#should I put this on ao3?

[boredcoldandhungry]

If there was one thing Nico was grateful for, it was his planning period. Everyday between teaching second period AP US history and fourth period art history he could reply to angry emails, indulge into his candy stash, grade, write angry emails, refill his water, and go to the bathroom.

He had somehow ended up with the same exact schedule from one term to the next. He followed his second period out to run some arrends around the school and was scared shitless when his room was occupied with about 10 freshman. Two things were frightening about this, A: he didn't have a class third period, B: he didn't teach freshman at all this term (he could tell they were freshman, they had the scared look in their eyes).

"Woah you guys can't be in here, get to class!" He urged, slamming his stack of copies onto his desk.

"Uhm, this is our class," one of the braver ones said, " aren't you Mr. -" she knit her eyebrows together and glared at her schedule, "Di Angelo-Solace?"

Nico took a deep breath. "What class do you guys think you're in?"

The same girl, they're leader apparently, responded. "Honors English 9?"

It took all Nico had in him to not point at the various historical posters on his walls and the whiteboard dedicated to Italian verbs. He in no way taught English.

He took a deep breath (again). "There are two Mr. Di Angelo-Solaces in this school. I teach history and Italian, the other one teaches english. Go upstairs to room 302. I'll call him and let you know you're all coming."

The leader of the bunch seemed confused, but not confused enough to ask questions. She quickly gathered her things and walked out the door, causing everyone else to follow her.

Nico sighed and sat down at his desk. He knew Will had his cell off during work hours so he reached to the hardly used landline on his desk and dialed Will's classroom.

"Hel-lo" a sing-songy voice responded.

Nico smiled at the voice, "Hi love, it's me, sorry to bother I know it's syllabus day."

"It's no prob, what's up?"

"Missing half your class?"

"Yup. Got em?"

"Yup I just sent them up. Throw them a solid and don't mark them tarty. My fault I wasn't in the room when they first came in. I think I also generally scared them."

"Okay, will do, love you."

''Love you too, hun."

Nico put the phone back in it's holder and gave a soft sigh, turning to his desktop and opening his email.

next part

[negativepeanuthoarder]

Gymnast George and Spotter Dream Snippet:

(430 words)

It was going perfectly.

George knows exactly what to do because he's done it a million times before - he's run through this routine so many times he could do it in his sleep, and here he is, doing it the way he's always done it.

His feet pound the floor of the gymnasium and he jumps at the exact right moment to hit the springboard with just the amount of momentum he needs to launch himself into the air. He twists, tucking himself into a flip, then rolling directly into another one, then into a third.

George always feels as though he's a graceful bird or perhaps one of those elegant otters when he does flips, twisting about in the air like he's got wings. He closes his eyes, just for a brief moment, briefer even than a blink, then opens them up to look down at the mat and land.

A bolt of panic shoots through him when he realizes he won't be able to make the landing. He twists a bit but it's no use, the speed and momentum of his leap already taking him exactly where he'll land - there's no time to move anymore, just time to mentally prepare himself for the impact of one of his legs on the soft mat and the other on the hard ground below and hope to whatever's out there he won't shatter the bones in his ankles.

His right foot connects with the mat and George shuts his eyes and braces for the other to hit the ground, already bending his knees to absorb the shock when powerful arms suddenly close around him and yank him against a warm body.

Dream, George thinks, and he's hit with a wave of relief.

"I've got you," Dream whispers as he gently lowers George the rest of the way to the ground, keeping tight hold of him just in case the adrenaline of the flip causes him to stumble, legs shaky and unable to hold himself up yet from fear.

George lets himself rest against Dream's chest for a minute, inhaling the warm and slightly sweet smell of his boyfriend and spotter, the only man he'd trust with his life like this. Within a few moments the terrifying idea of his foot shattering is washed away, and Dream's strong arms and protective hold are all that matter.

He'll be okay to try again in a few minutes, but George wants to walk to the edge of the group for a minute, grab some water, and just bask in Dream's protection a bit longer.

[mollywog]

Here is me everlark-ing that time I passed out and took a nose dive into some dude lap at a blood drive (there was no cute banter or romance in my case - only embarrassment)

I used this as an exercise in not overthinking… It didn’t really work; but I tried not to let myself linger…

Ao3 link

“I’m sorry. You don’t meet our minimum weight requirement, you won’t be able to donate today”, Nurse Sae turns the digital monitor towards her to inspect the number. Her shoulders slump.

One pound!

She won't be able to donate blood today over one measly pound! “I weighed myself at home this morning and I had two pounds to spare,” she pleads. She hates the sight of blood, but ever since her sister had received a lifesaving transfusion when she was eight, Katniss has been dead set on donating.

Nurse Sae frowns sympatheticly, “Different scales, different precision.” She gives Katniss another quick once over before sighing, “tell you what: why don’t you go and eat something; See if you can get another couple ounces to stick to your bones and I’ll weigh you again?”

Katniss perks up, “really?�� If there’s one thing she can do, it’s eat.

Sae nods before busying herself organizing her stand. She continues casually, “If you really want to know the art of the weigh in you should talk to one of the wrestlers. The things those boys will do to make weight.” She shakes her head, “on second thought, don’t do that; they're not good examples,” she waves her hands in the direction of the offending group.

Katniss looks over to find a pair of blue eyes fixed on her, before flitting away.

Peeta Mellark.

Her stomach swoops. They’ve never really spoken, but this isn’t the first time she’s noticed him looking. He’s seated at the cookie table chatting with some other guys from the team. They’ve already donated and are waiting their required fifteen minutes.

She thanks the nurse and grabs her backpack moving in their direction towards the exit when her feet falter. Leevy, a girl from her neighborhood is giving blood and seemingly not doing well. She looks pale and her breathing is labored. The nurse has taken note as well, reclining her seat and fanning her as she checks the bag volume.

It’s too hot, Katniss realizes, though she was comfortable only moments ago. She’s sweating and pulls at the chest of her shirt for relief. Her breathing is short and shallow and she feels dizzy.

She needs to get out of here.

She stares at the door with renewed determination and urges herself towards it.

She’s not going to make it.

She doesn’t know what will happen next, but her vision is narrowing. New plan: she needs to sit down, preferably on a chair. She knows she must be close to the snack table. Her hands reach out searching until they hit something solid and she clings to it before her knees give out and the darkness closes in around her vision.

…………

She floats to consciousness feeling relaxed and more rested than she remembers feeling in years. The lights behind her lids indicate sun pouring through her bedroom window: it’s late. She can’t believe she’s slept in, she only ever does that when she’s sick. Her head is cradled in her mother’s lap as she strokes her hair. Katniss flexes her fingers and the hand in her hair ceases its motion. She whimpers in protest. A voice close to her ear says her name, but it’s not her mother’s soft tones. Instead a deep rumble, laced with concern.

She knows that voice. Her eyes flutter open and she’s met with Peeta’s concerned stare. He releases a breath and smiles, “good to see your eyes again.”

Her lips quirk involuntarily but then the memories creep in. She must have passed out; How embarrassing! She moves to sit up, but her head swims and she lays back taking the opportunity to inspect her surroundings. She’s been moved behind a privacy curtain and Nurse Sae is busy beside her, checking her blood pressure, asking questions, and gently testing her limbs. Her initial euphoria has worn off to a giddy embarrassment. She’s clammy and chilled, but physically no worse for the wear.

“It’s a good thing you caught her,” The nurse finally proclaims, patting Peeta on the shoulder, “Could have twisted an ankle or gotten a bump on the head.”

“It was nothing, right time, right place.”

‘Mm-hmm’ Sae hums with a sly grin.

Katniss notices Peeta’s blush, though she’s not sure why he’s embarrassed, “well regardless, thank you.”

“Now, I want you to sit here a bit and don’t you dare leave before you finish these,” she places a juice box and 2 cookies next to her. “Unfortunately after that excitement, no donating for you today. If you’re alright here, I’ll leave her in your care.”

Katniss opens her mouth to protest, but Peeta answers first, “don’t worry: our patient is in good hands.”

“I bet she is,” Sae winks.

Katniss waits until the nurse is out of earshot, covering her face before speaking, “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I did that. I swear I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s alright, really. You’ve actually fulfilled my white knight fantasies. What little boy hasn’t dreamed of rescuing a fair maiden?”

She bites back a smile; she can’t imagine anyone considering her a damsel in distress. More like a feral cat. “Come on, this isn’t your first rescue. What about that time Glimmer Rogers thought she twisted her ankle and asked you to carry her to the nurse’s office?”

“You remember that?” His lips twitch in amusement, “We were in like what… 5th grade? And besides, I think she faked it on a dare.”

It’s a silly thing to remember, but if she really thinks about it, she has plenty of memories of this boy’s kindness, as if she’s been watching and cataloging them for years. She masks this revelation with the last bite of cookie, “well I’m glad to relieve you of your duties Sir Peeta. I’ve got it from here.”

“I don’t know. I take this responsibility very seriously. How chivalrous would it be for me to just abandon you now?”

She rolls her eyes, “What are you going to do? Escort me to fourth period and sit behind me in case I faint again? Abernathy will love that.”

He scrunches his nose, “maybe not.” He pauses, “okay, here’s the deal; you’ll let me walk you to class and then maybe you could offer me a token of your favour.”

“What?”

“Come on, haven’t you been paying attention in History class?”

She hasn’t. They’ve been watching a costume drama about Henry VIII under the guise of learning in Mr. Plutarch’s history class. She vaugly rememebers a jousting scene where the ladies had given the jousters ribbons as good luck charms before their turn. “So you want my hair tie or something?” She laughs.

“That’s one option. Or… you could give me your number instead? That way I can check in on you later… make sure you’re recovering well.” He fidgets with his backpack straps. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was nervous. “If you’ll allow it,” he adds, averting his eyes.

Coming from anyone else she would think it was a line, but Peeta’s a genuinely nice guy. He’s only asking to be kind and she wouldn’t want him to worry if a quick text is all he’s asking. “Okay, I’ll allow it,” she says, extending her phone towards him.

This time when their eyes meet, his don’t flit away and the smile he gives her is so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness, that she can’t help returning it.

[technicallymaximumkitty]

Happy Hotel

Swap au because everyone else is!

(playing more fast and loose with the lore more than a cheetah who can’t tie their shoes plz don’t get mad at me) 

***

Emily paced back and forth wearing the carpet in the TV studio thin. 

Seven years ago Emily was a seraphim, the seraphim in charge of keeping everyone in heaven happy. She was a good girl, always played by the rules, and did her job well. 

Seven years ago for the first time in history a sinner was redeemed right in front of her eyes. 

Seven years ago she started questioning the rules she used to blindly obey.

Seven years ago she fell.

Emily was the first fallen seraphim. She was clueless and scared if not for that redeemed sinner to lose paradise in the name of helping her keep safe in Hell. 

In Hell where the naked truth, the whole truth, was before her eyes. Hell, a cesspool of crime, hate, and abuse. Where angels would fly down once a year to rake up sinners as if they were a pest infestation. Her heart bleeds for the lost sinners, even if they were awful people, most of them didn't deserve such a fate. She would have said all sinners, if Hell had not jaded her heart. 

She wanted to help sinners, they were her people now, the seraphim had made their say. Yes heaven had cast her out, but that didn't mean sinners wouldn't benefit from paradise. As much as she was upset with heaven, she knew it would be better for any wayward sinner than the cards they were dealt now.

“Any more pacing and you’ll tear a hole through the carpet.” Emily snapped out of thought. Sir Pentious. The first redeemed sinner, and her closest friend. 

“Ah yes I just, suppose I'm nervous.” She gave a lopsided smile that crossed with a grimace. Who wouldn't be? By some stroke of miracle she got an interview with 666 news and finally an audience to share her idea with, the audience of all of Hell and not just her stuffed animals and Pentious. 

“Underssstandable yesss, but you’ll do fine i'm sssure of it.” Pentious smiled making his way towards Emily, “you have practiced thisss ssspeach for ssso long now that I would ssswear you recite it in you sssleep.” He smiled, placing his hands on Emily’s shoulders. 

Nodding Emily took a deep breath, “your right, I got this!” she smiled a small twinkle returning to her eye.

“I believe in you!” he spun the ex-seraphim around giving her a gentle shove in the direction of set, cheering with the gusto of a wife sending her husband off to war.

“Oh suck it up you little-*beep*” The camera was set to commercials and the news hostess spun her chair around stretching her legs before producing a pack of gum from her bosom. Cherri Bomb, spunky myspace queen turned new hostess with a fuse as short as her name would suggest. 

“Hello there, I'm Emily!” Emily smiled, holding her hand out for a shake. The cyclops rolled her eye before popping a bubble.

“No thanks, I don’t touch preps.” Cherri spun around in her chair before propping her feet on top of the desk. Emily gave a nervous chuckle before taking a seat of her own. Emily wanted to greet the co host but they were currently walking off a bomb explosion. She had to give it to sinners, they were very restant. 

“Thank you so much for seeing me, I'm so grateful.” Emily smiled, tapping her feet on the linoleum floor. Looking across the set she could see Pentious giving two thumbs up and a fangy smile. 

“F*** you bi*** the only reason why your on here is because otherwise we hafta’ cover that dooms day s*** again.” 

“Were on in three-”

Cherri shoved Emily out of the shot and kicked her feet to the floor, “and we are back!” She plastered on a huge smile giving bear claws to the camera. “And we are here with a guest! So Emmie,”

“It’s Emily-”

“fu** off!” Emily gulped as Cherri lit up a small cherry bomb, “anyways what is this biggest breakthrough idea that’s worth all of hell knowing about!” she smiled, chuckling the bomb at her coworker. 

***

A tall blonde demon skipped down the street humming wizard of oz showtunes, as if Hell was her playground. Skidding to a halt her curiosity was piqued. A not so small group of demons stood in front of a small TV and radio store staring at a very special episode of the news. 

Oh but what could this episode be about? It must be so interesting if everyone was curious about it. 

Standing in the shadows of the sinners she smiled to herself, something told her this was more than the normal slog of Hell’s gossip. 

***

“Well I,” She gulped, scanning the crowd. Pentious smiled, waving his arms in the air. It was obnoxious but it made her feel a bit safer. “So Hell has been at the mercy of angels for centuries and it’s so, so unfair.” 

“We already know that bi***.” 

“Yes, but what if there was a way to change that?” She smiled while holding a notebook towards the camera. The lined paper was covered in crayon and stickers with a step by step plan.

“I’d say you're delusional.” Huffed Cherri Bomb.

“But there is! You can escape Hell, all you have to do is redeem yourself!” She smiled flipping the notebook page to show a doodle of a stick demon turning into a stick angel. The studio was filled with a hush silence before everyone broke into hysterical cackling.

“Redeeming yourself? What a joke! What and all we gotta do is say please and thank you and eat all our veggies? Is that it? HA! This b**** comedy gold!” Cherri cackled, spitting her gum in Emily’s face. 

Emily’s face fell, what were they laughing? This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. “But I'm serious, I really am!” She slammed her notebook down onto the news table trying to make her voice loud enough to break the giggling fit within the studio. “I even have proof it can work!” That made everyone shut up. 

“Oh ya? What proof?” Spat Cherri. Cherri was more than willing to entertain this delusion, she was just waiting for this to be clipped for memes the next day.

“Him! The first demon to be redeemed!” Emily pointed to Sir Pentious in the crowd. Every camera and eye in the studio whipped towards the snake, a spotlight even glowing behind him. Sir Pentious froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Then why is he down here?” someone from the crowd spoke up. 

“HAHA! OMG b****! Are you for real right now?” Cherri cackled spinning in her seat kicking her feet in the air. “This is better than a HotTopic membership! KAHAHA!” She squealed. 

Emily bit her bottom lip, she didn't know if she wanted to scream or cry, she hadn't even told everyone about the hotel yet! This isn't going like it was supposed to! “I-”

“Listen b**** your cute, fu**ing adorable even,” Cherri cooed pinching Emily’s cheek before shaking the ex-seraphims face, “but if you really think any of this is real, that snake boi over there is a redeemed sinner? Give me your dealer's number!” Cherri shoved Emily to the ground by her face. Gold trickled down Emily’s face, signaling a broken nose, but nothing hurt more than everyone mocking her. She was right! She was right! Why did no one believe her? 

***

The demon tilted her head, my how amazing indeed! She was glad she made time out of her day to watch this trainwreck. Perhaps she should bid this Emily a visit?

***

Emily and Sir Pentious were chased out of the studio shortly after their segamat ended. The night was ruined! And to top it all off their bikes were stolen because of course they were! The two of them ran all the way back to the hotel they had set up. Maybe hotel was a stretch. It was a duplex house with a downstairs home and an upstairs home. They revamped the basement so it was now three-ish houses. The only reason they could even afford such a place was because they claimed the cheapest house in money launders ave. 

Pentious opened the door for Emily as she dragged herself inside. Above the kitchen was a birthday banner flipped over with WELCOME scribbled on with fruit scented magic markers. The dining table had cupcakes in the tin waiting for the new residents that were supposed to show up.

“You did your bessst Emily! You really did, it’sss not your fault that everyone was against you!” Pentious gave a weak smile before handing a cupcake to Emily. Emily sighed, setting the sweet back on the table. She knew Pentious was trying to cheer her up, she was appreciative of it, but that didn't stop the pain of her ego getting curb stomped on live television. She collapsed on the moth-eaten loveseat of the living room. 

Pentious sighed, it really wasn't her fault, this was just hell being hell. Didn't stop him from worrying for his friends' well being. Before he could get too deep into thought there was a knocking on their door. His frill popped up in surprise. Wait, did someone just-

He swung the door open with a huge smile on his face before fear overtook his face. “YOUR MAJESTY!” he shrieked, giving a salute. Emily scurried up to the door only to freeze in place herself.

There in the doorway stood the princess of Hell herself, Princess Charlie Morningstar. The most powerful demon in all of hell after Lucifer’s sudden seven years absence. “May I come in?” she smiled, raising a hand in a wave. The second time that night Pentious froze, his eyes bulging out of his skull.

“Oh yes! Yes of course!” Emily squeaked running around the kitchen trying to find a chair for Charlie to sit in.

“Oh I must say this place is far more humble than I would imagine!” She smiled taking in the sights of mold slowly growing on the ceiling. 

“I-I must say I am more than honored to have the princess here at our hotel!” Emily squeaked, “but why?” 

“Why?” Charlie smiled, spinning towards Emily before throwing her arms in the air, “because you're singing my song sister!” she grabbed Emily’s hand before twirling her, “Redemption! Redemption! Redemption! Such a marvelous idea! Consider this an investment!” 

Emily’s eyes widen with stars, “wait are you saying-”

“Emily dear, I wish to help you with your endeavors to save our people!” Charlie cheered. Every part of Emily was now vibrating, there was no way! 

“Alright before we get down to business this isn't much of a hotel now is it?” 

“Yesss I, we diden’t-” Pentious stuttered, failing to make eye contact with the princess. Charlie flashed a huge grin before waving her hands.

“Let's fix that then, shall we?” With a wave of her hands everything was bathed in a candy apple red. Charlie spun around and sang as the furniture and building shifted and cracked turning into a now fully furnished two story hotel with an ever present apple motif. 

“Amazing-” Emily and Pentious were stunned. How? Why? 

“And let us not forget about the staff now!” Charlie smiled, spinning her way to the new and approved living room turned lounge. The two followed the princess in nothing short of awe.

Charlie kneeled in front of the TV. The air started to crackle and buzz as static filled the room, as if from the ring. Charlie reached into the TV before pulling out someone. This person tumbled from the electronic system. 

This person had a TV for a head as they jumped to their feet, “who, I, were, oh!” They smiled before bowing, “Princess Charlie!” 

“Vox!” She smiled while hugging the TV.

“What has you today?” Vox smiled. Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder twirling him to be face to face with Emily and Sir Pentious.

“Hi!” Emily squealed grabbing Vox’s hand, “Im-”

“Ah Emily, Sir Pentious, hey, hey, hey!” Vox smiled, giving the two of them brush handshakes. 

“How did you?” Pentious’s jaw dropped.

“Know? Oh, I see, everything.” Vox gave a large and slightly malicious grin as his face rippled with static. 

“Oh my.” Pentious gasped, not knowing what to do with that information.

Charlie skipped her way to the kitchen being tailed by Emily, who was now filled with nothing but admiration for the princess. 

Kneeling next to the cobbards Charlie pulled out a smaller woman, who barrel rolled into the bar. Wait when did they get a bar? Grabbing the woman by the collar of their shirt Charlie smiled, “this darling is Velvette!” Velvette could have been less thrilled as she played games on her phone, the pings of candy crush filled the room. 

“Hello Velvette!” Emily smiled, only greeted with a slight hum. 

“Vox is going to be our bendtner and Velvette is going to be our maid! And now we need guests!” Charlie threw her hands into the air Emily bracing herself for something cool to happen. 

The front door swung open. “Hey’a toots.” there stood Angel Dust a fluffy spider dressed in a sparkly pink and white suit.

“Angel!” Charlie cheered, giving the spider a bear hug.

“What have you got for me now?” Angel purred.

“I just have a teensy tiny itty bitty little favor for you, please?” Charlie gave large puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip. 

“Not like I have a choice do I?” 

Charlie giggled, “your our first guest at this-” She bent backwards to face Emily, “what is this place called?” 

“Oh!” Emily gasped with stars in her eyes, “I-I don’t know.” springing herself forward Charlie was now face to face with Angel Dust again, “the Happy Hotel!” she cheered creating a sparkly rainbow with her magic.

“Charming.” huffed Angel making his way to the lobby before draping himself on the couch, “how long am I in here for?” 

“Oh! Well, until I say so.” Charlie shrugged with a large smile, “and she should be here in three, two, one-”

A loud barrage of bullets greeted everyone's ears as the left wall blew up.

“Darling!” Charlie cheered at the woman standing in the rubble of the explosion. 

“Babe!” She smiled running to Charlie as the two spun around in a huge hug.

“And guest number two, my darling dear Vaggie!” Charlie smiled. Veggie in question has a grey and pink cameo outfit with a matching, well worn helmet. The helmet had a red bow tied around the sweatband and the words born in Hell scrawled in glitter glue on the side. A few bullets stuck under the ribbon. 

“I-I can’t say i'm not grateful, Im, I'm in debt to you!” Emily smiled with tears in her eyes, “but why? What, what do you want?”

Charlie bound her way over to the ex-seraphim before grabbing her hands, “let me put this in words we all understand.” She smiled. Vaggie rolled her eyes. “Here we go-”

“~you have a dream, your here to tell about a wonderful fantastic new hotel~

~Yes it’s one of a kind, right here in hell, ment to redeem clientele~”

***

I have no clue if i'm gonna carry on past the pilot but man are my ideas buzzing; anyways more notes!

Charlie owns Angel’s souls the same way Alastor did Husk

Lute takes Emily’s place, Nifty takes lute’s place

Adam is still adam lol

Vox and alastor still have beef because I can

Alastor is known as the big three as he has control over radio, tv, and gaming

Husk is still ex overlord of gambling and is still Al’s favorite play toy

Husk is gonna pull a pentious (as in join the hotel not die!)

This was not created to spread Emily and Pentious BFF propaganda I swear-

Vaggie is a sinner 

Charlie is doing this because she genuinely want to help but everyone thinks she is sketchy probably nothing to do with lucifer's seven year abastent nooooo 

Sinner Vaggie was created based off the full metal jacket poster (haven't watched the movie) and the dirty harry music video (gorillaz, two special interests with one stone ba-BY!)

Idk if im gonna switch anyone else’s role

Sera will still be Sera and I will do Sera slander until season two and we get her tragic backstory and then I’d feel bad for the Sera slander

Cherri is a scene queen and tom trench is still bullies on set lmao

[officalgeorgestaniel]

Interesting Feelings...🎃🐾

Here's a belated little Halloween treat for all of you *sinister giggling*

George x Charli. 1.2k words. No inherently sexual themes, just kinky undertones. But please, only read if you're 18 or older!! Thank youuuuuu✨

"Geoooorge?! Are you almost ready?! The Uber’s gonna be here in five minutes!" Charli called up the stairs, her voice travelling to the bathroom where George was frantically preparing himself for Kendall Jenner's Halloween party. Charli and her friends were all downstairs, taking photos in their costumes that they had finished putting on over an hour ago.

George cursed himself for not planning a costume sooner, though he had already decided it wasn't his fault that he hadn't bothered to prepare something, Charli hadn't told him he had to wear a costume until that evening.

Previously…

"A costume party?! You didn't say it was a costume party!"

"George, it's Halloween night, of course it's a fucking costume party."

"But I don't have anything to wear- I sent all the Liam Gallagher shit back to Goodwill."

"Well, figure something out, we have to leave in two hours.”

“But I-”

“You can’t come if you don’t have a costume, they won’t let you in. And I really wanted you to come. I have to put my nails on now. Hurry up and throw something together, just as long as you look like you’re trying!”

“Ugh fine!” George groaned as Charli left the living room to go back upstairs. “What the fuck am I gonna wear, Nico?” He looked down despairingly at Charli’s dog who had trotted over during their argument and sat down on the floor in front of George's perch on the couch. She cocked her head at him and he cracked a small smile.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He grinned as he reached out to scratch her behind the ears. “Thanks for checking up on me. How could I ever stay upset when you’re around?” He chuckled. 

All of a sudden, a lightbulb flicked on in George’s head.

“That’s it!” He jumped off the couch and ran upstairs.

Presently…

“Almost done!” George replied. He looked himself over in the mirror, making sure his face looked alright. He hoped Charli wouldn’t mind that he borrowed her eyeshadow and lipstick. He didn’t have any face paints and the makeup was the most important component of his costume, without it he’d just be some bald dude in a brown suit. He decided he needed one last finishing touch and grabbed Charli’s red lipstick. It was YSL branded but he figured he could always replace it if he messed it up. He tucked his lower lip over his bottom teeth and drew a diagonal U-shape down his chin, then grabbed a darker shade to draw a line down the middle. 

Perfect.

“Okay! I’m ready!” He left the mess of makeup on the bathroom counter and jogged down the stairs into the kitchen to see everybody. He was met with Charli’s wheezing laughter as she stood up from the table to greet him. 

He was standing there in his suit and dress shoes with a giant grey spot painted over his eye, the tip of his nose coloured in black, cheeks smattered with freckles, and a YSL Candy Glaze red tongue appearing to poke out of his mouth.

“What the fuck?!” Charli cackled. 

“It’s not that bad, is it?” George asked, suddenly feeling indignant. “I tried really hard!”

Charli put her hand over her mouth as she tried to compose herself, careful not to disturb the painstakingly applied, bloodied, needle-like extensions on her nails as she did so. 

“No offence, but who are you supposed to be?” Troye asked. The others looked perplexed as well. 

George tried to ignore the embarrassed heat that rushed to his cheeks as he lifted his chin and replied as confidently as possible. “I’m a dog.”

“You’re A dog?” Terry asked. “Just any dog?” 

“Yep.”

Everybody laughed, and George found himself laughing as well. “Nico inspired me,” he said.

“You look great, baby,” Charli giggled. “Hilarious, but great.”

“Thanks,” George preened. 

“Now, sit,” Charli said.

George cocked an eyebrow. “What? Why? Aren’t we leaving now?”

Charli scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Just sit down.”

“Why?” George gestured at her confusedly. “Are you trying to prank me?”

“Ohmygod, do I have to spell it out for you?” She turned her attention to Nico, who was sitting on one of the big fluffy bean bag chairs in the living room, and patted her thigh. “Nico come! Come here baby!” Nico jumped up and sprinted over to Charli, wagging her tail at the sudden burst of attention. “Good giiiirl,” Charli drawled. “Sit!” She raised her outstretched hand in command, palm up as she always did. Nico sat down at Charli’s feet, politely waiting to see if she had a treat for her.

Charli turned back to George. “Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Sit!” She gestured at him the same way she’d done to Nico, and suddenly he understood what she was asking him.

His cheeks burned red with embarrassment. 

“Yeah, come on George! You may as well get into the roll,” Benny exclaimed from next to Terry. “Have fun with it!”

“Yeah, come on,” Charli said. “Sit!”

George sighed in defeat and sat down next to Addison on the bench seat at the table behind him. “Are you happy now?” 

“Good boy!” Charli cooed, her voice cloyingly sweet as she cupped his face in her hands and made kissy lips at him. 

“Fuck off!!” He laughed as he pushed her away. 

“Can you shake a paw?” Charli asked in the same baby-talk voice, ignoring George’s annoyance. She held out her right hand. It only had needle extensions on her pinky and thumb. She figured she’d probably need a few fingers free during the party, so she forewent applying all ten of the extensions.

“No, shut up!” George laughed and shook his head, hugging himself so Charli couldn’t grab one of his hands on her own. 

“Please, for me?” She simpered down at him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so he held out his hand and she took it in hers, shaking it, before dropping it and scratching his scalp with her three free fingers. It felt so nice that he melted a little and almost forgot where he was. 

“What a good doggy!” Charli praised excitedly. “He’s so smart, isn’t he?”

George smiled lazily, and briefly noted the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight in his belly. 

“Looks like he’s about to start wagging his tail and kicking his leg,” Addison joked, and George was suddenly launched out of his head, back into the room. 

He giggled nervously, trying to conceal how much he’d actually enjoyed being praised like that. “Yeah…”

“Come on, let’s go guys.” Charli said, turning her attention to the group. “Party starts in a half hour.”

“George doesn’t need a lead or anything?” Troye chuckled as he stood up and picked up his copy of The Woman In Me.

George’s eyes widened like saucers at the prospect of himself wearing a collar and lead. He tried to look anywhere except for Charli's face. He could feel her gaze on him. 

He startled slightly as Charli gently took his chin in between her blood stained fingers. She tilted his head so he was looking up at her again. She was smiling devilishly at him. 

“Oh, I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” she said with a wink.

And thus, they took a cute selfie together before heading out for the night✨

I'm never living this down, am I?

[welcometoelliotstable]

CaliYork songfic I wrote by accident!!

Italicized text is Cal singing

Bolded text is York singing

Bolded & italicized Text is both of them singing

California goes to a party with the other states and invites York to come, but he has work so California- though disappointed- says it’s okay and goes to third wheel with Florida and Louisiana. He doesn’t wanna be a bother so he just hangs around near the bar area. At one point during the night there’s a karaoke machine that’s available to use. Florida and Loui go first before anyone else, then a few other people build up the confidence to go too, some with their lovers and some alone. After one or two drinks Cal decides he’ll give it a go too.

New York gets off work early because he feels bad for not going with Cal to the party. He knows it’s none of his business, but the sad look in California’s eyes when he said he couldn’t go made him feel guilty. He had Louisiana text him the address and he drove there as fast as he could.

He walks in the door to hear none other than California’s voice on a microphone.

“I don’t exactly have a boyfriend, but I am in love with someone” he says, “he’s not here so I couldn’t sing a duet with him if I wanted to, but I want to sing this song because it reminds me of him”

New York wonders who he could be talking about, and thought he wouldn’t admit it, he really hopes Cal is talking about him.

The music starts and immediately York recognizes it.

“Hey there, Delilah

What's it like in New York city?”

Hey There Delilah by The Plain White T’s. New York sits down at a table nearby and just listens to California’s singing. He has a much nicer voice than anyone would expect.

“I'm a thousand miles away

But, girl, tonight you look so pretty

Yes, you do

Time square can't shine as bright as you

I swear, it's true”

California slightly laughs as he sings, but to his friends they know every word he's singing, he means it.

“Hey there, Delilah

Don't you worry about the distance

I'm right there if you get lonely

Give this song another listen

Close your eyes”

New York closes his eyes, just letting the music fill his ears. He doesn’t notice Louisiana and Florida finding him and sitting near him.

“Listen to my voice, it's my disguise

I'm by your side”

“Hey, York” Florida says, New York’s fight or flight response kicks in and he jumps out of his seat.

“Oh, it's what you do to me”

“Mais, calm down, York. Is just us” Louisiana tells him.

“Oh, it's what you do to me”

“We have a secret to tell you, but don’t tell Cali we told you or he’ll literally kill us.” Florida follows.

“Oh, it's what you do to me”

“Flo, we betta ask him first” Loui says.

“What’re yous both goin’ on about!?” York exclaims, tired of their stalling.

“Oh, it's what you do to me

What you do to me”

“York, do you by any chance got a crush on Cal?” Loui asks him.

New York’s cheeks heat up at the question. He wants to say “isn’t that pretty [speaks New York]in’ obvious?” But all he says is “none of ya business”

“Hey there, Delilah

I know times are gettin' hard”

“Well, you see, yorkie-“ Florida starts.

“Don’t call me that”

“-it is our business. So please, yes or no answer and we’ll get to the point”

“But just believe me, girl

Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar”

He waits, thinking, for one, two, three seconds and finally chokes out, “yeah. I do.”

Florida smiles from ear to ear, a scary sight to see. Louisiana looks proud of New York.

“We'll have it good

We'll have the life we knew we would”

“Alright what the hell is going on?!” New York snaps.

“York, California’s in love wit’ you” Louisiana explains.

“Yea, y’know how he said that he’s in love with someone and this song reminded him of them?”

“My word is good”

“Yeah? So what.” New York questions, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“He was talking about you! We know for a fact!” Florida exclaims.

“Hey there, Delilah

I've got so much left to say

If every simple song I wrote to you

Would take your breath away

I'd write it all”

“Yeah? How do yous know?”

“Mais, Cal goes out drinkin’ with us all da time. An’ when dat boy’s drunk, he tends to overshare” Louisiana explained.

“Oh hell yeah, él está loco por ti, York” Florida follows.

New York just hums in response, turning back to the stage where California is. He listens to him sing the rest of the refrain, and before he can convince himself not to, he stands up and starts walking towards the stage.

“A thousand miles seems pretty far”

Florida and Louisiana are sure they know what’s going on, and so they just let it happen. After all, their ship is about to sail.

“But they've got planes and trains and cars”

New York gets on the stage and grabs the microphone out of California’s hand,

“ I'd walk to you if I had no other way”

He sings. His voice is a bit raspy, probably from not singing in a while, but he still sounds like a professional.

California is left in shock next to him.

“Our friends would all make fun of us

And we'll just laugh along because we know

That none of them have felt this way”

“Yorkie?”said California, “you came?”

New York turned to face him and nodded, smiling.

California’s face lit up as they both sang the next lyric.

“Delilah, I can promise you

That by the time we get through

The world will never ever be the same”

California couldn’t stop smiling.

“And you're to blame”

“Hey there, Delilah

You be good, and don't you miss me”

He continues singing, turning back to the direction Florida and Louisiana were in before.

“Two more years and you'll be done with school”

“And I'll be makin' history like I do”

“You'll know it's all because of you”

New York, however, can’t keep his eyes off of California.

“We can do whatever we want to”

The way his eyes sparkle in the spotlight.

“Hey there, Delilah, here's to you”

The way he can smile and look so happy, but still sing perfectly at the same time.

“This ones for you”

No wonder he’s entertainment capitol of the world.

New York just steps back and waits for Cal to finish the rest of the song. The party is over by this time, and people start to leave as the music finally fades out, but California stays on the stage, slightly out of breath, with New York right next to him.

“New York! You came! I don’t understand,” he starts, “I thought you had work?”

“Well, I knew yous wanted me to come. And I hardly go to any parties yous all invite me to, so I thought I’d try to get out early to come” York replies, hoping his voice isn’t shaking too much from the nerves.

“Aww, Yorkie” California says, capturing New York in a hug, “thank you, I appreciate that you came” he speaks into York��s beanie.

“It’s no problem, B” York tells him, his face getting redder and redder every second.

“‘Fornia?”

“Yeah?”

They pull apart from the hug and New York takes a few deep breaths.

“Yous wanna know something Louisiana told me?”

California’s anxiety levels raised at that moment, hoping Loui didn’t say anything too severe.

“He said yous was in love with me”

California’s brain was going a mile a minute, his face going red as a tomato, and his head feeling dizzy, but then New York asked,

“Is that true?”

This was California’s chance to deny it, to say Loui was playing a prank, and to avoid losing York as a friend.

But what if he didn’t deny it?

“Yea, It’s true” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

“But hey, if you don’t like me you don’t have to-“

New York cuts him off, “can I kiss you?”

“Wha- York? Are you serious?” California can’t believe what’s happening.

“Yes. Dead serious.” New York says, remaining eye contact with California no matter how hard it became.

“Yea.. yes! Oh my gods yes you Can!” California exclaimed.

“You’re such a dork” New York laughed before cupping Cal’s face in his hand and gently kissing the golden state’s soft lips.

He pulled away, leaving California with a dumbstruck look on his face. “You were serious.” He says.

“‘Course I was” York laughs. “I love you, Goldie”

California’s smile in that moment could light up the entire night sky. “I love you too, yorkie”

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[heph]

The fics where the ducklings are heavily invested in their boss' love life

[sensitiveheartless]

Written followup to the horrors comic! It got away from me lol. Most of it's under the cut, cause this part is also a bit long.

~*~

Minutes passed by on the quiet moonlit dock.

Despite the renewed serenity of the night, Chuuya’s heart continued to race sickeningly fast. It hammered away in his chest, as if unable to fully grasp that the danger had passed.

His clothes were heavy and waterlogged, so cold against his skin that he could barely keep from shivering. Icy trickles ran down the back of his neck and dripped from his hair.

Closing his eyes didn’t help. There were far too many twisted corpses engraved in the darkness whenever he blinked. So he kept his eyes open, staring at the planks beneath them as he tried to steady his breathing.

Don’t think about it, Chuuya told himself. Don’t think about them.

Instead, he forced himself to remain in the present moment. Beneath the planks, he could hear the swell of the ocean waters, each wave lapping at the posts in a quiet rhythm. Salt filled his lungs with every breath, the heavy tang of the sea-soaked wood wafting around him.

And against his chest was Dazai’s head, a steady and grounding pressure. His ear rested over Chuuya’s heart, his arms still tight around him.

In that position, Dazai must have been able to hear how hard Chuuya’s heart was pounding—but surprisingly, he didn’t remark upon it. He remained utterly silent.

In return, Chuuya didn’t say a word about the almost crushing strength of Dazai’s arms where they wrapped around his middle. Dazai’s fingers were digging into his ribs, twin rows of sharp pressure, and Chuuya could feel them shaking.

Dazai’s hair was coarse where Chuuya’s cheek rested against it. Back in the day, before Dazai’s defection, he never bothered with conditioner. It seemed some things never changed, even in the light.

For one wild moment, Chuuya wished that he wasn’t wearing a pair of gloves—then he could bury his bare fingers in Dazai’s hair and see if it was as tangled as it looked. And, perhaps, warm himself up. Dazai was like a radiator against him, heat seeping through Chuuya’s drenched layers of clothes at every point of contact, but his gloves remained cold, the sodden leather chilling him to the bone. His joints ached as he uncurled his fingers from around Dazai’s shoulders.

Perhaps it would be worth it to just…indulge for a moment, if only to have something else to needle Dazai about. Really, the man needed to learn how to groom himself properly one of these days.

As Chuuya’s hand hovered indecisively over Dazai’s head, however, he realized that his heart rate had already evened out. While he was reminiscing about Dazai’s damn mess of hair, of all things.

Ridiculous. But that meant that there was absolutely no excuse for the two of them to remain wrapped around each other any longer. Dazai’s shivering seemed to have calmed as well.

“We should—” Chuuya’s voice cracked when he tried to speak, so he paused and cleared his throat before going on. “We should make sure it’s really gone. I don’t want that thing getting the jump on me again.”

Dazai tensed, and his grip tightened so much that for a moment Chuuya could scarcely breathe.

“Oi. C’mon, you need to let me up,” Chuuya wheezed, swatting at Dazai’s shoulder. He strained his neck to look down at the head buried against his chest, a pang of something that was surely exasperation tightening his throat. “I need to be able to reach it, Dazai.”

Dazai remained still for another long moment, then abruptly loosened his grip. Instead of letting Chuuya up, however, he pushed him down to sit on the damp planks, and rose to his feet himself.

“I’ll go,” Dazai said quietly, and strode past Chuuya towards the small, oval mirror where it lay shattered on the dock.

Right. It did make sense to have Dazai touch it first, in case it was an ability that could be nullified.

…But what if it’s not? What if it’s something like Lovecraft? Dazai will be defenseless, Chuuya thought, and instinctively started to his feet as well.

“Stay back,” Dazai said sharply, without even turning to look. He was standing over the mirror, staring down at it. “Don’t move forward until I say so.”

Chuuya scowled, but remained in place. He watched as Dazai bent down and extended a careful hand towards the shards of glass.

One tap, with the tip of a finger. Then another, less cautious tap against the side of the wooden frame. Then another, and another, Dazai’s touches moving systematically across every inch of shattered glass and broken wood.

Nothing happened.

Dazai breathed out, and stepped back. “There. You are now welcome to crush it into dust,” he said lightly, waving Chuuya forward.

His head was still downturned, his eyes cast in the shadow of his bangs as Chuuya walked past him to do the deed.

It was with deep pleasure that Chuuya pressed each little bit of the mirror into nothingness, grinding it down with the overwhelming weight of gravity.

After it was done, Chuuya scattered the dust into the ocean waters below. “What the fuck was that thing, anyway?” he asked, turning back to face the other.

When he turned, however, he found Dazai had moved to sit on the edge of the dock, his legs dangling off the edge.

His back was facing Chuuya. It seemed deliberate.

At first, Dazai didn’t respond to Chuuya’s question. The silence stretched long enough that Chuuya began to shiver again, the cold wind cutting through his damp clothes.

“…A Face Like Glass,” Dazai said at last. “That’s what the ability was called.”

“So it was a gifted,” Chuuya muttered. He walked to Dazai’s side, and dropped down beside him with a heavy sigh. “That mean the user is still out there somewhere?”

“No,” Dazai said softly. “She died some time ago, I’m afraid.”

Chuuya looked at him sharply. “What?”

There wasn’t much light by which to see, but Chuuya knew Dazai’s face like the back of his own hand. Better, probably. And he could tell that the detective’s features had gone unnaturally still.

It was how Dazai looked whenever he was unsure of how much he should give away. Typically his poker faces were more natural, but when he was strongly conflicted, he would simply go blank.

“Explain,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms. “That thing almost killed me, I think I ought to know what it was.”

That got a reaction. Dazai’s lips twitched downward and he looked away, hiding his face from Chuuya once again.

After another lingering pause, however, he finally began to talk.

“A Face Like Glass was the ability of a woman named Hardinge,” Dazai said, as blandly as if he were reciting a history lesson. “She could reflect the darkest thoughts of anyone who looked into that mirror of hers, and give those thoughts physical form. Quite literally a nightmare to deal with, as one can imagine. She was the terror of England. However, after she rose to prominence, the mirror began to behave a bit oddly.

“The more renowned Hardinge became, the more people began to fear her ability. She kept the exact details of the mirror shrouded in mystery, so her enemies were always speculating what horrors it might do to them next.

“Naturally, over time, their darkest thoughts became consumed with fear of the mirror itself. And when Hardinge reflected those thoughts, manifesting them into reality…well. You can imagine what happened.”

Chuuya’s hands formed fists in his lap, so tight the leather of his gloves creaked. His fingers were somehow even colder than before. “A runaway effect,” he said. Despite his best efforts, his voice came out rough. “A singularity.”

“Quite,” Dazai said. “The heights of human imagination should never be underestimated. The more powerful anyone imagined the mirror was, the more powerful it became. When their fears manifested, their imaginations ran ever more wild with terrifying possibilities. Which it would also reflect. And so on, and so on. The only one who could control it was Hardinge herself, stopping the runaway cycle by covering the mirror. She acted as a control for the ability for many years, preventing it from going too far.

“But one day, one of her enemies had the dubiously clever idea to turn the mirror back on Hardinge herself. Which, ordinarily, would have been a mere scare tactic. I’m sure their only intent was to make her hesitate to use the mirror by making her own fears manifest.

“However, that is not what happened. Keep in mind, Hardinge had been watching this ability of hers grow with each battle she fought, gaining strength after strength, only barely containing it with her efforts. Sometimes it must have seemed so powerful that it nearly eclipsed her own self.

“Anyone would be frightened of that. It can’t be surprising that her darkest thoughts contained the fear that her mirror would one day consume her.”

Silence stretched, frigid and fragile as ice.

“…So her own ability ate her,” Chuuya said flatly.

“Yes,” Dazai said. “And without anyone left to contain it, the mirror was unleashed.”

Chuuya rubbed wearily at his temples. “Okay. Then how did it get here? To Yokohama?”

“From what I hear, Hardinge was not popular with the Order of the Clock Tower,” Dazai said. “She had gone into hiding here when her ability overtook her. The Special Operations Division then sent out operatives to contain it.”

Chuuya raised his head. “Oh. They’re involved? Wait, does that mean…was that ex-drinking buddy of yours the one who told you all this?”

Dazai nodded, and Chuuya could faintly make out a crooked smile on his lips in the darkness. “Ango called to warn me of its escape. They had done everything they could to keep it locked away so it could be studied, but all it took was one researcher fearing that the creature had the ability to get out of its cell, and it immediately had that power,” he said, leaning back on his bandaged palms. He gave Chuuya a sidelong look, heavy with significance. “Then, of course, while Ango was briefing me on A Face Like Glass, I also got word that a certain tiny mafioso had gone out to fight an unknown monster that was terrorizing the shipyards.”

Chuuya met his stare with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, so?” he said. “It was scaring my subordinates. Someone had to do something.”

Dazai’s gaze darkened further. “Chuuya, you went alone,” he said. “You tried to face it all by yourself, without even knowing what it was. You could have —” He broke off, and looked away once more. His nails were digging into the wood of the dock, his shoulders stiff. 

Hiding again, Chuuya thought.

For a moment, Chuuya considered pointing out that there wasn’t anyone for him to call for help. Very few of the other mafia members could stand up to an otherworldly threat—and even those who could, like Akutagawa, were not anyone who Chuuya would want exposed to a fear-monster. Everyone in the mafia had far too much darkness to reflect.

Besides, Dazai had no room to scold Chuuya when he was the one who had left him without a partner in the first place.

But even as Chuuya contemplated speaking those cutting words aloud, he found himself unable to.

Because even though Chuuya hadn’t called, Dazai had come anyway.

And, if the reflections of that ability could be believed, one of Dazai’s darkest thoughts was losing Chuuya to Corruption. Right alongside Dazai’s fear of his own past self, and his fear of disappointing his old friend. That…changed some things.

Chuuya sighed, releasing a long-held weight. Then he prodded Dazai’s shoulder with a cold, gloved fingertip. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

Dazai’s shoulders hitched higher, but he didn’t turn.

“What’s your deal?” Chuuya demanded, poking him again. “You don’t have to hide from me, idiot. What, you think I’m gonna make fun of you for having emotions?”

That, apparently, surprised Dazai enough to glance back at Chuuya, his brow furrowed.

“Because I won’t,” Chuuya said. “Not about this. I mean…look, before you showed up, that mirror motherfucker had already reflected a lot of people at me. The Flags, the Sheep, Murase, even N. That’s how it got close enough to me to grab me and drag me under in the first place. So if you’re embarrassed of breaking down or some shit, you shouldn’t be. I did too.”

“It’s not that,” Dazai muttered, his eyes darting away across the dark ocean waters once again.

“Then what?” Chuuya prompted impatiently, leaning closer.

“I froze,” Dazai said, his lips twisting in disgust. “Under the slightest amount of pressure, I broke. You could have died, just because I couldn’t bring myself to fire at a poor imitation of my friend.”

Chuuya blinked. “What’s wrong with that? I broke too. And you were there to pull me out of the water. I saved you, and you saved me. That’s what partners are for, right?”

That finally got Dazai to face him, whipping around so quickly it must have hurt his neck. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in surprise.

Chuuya knew why. It had been years since he had called Dazai his partner.

All too aware that his cheeks were beginning to heat, Chuuya reached out to pull the infuriating man into his arms, tucking Dazai’s head against his shoulder. “Not a word,” he growled, squeezing Dazai tightly in warning. “Make fun of me for this and I’m kicking you into the ocean.”

Dazai let out a choked noise, and suddenly he was clinging to Chuuya just as tight, his fingers practically clawing into his back.

He was shaking again. Or maybe they both were.

“It—it had been so long since I heard his voice,” Dazai cried against Chuuya’s neck, muffled and damp on his skin. “I don’t want that to be how I remember him, I don’t, I hate it…”

Chuuya closed his eyes and saw Albatross laying on the ground in pieces, staring up at him in betrayal. He let out a slow, careful breath, and held Dazai closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I get it.”

Dazai was still so warm. And Chuuya’s hands were still so terribly cold.

Making a reckless decision, Chuuya pulled off his soaked gloves and tossed them aside, then sunk his fingers into Dazai’s mess of curls without hesitation. He felt more than heard the sharp inhale against his neck, and the quiet questioning hum that followed. Chuuya ignored it and continued to card his fingers through Dazai’s hair.

“…Chuuya?” Dazai breathed.

Chuuya tugged absently at a knot. “Tangled,” he grunted. “It was bothering me.”

“Mm,” Dazai hummed, and his hands slid up the back of Chuuya’s jacket. “Chuuya’s cold.”

“No shit,” Chuuya said grumpily. “I fell in the fucking ocean, and it’s freezing out here.”

There was a soft laugh, then a strange sensation ghosted across the side of Chuuya’s neck just above his choker, almost like a pair of lips had pressed there. Chuuya’s hands tightened in Dazai’s hair, stiffening in surprise. He could only wonder if he had imagined it, unable to comprehend any other possibility.

He certainly didn’t imagine what Dazai said next, however.

“Come home with me,” Dazai whispered, his lips brushing against Chuuya’s skin once again.

Chuuya made a very strange noise, somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, and used his grip on Dazai’s hair to haul him away just enough for their eyes to meet. “The fuck?” he spluttered, face burning. “What do you mean, where did that — hah?”

Dazai’s eyes were rimmed in red, dulled with weariness. One of his hands wandered up to Chuuya’s cheek and rested there, circling the blush with his thumb. “I don’t want you out of my sight right now,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

Ah. Right. The reflection of Corruption.

Well. Chuuya couldn’t really deny that he wasn’t looking forward to a night spent alone in his own apartment. He might not dream, but that didn’t matter if he couldn’t even get to sleep. Having someone beside him might help.

And beyond all that—this was the first time that Dazai had ever asked Chuuya to stay with him.

So, dazed and still a little flushed, Chuuya abandoned all common sense and replied, “Okay.”

Dazai captured one of Chuuya’s hands between his own, and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, and pulled Chuuya to his feet. A slight smile flitted across his features. “I think I spotted Chuuya’s dreadful hat further towards the shore. Shall we find it first?”

Chuuya’s knuckles were still tingling. “Okay,” he repeated, strangled and utterly bewildered. His thoughts were chasing themselves in circles like a pack of confused terriers, but he allowed Dazai to tow him away towards the lights of the city.

And if Chuuya’s fingers ended up intertwined with Dazai’s as they traversed the shadows…well.

The streets were too dark for anyone to prove it.

“…Wait, is there even room at your place? You’re still living in that shitty dorm, aren’t you?”

A familiar grin and a pair of twinkling eyes turned back to him as they passed through a dimly lit alley. “Hmm? Chuuya has been tracking where I live? How sentimental of you, slug.”

At least he’s getting back to normal, Chuuya thought. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled aloud. “Of course I’d keep an eye on your annoying ass.”

A scandalized, yet delighted gasp. “Chuuya likes looking at my ass?”

“…?! Shut up! That is not what I said—!”

[savanir]

DP x DC ficlet

is it even a ficlet anymore, this thing has gotten incredibly out of hand...

So a while back I saw this

and I picked the Green Lantern one and then just kinda wrote a full fic so...

It had been a good party, official yes but despite that still festive enough and with just a bittersweet hint. as all good meaningful parties should be like, unless you’re looking to get absolutely shitfaced.

But hey Rowan deserved a proper sendoff for making it to this point and not dying in the process. Hal is going to miss the old pilot though.

"Hal, I got something for you, before I forget"

"Hm, what is it"

The old man puts a small intricate glass model of a f16 fighter in his hand.

"Back when I started I was given this for good luck and protection"

Rowan presses it down firmly and stands there all official like "may it grant you both as it did for me"

They both stand there for a second before laughing.

���Feel free to shelf the whole luck thing, what’s really important is skill and experience. Still, knowing you, you can definitely use the protection ”

Hal grins, "Thanks, I'll keep close"

"You better, the sentimental value is sky high" Rowan slaps his shoulder with another laugh.

Good lord what a dork.

The old retiring pilot wasn't paying attention, too caught up in everything else but Hal saw the faint and brief green hue coming from his hand.

In a panic he slammed his other hand over top. Completely missing the quietly whispered "protect"

Too busy cussing out his ring in his head, he swears that thing is trying to out him on purpose sometimes.

This time it wasn't the ring though, so it's a good thing it's an inanimate object and can't be upset at how wrong Hal is being right now.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah! Let's get back to the others"

The evening ends uneventfully.

---

It's really only until quite a bit later that things start to happen.

"Green lantern" its batman's business voice.

Both Hal and John look up.

"Jordan" ah shit.

"I'll catch you up later" and he leaves Hal behind, traitor.

"What's up spooky"

"You need to update your file, it is missing critical information, and on that note I wasn’t aware that the lantern suits grant you intangibility now"

"I... what..? It doesn't? What are you talking about spooks"

"Hrn" Batman pulls up a screen and shows him footage of the latest fight, in it you can clearly see something was supposed to hit Hal but went right through him "You're telling me you didn't know or notice this?"

Hal just looks kinda sick. That would have been a bad hit and he just straight up didn't even notice.

Batman just kind of silently looks at him and he must have come to some conclusion because the next thing Hal knows this comes out of his mouth.

"I've already ran your blood through the lab, it's not a sudden emergence of a meta gene so it's either from the lantern corps or you've otherwise externally been affected by something that's causing this"

Hal closes his eyes and internally counts to ten, it doesn't help.

Batman takes his silence to mean he can keep talking. The man is on an unusual roll. Hal would have been ecstatic if he didn't hate the topic quite so much.

"It would have been best if it had something to do with your ring however you seem to be completely unaware and I've also noted that the green of your ring and the green glow that comes with the density shifting are different"

He has examples with corresponding color codes, Hal is so tired.

“let's set a time frame…” Batman pulls up some documents and graph on the screen “seeing as you are unaware of this development I will set the starting point of this potential change as of now to right after the last time you have been known to be hit in a fight and before the first known instance of you being able to density shift, that leaves us with a full month.”

Hal really, really does not want to be here anymore.

“In this month you have not gone off planet so whatever caused this is on Earth” Batman pauses for a moment, “has anything significant happened during that time that springs to mind now?”

“no, nothing significant has happened during that time, frankly it’s been a very pleasant uneventful four weeks in which I finally managed to catch a break and it figures something crazy has apparently happened anyway”

Hal rubs his face with both hands, “but right now I couldn’t tell you what, anyway, does this have to be a bad thing? I for one am very glad that hit didn’t actually land”

“So far only Superman has had the privilege of having sudden emergence of new powers work out for him” Batman huffs, “it would be best to monitor this carefully, if anything springs to mind do not hesitate to inform me, the sooner this is figured out the better”

“awww you do care” Hal is using humor cope, sadly it’s Batman, so it’s not very effective.

“Jordan” now Batman sounds tired, he’s not the one with random surprise density shifting, Hal understand that Spooky’s crippling chronic paranoia must be exhausting but right now he’s the one freaking out considering this is apparently not a meta gene related development, it would have been so much easier if it was, oh and about that, just how and when did Batman get his blood exactly? he would like to know now.

---

sadly he does not get to know now. or anytime soon (or ever). it’s chaos right after, because of course it is.

knocked out of the sky and lying amongst the rubble, if their enemy spots him he’s in bigger shit than he already is, but he can’t fucking move and the next thing he knows he’s invisible.

and there is just nothing enjoyable about it.

Barry doesn’t know that though, “that was something else, just one moment and schwup and you were just gone, some sort of green lantern light bending? he looked right through you, thank god he did too” 

shit shit, “no that was..." it was like he just ceased to exist, movies and books and whatever other media always depicts it as such a cool thing but frankly it was terrifying. And he would prefer things that are terrifying not to happen to him, for obvious reasons, “honestly actually it’s complicated, stealth tech” Grade A bullshit.

“well it’s awesome”

“it was useful just now but not really my style you know” 

Barry slings his arm over Hal’s shoulder and gives him a one armed hug, “everything worked out” Hal can feel some tension flow out of his friend, “well! better get busy cleaning this mess up” and with a blink he’s gone.

Hal does not want to talk about this with Batman, but knowing him, he probably already knows anyway, it would be less of a headache to go to him than have him go to Hal. 

Hal wants to enjoy whatever this is, he really does, but he doesn’t know what caused this, he doesn’t know what triggers the new abilities or whatever they are, he doesn’t know what effects this shit is going to have in the future, he just doesn’t know anything, normally he doesn’t mind not knowing some things, he’s fine leaving the knowing to the people better suited for the more complicated knowing, but he would very much like to know more about this please.

---

Then they face off against an enemy and in the process Hal drains his ring completely and the next hit is going to be bad, so what will happen? Will he somehow go intangible again? Turn invisible and use the confusion to evade and attack?

No

Apparently this time he just gets a glowing green dome shield. Something very normal for him to have and use, if only it came out of his ring that is.

Nobody notices that something is wrong, nobody besides Batman that is.

"That's three new abilities that only appear during life threatening situations"

Hal has actually seriously gone over that month by now, but nothing, no answers. He's physically fine, mentally a little damaged but nothing new there, they all are. Every test he begrudgingly went through answered nothing. He was fine. Whatever was going on actually had nothing to do with him.

And at the same time it had everything to do with him because this is only happening to him.

As usual (by now) he takes out his little glass fighter jet and runs his thumb over the wings. It is soothing strangely enough. Like a stim toy.

"The last thing to try is a thorough examination by someone from the justice league dark"

Hal groans, magic, ok then, "Alright let's get this over with. Who knows maybe I'm just haunted"

It turns out he’s not haunted, this is a good thing... supposedly, Well let’s just say that Hal would have not minded being haunted or something if that meant it could be fixed, or just explained.

It doesn’t really need to be fixed, whatever this is has been very helpful after all, but he would do basically anything for an explanation right about now.

“you are not haunted or otherwise magically compromised, but I do sense faint traces of energy from the infinite realms” Zatanna is a godsent, finally something to work with.

“from the who whats?” Hal is worried, the occult field is definitely not his area of expertise. He's a space cop, not a space demonhunter… oh that would be pretty cool though, with like a hood and twin cyber crossbows, maybe he should incorporate that somehow.

“the infinite realms… have you recently been in touch with any death related realities?”

Well there was that time when he got booted to the death universe and he died and then he was a black lantern but he got better, that’s all very much very behind him.

She better not be about to tell him that stuff still has lingering consequences.

oh god dammit that’s exactly what is going on isn’t it?

"How recently?"

"In the past week?"

"Oh, no" Hal would have known if that was the case, death stuff tends to be hard to ignore.

Zatanna frowns, that's probably not a good sign.

"But you said I'm not compromised right?" Right now what Hal wants to know the most is if this is changing him. Cause it tends to be bad for him when that's the case.

"No this is just lingering traces of something or someone else using their powers near you"

???!!??!?

"What are the infinite realms?" oh hey there Batman, was wondering when you would show up again.

"It's the afterlife, or... more like a collection of all afterlives. The infinite realms is very literal in their naming. It is home to powerful dead entities. As a general rule magic users are discouraged from interacting with it.

"Hrn"

"What did you say happened to you so far Hal?"

"Uhm, density shifting, invisibility and then a green dome-like shield, a lot like my own energy constructs"

"that sounds like pretty standard stuff for a realms being"

"Soooo what, did one leave the afterlife and decide to follow me around or something?"

"I cannot conclusively say, I can only say that you've been close to one using its abilities"

Batman folds his arms over his chest, "We shouldn’t form theories on these findings alone, Zatanna are these realm beings dangerous?"

"Hard to say, they come in all manner of forms, some small and harmless and others on the level of world destroying gods."

Great great great, awesome, well it’s probably safe to say that whatever decided to stick around Hal isn’t small and harmless, cause small and harmless doesn’t sound strong enough to casually turn him intangible or invisible… he could be wrong though.

“I do advise caution, beings from the infinite realms also have the ability to possess someone, they call it overshadowing”

Batman’s lips thin and Hal tenses up, mind control of any kind is always awful.

“I’ll place a ward on you, as a precaution” energy starts to gather in her hands.

Batman moves for the door, “we might need to look into a way to force this being to reveal itself, it would be best if we could convince it to return to their realm”

“Well I mean-” Hal starts, “like I get that, but they have been a great help so far” 

“they are a security risk”

“I’m just saying, I am grateful that they kept me from being confined to the medical wing for who even knows how long, who knows they might just be shy, wouldn’t it be better to convince them to become our ally, like Deadman. instead of telling them to leave. just cause we don’t understand how they work yet doesn’t mean they are bad and should be booted out of our reality”

Batman narrows his eyes at Hal and turns to Zatanna who is finished with placing the ward on Hal, “Zatanna please send me all you have on the infinite realms, I will do my own research” and with that he sweeps out of the room, very dramatic.

“Ass” Hal whispers under his breath.

“He’s worried”

“well he’s being a dick about it, as usual” Hal’s fingers find his little plane once again “... hey do you think they could communicate through one of those oejah boards?”

Zatanna snorts, “it’s Ouija- and please don’t”

---

No information from the JLD has been useful so far in coaxing the realms being to reveal themselves and for the most part things just go on as usual.

“Whoever they are, they followed me when I went off planet and it might just be my imagination but I had a feeling that their stuff was a lot more… potent? out there? I don’t know it was kinda strange, it just felt stronger”

“but they didn’t reveal themselves to you?”

“nope, they must know that I know now too, so they have decided to just… go on as they always have I guess”

“hrn” Batman is leafing through files, because of this whole mess he’s uncovered hidden government organizations targeting occult entities as well as inhumane laws that stand directly opposed to the meta protection acts.

Why is he working with paper regarding this matter? Well it turns out there is a infinite realms being that can possess electronica and it was only because of the protections the JLD had put in place on the Watchtower that the entity didn’t overtake it in its entirety.

Watching Constantine freak out had been mildly entertaining but Zatanna had once again reminded Batman to be very careful, Batman had begrudgingly admitted he had made a slight misstep while digging for answers… in his head, not out loud, god forbid.

“this whole thing is turning out a lot bigger than we thought huh, good thing we are dealing with it now” Hal stretches his arms above his head, “anyway I am going to go grab something to eat”

“the rapport-” Batman doesn’t bother looking at him.

“yeah yeah” Hal doesn’t either while walking out of the room, dismissively flicking his hand, “don’t worry about it spooky”

Hal takes his little plane out on the way to the cafeteria and fiddles with it in his hand, once there he puts it on the table next to Barry before getting himself something to eat.

They catch up, Hal complains (bitches) about Batman, others come and go, Zatanna quickly checks up on the ward she placed which makes Barry raise an eyebrow at Hal, “Ghost protection”

“... no such thing”

Zatanna glares.

Hal can see them both gearing up to start the magic is just science we haven’t fully scienced out yet argument again, “alright! I’m full” he stands up, “if you need me I’ll be writing that rapport, later” and gets the hell out of there.

It’s when he has just reached his preferred spot to work on the boring paperwork stuff when the alarms go off throughout what he can only imagine must probably be the entire Watchtower.

It seems like something triggered all of the JLD’s defenses in one go.

Impressive, but also very worrying.

The rapport is going to have to wait.

People are gathering in the meeting room and Batman is already taking the lead, “status”

“as of a couple minutes ago there was a build up of as of yet unknown energy which then burst in the cafeteria knocking out Flash” Martian Manhunter says, “Zatanna says we are most likely dealing with another being from the infinite realms”

Superman groans, this means he’s out.

It’s a good thing they now have defenses against overshadowing though. Being effectively trapped in a space station (because currently the thing is on lockdown) where literally anyone could suddenly actually be the enemy is the kind of situation a whole slew of horror movies like to be about.

“We will need to be extremely careful while finding and then dealing with this entity”

It has certainly been quite some time since the Watchtower got directly hit like this.

Hal pulls out his little plane.

or, he would, if he still had it.

thoroughly distracted now he suddenly realizes it’s no longer on his person.

Spooky is probably not going to like it if during the infinite realms attacker hunt he takes the opportunity to look around for his missing little fighter jet.

well what he doesn’t know won’t harm him.

His plan of looking for the plane while looking for the ghost is working out well enough.

In fact it is working out so good that he finds both at the same time.

At that point Hal had started wondering if maybe Barry had picked it up for him at the cafeteria before the attack happened and that the little thing was now in the medical wing with him. 

That turned out to clearly not be the case once he found the tiny thing glowing green and floating in the middle of the hallway.

“alright ghosty, that’s really important to me and I would like it back undamaged”

the tiny plane turned to now point directly at him, hmm, yeah that's not creepy at all.

 “... please don’t launch yourself at me” he foolishly says which of course means that’s exactly what it does next.

He uses his ring to construct a net with a pillow inside to catch the tiny jet, completely forgetting that it’s overshadowed and can thus easily just go intangible and right through his creations.

Instead it hits him square in the chest, rather painfully he might add and then just stops glowing and drops, making Hal scramble to not have it fall and shatter in a million tiny pieces on the ground.

immediately all the sensors stop detecting the presence of a realms being and the alarms die down.

Whatever was in the Watchtower has left the building.

or…

Hal looks down at the tiny plane in his hands, his talisman of protection and has a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Hey there little guy, might want to explain yourself?” he says to the tiny jet.

It vibrates in his hands.

“... yeah I figured, shit”

---

“I say just smash the bloody thing and be done with it, preferably that takes care of it once and for all” Constantine glares down at the tiny jet.

Hal is almost halfway over the table to shield the little thing, covering it from Constantine’s sight with his hand, “don’t you dare” he growls.

“it would be best for everyone involved, for all we known you could have gone full liminal what with how long you’ve been carrying the blasted thing around”

Zatanna is going over the little thing with her own magic, “it’s trapped”

“In that case just straight up trying to murder it would be the worst thing to do” Hal glares at Constantine some more. Who clearly doesn’t give a shit, figures, all stressed out about dealing with things from the infinite realms but whenever he feels he has the upper hand he’s more than happy to go full nuclear.

“it would be best if we had a way of figuring out their intentions” Batman looks down at the tiny jet impassively.

“Well, another reason to just carefully release this creature instead” Hal responds.

Zatanna’s magic fades away, “I would say that the fact it’s been protecting Hal for as long as he has it is a positive sign”

“hrn, but now it has gone and knocked Flash out, so what does that say” Batman huffs, “it’s too risky”

“Constantine and I will set up everything we can so it won’t be able to escape or try anything dangerous” Zatanna stops looking at Batman and turns back to the tiny plane, “if it turns out to be malicious we could simply banish it back to the realms, killing it would be rather stupid, we do not know what kind of connections it might have within the realms, we might accidentally anger something far worse with such a rash act”

Constantine groans but accepts Zatanna’s reasoning, Batman nods as well.

It’s only then that Hal moves out of the way.

Any plans of attack or banishment fly right out of the window once the two magic users are done and a young boy manifests from the tiny fighter jet.

Hal pushes Constantine aside to get to the boy’s side.

“Jordan, are you insane! Get back here!” 

“Hey, kid, can you hear me? please open your eyes, slowly, take your time” 

Batman has also moved forward much to Constantine’s frustration. Don't these two morons get that their protections won’t do shit if you just casually stroll into the circle?

Batman is mostly concerned in being able to step in should the boy prove to be a hostile entity anyway, but at the same time… well, that’s a child.

The boy kind of dazedly opens his eyes, looks at Hal and then seems to become aware of his own arms and hands, after opening and closing those a couple times he looks back at Hal and lets out a breath that can only be described as relieved and promptly passes out into him.

Well, Hal figures that settles it then. He doesn’t know shit about looking after a kid, and definitely not one who is probably quite dead, but this one is his, back off Batman.

they all startle rather violently when rings of blinding white light pass over the boy and suddenly the kid in Hal’s arms is a bit warmer and seems to have a sluggish pulse and also his clothes are different and his hair is now black and-

Hal is up and moving towards the medical wing before his mind catches back up with him. He can hear Batman behind him, it seems like Constantine and Zatanna aren’t moving after him as fast.

Well anyway his life is already so goddamn weird, this might as well happen.

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!eddie

part 2 here | ao3 link here

Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.

Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. 

… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.

But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.

“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”

Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.

“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”

The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?

He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.

Fucking yay. 

Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.

“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.

Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”

“Right.”

“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.

The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.

“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”

Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.

But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.

Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.

Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”

Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ‘Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.

The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.

“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.

Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.

“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”

“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back. 

... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.

“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.

‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.” 

Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.

Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”

“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.

Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.

They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur. 

It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.

“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.

Steve nods. “It is.”

“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”

“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”

Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”

“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”

Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.

While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.

Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.

There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.

The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne. 

Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.

Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.

Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence. 

It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.

Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.

Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…

His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.

The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”

And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.

Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.

God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.

The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.

“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.

Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.

Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”

Oh. So he’s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.

Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”

“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”

“Not like that one though.”

“No?”

Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”

They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.

And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.

Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.

It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.

But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.

This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.

[giantenemyrobot]

Happy uh late jalloween

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[erinwantstowrite]

Have you thought of doing a funny Stan Lee cameo in LOF in the DC universe like Peter?

i haven't but that's because i hadn't even thought TO do it,,, now i have to because holy shit that'd be funny

[leonstamatis]

there really was something in the water with blaseball. for like two years i was constantly writing, and thinking about writing, and talking to other people about what they were writing, and creating stories that forced me to consider different perspectives and backgrounds and beliefs, and i fuckin loved it. and now i’m just not really writing anymore, and even when i do, it isn’t with that same kind of fervor and certainly not with the same level of dedication or enthusiasm. strangest, longest fugue state i’ve ever been in.

[thetrinitytest]