, causing the outline to be very noticeable. He took a pic before sending it to you. He would have felt bad about not sending a message with it, but he would have sat there for ages trying to think of a response. And he couldn't find it in himself to care as he pressed lightly against his dick.
He dropped his phone on his stomach. All Eddie could think about was you as he pulled his dick out of his boxers. Your soap covered tits. How beautiful they looked.. He licked his hand before slowly grasping his dick and squeezing the base, causing the tip to flush more. The pressure causing him to moan. He slowly stroked up and down his length. He picked up the pace, canting his hips up to meet his hand. Part of him wanted to go slow, but the rest of him wanted to get this over with quick so he could do it again and again and again. His chest heaved and sweat started to form on his brow. A sigh fell from his lips that quickly turned to a moan at the thought of it being your hand wrapped around him. How small your hand would look on his dick. How-
His stomach tensed and he jolted as his phone started vibrating and your ringtone played. The vibrations on his lower stomach felt so good, he was tempted to let it keep playing, but the urge to hear your voice was stronger. With his free hand he grabbed the phone and answered. "H-hello?" Eddie asked, panting into the phone. "Oh fuck, Eddie," your voice higher than normal sounded like music to his ears. Eddie moaned and your response was a whimper. "Fuck babe, see what you do to me?" Eddie's voice felt like sandpaper, he was surprised he could even find words. "Uh-huh." The sound of water splashing caught Eddie's attention," holy shit. Are you touching yourself?" "Wish it were you."
Eddie's mind went fuzzy as he picked up speed. The schlick noise picking up, his mind filtering out everything except your moans. "Sound so good. Wish I was there." Eddie mumbled, feeling his tip leaking generously. He was so close. "Fuuuck Eddie I'm gonna-" your sentence was cut off with a moan and he lost it. His hips bucked without rhythm and cum spurted everywhere. He never understood the phrase of people seeing stars behind their eyes until now, but they were more like fireworks. He had never cum this much in his life, not even when he had first found porn.
He slowly came back down, a euphoric feeling enveloping him. A warmth spread in his chest as it heaved, trying to catch a breath. He looked down and saw his shirt covered with his release. Your chuckle pulled him back to earth. "Uh so that happened...so whatcha gonna do about it Munson?" He hummed," Think i should ask you for a date." "You should."
Eddie had the biggest grin when you finally got off the phone, date planned for Friday night. He looked down at your contact name before changing the s to a v. He was going to find that painting you did and make sure it hung over his bed, so he could remember this night forever.
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jtl-fics · 10 months
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Fluent Freshman - Part 19
PREVIOUS
There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.
1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.
He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).
So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.
So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.
He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.
He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.
Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.
He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.
Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.
(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)
This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.
2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.
After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)
But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.
For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.
This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.
Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).
FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.
Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.
He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.
Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.
Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.
Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.
He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.
Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.
FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.
FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.
After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)
He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.
FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?
The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-
The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.
He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.
He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.
He is ULTRA stealth.
Romero’s gaze glides over him.
Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).
His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)
His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.
Well fuck.
He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).
He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.
He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.
He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.
He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.
He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.
He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.
He pretends to be on a phone call.
“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.
He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).
He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.
He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“
“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.
“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.
“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.
“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.
“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.
FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’
Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.
“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.
HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.
“I’d like that.” He says.
He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.
‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’
The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.
“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.
The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.
There really are some kind people in the world.
“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.
The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.
“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.
He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.
He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.
His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…
He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.
(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)
He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.
He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.
Jackson Plank.
FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.
Okay now what genius?
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MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.
Per your requests:
@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​
The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.
As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?
Lillyndra it worked this time!!!
#Fluent Freshman AU#Is it a songfic chapter if it's only 3 lines? Experts aren't sure#Did I listen to lose yourself a lot while writing this chapter? Perhaps#If Nora mentioned something about Jackson or Romero in her extras I did not read it#Also gonna be honest here and state that I forgot the likely year that AFTG happened in and this is happening in 2010#So I guess this AU also involves a slight time shift#Andrew and Neil may have gotten lost in one another's eyes a bit down in the speakeasy#Really they're just being polite to get all of their PDA out of the way while FF is taking what might be the piss of a lifetime.#(They have no idea how accurate that might be)#Andrew is all set to kiss one of his favorite of Neil's freckles (yes he has ordered them from favorite to lesser favorite)#Then his phone goes off#He looks and it's Roland#Andrew: WTF is Roland trying to call me?#Nicky is busy being the Dancing Queen. If someone plays ABBA he will absolutely scream rn#I had considered a whole sequence of FF trying to get Nicky and Aaron to the safety of the backroom in Eden's#And Nicky just keeps reappearing on the dancefloor while FF is looking for Aaron#I was gonna use that simpsons meme where Moe throws out Barney and then Barney is just right back in the bar#But it got a little too crazy#But just know in this AU Nicky is canonically an excellent escape artist#Maybe Erik went through a bit of a magician phase and Nicky was DELIGHTED to be asked to be his assistant#Maybe that's how they got together#The inherent ROMANCE of magician and assistant#I don't remember if they ever really said in the books or nora's content#If I'm rambling because I forgot to shut off my alarm (Memorial Day 4-day weekend baby)#The fate of FF's phone may have been caused by some slight anger towards my own#RIP FF's Wymack phone (July 2010 - November 2010)#AFTG#AFTG AU#Andreil#FF - Pt.19
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jerreeeeeee · 1 year
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people so often interpret sazed as taako’s ex, which like, to each their own obviously, nothing wrong with that, but i think its so so much more interesting to interpret him as taako’s apprentice instead. and like all we have to go on is that he really looked up to taako who sort of taught him how to cook. “thought taako hung the moon and stars” or something like that iirc. which brings so much more depth to taako’s relationship with angus if sazed was to taako then what angus is to taako now, someone who idolized him and saw him as a mentor.
it puts some of the conversations taako’s had with angus into really interesting context. like the fact that the first person taako’s (ever?) told about what happened at glamour springs (which he didnt know at the time, but was sazed’s fault) is angus. does he tell angus because he doesn’t want him to be betrayed (like he assumes sazed was, since he ran away)? or because he doesn’t want angus learning from someone so clearly unfit to be a mentor (both since he was unfit to be sazed’s, because he was dismissive to him, and because he believes himself to be a murderer)? he teaches angus magic and cooking. when he implies that angus might become as or more skilled than him he jokes about striking him down. which is exactly what he did to sazed when he wanted equal share.
but taako redeems himself with angus. he mistreats angus in the beginning, bullying him and dismissing him and generally being a dick, but as angus becomes taako’s apprentice, he’s more open and a little nicer. still “open” and “nice” in his own way, but definitely more than he was before. learning from his mistake, letting angus in and being encouraging and honest in the way he wasn’t with sazed.
idk. i think it’s so interesting and so rarely explored
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 year
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Okay, random question but in the panel where Lan Zhan & Wei Ying are riding side by side, why is Alan Zhan’s horse sad? Is Little Apple bullying him? :(
PS: I check in daily for your posts, OBSESSED 😭
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Alan Zhan (patron saint of when the substitute professor gets your name wrong).
#poorly drawn mdzs#ask#MDZS#wei wuxian#lan wangji#mdzs au#I was going to give a serious answer but then I saw Alan Lan#I gotta warn you all; if it was not already evident - I am the biggest instigator of 'typo in the group chat' hazing#be warned (affectionate (non-threatening (a little threatening)))#Shout out to everyone with a non-western standard name who went to a western school and had their name constantly butchered#shout out to everyone who goes by/went by a nickname because 'people don't mess it up'#I *see* you. May you find Solstice in St. Alan Zhan's arms#whether wwx snuck into the class early to change the attendance sheet is is innocent is up to your interpretation#he's just enjoying the class president (and his academic rival) lose his cool#i dont have a ton of modern au thoughts but I do love the teen era dynamic of ‘smart class clown and smart nephew of headmaster’ rivalry#idk how it was at other people’s schools but the viciousness of being in the top 5 in class was a bloodbath at mine#The *Drama* between top students was wild. Validictorian selection was basically done at knife point#anyways; who’s writing teen wangxian modern AU where they are rivals for the valedictorian spot?#getting to know each other just to win but then actually enjoying the tome spent together#they both need to win and be the best sooooo bad; I cant imagine such a story ends well#wow we got far from Alan Zhan in the tags#Thank you for your on going support! I hope you don't mind me teasing you a bit like this tumblr user deathoverdignity#comic proper resumes tomorrow!
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sewercentipede · 4 months
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can u guess what im listening to while having my 4am smoke
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rogersstevie · 3 months
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watching rory's joy at the beginning of her internship at the stanford eagle gazette and later when she worms her way back in during season 6 (which like hey whatever happened to that lol) is why i simply cannot accept a universe where she doesn't have a career in journalism
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Anyone else have near-perfect executive function at work; but at home, have literally no energy or motivation to do anything except lie in a dark room, with something in or on your ears for several hours?
#It’s got to be the schedule keeping me on task at work#I love microdosing strict routines (not having an actual routine for the day; but having routines for small tasks#which piss me off if I can’t carry them out precisely the way I planned)#For instance: If I’m asked to paperclip a bunch of stuff together with multicolored paperclips of various sizes#I cannot just indiscriminately pick paperclips from the container because that is WRONG and ILLEGAL#The colors must fit the theme of the assignments; and the colors must alternate in a specific order#and the paperclips must all be the same size#If I’m asked to dump out and clean containers of writing utensils I am going to sort them by type and color#whether you like it or not#Black permanent markers have their own container in a different section from the blue permanent markers#Dry-erase markers are not to be mixed with permanent markers because they are easily confused and it is WRONG and ILLEGAL#Do not fuck with the system. It’s the only organizational skill I have and by fucking GOD I’m going to use it in EXCESS#I stuff and fill out envelopes the exact same way every time because if I do it any other way it is WRONG and ILLEGAL#The stamp always goes on last to minimize monetary waste if there is a mistake#Now you’d think my room is squeaky clean and organized because of how particular I am about these small tasks#Right? Right?#NO IT IS NOT. It looks like a bomb went off. Cleaning the room is a big task which cannot be accomplished within two hours#therefore I have discarded it as anything I need a routine for because it would take too long to come up with#and it is very hard for me to do things like that without instructions or a sense of consistency#So I simply don’t#“After five years the dust doesn’t get any worse” correct; but the mold certainly does#I am convinced half my problems with organization as a kid would have been solved if I just had a hamper#“We have a clothes chute; you don’t need a hamper” Maybe you don’t but I DO#I want one now; but I’m going to use it as incentive to get an apartment#because that’s another thing I need to smuggle and I have too much already
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orcelito · 4 months
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Wild that anytime I post an update a lot of people read it and are even excited about it and have their own thoughts and reactions to it that I'll never know.
Comments are only the very tip of the iceberg with it. And I am Very grateful to commenters for letting me in on it. But in the same way that I'll be excited with my friends when a fic we love updates, it's likely that Other people enthuse with Their friends when my fic updates. And it's just so strange. An experience I'll never have access to.
Everyone's relationship with my fic is unique. So many different people with so many different circumstances and preferences... and the number of people that have told me that my fic is one of their favorites, some even saying it's their Favorite favorite... every single one of them have their own relationship with my writing.
It's just interesting to me. I think and think and think on my writing. I have my plans for basically the entire fic, the way I want it to end already thought out, all the major plot beats and the relationship progressions, All of that thought out. I love my writing so very much, but I'm on the inside looking out. This is my mechanical horse, and I'm in here laying out the groundwork and pulling levers and constructing limbs, puttering away making the horse move. Forever and always, my relationship with it will be more intimate than anyone's, and yet more clinical. Because I know it better than the back of my own hand, but I'll never have the experience of reading it fresh. Of reading it without knowing everything that's going to happen from now to the end and beyond. I won't have the thrill of the plot twists I have planned, the delight at seeing things progress, the horror at seeing things go wrong...
This is my mechanical horse, and I'm making it move.
I just always wonder what it must be like to see it from the outside. I hope to others that it's a pretty horse.
#speculation nation#itnl shit#didnt mean to write this much about the concept but i really am so...#jealous almost. id love to be able to read my fic as a reader.#because it's tailor made to my tastes Exactly.#and i know it's good writing. i surprise myself even sometimes with how good things end up.#it's never a doubt in my mind that i'll make things good. even the harder things . while bringing trepitation . i know i'll figure them out.#the relationship a fic writer has with their own fic is so... yeah. intimate. but still somehow emotionally removed.#but thats how it goes with any art piece i think#the creator sees all the bits and pieces that went into it. remembers the thoughts as they made it#they know their work better than Anyone Else. but they'll never be able to experience it like an outsider.#is my fic helping someone through a rough breakup? is it something someone rereads when theyre sad?#is it a fic that people stay up way too late reading? the fic that someone discovers and consumes all within a day?#that voracious love. ive experienced it many times with other fics. but i can never experience it with my own.#but in the end. that's okay. i will just continue to do as i wish with it. and maybe people will continue to like it.#it is my goal to make a fic that people will never forget. what that may mean differs depending on the person.#i want it to be the best fic it can be. and i will make it so with every brick i lay down.#puttering about for days and weeks and months. it's Most of what i think about. it's my impact on the world.#and it's sitting for 3 hours after work in the storage room writing until im shivering but Satisfied with a productive writing session#it's writing some of my most emotional scenes while sitting for an hour on the toilet#no one else knows what the toilet written scenes are. but I Do. such is my relationship with my fic.#(the focus in the Quiet Rooms cannot be underestimated. the bathroom is indeed one of the Quiet Rooms lol)#& man. ive rambled so much now. but i just love my fic so very much#i'll never be an ITNL reader. and that's okay. because i'm its writer. & that's a status that No One Else can boast.#even those people who state that it's their Favorite favorite cant rival the intimacy of my own relationship with it.#I Am Its Writer and that means so very much to me.#i... really do love my fic y'all
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thedreadvampy · 7 months
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I tried listening to Olivia Rodrigo and I'm sure this is really good for its target audience of Teen Girls Going Through A Breakup but has she actually ever put out a song that isn't about a guy cheating, breaking up with her and moving on to someone else?
like babe he's not coming back it's been 2 years you gotta find something else in your life
#red said#it's not to my taste. tbh#content aside pop music is going through a very early 2000s breathy oversinging phase#hated it with xtina and alanis hate it with ariana and olivia sorry#it's a personal taste thing but to me however hard you go with the backing track that kind of soft pretty vocal style kind of#drags it back into midtempo sludge for me#also tbh it's just extremely normal music. like i went over to her yt bc people were talking about how Weird vampire is#it's not though????? it's super not????#anyway the only one I've got anything out of is good 4 u cause she sounds more involved and less self-pitying on it#every other Olivia song I've heard sounds kinda the same bc they all have the same earnest self-pity vibe#which is what a lot of people need out of music! music that makes them feel the depth of their anger and sadness!#but idk it's never done it for me i like there to be something of a tongue in cheek or a hysterical edge#i think most of the songs I've heard from her are just too controlled and polished for them to not sound to me#like she's the person who sees you crying cause your partner is in hospital and goes YEAH I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL#MY EX CHEATED ON ME 5 YEARS AGO AND IT REALLY TRAUMATISED ME AND I'M STILL NOT OVER IT and then you have to comfort her#like i recognise she's a 20 year old making music for teenagers so that is. appropriate.#but i struggled with the wallowing then too. were i a Teen at school with Olivia's character i would be so desperate to tell GROW UP#and it's not the lyrics it really is the music#heartbreak is a perfectly good theme to write on but oh my god not every song about it needs to be a mouthful call to arms
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1o1percentmilk · 7 months
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the joseph backstory that's been bouncing around in my head for a while now
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jadewritesficshere · 1 year
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Okay, but imagine Robin who hangs out at the diner on weekends because the senior citizens go there and are fun to hang out with. She knows all the ins and outs of who is who in Hawkins thanks to Janice. Gladys has shown her how to knit, which the first thing she made was a very off-putting and weirdly shaped sweater she gave to Steve (Steve absolutely wore it even if it is not correct. Anytime anyone mentions it he just goes "its called fashion"). Charles has lamented about how the outfits the kids wear and their attitudes ("All these bright colors and for what? To be a dick? Might as well have put a big flashing sign that says "I'm a prick"").
One day, there is a new guy at the diner. Robin doesn't catch his name but he seems nice (and younger then the majority of the crowd). Robin is telling them about Steve's failed attempts at flirting, when the new guy chuckles and cuts her off mid sentence. "Almost as bad as my kid...God love him," He smiles and looks at the ceiling before taking a sip of coffee. Robin would feel frazzled getting interrupted if the guy didn't go on to tell the most hilarious story she ever heard. The poor kid was apparently so flustered trying to flirt he had actually tripped and spilled his drink on himself; somehow, the story ended with the kid looking like a sewer rat with twigs in his hair and a bloody nose, but an award winning smile cause he got a number.
Robin immediately wants to meet the kid who is "around your age". He seems sweet and funny, at least this man is so surely the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. Janice is the one to suggest Robin meets the nephew and brings Steve along ("That poor boy needs more friends his age, always cartin' those kids around" "If he ever wants an older friend you tell him to-""Rhonda! He could be your grandchild!""I have eyes Janice, just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't see""You're legally blind."). Robin earnestly agrees. As they leave, Robin makes plans with the man, making sure the others can't hear so they don't show up. Robin makes plans for Tuesday at 4.
Except on Tuesday she gets sick. She's laying on the couch pathetically, lamenting about how she never gets sick. Steve is like "oh nooooo guess we have to cancel" with a shrug, cause he could not care less (he had wanted to spend a relaxing night off). Robin convinces him to go. Cue Steve meeting Eddie at a diner, essentially a blind date. Steve shows back up at the apartment him and Robin share and is smitten. Starts telling Robin all about the date not date. Eddie goes home to Wayne, gives him a grumpy look (he didn't want to go out to some "stupid" hangout), then goes to his room. Wayne could hear his squeal of delight and then hear Eddie talking to himself about the prettiest guy he's seen. Wayne just sips his coffee and goes back to reading the paper.
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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 months
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...
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blackccelebration · 3 months
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I have the urge to write yes, but what exactly? I don't know, so I'll be here on my courner earning to write and doing nothing.
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tswwwit · 2 years
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And here's Bill vs Bill, aka the Pinnacle of Billmei vs Billge's Faceoff, part three. Not the finale, but that's coming very soon!
I am now going to go lie down and take a nap.
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“You’re not gonna get what you want,” Bill says.  
“Thanks.” Dipper had guessed that part five minutes ago. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Really great to know.”
He stares across the bare dirt in front of him. The sigils are scrawled on with a stick - he didn’t have anything else on hand - and he wasn’t expecting company. 
Company he’s currently trying to ignore. 
“I had to say something! You’re terrible at this.” From the side of the clearing, Bill snorts. “You need all the help you can get.”
Commentary from Bill never fails to be unhelpful. For the first time in a while, Dipper finds himself genuinely, unflirtingly irritated by it. Tension has been building in his shoulders for the last day and a half and they’re starting to ache. 
Bill Cipher lounges on a stump nearby. Seated in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable for a normal human, but has the appropriate level of drama for a demon. 
He’s spent most of the last half-hour mocking Dipper’s futile scribblings in the dirt. An unwelcome interloper, in multiple senses.
Ditching this Bill to go experiment in the forest has been a total loss. All Bills are smart, and for all that this one knew so little about their situation - still doesn’t - he’s somehow latched onto being able to locate Dipper, easy as anything.
“Do you mind?” Dipper reels on him.
“Often, as you know!” Bill shrugs that off with a grin. “C’mon, you need me for this!” He adds a slow, unsubtle wink. “Besides, all our other stuff worked out!”
Dipper makes a disgusted sound, and hears Bill start to chuckle.
The one good thing about interacting with demons? Is that Dipper doesn’t have to pretend to be nice.
Even though Bill doesn’t have the entire picture, he’s clever, and he can make inferences. All of Dipper’s reactions have shown him that this human’s not servile. It’s just enough to accept it as par for the course.
He knows that Dipper knows he’s a demon - but not that Dipper knows about demons, and how they do… stuff. As far as this Bill’s aware, the non-flirtatious insults are just how they interact. That Dipper, of course, wouldn’t know that some other ones have… implications.
There’s no reason they would be flirty, anyway. He thinks they’re just - 
Buddies.
God, Dipper hopes his Bill won’t learn about that part. It adds another layer to the joke, and not one that works in Dipper’s favor. 
Dipper breathes in, then out. Trying to relax, though his back and shoulders aren’t cooperating. 
He looks back at the interdimensional asshole and asks. “Why are you here?”
“What, did you think I wouldn’t show up?” Bill rests a hand on his chest, a near-perfect picture of surprised innocence. “Like you’d get rid of me that easy..”
Dipper tries not to grit his teeth. He stomps deliberately on the ground as he turns away.
“C’mon,” Bill’s voice is coy and almost cloyingly sweet, in a way that makes Dipper want to spit. “All this dimensional stuff you’re looking at. All that curiosity,” A tinge of something else enters his tone. There’s a soft pat, probably in his lap. “I got all the knowledge, right here! Why not enjoy it?”
Dipper picks up the stupid stick he was using to draw his stupid improvised signs into the dirt. He scrapes down a few more, simply out of spite.
He looks like a six-year old playing at being a magician, not a real one - but it’s better than letting Bill win.
For the second time ever, Dipper Pines has the dubious honor of being the focus of a Bill Cipher’s intense interest. 
It’s mostly because of his world-conquering plots, of course. Somewhat because Bill’s learned that this dimension comes with… extras, he guesses. Not that he’s getting any use of them. And partly because…
Okay, Dipper’s not sure what the rest is, but Other Bill has a way of leading down tangents that Dipper would, in any other instance, pursue. He’s had to not argue a surprising number of times. 
Dipper won’t let this guy drag him into some coquettish debate over…. leyline geometry, or anything else. Even if it’s tempting. Dipper’s dug in his metaphorical heels, because being led down that road can’t end well.
Maybe Dipper’s home dimension has something in the air, or… ether or whatever. An ephemeral thing that turns a Bill extra weird, because this doesn’t seem like it’s ‘universal’. 
The alternative would be that this is kind of multiversal, and that would mean -
Dipper grimaces.
Demons are dangerous. Bill’s the worst of them. 
Luck…. wouldn’t always run in Dipper’s favor, he thinks.
For the sake of his remaining sanity, he’s decided not to think too hard about it. 
“If you want results, you should be working with my information, not whatever crapshoot you have going on in your noggin.” Bill adds, rather pointedly pointing to the papers he tossed on the ground. They’re spread out in a loose pile, even when he could have neatly stacked them. “Take my word for it!”
Dipper doesn’t have a good response. He shrugs instead. 
The wind blows gently through the clearing, and Bill makes a face as some of the pages get caught. He raises an eyebrow. Jerks his head towards them, with a smirk.
And fuck that. 
There’s no way Dipper’s going to rifle through that mess, much less chase after it. He has some dignity, and this Bill would just love watching him scrabble through the dirt for scraps of information. Dipper refuses to entertain him. Hell, he wouldn’t do that even for his own Bill. 
And second - 
That information is absolutely, 100%, a poison pill. A trick. 
A little over thirty years ago, Bill Cipher - a Bill Cipher - nearly led Stanford Pines into ruining an entire dimension. The only reason he got caught was because Ford, in pure academic diligence - noticed something very, very subtly out of place.
Ford might be oblivious to personal interactions - but he’s downright incredible when it comes to scholarship. Even then Bill nearly tricked him into a cascade failure of literally disastrous proportions.
So yeah, Dipper’s smart. And maybe he is getting pretty okay at the dimensional stuff. But he’s barely getting into this field.
He knows way better than to think any Pines is going to get that lucky, twice. 
It’s pretty clear he’s already used up his own. 
Behind him, Dipper hears Bill starting to ramble on about something. This time with a tinge of annoyance in his tone. 
Out of the corner of his eye Dipper can see the pages caught on some bushes. Wherever the rest are, he doesn’t care anymore.
And in front of him, Dipper sees his own futile scribblings leading… precisely nowhere. 
No matter how perfectly the circle is drawn, or how his sigil handwriting is second to nobody’s, it’s basically as good as Ford’s -
He just… 
Doesn’t know what he’s doing. 
The only person who really, truly knows exactly what to do is out of reach.
There’s a copy around, sure. Right down to the intelligence, personality, and name. Even the face is downright familiar, though the expressions it wears are strange.
Dipper swallows. His mouth feels dry. 
There’s so much information to learn, infinite piles of it, offered up on a silver platter.
And none that he can trust. 
“What’s with the face?” Bill sounds cheerful, though Dipper can hear the tension behind it. Other Bill isn’t getting his way, and it’s annoying him. “Frustrated? Struggling?” He claps a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, and his voice turns that syrup-smooth tone that Dipper hates - “Between you and me, we could-”
“No world-conquering.” Dipper shrugs away from the touch on his shoulder. That’s it. He’s done. “Ever.”
“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about that? I-”
“Save it for the suckers, Bill.” Dipper turns on him, backing up a step - but not far. “I never bought it in the first place.”
Other Bill looks at him with… mild confusion. But that’s only what shows on his face. By the way his head tilts, and his shoulders set - Dipper can tell he’s thinking, fast. 
This Bill knows he’s been caught at something - and he’s equally sure he can talk his way out of it.
Dipper can’t work his way around Bill’s magical trickery. Even if he could, that’d take years, maybe decades of study. And all the while, he’d have to be lucky enough to avoid the many, many landmines that Other Bill would place in his way.
That’s not going to happen. Probability isn’t on Dipper’s side, he’s never going to learn enough to stop whatever this demon is planning. 
But he does know Bill.
His thoughts. His motives. His emotions, too. Even when he tries to hide them, Dipper can almost always find out what he’s really feeling. This might be a different version, but Dipper still understands this creature right down to - 
Well, not his bones - the few Bill has are at best non-euclidean - but Dipper gets the majority of what’s underneath his exoskeleton.
So, fuck it. Last resort.
Dipper just… asks.
“Where is he?”
“Where’s who?” Other Bill cocks his head to one side. His face flickers into an expression of not-quite concern. “You’re-”
“No.” Dipper cuts through the air with his arm. Frustration is tight in his chest. “I said I’m done playing.”
“Yeesh, you’re testy today.” Other Bill taps his foot on the ground, shaking his head. “Figures, what with all the sleep you’re not having.”
And god, comments on that have always been annoying, even from Real Bill. 
“Nice try. Sure, you’re a Bill,” Dipper stomps forward. Jabbing a finger into Other Bill’s chest, and giving him his second-worst glare. “But you’re not my Bill. And I’m tired of pretending that you’ve,” He makes finger quotes. “‘Fooled’ me.”
Bill blinks at that, for a full two seconds. ”Who says I’m-”
“That won’t get either of us anywhere.” Dipper interrupts. He runs a hand through his hair. Being angry isn’t going to work, so he tamps it down. He has to make this convincing. “We should… get you back to your place.”
Other Bill watches Dipper for a long, lingering moment.Then he lets out a long, low whistle. Shaking his head again, he takes Dipper by the shoulders. “Aaand it’s naptime for Pine Tree!” Bill strides forward, pushing Dipper along. “Boy, have you been working too hard! All this dimension stuff has really gone to your head if you’re coming up with something that crazy.”
Now Dipper digs his literal heels into the ground - something Other Bill wasn’t expecting, apparently - and manages to tear himself out of Bill’s grip. He folds his arms over himself, backing up a few steps.
Bill huffs out a sigh. “Seriously?” 
“Yeah.” Dipper folds his arms over his chest. “Seriously.”
“C’mon, we’ve known each other for years!” Other Bill spreads his arms wide. Deep concern furrows his brow, his voice softens. “You’re overthinking, kid. Maybe all this study isn’t good for you.” He beckons towards himself. “Let’s just get you-”
Dipper scoffs. It comes out almost like a laugh. Other Bill straightens up, a brief flicker of annoyance on his face. 
Bill’s bullshit isn’t going to work. Not this time. Not on Dipper. 
“If you were my Bill, you would know better.” Dipper lifts his chin. “If you were my Bill, you wouldn’t suggest that, or act like that, or…” He shakes his head. Other Bill barely did any research, and now he’s surprised he’s fucking up? “You’re really bad at this.”
A muscle in Other Bill’s jaw twitches. The rest of his face maintains the same, gentle concern. “You’re making a mistake, kid.” He sounds too calm - “If you were sane, you’d-”
“Oh, I’m not.” Dipper jabs a thumb into his chest. Almost proudly. “That’s how I know.”
Hell, Dipper gave up total sanity a long time ago. Once he realized what he’d gotten into. Once he realized he liked it. 
 “Huh.” Curiosity, apparently, overrides a Bill’s need to keep up a ruse, because he’s starting to smirk. “Never let it be said I don’t like insanity!” He tilts his head. “Enlighten me!”
Welp. He asked for it.
The smart thing to do would be to play nice. To work with this Bill, as much as is possible - to be flattering, and convincing, and massage that ego until he did want to cooperate, instead of obfuscate. It could even be easy. 
But fuck this guy. 
“Okay, so we’ll forget how you’re fucking up basic rules of this dimension, your obvious lack of knowledge,” Dipper starts. He rolls a hand in the air, in the way Bill does when he’s lecturing, and watches Other Bill’s eye twitch. “And how your acting sucks-”
Other Bill folds his arms over his chest. He starts tapping his fingers, in a slow, rhythmic beat. “More proof that you’re delusional, but sure!” He shrugs. “Why not!”
“You might have pulled it off in another world, but there’s too many details in this one.” Dipper admits. This dimension is pretty weird, if you think about it.  He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. “We’re, uh…. Kinda out there.”
“A lotta suppostions, and zero facts.” Other Bill waves them away casually. “That’s hardly evidence.”
Dipper shrugs, almost casually.  “No,” He says, very slowly. “I guess it isn’t.” 
Other Bill starts to grin. 
And Dipper shoves his left hand right in front of this smug asshole’s face. His palm - and its mark - on full display.  “But this is.”
Other Bill violently recoils, letting out a sharp, startled swear in that strange language  -
Then instantly realizes he’s blown his cover. He grimaces, hissing something else vulgar. Other Bill rubs at his eye, ducking his head.
Holy symbols don’t affect Bill, but that threw him right the hell off. A minor victory at best - yet oh, is it sweet.
Dipper waggles his hand in Other Bill’s view, and watches him turn away in disgust. “Well?” 
Other Bill clapped a hand over his eye; now he draws it slowly down his face. “What. The hell. Is wrong with that guy? I thought the body was bad, but nah, that was just the beginning!” He shudders, shoulders rising. “There’s an entire conspiracy of awful.”
“Answer the question.” Dipper insists. The jig is up, the ruse is gone. Other Bill can’t lie his way out of this now.  “Where is he?”
“Eesh, put it away already.” Other BIll flaps a hand at him. After a moment, Dipper reluctantly lowers his arm, while Other Bill sticks out his tongue. “Trust me - if you knew what that mark really meant, you wouldn’t be champing at the bit trying to find the other guy.” This… asshole.
He thinks Bill never told Dipper - 
And okay, he didn’t, Stan had to point it out first - 
But it’s like he thinks Dipper’s an idiot. That he doesn’t know exactly what he signed up for. That nobody would ever want to be - 
Dipper takes a step forward, fists clenched tight by his sides. “Where’s my husband?”
Other Bill just. Looks at him. For a long moment, face blank and staring. 
After a while, he slowly shakes his head. “I dunno what kinda demiurge got their tendrils into this particular space-time weave,“ Other Bill says carefully. Almost consideringly. “But boy, do they have a sick sense of humor. It’s almost impressive!”
“Oh, I get it.” Dipper ignores the distraction and folds his arms. This will get to him. “You don’t actually know. Do you?”
“Ha ha, very funny. Of course I know! We’ve been talking theory for days and you still haven’t guessed?” Other Bill waves his arm over the forest, vaguely skyward. “You see any big magical storms going on? Or any nice convenient rifts? No! Not even one! Things are still,” He curls up his lip as he makes finger quotes. “‘In balance.’”
And that kinda tracks. With what Dipper knows. 
Passing into another dimension is difficult for a long, long list of reasons. At the core, it’s because they’re… mostly incompatible with each other. 
The very fabric of reality keeps the planes apart, and healthy. Literally a skin between realms, since having different rules in place is like having a separate immune system. They can’t mix unless something is already compatible - or unless something’s gone terribly wrong.
But. Theoretically. 
If you knew how. And if had the magical capital to pay the tolls - You could trade out an equal measure of mass, or magic. As long as it was similar enough, it might get overlooked.
And Bill Cipher’s a huge weight in the fabric of existence, simply out of sheer magical heft. Even if his realm is the Mindscape, he’s still linked to this dimension. If a nearby place suddenly had two Bills - or no Bills - there would be some major ripples in the fabric. Causing strange phenomena. Further anomalies.
But that didn’t happen. There was only one big surge, until everything sort of…. 
Evened out.
“So.” Dipper shuts his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. “He’s at your place.”
His Bill wasn’t randomly transported into the beyond. He hasn’t even gone all that far.
Somewhere out in the infinite multiverse - There was a triangular gap that he could slot right into. 
“I guess you’re not totally slow.” Other Bill grins. Weirdly, he sounds pleased. “Yeah, it’s the ol’ switcheroo. Usually a decent time!” He heaves a heavy, dramatic sigh. “But I guarantee that guy’s having a way better day than I am.”
One mystery solved. Bill’s location. Relatively nearby, as these things go - 
Dipper looks up, suddenly intent. “Bring him back.” 
Other Bill raises an eyebrow. 
“Just…” Dipper fumbles, he tries to wave vaguely in a dimension-adjacent direction, which ends up being everywhere. “I mean, we’ll reverse it, right? It-”
“Oh yeah? With what?” Other Bill snorts, and sets his hands on his hips. “I’m not sitting on infinite power and influence right now, kid.” He shrugs. “Even with that it takes a lot of finagling. No dice.”
Dipper leanis his head back. 
Shit.
“But there’s good news!” Bill sounds surprisingly cheerful, and Dipper glances over - “Ripping a hole between realms is a hell of a lot easier with a native. And I don’t qualify, on several counts.” He tilts his head thoughtfully, starting to smirk. “You could really come in handy.”
Dipper simply stares.
Double shit.
“Hey, you’ve already worked with a Bill. A real messed up one.” Other Bill makes a face, glancing at Dipper’s left hand. “You wanna dick with dimensions, then you got a way better opportunity, right here.”
Dipper breathes in, then out. Right.
He… kind of figured it would come to this.
“Go fuck yourself.” 
Other Bill gives him a surprised look. Dipper flips him off. 
He’s had a lot of bad ideas in his life, but this is clearly the worst deal he’s ever been offered.
“What?” Other Bill has almost mastered the innocent look. “Don’t you wanna see your dear hubby again?” He tuts softly, resting a hand on his chest. “Poor guy might even,” He hesitates. Dipper thinks he’s trying not to gag. “‘Miss’ you!”
“Nice try.” Dipper waves it off, ignoring the slight pang in his chest. Asshole. Manipulative jerk. “But I know you didn’t leave your dimension just to sightsee.”
Other Bill’s face sours. Possibly the first genuine expression Dipper’s seen; it weirdly makes him look more like the real Bill - 
“So. no.” Dipper looks away. Clearing his throat, once. “Not a chance.” He lifts his chin. “If you hate it here, that’s your problem.” 
This demon might not have enough leverage, or magic, in this realm to pull it off -  but he did say ‘Right now’.
Other Bill makes a low sound in his throat, so. Yeah, Dipper’s right. Again. 
For this to happen in the first place. This strange and bullshit switch - 
Someone had to start it.
“What was wrong with your place?” Dipper asks, because - okay, it’s dumb, but Bill loves talking. And hell, he’s always curious. “Too much competition?”
“Pfft, hardly! Kinda the opposite.” Other Bill flicks his fingers dismissively, then examines his nails. Starting to smile again, that ego bloating with pride.  “I did that dimension already, y’know? All conquering, no contest.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting a little novelty.”
Greedy jerk. One wasn’t enough for him. A second, like he’s obviously trying for - Dipper rubs at his eyes.
How many is ever going to be enough? Will there ever be? If his world’s Bill Cipher seems messed up, it’s only because all of them are.
“I’m your only chance, Pine Tree.” Other Bill has mastered the convincing tone. It’s almost a shame he’s wasting it on the wrong person. “How about you-”
Dipper flips him off. Both hands this time.
With a huff, Other Bill folds his arms. “Fine. Be like that.” He turns slightly away, looking disgruntled. “You’re a stubborn little mortal.”
“I didn’t help my husband take over the world.” Dipper mimics his stance. Turning away a bit himself. “I’m not lifting a finger to help you.”
God, he’s exhausted.
And damn it, now he’s going to have to get Ford to help. It’s going to be ten times more difficult, and way slower. Half of that will be convincing him that yeah, actually, they should try to get Bill back. Throw in whatever this Bill pulls in the Mindscape, and Dipper can already tell this is going to be a huge pain.
“Y’know, if there’s any upside to all of this,” Other Bill starts, slow. Dipper feels himself tense. “It’s that the other guy might make a recovery.”
“I-” Dipper hesitates. 
This is a trick. Manipulation, Bill’s all about that - He grits his teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Oh, how cute. You’re fully delusional!” Other Bill’s tone turns syrup-sickly sweet. It makes Dipper grimace. “Guess other me pulled a great scam on ya! But I gotta tell you…” A slow, serious shake of the head. “He’s sick.”
That’s obviously not - 
True?
Dipper meets Bill's eye and finds nothing but smug sincerity. 
“Being back at my place will be great for him! All the power and influence and stuff you could ever want!” Other Bill spreads his arms at some invisible grandeur. “He’s spent too long in this body, being powerless. You think that’s good for a demon?” A raised eyebrow. “Even the slightest bit healthy?“
And… okay, Bill does spend a lot of time in reality - but he has the Mindscape - Dipper didn’t take that away, that - that has to - 
“No wonder he came down with something! Without other people to manipulate, he had to let it out somewhere!” Bill shakes his head pityingly. “In all this time, the only trick he managed to pull - “ The smirk turns mocking - “Was convincing himself he wanted you.” 
Sincere, still, though - maybe it’s just out of spite, that’s a major part of any Bill’s makeup - But. the way he says it - 
Dipper doesn’t know what to say, he tucks an arm over his stomach. 
For the first time in a while, he really, really wishes he knew less about Bills.
“Yep, I figure a few days of actual autonomy will get his angles straight.” Other Bill sets his fists on his hips, nodding to himself. “No gross body, no boring reality, and most of all - “ He snorts. “No ball and chain.” 
Dipper stands up straight, indignant. “I-”
“Sure, you’ve got an okay brain, I guess.” A sharp, dismissive wave. Dipper feels his face heat up - was he looking? “But your guy’s spent about forty-eight hours getting a taste of real freedom.” A shrug, fingers waving away some invisible stink from Dipper’s hand. “Trust me. He’s already wondering why that seemed like a good idea.”
“He wouldn’t.” Dipper stands firm. No, fuck that. The marriage was Bill’s idea in the first place. “He-”
Dipper stops himself before he says something stupid, shutting his mouth with a click.
He can’t talk about the… other part. 
That thing is true, too. Even though it sounds improbable. Impossible, in fact. It’s too weird, even for a Bill, and definitely too sane. No version of Bill should ever, or would ever do it. 
Other Bill will only think it’s bullshit, and mock him for thinking there was a chance.
Dipper lets his arm drop. His fists clench. 
He knows better.
“Oh, please. And people call me arrogant!” Other Bill stalks forward. “He's already forgotten you, kid. Think about it!"
Dipper doesn't back up - he won't give in, now or ever - but he holds back a flinch. Other Bill is right in his face, now. 
"What's better - Infinite power, freedom, and control over a slice of the multiverse -” He hisses. Teeth bared white in his smile. “Or one mouthy little brat.”
Dipper meets that single, strange, and glowing eye. Not backing up, even an inch. He watches Other Bill’s sneer turn into a glare. 
They’re so close that Dipper can feel the heat of that illusionary body, worn like an ill fitting suit by this… jackass. 
Who’s also a complete, absolute idiot.
“If your place was so great, you wouldn’t have ditched it.” Dipper states, watching Other Bill blink in surprise. Dipper sets his jaw. “So yeah. I think I know what he’d pick.”
No snappy response - Other Bill’s caught off his footing. 
For once, shoving a Bill with all his strength actually makes him back up a step. Dipper straightens his back, suddenly proud.  
“This universe already has a Bill Cipher. Yeah, maybe he hasn’t taken this plane over. Yet.” Or ever, but that’s a minor detail. “But he's a better actor. And smarter. And more vicious, and clever, and…” Saying all of this out loud feels strange. Sheer irritation carries Dipper onward, though he stumbles getting it out. “And funnier, and way cooler than you.”
Other Bill glares at him, but stays silent. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“In every way that counts, he’s better than you.”  He stabs a finger into Other Bill’s chest with each word, back tense and face hot with anger. Stepping forward even as a part of him recognizes this might not be great - “You’re just some dull-witted, myopic knockoff.” 
There’s a long silence. 
Dipper heaves out a breath, trying to calm down. This was. - He shakes his head, disgusted.
“Alright.” Bill nods slowly, almost thoughtful. He lifts his hands in the air with a simple shrug. “I see how it is.”
A  sudden crack sends Dipper reeling. 
He hits the bare ground on his side, breath forced out of his chest. 
When his vision comes back, Dipper stares numbly forward. 
He's on the ground? His left eye doesn't want to stay open, and - and strangely, his ear is ringing, and moments later the pain blooms in his cheek and jaw. Sharp and throbbing all at once -  a splitting headache follows it up a moment later, and Dipper groans. The light hurts his eyes - the one that’s cooperating anyway - so he shuts it.
There’s a muffled sound, and Dipper feels a hard impact on his side, a voice hissing, “-et up.”
This time Dipper rolls onto his back, breath escaping in a huff. Above him, BIll’s standing and smirking, one hand extended downward. Dipper reaches up to take it. 
And the crushing grip, tight around his wrist, sends pain down his arm and the sharp, sick reminder that. Oh. Right. 
This isn’t his Bill
“You,” Other BIll says, grip tightening - Dipper groans, teeth clenched - “Have been spoiled rotten.”
He hauls Dipper up. High up - 
Bill raises him until his feet barely skim the ground. Suspended like this, his whole arm aches, shoulder wrenched upwards -
“Funny thing, though.” Other Bill muses, cupping Dipper’s chin in his other palm. “Maybe I can’t  coax you-”  His thumb digs, hard, into Dipper’s cheek, and a burst of pain sends Dipper’s vision swimming again. “But one good swat and you’re way less mouthy!” 
Dipper can’t pull away, he can’t even find his feet. Grabbing Bill’s arm makes his grip tighten into something sickening, he thinks he feels a crack - kicking out only puts more tension on his already aching arm, twisting it in the socket. 
“Still feisty, huh?” Other Bill tuts softly. Then smirks. He tilts Dipper’s head back. “Now that I know how to handle ya, that's no big deal.”
Bill’s body is unnaturally strong, and he wasn’t pulling the blow. Through a kind of haze, Dipper’s faintly glad Bill went for a slap over a punch. He’s hurting, it’s hard to concentrate - but he doesn’t think his jaw is broken. 
More than anything, Dipper wants to glare, but he can’t lower his chin. He can’t tense his jaw to speak, either. Bill’s thumb burns into his cheek like a brand, a point of stabbing pressure.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Other Bill shakes Dipper’s face roughly, like a dog worrying a bone. “Not got much to say anymore?”
“Ghnnn.” Not… much of a protest. Best he did was bare his teeth, and the throbbing in his head is twice as bad now - Dipper shuts his mouth before he can make a stupider sound.
Weirdly, this Bill starts grinning even harder.
“Boy, you got some fire in you, Pine Tree. And y’know what?” Bill tilts his head to one side. He chuckles, grinning wider. “I almost see why he didn’t try to snuff it out!”
Other Bill swings him lightly, side to side, before giving him a toss.
Dipper hits the ground again, hard. He props himself up, only to find one wrist won’t support his weight and swears. Sitting up turns from a simple move into an awkward scuffle.
The whole time, Other Bill watches him, with a smirk on his face. Like he’s admiring his work.
Frustration surges in Dipper’s chest. 
Pushing this guy into the Mindscape has moved from a ‘soon’ priority to a ‘now.’ 
There’ll be a chance. Once he stops being grabby. It has to be when he’s not holding on, or Dipper will get dragged along for the trip - and it’s not like things would get better after that.
Dipper takes a slow, shaking breath. “You’re not-”
Other Bill backhands Dipper with an idle smack. “Ah ah ah!” He wags a finger. “I’ve heard enough from you.”
Dipper’s elbow hits the ground, his vision swims. That slap wasn’t as hard as the previous, probably. Just in the same-ish place, resonating with pain like a bell. Normally he’d have a followup, but nothing comes to him.
Damn it, he’s been through fights, more than a few at this point - but this one is messing with him. 
“Despite everything, you could still be useful.” Bill says, low soothing. He kneels in front of Dipper, one elbow on his upraised knee. “Once I get this dimension under my thumb, it’s back to business!”
Dipper wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. It comes away streaked with red. 
“Work with me here! We could get the whole shebang started,” Other Bill continues, eye bright. “When I’m back in power, things are gonna be great.”
He holds out a hand. 
Dipper stares at it.
“Infinite power. No more bullshit rules.” Leaning in, Other Bill smiles, white and wild. “Help me out, and I’ll even be generous!” He waggles his fingers. “When I control reality - you can have anything you want.”
Dipper looks up at… this Bill. 
At a stranger, puppeting a familiar face. 
It’s a face that Dipper knows so well.
Knowing when it’s happy. When it’s upset. When it’s about to burst out laughing, or starting to sulk. When it’s a different monster behind that mask - when it doesn’t have that hidden contempt behind it - it’s even handsome. 
The distance between them is so close, and his husband’s still a million miles away. 
Other Bill makes a low sound in his throat. Maybe he saw something in Dipper’s own face, because he slowly rises up. 
“Anything,” Other Bills hisses out the words through gritted teeth. “Except that.”
Dipper grunts as Bill grabs him by his hair. He tries to jerk away, but he already has a headache, this just makes things worse.
“He’s outta here, kid. Vanished. Kaput!” Other Bill yanks him forward, and Dipper smacks a palm on the ground before the hold in his hair is the only thing supporting him. “He’s gone.” 
Though Other Bill turns his head upwards - Dipper shuts his eyes. 
“Face it, Pine Tree.” The low words ring in Dipper’s ear’s, and there’s hot breath on his face - “You’re stuck with me.”
Dipper’s been injured before - bruised, some burns, a broken bone - but it wasn’t like this. He knew Bill was strong, but it wasn’t supposed to hurt so bad. 
He feels his head get shaken again. The grip is too tight - Dipper’s eyes are stinging, and frustration burns so hot in his chest that it feels almost physical. 
The second this asshole lets go, he’s out of here. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, or how much Dipper has to work, he’s going to get rid of this jerk, and get his own jerk back. Even if it takes years. Even if it takes decades.
Anger surges inside him, and he struggles. When Dipper looks up at that horrible, smug laughter, he almost sees red in the corner of his eye.
Only…
Other Bill stops cackling. 
He glances over to Dipper’s right and quirks an eyebrow up. 
EIther that’s some complicated ruse, reading Dipper’s emotional state, maybe even what he’s seeing - 
Or - now Other Bill lets him drop, stalking away, eye narrowed - it’s not.
Dipper glances over, and his own eyebrows shoot up. 
Okay.
That's different.
Living in Gravity Falls shows you a lot of weird stuff, if you’re the kind of person who really wants to see it. Not many people get into the gritty details, or do a lot of research. 
Dipper and Ford are probably the only two people who ever really got into it, and Ford’s not here all that often. That leaves Dipper to be the resident Gravity Falls expert. 
This is one even he hasn’t seen before. 
The glow isn’t a figment of his imagination, it’s real.
Real, and weird.
There’s a long, bright eggshell-crack in the middle of the air, glowing in shades of  white-yellow… Something. That one color that Dipper has only seen in the Mindscape. The one Bill thinks is ‘pretty’. 
This thing is the source of the red light, radiating an eerie hellish aura, as the cracks start to grow and spread.
Judging by the way Other Bill looks at it, eye alight with pure avarice - rubbing his hands together, too - 
“Ha! Now there’s what I was looking for!” Other Bill strides forward, grinning wide.
Dipper grimaces.
Well. There’s his freaking ‘wound in the skin of reality’, apparently.
Just great.
 “A rift.” Other Bill purrs. He clenches his fist, grinning wide and triumphant. He starts laughing, loud and wild, lifting his arms -  “Finally, a good surprise!”
And around him, the earth shifts, and changes. 
Several rocks totter away on unsteady, newly-formed legs. A bird darts overhead and sprouts several more wings - and a the head of a deer - before it burst into flames with a squawk. 
Dipper feels his blood run cold.
Shit.
The skin of a dimension keeps its internal rules in place. When there’s a break in that, things get shifting, and strange, it isn’t meant to work like this. Just like Bill in the Mindscape - in a place where he isn’t restricted - 
When nothing enforces ‘you can’t’ - he has enough power to stand up and ask ‘why not?’
“It’s about time.” Other Bill’s laughter turns into a cackle. He stands in front of that new break in the universe, shoulders squared. “I can’t wait to get started!”
Proud, and full of his own power. 
All of it.
“Welp, guess I don’t need you anymore!” Other Bill shrugs, tilting his head with a coy grin. “Credit where it’s due - it wasn’t boring, Pine Tree!” He waves, and winks. “I’ll at least give ya that!”
Dipper watches as he paces forward - then pause. Other Bill lifts a finger in the air.
“But then again…” Other Bill hums for a moment. Dipper feels a tendril of dread seep into him.
Then Other Bill curls his finger towards himself, and Dipper gets dragged over the dirt by an invisible force.
“When it comes to you, eh.” Other Bill waggles a hand, and winks. “Maybe I’ll-”
The world goes ‘zmm’ for a moment with a taste of oranges, and a smell like earwax. The air wibbles like it’s under intense heat, only with a paisley pattern. 
Other Bill starts. He turns back towards the rift, somewhat surprised. "What."
And Dipper skids to a stop, bracing himself on the ground. He clutches at the bare dirt like it’s a lifeline, heart pounding in his chest. 
He can’t tell what’s going on. He doesn’t know what to do. But whatever’s stopping Other Bill from acting, he could practically kiss it, he’s so grateful. 
And a hand bursts out of the rift, cracking it further open. 
The motion sends not-real splinters of unreality shattering to the forest floor, bubbling up into nothingness. Dipper stares as it pats around for a moment, until it finds another part of the crack, and pushes. 
It’s a weird hand. A strange hand, black and formlessly weird. 
Instantly recognizable.
The hat pops out next. Then a top corner emerges, with a single eye shut as he strains. 
Other Bill smacks himself over the eye, muttering. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Dipper feels his heart surge, and he starts to smile. 
Bill Cipher always comes back. 
His Bill is there, Dipper can feel the bond bright inside him, like a light. Showing exactly who it is, and where he is, right down in his soul. Not distant anymore, not gone anywhere, Bill’s right there.
Bill swears, and shoves, and pushes against that interdimensional wound until his bottom angles follow him out, popping fully into reality -
And he instantly flops to the ground. Surface first, with a resonating ‘thud’. There’s some muffled swearing. Bill’s legs flail in the air. 
“Blegh.” Bill shakes himself. “Stupid friggin’-” He shoves himself up off the ground, muttering in a distinctly grumpy manner. “Lousy hack built the worst goddamn-” 
Other Bill coughs into his fist, turning away and looking distinctly uncomfortable. A bad look for one Bill must bruise both their egos. 
“Whoo! Now that was a trip,” Bill says, finally over himself. He starts dusting off his sides. He glances back at the rift, rolling in its socket. “Not as dramatic an entrance as I’d like, but eh,” He shrugs and floats in the air, lower eyelid lifted and arms raised. “Hey, Gravity Falls! Good to be back!” 
Doing the impossible is in Bill’s purview, and usually Dipper tries to figure it out. There’s always questions when it comes to his demon. Always the urge to make it seem reasonable.
This time, Dipper has no questions, at all. Bill can do whatever the hell he likes.
“And boy, lemme tell ya,” Bill continues, brushing his hat off. He plops it down to float over his top corner, fists resting on his sides. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.”
Other Bill clears his throat, and steps forward, halfway blocking Dipper’s view. The jerk. 
“Huh.” Bill folds his arms over himself, leaning forward, eye narrow. “You.”
“Well, well, well,” Other Bill says. There’s a smile on his face, with no humor behind it. “If it isn’t Bill! Nice to see ya!”
“Bill.” Bill floats closer, looking him over. His fingers drum on his other arm. “Real nice to meet ya.” A clear and blatant lie.
There’s a long, awkward silence. 
“So….” Other Bill trails off, clearly searching for a topic. Once he alights on one, he grins. “How was the vacation?” A wink. “ Thought you might need one, considering…” He waves over… everything. “Your place.”
“Oh, ‘vacation’, he says.” Bill makes the finger quotes, flaring bright gold. “Sure, I've had a good look around your digs.” He sets his fists on his sides. “And lemme tell ya, I was not impressed.”
Other Bill snorts - though his back straightens in offense “C’mon, it’s pre-conquered! Free reign over a whole plane!” He spreads his arms wide with a smile. “Compared to this craphole, what’s not to like?”
“Oh, of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” Bill smacks his top corner, low and sarcastic. “Except that taking things over is seventy percent of the fun!” Bill glows brighter, slightly tinged with red. “You plopped your pre-chewed gum of a dimension in my palm outta friggin’ nowhere!”
Other Bill draws himself up self-importantly. “Like what you’ve got is-”
“Ah, cram it. I didn’t come back for this.” Bill shoves him to one side, dismissive, and floats right past him. Other Bill stays upright, but his shoes leave a streak in the dirt. He sputters, indignant. Bill glares, pointing two fingers at him. “I’ll deal with you later.”
As that single, strange eye finally alights on him, Dipper scrambles to get to his feet.
He wants to see Bill again. He wants to grab this stupid triangle and shake him, and yell at him, try and crush those metal angles like a tin can in his arms, even though it’s impossible -
“Hey there, sapling!” Bill spreads his noodly black arms wide, lower eyelid raised, and glowing. “How’re you-”
Only when Dipper moves to prop himself onto his feet, he forgets about his wrist.
It fails within the first push - Dipper swears - and he thumps back down into the dirt.
Across the clearing, Bill’s slit pupil narrows to a thin line. His arms drop.
Great. Instead of leaping up, and being cool and dramatic, Dipper looked dumb.
He lets his head drop onto the ground. Even the rest of his face feels hot now. 
Shit, he should -
“Hm.” It’s a low, displeased sound. 
Then Dipper hears Other Bill speak up - 
“Oh no. No no no no, and no. C’mon, you’re smarter than this.” Other Bill sounds almost… scolding? “Believe it or not, I got an understanding of your particular damage.” His voice holds a sneer. “You gotta know how messed up you are!”
Okay, what?
Dipper rolls onto his side, pushing himself into a sitting position. He has to see this. 
His Bill’s gone fully red now. Growing, and - actually, he keeps growing, eye black and full of golden symbols. He cracks nonexistent knuckles. One hand, then the other.
“Oh come on! This is bullshit!” Other Bill looks up at him with disgust, head tilting back as Bill grows. Some confusion flickers over his face. He glances over, waves an arm at Dipper. “He’s just a-”
One enormous hand draws its index finger back, and flicks.
Watching Other Bill sail over - then through - some of the treeline makes Dipper feel the best he has in at least two days. 
By the distant, but loud cracking of branches - Dipper winces at a particularly loud one - That Bill… might not be out of commission. But it’ll be a long, long walk to get back to the rift he wanted.
“Welp!” Bill shrinks down again, brushing off his hands. Golden again, and bright. “That’s a problem for later.” He casts a glare at the arc Other Bill made through the branches, and sets his hands on his sides. “Jeez, what a prick.”
Bill floats over, and Dipper glances up at the irritated, eerie shape in front of him “As for you, kid. -”
Bill’s triangular form starts to wobble and shift. Weirdly bright, and oddly silent. Dipper shuts his eyes against the light. When he looks again, it’s at -
A recognizable face. With a bright grin on said face, charming and pleased. 
“Bet you’re glad to see a familiar look. Huh?” Bill - in a human shape, the one he’s always in - winks. “Get it?” He waits for a beat - then rolls his eye, and holds out an arm towards Dipper. “Alright, get up already.”
Dipper just…  stares at him for a moment. 
He did know Bill could shapeshift. Size and color and some varieties of geometry he’s seen, but he wasn’t aware it could be this… thorough. Though he supposes Bill hasn’t really had much reason; he’s not typically out of shape. 
Bill’s grin falls by a fraction. “Sure, don’t break out the party crackers and champagne or anything. Totally wasn’t a pain in the angles getting that mess sorted.” He jerks a thumb in the rift’s direction. He waits a bit, then pushes the smile back on his face. “Aw, you’re too stunned to react! C’mere!”
Dipper gets hauled up, Bill holding him under his arms. He shuts his eyes, and clenches his jaw tight. Bill’s grip isn’t hard - if anything it’s less so than usual -  but Dipper’s wrist really didn’t like being moved again.
“What, did you think I wouldn’t show up?” Bill’s grin widens. He’d probably be preening if he wasn’t holding Dipper up like he just won a carnival prize - though his gaze keeps darting over Dipper. “Like you’d get rid of me that easy.”
Dipper doesn’t have a response ready. He… should probably think of one.
Nothing comes to mind, though. Mostly there’s headache and faceache and just… ache, with relief and surprise fighting for the steering wheel. Wit’s so far in the backseat it might as well be in the trunk.
Bill’s grin continues falling by degrees; it falters. Glancing over Dipper, up and down, turning him slightly side to side
“C’mon, sapling, speak up.” Dipper gets jostled, just a quick couple bounces. Now Bill’s face is strange, and serious. He even pauses, and Dipper dimly realizes he hasn’t seen this expression before - “I hate it when you won’t talk.”
True enough. His Bill hates not getting a response, the attention hogging, narcissistic - 
Dipper breathes in, shakily, and sighs. He looks at his stupid demon, exasperated. “Put me down, Bill.”
The grin blooms again, even brighter this time. “Ha! I don’t think so!” Dipper watches Bill’s posture change as relief rises off him like steam. He pulls Dipper closer, pressing an overly-dramatic smooch on his jaw. “You already had your vacation from me, Pine Tree. I’ll do whatever I want!”
It’s ridiculous, and - and maybe a little sentimental, but Dipper feels heat rise to his face. Like warmth spreads out from where Bill’s touching him.
Dipper blinks rapidly, and clears his throat. “Let me down?” He tugs at Bill's arm, just gently.
“Alright, alright,” Bill, surprisingly, relents without much fight. He sets Dipper on his feet, smile fading somewhat. “Let’s have a look at ya, anyway.” 
“I’m fine.” Dipper lets his forehead drop against Bill’s shoulder. It’s solid and warm. Tension is dropping out of his shoulders, which is probably why they’re shaking. 
Dipper’s been in worse shape - and in better - but things are a hell of a lot finer than even three minutes ago. 
“Right,” Bill says, very dry. Dipper gets pushed slightly away, a knuckle tilts his chin upwards. “‘Cause this just screams fine, like a horrorshow!” Bill’s eye darts over his face - frowning now, lips drawn tight. “Where else did he get ya?”
Weird question. "Nothing serious.”  Dipper tries tucking his arm by his side, but that only makes Bill's face turn down more. “It’s cool.”
"It's only 'cool', for a guy who's lost all sense of thermoregulation." Bill tugs Dipper’s arm up by the elbow, glaring at his wrist. Admittedly, it is swelling a little. “You’re real crap at lying.”
Dipper watches as Bill taps a warm finger on the reddening skin, and sucks in a sharp breath. Bill’s lip twitches. He lets the arm down carefully, only to grasp Dipper’s sides. 
“Don’t bother covering stuff up, ‘cause for once I’m not messing with you.” Bill says, flat this time. "Own up to the rest, already." And at Dipper’s look of confusion - Bill tugs him closer, strangely serious. ”He wouldn’t have started with the face.”
Dipper swallows, and nods. 
Sure, he knows Bill -  but Bill definitely knows himself, so that’s. Deeply unnerving, on multiple levels.
But also, thankfully, wrong. 
Bill’s running his hands up and down, squeezing like he’s checking for a soft spot on some produce. Not finding much - though there’s a spot on Dipper’s ribs he hadn’t noticed himself. For some reason Bill’s only more insistent after that -
“Hey.” Dipper taps Bill on the cheek. He offers a half-smile, the best he can manage. It startles Bill enough that his inspection slows. “I missed you.”
Maybe Bill has a follow up to that. Maybe he’s going to insult, or - something, but fuck it, Dipper did miss him, and - 
He wraps his arms around his husband. One can’t join in properly, but Dipper thumps Bill between the shoulders, and hugs on tight.
Let him try to get away from this.
Possessive arms clamp around him in response. A comforting bear trap that Dipper intentionally set off, even if it isn’t nearly as squishing as usual. Like Bill isn’t certain how much to hold him, even though he’s had plenty of experience.
Dipper relaxes into it anyway. 
When Bill shapeshifted, he must have used the body template he’s used to wearing. Even now, Dipper can feel his heart, steady and comforting, beating somewhat faster than the usual second-and-a-half pace.
Then Bill sighs. “Well, whatever. You’re pretty intact! All limbs accounted for and everything!” A firm kiss gets planted on Dipper’s forehead. Then another on his temple, before Bill basically shoves Dipper’s face against his neck. Adding a couple thumps of his own on Dipper’s back. “Not too shabby, all things considered.”
Bill finally squeezes Dipper’s waist with one arm. His other hand cups the back of Dipper's head, fingers carding through Dipper’s hair, once, then twice.
Every time Bill wants to hug Dipper close, he throws in human-abnormal pressure. Not painful, just to one side of uncomfortable; like he’ll never, ever let Dipper escape his grasp.
Dipper matches it as well as he can. He kind of gets it now.
With the sounds of the forest, and Bill here, and holding him, it’s almost like things are normal. Quiet and still, while he feels the warmth of Bill's body his arms, and the bright red glow of the air - 
Dipper jerks his head up.
Staring at the still-extant crack in reality.
Thankfully it doesn’t seem to have grown since, but if he looks too close it kinda hurts his eyes. And part of his brain.
“Uh.” Dipper taps Bill a few times on the shoulder. There's a sigh against his scalp, as Bill hums something quietly. Dipper taps a little harder. “Bill?”
“What?” The word is slightly muffled by Dipper’s hair. 
Dipper nudges him. “Should I be worried about that?”
“Hm?” It takes Bill a moment - he tilts his head, following Dipper’s gaze - then smirks. He snorts, like Dipper pointed out a big scary bug in the bathroom. “Pfft, oh, that.” 
True to form, a ten-foot eggshell crack in the flesh of the universe doesn’t seem like a big deal to him. Dipper leans back and meets his eye skeptically.
“That’s barely a papercut, not a genuine fistula. Nothing important..” Bill waves over the rift, other arm staying tight on Dipper’s waist. “We got bigger fish to fry!”
Dipper hesitates. “Uh.” He darts a look at the rift, then back again. “Really?”
“Oh, definitely! That Bill and I have some unfinished business,” Bill’s eye glows red, and his grin shows an absurd amount of teeth. “We’ve gotta have a little chat.”
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rationalisms · 11 months
Text
been thinking a lot about this specific phenomenon that's hard to put into words (so bear with me) where the technological limitations of the medium at the time a work of art was created are sometimes exactly the thing that helps lend it the atmosphere that makes it so compelling. and how sometimes superior technology is, despite the progress that's been made in so many ways, entirely unable to capture that same atmosphere for a multitude of reasons.
like, there's that brian eno quote ("whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature") that gets at some of what i mean, but not all of it.
i'm thinking about video games in particular, the way the forward march of technology does open new avenues but at the same time it inherently disappears older technologies and their aesthetics in the process, which is so tragic to me. and of course there's always nostalgia-driven attempts to recreate them, but those recreations inherently can't ever be entirely faithful to the specific charm of those older technologies and their drawbacks. (pixel art is a good example because sure, there's pixel art games being made now, but on modern LCDs they just won't ever look the same as they did on fuzzy CRTs; the fuzziness of the image made the pixel art come alive in a way modern TVs just can't.)
and this is extra amplified if games are set in a specific real world period or trying to emulate a specific real world aesthetic. because there's a little golden window of time where a game's technical limitations and the resulting art direction, and the period of time the game is meant to be set in, can perfectly compliment each other, like some sort of time prism. and any games made after that point can still do a good job at capturing the aesthetic of the era, but they won't ever be able to harness the inherent authenticity and atmosphere that e.g. noughties games and their 5 polygons can lend to a game set in the noughties.
there's no real solution to this and i'm obviously not advocating that we should be stopping any and all technological progress in favour of preserving certain aesthetics in amber, but it's still really melancholy that this is all so transitory. but i guess on the other hand we do get to enjoy those moments when technology and art/narrative can converge in the exact way they need to.
anyway, this was all just a really longwinded way to say that persona 4 is actually the best video game of all time. sorry if you thought this was about literally anything else
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