#The Other Way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Note

LOVING ‘THE OTHER HALF’! You literally write Bruce so perfectly… lowkey curious to see what would happen if the reader finds out he’s The Batman… 🫣

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Length: 3.9K

Warnings: Some angst; Bruce Wayne’s Top Notch Communication Skills and secret keeping; canon-typical violence

You’d thought—well, you’d hoped—that as time went on, the questions would go away. You’d hoped that his behavior would make me even more sense.

It hasn’t.

If anything, your perception of Bruce has become incredibly confusing. You enjoy your time with him, no matter what the two of you get up to—dinner, parties with his friends or your friends, a night in. More often than not, it’s a night in. After the incident at work, your boss started sticking you with opening shifts. The commute’s way less cantankerous from Bruce’s place, and you’re happy to spend the nights with him, anyway. You sleep better when he’s there.

The problem is, he’s usually not there.

You always fall asleep with him, but you have awoken on more than one occasion to an empty bed, and an empty penthouse. You’ve texted Bruce on those nights, but his phone has always rung in the apartment. He leaves it sitting on the coffee table. Where the hell does he go without it? Does he have a burner phone? What kind of weird-rich-guy-eyes-wide-shut bullshit is he getting up to that he’s leaving his phone in the apartment for…Hours? You love him, but whatever it is that he’s keeping a secret is beginning to tear your apart.

You want to ask. You have been dying to ask, but it just never feels like the right time.

“You and Brucie have been alright?”

“Oh,” You flounder as Liz nudges your hip with hers, waiting expectantly for your answer. Your hands still over the nibbles that you were putting out on a tray before you resume mechanically loading the spinach puffs that you made. “It’s—Yeah, we’re good.”

“When are you going to move in?”

“What?” You splutter a laugh, unable to help it. “Why would I—Did he say something to you?”

“Oh,” Liz raises her hands in defense. “Sorry. He said you were staying over a lot, you know.”

“I mean, I have. He’s stayed at mine, too. He’s not moving in with me—definitely not moving in with me, Mish would never stand for it,” You taper off in a mumble.

“Mish?”

“My roommate, Michelle.”

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.”

“Mhm!”

“Does she work in a store, too?”

It feels like a loaded question, and it’s one that you would’ve taken as a jab when you first met Liz. But sometimes you realize that Bruce and his friends live so far above the average Gothamite that they don’t know what it's like to have to live from paycheck to paycheck, in narrow, badly lit apartments that most of your paycheck from your cruddy job goes to. You’re determined not to take offense when they make stupid, probably accidental demeaning comments.

“Nope!” You chirp. “She’s an administrative assistant at a marketing agency.”

“Oh! Could you do something like that?”

You smile a touch tightly, your irritation welling. You’re certain that one was on purpose.

“You know what, Liz, I think if I really wanted to, I could do just about anything.”

“Are you two still gabbing in here?”

You glance back at the sound of Bruce’s question, smiling sincerely at the sight of him.

“We’re just catching up, having girl chat. Don’t be such a lurker, Wayne,” Liz scolds. She takes the tray that you’ve organized, shooting you a wink before heading for the living room. You lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. Bruce reaches out, snagging one of the spinach puffs from Liz as she passes him. You smile as he takes a bite of the morsel, then grunts and shoves the rest of the bite into his mouth, sucking some melted feta off of his thumb.

“Tasty?” You tease.

“Very. Where’d you get the recipe?” He asks through the mouthful before he swallows.

“My mom.”

“Mm. Thank her for me.”

“Sure,” You chuckle.

“What were you two talking about?” Bruce asks, bracing his hands on the counter behind you.

“Nothing. Just…Like Liz said, girl stuff.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow a touch as they wander your face. Then, “She said something about your job again, didn’t she.”

“She kinda did.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

“It’s alright. If it really starts to bother me, I’ll talk to her about it myself.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive. But thank you.” You reach up, straightening Bruce’s collar. You go still as you spot the blooming of an angry purple bruise on his skin. You know that it isn’t anything you’ve seen before, that it certainly wasn’t anything you could’ve inflicted. It turns your stomach. What the hell has he been getting up to?

The question sits on your lips, but before you can say a thing, a thud comes from the other room. The sound makes your heart jolt, but you calm when it's chased by raucous laughter. You and Bruce turn your heads toward the sound, and you lower your hand from his shirt, folding your arms against your chest.

“What do you think that was?” Bruce asks.

“I don’t know, but they don’t don't strike me as the type to break out the Twister mat.”

Bruce chuckles before he turns back toward you, his hands resting on your hips. When you don't reach for him in kind, he crowds closer, his smile faltering.

“What is it?” He plies, tipping his head.

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” You answer too quickly. You know it by the way Bruce’s frown deepens.

“What’s wrong?” His question has more of a concerned edge to it now.

“Nothing is wrong,” You insist, speaking with a pointed slowness. “I’m just…” You search Bruce’s face, taking in the genuine, concerned expression on his face.

Your questions are all crowding on your lips, threatening to spring forward. Where the hell does Bruce go at night? And how does he know the intimate details of things he oughtn’t? You’ve checked the recording of your interview from the store’s attempted burglary. There was no mention of the route that you and the burglar took to the back office—not from you, and not from the reporter, or your manager. There was no way for Bruce to know where the office was, unless he’d asked your manager—but if he had, she would’ve gushed to you about his speaking with her.

What lie will he use this time? Spelunking, again? Base-jumping, maybe? You search for the words, drawing in a deep breath. You care so deeply for this man, but you can’t trust him.

“I—” You start, then go quiet, raising a hand and scrubbing it over your face, breathing, “Fuck, I can’t do this anymore.”

"Can't do what?" Bruce reaches up, cupping your jaw and tipping your head toward him as worry twists his face. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?”

“Bruce, I—”

You freeze, stunned as you hear another loud pop in the hall, chased by the thudding of boots, and a yell of, “Get on the ground!”

Before you can even think to react, Bruce draws you close, tugging you toward the island and pulling the two of you down to hide behind the counter, his head resting protectively on your head. Your heart drops into your churning stomach, fingers grasping nervously at him. The two of you listen as the boots thunder past you, down the hall, to where Liz and the others are screaming and panicking. Bruce peers over the counter slowly, looking around before he draws you up. You half-stumble after him with nervous feet, watching as he yanks a kitchen knife out of the holder and opening the pantry. He practically shoves you in, pressing the handle of the knife into your hand and warning, “Keep quiet, stay here.”

“What?” You breathe, “No, nonono, Bruce, don’t—” You wince as he shoves the pantry door shut. You can just see through the slats that he’s running out of the kitchen. You stand trembling in the pantry, both hands wrapped around the knife's handle. You can hear footsteps, and a few more yelled orders before—

You yelp as the kitchen is plunged into darkness before you slap your hand over your mouth, as if you can snatch the sound from the air and shove it back inside. Your hand shakes, palms and fingers sweating around the knife. Your body is wracked with the same panic that you felt at work. You hear a yelp, a shout, a gunshot, and a few more screams. It’s another moment before you hear someone run into the kitchen. Your heart stills in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You flinch as you hear and see the flash of a gunshot. It’s closely followed by the grunting and groans of someone being beaten. They’re shoved into the counter next, and you hear the rattle of things being swept off of the counter.

“Who are you?”

The question is gruff and sharp—the vigilante's tone is low, growling. You frown. You know it. You know that sound. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in rare occasions, in far more exciting moments—amorous moments in rooms that are often just as dark. You find yourself stepping closer, straining your ear to catch on the gruff voice again, over the babbling, panicked incoherence of the begging burglar.

You close your eyes despite the dark of the room, taking in the sound of the voice. You know it—Oh, god you know it—

“We just picked this random spot, man, we didn’t know who was in here!” The burglar swore.

“And it just so happened that you weren’t otherwise occupied?”

Occupied.

Your jaw drops open as your mind flashes to one of Liz’s bathrooms—to your hand smoothing a condom over Bruce’s length as he yells over his shoulder that the bathroom is occupied. There’s a pause, the clang of metal hitting bone, and the dull thud of a body falling to the floor. Before you can stop yourself, you yank the door open and hiss, “Bruce?”

The kitchen is silent and still. The loudest sound is the thudding of your heart.

“Get back inside.”

Your knees go weak. It’s Bruce’s voice. But there’s no way he would’ve had time for someone else to leave, for Bruce to come in.

“Get back inside,” He urges again. You take a few panicked steps back into the pantry, yanking the door shut again. Your hand holds tightly to the knife, your mind whirling with your revelation.

When the cops find you, you’re still crouching in the pantry, a knife in your hand and tears in your eyes. Liz is a mess, insisting that Bruce has been kidnapped. You cover and reassure her—tell her that he couldn’t have been, that he left the kitchen right after he ate the spinach puff, that he’s probably back at the penthouse.

Frankly, you’re not sure wherever the hell he might be, but hey. That’s nothing new.

He gets back to the penthouse at three in the morning.

You’re probably not as startled as you should be, but you’re still wired and awake. You've spent the last few hours talking yourself in and out of the revelation. You didn't see who it was—you couldn't. The voice is familiar, sure, but you've heard audio recordings of Batman on the news, and it's wholly possible that someone just sounds like Bruce. You have grappled for every justification, every possibility, but in your heart, and in your gut, you know the truth.

You haven’t gotten a single call or a text from Bruce since the incident, and you look up to find Batman standing in the entryway of the apartment. You hesitate before you push yourself off of the couch. You take a few slow steps toward him, hands flexing nervously at your sides. He keeps quiet and still, as if he’s still hidden within the shadows. You take another step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. You raise your shaking hands carefully, resting your hands on his helmet. You gently lift it away, watching as it ruffles his hair. Your eyes sweep him—his tensed jaw, the darkness around his eyes.

It’s surreal. You’ve known—you’ve suspected for the last few hours, but to see it now—to see Bruce in armor, to find the man you love behind the mask—

“Okay,” You manage, turning away from him and drawing in a deep breath to try and steady your wildly pounding heart. “Okay.”

Your hands flex in the material of the mask, and you look down at it, tipping it to and fro.

"Did you just have this stashed somewhere near Liz's?"

"No. I left by the fire stairs."

"And went where?"

"I had to go rattle a few cages."

“...It's been you the whole time?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“So what happened at the shop—”

“I knew.”

“And you came to mine and just acted like you had no idea?”

“I had to make sure you were alright.”

You stare down at the helmet, fingers sweeping over it. It’s so heavy.

“...Who else knows?” You ask.

“Alfred.”

“Of course.”

“And someone at Wayne Enterprises. Lucius Fox.”

“Anyone else?”

“...I told you about Rachel.”

You nod, muttering, “Right.” Your fingers flex around the helmet. “How the hell did this—How did it start?”

“...Can we talk after I take this off?”

You glance back and find him gesturing to his body. You nod, holding the helmet out to him. Bruce hesitates before he takes it. He doesn’t go. He just looks over you. You shake your head a touch.

“What?” You ask.

“Are you alright?”

For all of your muddled feelings, a little bit of your anger and confusion melts. “Yes. Are you?”

Bruce nods a little before he turns away fully, eyeing the mask in his hands as he heads down the hall. You can only resist the urge to follow for a few moments. You stand in the doorway of his bedroom, watching the shades come down. He glances back at the sound of you before he begins to remove his armor. You tip your head to the side, watching him shove a row of suits in his closet aside and open a panel on the wall, jabbing a few buttons before you hear a hiss. You watch him step inside and out of sight.

This could still be fake, right? This could still be fake. He could’ve just used his, like, millions of dollars to get an exact replica of the suit…But it wouldn’t explain why he knew exactly what had happened at the shop. It would explain his weird bruises, his nighttime disappearances.

You straighten up as you hear Bruce come back, watch him tugging his sweatpants up and over his hips. He’s facing away from you, opening a dresser drawer. You pass the closet as you approach him, just catching sight of the suit descending before the back panel slides closed, obscuring the compartment from view.

You can see Bruce's body clearly now, for the first time—and it’s beyond bruising. There are scratches and marks riddling his back and sides. Most of them seem old, and faded. You can see the span of the bruise—the radiating bloom of it spreading from his neck, stretching to the slope of his shoulder. You reach out hesitantly, resting your hands on his hips. He goes still—in tension, confusion, you’re not sure. You crowd up close, brushing a gentle kiss to the tender skin. His shoulders relax under the carress, his body leaning back into yours just a little. You smooth your hands gently over the ridges of his abs, nuzzling into his neck.

You watch Bruce raise his hand, reaching for the light switch.

“Don’t,” You mumble. When he goes still, you tip your chin up, lips brushing the shell of his ear:

“I wanna see you.”

Bruce glances guardedly at you over his shoulder before he dips his head. He lowers hand to rest on yours, gently prying it from him. Your stomach flips nervously, then settles as Bruce slowly turns to face you. You can’t help the way your eyes skate and wander his torso, catching on each additional bruise, each fading scar. You raise your hands, gently running them down over his shoulders. You shiver as Bruce raises his in turn, smoothing them up your back.

You crowd closer, pressing your face into Bruce’s neck. He curls his arms around you, nuzzling your temple. You press another careful kiss to the bruise, squeezing your eyes shut as your emotions swell sharply. It’s almost too much to take, knowing that this man who spends his days among Gotham’s elite, grinning at paps, feigning ignorance and carelessness, spends his nights trying to make the city a safer place. You lean back from him, raising your hands to hide your face, and the prickling of tears in your eyes. Bruce doesn’t immediately tug you back in—he gives you some space. You draw in a shaky breath, clearing your face and scrubbing at your face to try to stave the tears off.

“Okay,” You mumble. “Okay. I need a drink, and you—” You wave in his direction, “You need to talk.”

It takes him time—time that clearly pains him, that he doesn’t seem to want to take. The two of you sit on opposite ends of his couch. He’s sprawled out across the cushions; you’re scrunched up on the other side, leg bouncing anxiously. When he comes to a stop, he’s staring down at his hands. It’s only a moment before he tacks on,

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, shaking your head. It’s confusing. What the hell is he sorry for? Lying?

“I shouldn’t have let you find out. I think it may be best if we…Part ways.”

Your gaze lifts to his, brows knitted.

“...Are you kidding me?” You ask after a moment.

“No, I’m not—”

“Oh—” You laugh, stunned, unable to help yourself, springing off of the couch with all of your nervous, pent-up energy. “Oh, that is bullshit, Bruce.”

“It is not bullshit!” He barks back. “It’s for your safety!”

“If you wanted me to be safe, you wouldn’t have said a word in the kitchen. You would’ve just gone on your way—or kept using that—that stupid gruff sex voice you use—”

“Sex voice?”

“You know, that,” You scrunch your face up, “That, you know, when you—” You clear your throat and lower your voice, letting out a garbled, growling noise.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You have before. Like, more than once.”

“It is not a sex voice.”

“And it is bullshit, for the record,” You add again, planting your hands on your hips. “If you really, really wanted to cover it, you would’ve stayed in the apartment for when the cops got there, faked that you were as freaked out as everyone else. Or you would’ve come back to the apartment in your regular clothes and told me you’d just stepped out for some air and the cops had kept you from coming back inside. You’re as tired of hiding this from me as I am of you hiding it.”

Bruce’s face falls, and he shifts in his seat to brace his elbows on his thighs, looking down at his empty hands.

“I didn’t know that you knew something was…Off,” Bruce admits softly.

“Not a clue?”

“A few hints, but I didn’t think it was about the suit.”

“...Okay, two things,” You close your eyes, holding up two fingers as you gather your thoughts. “It’s not just about the suit, it is about what you do in the suit. I get why now, but—You know.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“What the heck did you think I was off about?”

“I know you’re not stupid. I know you’ve seen some of the blood, some of the bruises. Guess I thought I’d covered it well enough.”

You can’t help but scoff.

“With what?” You ask incredulously. “The polo, the base-jumping, the spelunking, or the invisible shaving cuts?”

“Alright,” Bruce groans, running his hand through his hair. You’re quiet for a moment, looking him over before you turn away from him.

You can’t tell him not to do it. You can’t pretend that Batman hasn’t done good for this city, or that you haven’t been at the receiving end of it, seen it firsthand. If it had been different—if Bruce had come to you with the idea of an undertaking of the sort, rather than having already established himself as a vigilante—you would’ve told him that it was a ghastly idea, that he’d have himself killed in a day. Still, knowing what Bruce gets up to, night after night, is making your stomach squirm.

You hear the creak of him rising off of the couch, then feel him coming up behind you.

“Look,” He sighs, “Batman doesn’t exactly have friends in this city. If you’re linked to him, you could get hurt.”

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip.

“I doubt I could ever be linked to Batman when I’m not even linked to Bruce Wayne,” You counter.

Bruce reaches out, resting his hands on your hips, tugging you back. You wobble, then sway back into him a little reluctantly. You stare down at the floor, considering.

You could still cut ties. Your acquaintance is early enough that it wouldn’t raise eyebrows among his friends, or your parents—and, all things considered, maybe Alfred.

“If you want me out of here, tell me,” You finally say, just managing to hide your dismay.

“It’s—” Bruce starts before he sighs heavily, grip tightening on you. “I want you safe.”

“I’m safe with you.”

Bruce curls his arms around your middle, pressing his face into your shoulder. “But what if, one day, you’re not?”

You glance down at Bruce. You find his eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted in upset and fear. You go quiet for a moment, then rest your head against his, closing your eyes. You can’t blame him for the assumption. He lost his parents to the city. He doesn’t want to lose you, too.

You turn in his arms, curling your arms around his shoulders and drawing him in. Bruce burrows close, fingers grasping desperately at your shirt. You press a kiss to his head, combing your fingers through his hair. Bruce takes his time straightening before he cups your cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over your cheekbones. He takes in your face slowly, as if it’ll be the last time. You draw a deep breath in through your nose, steadying yourself. Oh, no.

“Can we go to bed?” You plead before he can say anything else. “Talk about this more in the morning?”

Bruce hesitates, then nods, mumbles, “Alright.”

Bruce takes his time joining you under the covers. You let yourself watch him, and think. You’re almost afraid to go to sleep. You’re almost afraid for the sun to come up. You can’t fathom what he’ll say then.

But tonight, when he shuts the lights off, he leaves the blinds up. You can make him out in the dim light of the room as he lays down beside you, as the two of you settle down on your sides and watch one another. You reach out, resting your hand on his cheek as he takes your other hand in his. He nuzzles into your touch, his eyes slipping closed. You see him take in a deep breath, then push it out slowly.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Bruce looks completely relaxed. He’s not shrouded or hidden from you. Your stomach flutters with butterflies as he turns his head, brushing his lips against your palm.

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Way

599 notes · View notes

mechagotch · 8 months

Text

angels

#the other way #angel #objectum #longing for the red lights in the distance

234 notes · View notes

a-nice-egg-offering · 9 months

Text

Imagine how angry mac must be finally having moved on from Dennis and fallen in love with someone else only to find out it was actually Dennis being evil and manipulative playing with his heart again for trivial personal gain. No wonder he refused to accept Dennis was Johnny :/

#iasip #macdennis #find mac a boyfriend that low-key treats him like shit but also loves him and takes care of him I beg #like he needs someone that will pretend to treat him like shit until he’s comfortable and then actually heal him #I’ll never forgive Dennis for using exactly how macs parents treated him to control and break him when he had the power to heal him #bc he was one of the people mac trusted and their relationship used to be neutral and balanced so he could have done it but instead he went #the other way #get mac a nice kinky boyfriend and get Dennis therapy thanks

38 notes · View notes

justa-snake · 10 days

Text

The other way soundtrack is so good the entire films good tbh

I lowkey wish Joe continued in the field I actually love his short films sm

#the other way #tally hall #joe hawley #andrew horowitz

4 notes · View notes

that-ghosts-art · 1 year

Text

The Other Way Chapter 14: The Portal

Chapter 1 - Last Chapter - AO3 Link

To those who are reading my fanfic I hope the wait was worth it ;3

~~~

The fading light filtered down through the thick layer of leaves. How long had they been out here, Dipper wondered, searching the forest for the way home.

It had been at least a few hours since Alcor had brought them to the forest surrounding Gravity Falls in search of the portal, and now here they sat infuriatingly close. Unfortunately there were also a bunch of heavily armed, multiverse hating cultists in the way that wanted to destroy his and Mabel’s home dimension, and probably them as well if what Alcor said was anything to go by.

If there was one thing Dipper was taking away from his little interdimensional ‘adventure,’ it was that there were cultists quite literally everywhere here.

The three humans were waiting in a small clearing while Alcor went ahead to get a feel for the situation, with Wren keeping an eye on the twins.

Dipper glared up at the dusken light from his spot sprawled out on the grass, letting out an annoyed huff. “If I never have to deal with another cult, it’ll be too soon,” he grumbled quietly, mindful of the headache that had stubbornly remained after his last attack. It was like the dull thumping of a heart, beating in time with the unknown force that resented his dual presence in this dimension. An ever present reminder of the time limit hanging over their heads.

Looking up from cleaning her strange looking gun Wren raised an eyebrow at the sulking pre-teen. “Another? How many cults have you two met?”

“This’ll be my second and bro-bro’s third since getting here,” Mabel said, before looking thoughtfully at nothing in particular, nothing that Dipper could see at least. “Though I guess all up it’d be third and fourth if we include that memory erasing one from back home,” she added, shrugging and looking up at the demon hunter with that characteristic Mabel smile, if a bit smaller than it usually was back home.

“Damn, that’s a lot of cults for four days.”

“Three actually, and that’s including today,” Dipper corrected, slowly sitting up.

“Crazy to think it’s only been three days, with everything that’s happened it feels like it’s been ages since we got here,” Mabel mused, and Dipper silently agreed.

Since first falling in that hidden portal and appearing in that alley they had been captured, saved by Alcor, played an, in hindsight, rather ridiculous amount of DDnMD, temporarily believed Alcor murdered a family and stole their home only to then discover that actually he was an alternate Dipper, leading to him, the original human Dipper to run off and get captured again, saved by Alcor again, learnt about Alcor’s past, and finally ended up in the Gravity Falls woods where they met Wren and located the portal home. Just one more obstacle to get past and this would all be over.

There was a small feeling that could only be described as a ‘blip’ and the trio looked up to see that Alcor had returned, face scrunched up in thought and feet decidedly off the ground.

Putting her weapon down Wren got up and approached the demon. “What’s the status Alcor? Will I be needing to help out?”

“Probably,” he admitted, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. “There's only nine cultists total, three guarding the perimeter, two by the portal itself and three more going over what looked like data they had collected.”

“But?” Mabel prompted from her spot on one of the larger rocks in the area, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

Alcor sighed, running a hand through his hair. “While normally I’d be able to handle these guys easily on my own, I need to focus and put my energy into making sure that the portal’s safe and will actually take you two where you need to go.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Dipper grumbled, scratching the back of his left hand as he layed back down. He’d found that lying down made the throbbing in his head easier to deal with.

“How do you know about these weirdos anyway?” Mabel asked.

“An older faction of them summoned me a couple hundred years ago in the hopes I would open a portal for them,” he answered, beginning to pace back and forth in a manner Dipper recognised as being not too dissimilar to his own habit. “Honestly I’m surprised they even still exist,” Alcor added, almost as an afterthought.

“So, did you?” Wren asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. “Open a portal for them?”

Alcor stopped mid - step? Dipper wasn’t sure if it counted as such given his feet remained hovering above the ground - and gave Wren a deadpan look. “If I couldn’t open a portal now for two kids I actually want to help what makes you think I could, or even would, for a bunch of nut jobs that think they’re capable of destroying other universes?”

She shrugged, quietly mumbling “fair point,” before returning to cleaning her gun.

“Hey, wait,” Dipper said, sitting up again, ignoring the dull protest from his head at the sudden movement. “If they already have access to the portal, you don’t think they already-“ Breathing suddenly became very difficult, panic filling his lungs with each attempt. Surely these people would not have the ability to do any damage to his and Mabel’s home, but paranoid ‘what if’s’ consumed Dipper’s thoughts like a virus.

Alcor was already shaking his head though, feet landing on the ground. “Oh no no no! I highly doubt they have the means to destroy an entire universe,” he interrupted, kneeling down and making abortive hand motions. “Maybe give a couple solar systems some strife but no actual danger. From what I saw it looked like they were probably still testing the portal out, seeing what they can do with it,” he added with what Dipper assumed Alcor thought was a comforting smile, but it was difficult to tell with his shark-like teeth.

“You think so?” Dipper asked, uncertain but wanting desperately to believe it.

“Of course!” Alcor said, standing up again.

“I mean, you say that but we don’t actually know how long they’ve had access to that thing,” Wren interjected, mostly focused on the last part of her gun that had yet to be cleaned.

Alcor glared at her, crossing his arms. “Hey! I’m trying to be reassuring here! And besides, last I checked they were all still mortals without universe destroying powers.”

“Yeah!” Mabel said with a chuckle. “They probably don’t even know how to go through the portal,” she snickered.

“Oh definitely not.”

The two started laughing, much to Dipper’s frustration.

“Okay that’s great and all,” he said, “but do you think we could maybe get back to figuring out what our plan is? It’s not like we can just wander out there with all those cultists around.”

“Right, yes, plan. You guys have any ideas?” Alcor asked, sobering up, hand moving up to rub his chin.

“Maybe I can go ahead,” Wren offered. “Distract them while you three get to the portal and do whatever it is you need to do,” she said, waving in Alcor’s direction.

“No, as good a fighter as you are, I don’t think you can take on nine destruction happy cultists all at once.”

“Try me!”

As the two bickered about the general usefulness of a single stun gun against nine cultists, all with significantly more deadly weaponry, Dipper realised focusing on what they were saying had suddenly become more difficult than it should have been. He ignored the feeling of pins and needles that had appeared in his left hand as he tried to focus through the headache on what Alcor was saying.

“I guess I could go ahead and deal with them all beforehand but-��

Alcor paused, probably in thought, but for half a second it looked as if he might have flinched. Dipper knew Alcor had said that his presence there would not have an affect on him, but perhaps-

Mabel’s gasp interrupted Dipper’s train of thought - it was probably nothing anyway -, and when he looked over to see what was wrong was met with her terrified face staring down at him.

“Dipper your hand!” she cried out and they all looked at it, only to find the tips of his fingers steadily fading away. Dully Dipper heard the frantic and panicked exclamations of the others, but all he could focus on was the pounding in his head as he stared in terrified silence at his vanishing hand.

With that realisation his headache decided now would be a good time to remind him why they could not take things slowly as the dull throbbing abruptly became a sharp pain that spread through his head and down his arm to the hand that was now barely there.

A quiet “oh,” was the only reaction Dipper could manage before he felt his vision fade.

Soon the only thing he was cognisant of was a ripping sensation, like the individual atoms in his arm were fighting to leave his body. His head felt as if it was being split in two, or perhaps merged into one? Afterall there were already two of him there. As it was, whatever thoughts he might have had were drowned out by the burning, the pulling, and the crushing feelings overcoming his every sensation.

When the feelings resided to a more bearable level Dipper saw Mabel, Alcor, and Wren hovering over him, fear, concern and panic clear on all their faces.

“That, was definitely worse than the last one,” Dipper croaked.

“Screw this, we need to go, now,” Alcor said, eyes dark and shoulders tense. “Wren we’ll go with your plan you go ahead to distract the cultists I’ll get these two to the portal and make sure they can pass through it safely. Let’s get moving people!”

As Mabel helped him up Dipper was dimly aware of Wren running ahead and Alcor gently ushering them forward. All Dipper could focus on though, was his left hand, and the pain emanating from it. Well, where his left hand had been.

What had vanished leading up to the attack had not returned with its passing. It had only gotten worse.

~~~

Mabel, Dipper, and Alcor moved as silently and as carefully as they could towards the clearing that gradually came into view. Wren had already run ahead to distract the cultists, and Mabel could just see her in between the trees.

“It’ll come back, right?” Mabel heard her brother whisper, still staring at the slowly fading stump where his left hand had been not that long ago. It looked, Mabel thought, like someone was trying to erase him, and she could already see other small spots and pockets where Dipper was starting to fade away, tiny dust-like specks falling away from him. She felt the hole in her stomach fall deeper with each smudged spot she saw.

Alcor’s crouched form stopped as he looked over his shoulder at the two of them, his eyes screaming worry and fear, and not a small amount of tiredness. As Mabel looked at Alcor, her alternate brother, she wondered how true his claim was that he would be fine. Had he always looked that exhausted? Not to mention that odd little moment he had immediately before Dipper’s last attack.

“Of course!” he whispered with a soft smile. “I’m like, ninety nine percent certain it’ll all be okay.”

“But, not a hundred?”

Alcor’s smile became softer still, as he cautiously placed a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m sure that once you’re both back in your own dimension everything with right itself and it’ll be fine, there’s no reason for things to not fix themself as soon as you’re home,” he said, looking at Mabel as well. She appreciated the effort to comfort them both, and gave him a small smile of her own.

“Now,” he continued, “please stay quiet, we’re almost there, and we need to be ready to run as soon as Wren start’s distracting these guys.”

Mabel nodded her head, a look of steely determination falling on her face, and she could see out the corner of her eye Dipper doing the same.

The trio stopped just shy of entering the clearing itself, staying just out of sight. Mabel could see five cultists from their hiding spot, but knew the other four must have been somewhere nearby. They hardly mattered though, because across the clearing, barely any distance at all, all things considered, the shimmering light from the portal was winking at her.

They were so close, after all this time finally seeing their ticket home was a welcome sight.

The large guns were significantly less welcoming.

They waited in nervous silence for Wren to make her move. Fortunately they did not have to sit there long, as less than a minute later she burst through the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, screaming and firing her weapon at the cultists, bursts of sparkling blue light knocking down three of them before the rest could react. The last of the nine cultists appeared as they all started firing at Wren, the tallest of the group barking orders at the others to get her.

In that moment of confusion Alcor started making his way to the portal, Dipper and Mabel following closely behind, staying quiet as they moved swiftly across the clearing. Before they could make it halfway though, Mabel heard a pained gasp behind her, turning just in time to see her brother collapse once more, almost his entire left arm already gone from view.

Panic flooded her system and froze her in place. “Dipper!” she called out, getting Alcor’s attention. He was by Dipper’s side in the blink of an eye, carefully picking him up and making his way to the portal.

Mabel forced her body to unfreeze - Dipper would be okay, as soon as they went through that portal it would all be okay, it had to be okay, he had to be okay - and followed behind at a slower pace, her legs shaking far too much to go any faster without falling over herself.

She could hear the blood pumping through her ears, the sound rising and she pushed forward, eyes darting quickly between their last hope and what little of her brother Mabel could see from behind Alcor. ‘Everything will be okay, everything will be alright, everything will be fine’ she thought to herself, a mantra she refused to let wander to the terrifying ‘what if’s’ that lurked on the edge of her mind.

Ahead of her she saw Alcor reach the portal, gently placing Dipper down before bringing all his attention to their only hope of returning home.

The sight helped Mabel to push past those stupid doubts and began to move faster as her legs began to feel more solid and less like her special brand of Mabel Pasta™ (like regular pasta but with more glitter and rainbow coloured yarn) when a rough hand grabbed her right arm.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” the cultist grumbled, their grip tightening.

Mabel’s eyes widened, her throat closing up, and sweat beading down her face. As the looming cultist yanked her closer to them, a knife glinting in their other hand, Mabel’s mind went blank, instinctive fear freezing her in place.

This could not be happening, she was supposed to go to the portal and stay by her brothers side and go home and this was not the plan this was not the plan what was she supposed to do she didn’t have her grappling hook as it was back home she didn’t have anything she could use to fight back she-

“MABEL!” That was Dipper’s voice, he must have woken up from his attack and she tried to force herself to focus on him but all Mabel’s panicked mind let her fixate on was the large hand holding her arm, and the shimmering knife that got closer and closer with each frantic heartbeat.

Suddenly an angry scream drew the cultists attention away from Mabel, the hypnotising knife pulling away it time for her to see Wren running up to them. Before Mabel - or it would seem the cultist - could realise what was happening, Wren punched them in the face, startling them enough to let go, Mabel stumbling to the ground in awe.

“Hands off!” Wren yelled as the two began fighting.

Alcor appeared at her side, his wings curling up protectively around her as he picked Mabel up and brought her over to Dipper and the portal.

“Are you okay?!” Alcor and Dipper asked in unison, bringing a smile to Mabel’s lips.

“Y-yeah I’m good,” she stuttered. “Let’s get this thing going!”

“Right!” Alcor said, concerned eyes lingering on her for a moment before returning his attention to the portal.

His hands moved over it methodically, his fingers twitching as if playing the harp, small wisps of blue flame dancing around them. A frown began to form on his face the longer he worked, his eyebrows coming together and nose scrunching up.

Mabel could see Dipper open his mouth, she imagined to ask what was wrong, but before he could a startled shout from Wren grabbed all their attention.

“Look out!”

Running their way was another cultist and surely, surely, there were not that many left.

Yelping Mabel jumped out of their path, seeing Alcor grab Dipper and jump out the way himself just in time for the cultist to skid through the portal, their angry cry cut short.

“Is that going to be a problem?!” Dipper shrieked, the three of them staring wide eyed at the portal.

“No, you won’t have to worry about them,” Alcor said, letting go of Dipper’s shoulders.

“Cause it’s connected to a different dimension now?” Mabel asked.

“Ehhhhhhh.”

“R-right?”

Alcor averted his gaze, scratching the back of his head as he seemed to look anywhere but the two of them. “Uhhh, yeah yeah totally!” he said, moving back to his previous position in front of the portal, hands starting to work again. “And definitely not because this thing currently has the same internal structure of a blackhole and ripped their fragile fleshy body into a million exponentially smaller pieces,” he muttered and wait what? That could not be right. Looking at the odd expression on Alcor’s face, Mabel figured it was probably for the best if she pretended she did not just hear that.

“What was that?” Dipper asked.

“Nothing!” Alcor said with a wonky smile. “Time to make sure this thing will, safely, get you guys back to your dimension.”

~~~

It had not taken too long for Wren to dispatch the rest of the cultists after that. Alcor watched out of the corner of his eye as she tied up the last one before wandering over to the three of them huddled around the portal.

It was wider now, almost circular in shape, with a near hypnotic swirl of rainbow colours slowly spinning around its edge.

“Are you sure that’s safe now?” Wren asked, eyeing the portal with distrust.

“Oh definitely,” Alcor said, sticking his arm through it as if to prove so before pulling it back out.

“I realise given my powers that probably didn’t actually prove anything but I promise it’s perfectly safe now,” he added, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head with the same arm.

Mabel could not help but laugh at his sincere awkwardness. To think Alcor being an alternate Dipper had been a surprise when they first found out. She couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at the absurdity of that.

“So this is really happening? Can we really go home now?” she asked, the hope that filled her heart making her small smile grow ever larger.

“Is this actually it?” Dipper added, a cautious hope of his own seeping into his voice.

Alcor merely smiled and stepped aside, moving his arms as if presenting the portal to the both of them. “You guys ready to leave this dimension and finally go home?” he asked with a dramatic flourish.

“Yes!” the twins cheered in unison, making the two adults laugh.

“Good luck you two,” Wren said. “I still don’t a hundred percent understand what exactly is going on with all this but I’m glad I could help out. Here’s hoping Alcor isn’t lying about you getting better when you go through that thing.”

“Hey! I would never!” Alcor protested, much to everyone else's amusement.

“Thank you, both of you,” Dipper said, looking up at Alcor, tired and tentatively optimistic eyes meeting human ones, before sharing a small smile.

“Yeah! We couldn’t have done this without your help,” Mabel added, her smile the brightest it had been since this whole ordeal had started.

Alcor let out a small chuckle. “Well I’m happy to have helped, and all things considered it was nice meeting you guys,” he said, ruffling Mabel's hair.

“You too!”

“I guess you weren’t that bad, in the end,” Dipper mumbled with a smile.

At that they all laughed, enjoying the moment.

The twins stood before the portal and gave each other a smile.

“Ready?” Dipper asked.

“As I’ll ever be!”

With one final wave goodbye, Dipper and Mabel stepped through the portal.

~~~

Bright sunlight shone overhead, its light sprinkled over the forest floor through thick leaves, the subtle glow from the thin sliver of torn reality mixing with it. The portal rippled, suddenly growing wider as two small forms stumbled through, collapsing next to each other.

Mabel instantly jumped up, looking at her familiar surroundings, the same trees and rocks she had seen just days before. The deep pit that had previously settled in her stomach dissolving instantly with the growing sense of recognition, her true smile finally returning.

Dipper watched as his arm and hand rapidly returned, flexing his fingers as they re-materialised. He looked up at his sister who’s smile said it all.

“We’re finally home,” Dipper said, the realisation truly setting in as he spoke.

The two began rushing in the direction they remembered the Mystery Shack to be in, neither able to stop the smiles from pulling at their cheeks, not that they would have cared too. As their home away from home came into view, they knew it really was all going to be alright.

~~~

A/N OH MY GOD I FINALLY FINISHED!!!! After almost THREE YEARS I can FINALLY say I've finished the Other Way :D Thank you everyone who decided to give my little fic a read and an especially big thank you to all of you who commented I love each and every one of you SO MUCH!! I can't promise I'll write anything after this cause if I've learnt one thing from my experience writing this it's that I do not have the patients to be an author haha, but who knows maybe in three years from now I'll appear out of the void and share something new ^-^ (but probably nothing with more than one chapter, at least for now, I've learnt my lesson haha)

Thank you all so much seriously if it weren't for all of you this thing would not exist and despite it's flaws and a chronic lack of proper editing or proofreading I'm really proud of what I achieved, so I truly cannot thank you all enough ^-^

#transcendence au #reverse transdimensional au arc #gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #alcor #fanfic #the other way #IT'S FINALLY FINISHED #Oh god I just looked at the post for the previous chapter and I joked about the next chapter taking 8 months #oh foolish me for thinking that was a long time #meanwhile 3 years later xD #If you're new the rest of the chapters are on AO3 under thatdisastrousfangirl #and on my now abandoned writing blog thatdisastrousfangirl-writes #both of which I have linked above :3

25 notes · View notes

l3oart · 20 days

Text

Alexander Iotti

Portrait of my OC Alexander Iotti [he/him]

I need to improve at drawing scars 😮‍💨 still, I like the result.

#drawing #ibispaintx #digital artist #digital art #the other way #portrait #military #oc art #original character #artists on tumblr

3 notes · View notes

fromtheorient · 1 year

Text

#the other way #wetter

9 notes · View notes

mrhydejive · 1 year

Text

begging tally hall fans to get into the other way. cmonnn 🔑jingl jingle🔑 it's your favorite white boys (joe hawleys) film project 🔑jingle jingle🔑 you know you wanna draw Hank guys please 🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑

#the other way #hank mcjones #tally hall #joe hawley

7 notes · View notes

wolfesco1 · 9 months

Text

#oussama sidaoui #etsyusa #tumblr fyp #online deals #90dayfiance #the other way #tlc #reality tv #green card #canada visa

3 notes · View notes

justalittlebluetiefling · 20 days

Text

#i don't believe that people for serious reasons sort their books any way but by author #and then obviously by release date/series within that #i am being told that i am being JUDGY #also if you sort your books any other way HOW DO YOU FIND THEM #i really need to know #polls #can't believe i forgot to include genre in here

42K notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 9 months

Note

if you are accepting suggestion for The Other Half, could you write something about them staying in bed in the morning? since it's been said that Bruce tries to cuddle the shop girl when she needs to get up 🤭 i love this fic sm

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Warnings: Fluff; explicit sexual content - grinding, oral sex, fingering, spit as lube, vaginal sex, unsafe sex

Minors interacting with 18+ content will be blocked

"Don't. Move."

"I have to," You mumble sleepily, squirming in his arms. "It's—" You yawn widely, "'m gonna be late for work."

"Work?" Bruce's chuckle is warm and rough. "It's Sunday, baby."

You frown, blinking against he sleep trying to drag you back under. Is it? You'd attended a work event on Thursday, a party at Liz's on Friday, and yesterday had been a full day of errands. It's just been so busy that you've completely lost track.

"...Oh," You mumble, sinking back against Bruce's chest. He hums contentedly, tightening his grip on your waist as he nuzzles into your neck. You smile a bit, resting your hand atop his.

"Still," You offer, "Should probably get up, 've gotta get my outfits for the week together—"

"Later."

"And do my meal prep."

"Alfred will do it."

"I don't mind doing it."

"Neither does he."

"You know what I mean."

"Baby."

You're almost teasing him for fun now. You used to think that Bruce was so difficult to shake up or irritate, and now you know exactly where his pressure points are.

"Maybe I'll just grab some coffee," You add, feigning getting up. Bruce groans loudly, and you shriek as he yanks you closer. Before you can even reach for the blackout blinds controls, Bruce pushes you onto your back, clambering on top of you. You giggle softly as he curls his arms under your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"Go back to sleep," Bruce urges. You let your eyes slide closed, smoothing your fingers through his hair and honing in on the warmth and weight of Bruce's body, and the steadiness of his breathing.

You don't know how long you drifted off for. You can feel lips brushing against your neck, and hands smoothing tenderly over your bare thighs. You hum softly, shifting your thighs up to bracket his body between your hips. Bruce mimics your hum, hips shifting against you. It's a moment before you can hone in on the sensation, but you can feel—him.

Your lips part in sleepy surprise as Bruce's hips roll against you, his hardening cock brushing your thigh. You suck in a soft breath as Bruce's kisses drift lower.

"...Time is it?" You mumble.

"Who cares."

His hands shift up under your sleep shirt, hiking the fabric up. You raise your heavy, sluggish arms just enough to help him draw the shirt off and toss it away. Bruce's lips brush along the curve of your breast, his tongue flickering out and swiping across the hardening nipple. You shiver, hand curling more tightly in his hair as you tip your hips down against his. You grind against one another lazily as Bruce laps and teases your breasts. You can feel yourself growing slick as Bruce's cock slots against your cunt, the head catching against your clit every few thrusts.

You whine as Bruce's cock grazes your opening. You raise your hand, lapping broadly over it before you worm your hand down between the two of you, grasping his cock. Bruce's groan rattles through you as you take him in hand, stroking over his hardened length. You smooth your thumb over the head, smearing the swelling bead of precum, and grinning as Bruce's hips stutter against your grip. You pout when Bruce draws away, the covers dropping from your bodies as he scooches even further down, slipping from your hand.

Before you can even think to ask or complain, Bruce presses your thighs wide, lapping broadly across your pussy. Your mouth falls open, your moan stalling in your throat for a moment. It breaks loose the tip of his tongue teasing and circling your clit as he sinks his fore and middle fingers into you. You let your thighs splay, your body sinking back into the mattress as Bruce turns his head from side to side, smearing his lips and chin with your juices as his fingers scissor and curl.

For all of your sleepiness, you can't help your body from grasping desperately at him.

"Bruce," You mumble. He hums against you, making the growing sensation in the pit of your belly tighten.

"Please," You breathe. Bruce tips his chin up, lapping quickly across your clit as he plunges his fingers into you. Your orgasm swells sharply, and you cry out as you tighten around his fingers. Bruce's pace doesn't slow until you use your grip on his hair to yank him up. His jaw drops in turn, groaning loudly at the sharp sensation. Intrigue sparks in your belly as Bruce's fingers slow and ease back, smearing your juices over one of your nipples and dipping in to give it a lusty suck.

You reach down, swiping your hand over your slick skin before grasping Bruce's cock. He groans, tongue sweeping over your breast with the same lap speed as you stroke him. You guide his cock against your cunt again, shivering as you brush the head against your tender clit. You don't need to plead again, though it's ready on your lips. Bruce presses his hips forward, and your hand falls back as he eases into you. Bruce tips his head down, his forehead resting against your shoulder as your cunt throbs around him.

"Fuck." He breathes it so quietly that you nearly miss it. You whimper, curling your arms around Bruce's shoulders and planting your heels against the mattress.

For the almost frantic way that he lapped as you, Bruce's hips roll with a controlled leisure. You know that he's holding back, but he seems determined to take his time, to draw out your pleasure. When you try to push back, to pick up the pace, Bruce pins your hips to the bed, murmuring, "Just—nnggh—Take it."

You whine at the order, at the feeling of Bruce's hands pressing against you so tightly, and his chest brushing against yours. You so rarely get to witness Bruce's strength, let alone experience it. You turn your head, searching blindly for Bruce's lips before catching them with your own. You trade slow, searching kisses as Bruce's hips roll tightly against yours. He winds you nearer and nearer to your orgasm, and you can't help but press up into his grip, against his cock. Bruce doesn't gripe, just nips and tugs your lower lip between his teeth as your nails bite into his shoulders.

"Bruce," You mumble once he's broken the kiss.

"I know," He murmurs, "I know, baby—Fuck, give it to me."

You moan, pressing your head back into the pillow and arching up into Bruce as your orgasm crests, as you feel Bruce bearing down and filling you. You sigh through the little tremors and aftershocks, as Bruce's hips finally still, and as he settles over you again. He grunts as your grip on him loosens, as he rests his hands on either side of you. You reach down, drawing the covers up around your bodies again.

"...We should get cleaned up," You murmur after a moment, grinning as Bruce groans.

"If I hear you trying to make plans one more time."

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #asks #replies #anon #The Other Way

370 notes · View notes