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blenderfullasarcasm's writing specific sideblog | she/they | ask me about my fics :)

[blenderfullawriting]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Even in an alternate dimension, it seems Dazai can't escape Chuuya.

[blenderfullasarcasm]

bsd except it's covid and they're having all their meetings on zoom and dazai keeps pretending to have technical problems so he doesn't have to participate

"oh no kunikida I can't hear you I think you're on mute"

"dazai-san you just need to turn on your speakers - "

"gonna reboot now, see you tomorrow!"

"dazai it is 9:35 am - "

"sorry can't hear you byeeeeeeeee"

[blenderfullasarcasm]

bsd except it's covid and they're having all their meetings on zoom and dazai keeps pretending to have technical problems so he doesn't have to participate

"oh no kunikida I can't hear you I think you're on mute"

"dazai-san you just need to turn on your speakers - "

"gonna reboot now, see you tomorrow!"

"dazai it is 9:35 am - "

"sorry can't hear you byeeeeeeeee"

[blenderfullawriting]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

plausible deniability

blenderfullasarcasm

Summary:

Chuuya slams open the Agency's door and Dazai knows something is wrong.

[blenderfullasarcasm]

TBC?

aha, you've activated my trap card! now I get to share some snippets from my og novel that I haven't touched in three months

You open your eyes, and you realize that for some reason, you are suddenly shorter than you should be. It’s odd, but not quite jarring enough that you can’t brush it off as the remnants of a dream that you can’t quite remember.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that, though, because as you blink again in an attempt to banish the last vestiges of the dream so that you can go about your day, the same height that you’ve always been, the man next to you says, “So? What do you think happened?” and points to the floor.

… You should really work on your observational skills, because you should probably notice that there’s a dead body on the floor in front of you far before a slight change in height that may or may not be your imagination.

wip ask game!

[blenderfullasarcasm]

curious bout "get a load of this train wreck"

two bots in a trench coat pretending to be human 2: electric boogaloo lol

Luckily, the length of time it had taken me to figure out what the fuck I was doing was just long enough to delay my reaction to the announcer starting the round from ‘paranoid SecUnit’ to ‘slightly faster than average human.’ Unfortunately, that meant that I had to gently push through the herds of humans to try to find the ingredients on the list ART had sent me.

I realized I had no idea what a ‘tomato’ looked like. (Was it one of the green things?) Also, I couldn't see any feathered fauna, which was also on ART’s list even though I didn't know what I would be doing with it even if I could find one. I was pretty sure that humans didn't like to eat feathers, so maybe it was supposed to be a decoration or something? (Kind of loud for a decoration, though. And I wasn't sure how you were supposed to keep it in place for the plate preservation or whatever the fuck it was called without using an energy weapon and I didn't think energy weapons did anything tasty to food.)

But it was on the list, and for some reason I trusted ART’s judgment (even though it had also never cooked before).

wip ask game

[blenderfullasarcasm]

get a load of this trainwreck . i wanna see it

two bots in a trench coat pretending to be human 2: cooking show addition!

ART, I said calmly and not at all annoyed, what the fuck is a whisk? ART sent me a still from some other cooking show (I could tell that it wasn’t from previous seasons of The Corporation Rim Cooking Showdown because the lighting was different). It had circled a wire spoon-like not spoon thing that was being used by a human to move around liquid in a bowl in bright red ink. It had even drawn an arrow pointing to it, just in case I had somehow missed it the first time. That, ART told me, is a whisk. What am I supposed to do with it? I poked the ‘whisk.’ It was obviously some kind of cooking tool, or it wouldn’t be here. Even though it kind of looked like a weapon. It would make a pretty shitty weapon, though, considering how easily the webbing part bent.

wip ask game

[blenderfullasarcasm]

snippet from a crossover I'm working on :)

Dazai drags open his heavy eyelids, blinking lethargically to clear his vision as he allows his head to fall to the side. The blur of color next to him resolves itself into unevenly cut orange hair and a pile of tacky clothing. He can feel his lips curl involuntarily. Even in an alternate dimension, it seems he can't escape Chuuya.  “Ah,” Dazai drawls, pitching his voice to elicit maximum annoyance. “So hell is real.” “Haah?” Chuuya levers himself into a sitting position in an instant so that he can turn the full force of his glare on Dazai. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dazai doesn't bother getting up from the pavement. Instead, he spreads his hands expressively in Chuuya’s general direction, as if the solution should be obvious. “If I’m dead and Chuuya is here, then this must be hell.” Chuuya snorts unattractively. “Feeling’s mutual,” he says absently, scanning their surroundings warily. Dazai rolls his eyes, faintly disappointed by Chuuya’s lukewarm reaction. “There’s no one within ten meters of us,” he says dismissively, drawing Chuuya’s attention back to himself. Chuuya doesn’t bother asking how Dazai knows, taking his words at face value. The line of his shoulders relaxes slightly, though the muscles in his arms are still tensed, ready to flip himself into the air at a moment’s notice. That’s normal for him, though. Dazai’s fairly certain Chuuya hasn’t completely unclenched since he was eighteen. It’s probably why he’s survived as a Port Mafia executive this long. The weight of Chuuya’s gaze returns to Dazai, the pressure familiar and heady. The blue of his eyes is paler than he’s used to, in the flat gray of the sky above. "So, where are we?" ...If Chuuya doesn't recognize this alleyway, they're definitely not in Yokohama anymore.

[blenderfullasarcasm]

For the ask game:

"You're not breathing. Breathe."

"You're not breathing, Mitsuhiko-kun. Breathe."

Mitsuhiko breathes.

"Good," Conan tells him. "Keep doing that." He rests one hand on Mitsuhiko's shoulder, a little awkwardly.

Mitsuhiko appreciates the attempt at comfort, even if he's frustrated at himself for needing it in the first place.

He's faced down kidnappers and murderers and terrorists.

He should not be this worried about public speaking.

"That's it," Conan encourages, exaggerating his own inhales so that Mitsuhiko is reminded that breathing is, in fact, necessary for his continuing consciousness.

...Maybe he can just allow himself to pass out briefly. They probably won't make him go on stage if he loses consciousness for a few minutes.

“It’s going to be fine,” Conan says confidently.

Mitsuhiko's jaw twitches. It's easy for Conan to say that. He's not the one who's about to give a speech in front of the entire high school, even though by all rights he really should be.

It's tradition for the highest scoring student to give a speech during the entrance ceremony, and although Mitsuhiko knows that he is intelligent and tests well on exams, Conan is on an entirely different level.

...This may be influencing his current state, Mitsuhiko acknowledges. He has no trouble talking to groups of twenty people or fewer, even if they're all adults and he needs to force them to take him seriously, but he only actually does that when he is confident in his own conclusions, or when Conan has explained the answer to him. In short, he can talk to groups of people when he knows and believes in what he’s saying.

Standing in front of hundreds of his peers with nothing but a single-spaced sheet of pristine paper with pithy words about doing their best together and being good representatives for the school is something entirely different.

Especially when the one standing on the stage should really be Conan.

But Conan had missed entrance exams last year, thanks to something he'd claimed was 'a really nasty cold' that had sent him to Haido Central Hospital for over a month. His illness had been so bad that Mitsuhiko hadn't even been allowed to visit him. When Conan had finally emerged, he’d looked pale, gaunt, and haunted, so Mitsuhiko hadn't pressed for further answers (even though he had really wanted to).

Conan had only been able to take the entrance exams later because his mysteriously absent but wealthy parents had purportedly pulled some strings, but it had apparently been too late to put him into the class rankings.

That's the only reason that Mitsuhiko is here, five steps from the stage and holding himself very, very still so that he doesn't accidentally crinkle his speech. His legs feel weak, like he'll collapse if he takes even a single step further. The stage is big and bright and incredibly intimidating, and he does not want to go out there.

"Mitsuhiko-kun, look at me."

Mitsuhiko's gaze snaps to Conan involuntarily. Conan's using the tone he uses when he needs to get adults to listen to him, the one that's firm and urgent but level. Looking at him when he sounds like that is second nature to Mitsuhiko.

Conan's eyes bore into him, like he can see every single miniscule insecurity that Mitsuhiko has ever had even as he disregards them as unfounded.

"You can do this," Conan tells him, like he really believes it.

Well.

If Conan believes he can do it...

Mitsuhiko takes a deep breath and steps out onto the stage.

[blenderfullasarcasm]

"You haven't laughed in a long time, so I guess I was staring cause I forgot what that looked like."

They're gettin' lunch in Heiji's favorite okonomiyaki place (the one that must have been blessed by somethin' powerful because he's never once run into a case there, even when he's hangin' out with Kudou), because he and Kudou have spent the last few hours figurin' out who killed the jerkass manager at one of the fancy stores a few blocks away. It's already three in the afternoon and they're starvin'. Okonomiyaki is fast, cheap, close by, and, most importantly, murder free.

(Probably. Who knew, with Kudou's luck.)

Kudou's squintin' down at the menu, studyin' it carefully like there's more than ten options. He absentmindedly raises one hand to push up his glasses, but ends up pokin' himself in the nose because he doesn't hafta wear 'em anymore.

Kudou blinks rapidly, surprised, then glances at Heiji like he's hopin' he didn't notice.

Heiji snorts and grins back at him smugly. No such luck there.

Kudou scowls at him and sets his menu down pointedly.

A waitress appears instantly, takin' his movements as a cue to ask if he's ready to order.

Kudou obviously isn't, or maybe he's just in th' mood to annoy Heiji, because instead'a telling her what he wants he glances over at Heiji and says, "Why don't you order for me, hm?" like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Heiji thinks Kudou should suck it up and get his eyes checked. He rolls his eyes and orders for him anyway. "Two'a my usual, thanks, Tanaka-san."

Kudou frowns and starts to open his mouth, but Heiji's already wavin' him off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Extra green onions on mine, nunna them on yours."

Tanaka jots their orders down on her notepad and shoots 'em both a brief smile before leavin' to take the orders to the kitchen.

"That's not what I was going to say," Kudou says, even endin' his sentence with the stupid Tokyo 'sa' for emphasis, because he can never just let Heiji bask in the sweet, sweet satisfaction of finally bein' one step ahead'a him.

"You told Ran-san you were allergic to 'em to get outta eatin' 'em," Heiji reminds him.

Kudou scowls so hard it's almost a pout. "Maybe I like them now," he argues.

Heiji rolls his eyes. Yeah, right.

"Keep actin' like that and I'll call her back and tell her you're gettin' a kid's meal," Heiji grumbles, then thinks, oh shit.

He probably shouldn't joke about that yet.

Heiji looks up to apologize for puttin' his foot in his mouth, but before he can even open his lips, Kudou cackles.

Heiji can't help but stare, drinkin' in the bright sound of Kudou's voice as he laughs his ass off. He's actually wheezin', the elbow he's got braced on the table the only thing keepin' him from fallin' out of his chair, and his blue eyes sparkle with mirth when he glances up through his eyelashes at Heiji and starts laughin' even harder.

He hasn't seen Kudou laugh this hard in...ever, probably. Definitely not since he returned to his body and told Ran-san everything and she'd told him she needed time. (Kazuha woulda kicked his ass if he'd hidden from her in plain sight and lied to her face for years, so he's pretty sure Kudou's getting off easy.)

Heiji has to join in, even though the joke wasn't even that funny.

...He should probably stop starin' at the curve of Kudou's mouth, Heiji acknowledges to himself as Kudou's laughter starts to wind down.

(He doesn't, though.)

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Kudou asks, once he's finally stopped wheezin' long enough to take a couple deep breaths and suck in some desperately needed oxygen.

Heiji shrugs faux-casually. "Jus' haven't seen you laugh that hard in a minute, 's all. Kinda forgot what it looks like."

Somethin' a little bittersweet flashes behind Kudou's eyes, there an' gone again so quick that Heiji almost thinks he's imaginin' it.

Kudou clearly doesn't want to dwell on it, though, 'cuz all he says is, "Maybe so," before abruptly changin' the subject. "What did you order for me, anyway?"

Heiji smirks at him. "Why don't ya try deducing it, Heisei Holmes-san?"

Kudou's eyes flash again, but this time they're bright with the excited spark of challenge accepted.

---

written for this prompt game

[blenderfullasarcasm]

"tell me what happened" + "wake up, come on, there's something i wanna show you"

Something pokes Furuya in the cheek and one hand is wrapping around the weapon under his pillow and pointing it at the culprit before his eyes snap open.

He comes face-to-face with Edogawa Conan, looking incredibly unimpressed. "Come on, wake up," he demands, for once sounding like a child his age should.

"Ah, so it's just you, Conan-kun..." Furuya says, painting an amicable smile across his face as he slips into his Amuro Tooru persona as easily as he silently slides his weapon back under his pillow. "You should be careful if you wake someone up like that. You don't know how they'll react."

Conan rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, Amuro-niichan!" he chirps, playing along with Amuro even though it's clear he doesn't see the reason for it.

Furuya is grateful for it, because he knows for a fact that his apartment has been bugged by the Black Organization. It seems he's on thin ice with them at the moment, and he would really rather not have deal with the repercussions of whatever Conan's about to tell him.

(He does not know how Conan knows where Amuro Tooru lives, and Furuya can't ask him right now, when anyone listening might discover that a six-year-old had managed to find his safe house. He doesn't think Bourbon's reputation could take the ding.)

(He makes a note to investigate later, though.)

"So, why are you here, Conan-kun?" Amuro prompts, still smiling genially. "Does Mouri-sensei need me for a case?" he adds, to provide the bugs with a reason that Conan would know his address. Furuya makes his eyes go hard and flat, pouring some of Bourbon into his gaze so that Conan knows he needs to agree.

Conan gets the message. "Yup! Oji-san says you gotta come right away, or he's leaving without you!" he chirps, even as his brow furrows, glancing around Amuro's apartment like the Black Org is made up of amateurs who would leave bugs in plain sight. "There's something I wanna show you first, though!"

Conan's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing and bright, and Furuya knows that this part of their conversation, at least, is not a charade at all.

"Is it the ice cream shop on the corner, I wonder?" Amuro asks dryly, even as he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Conan forces a giggle that manages to sound mostly natural. "Maaaaaaaaybe..."

"Let me get dressed first," Amuro says, ushering Conan out of his room and into the kitchen. He quickly changes into some of Amuro Tooru's light pastels, ignoring the darker clothing at the other end of his closet, then heads back into the kitchen.

Conan is standing more or less where Amuro left him, and that's how Furuya knows that he's snooped around approximately half of his living space in the five minutes he had taken to change.

(Furuya isn't particularly worried about that, though. There's nothing in this apartment that isn't Amuro's or Bourbon's.)

"Ready to go?" he asks Conan, who nods and scampers over to the door. Amuro follows him at a more sedate pace, which Conan seems to think isn't fast enough.

"Come onnnnnn, Amuro-niichan! We're going to be late!" he hollers from halfway down the hallway as Amuro pauses to lock the door behind him. Amuro frowns slightly, then hurries after him.

"Tell me what happened," Furuya demands, once they're a block away from his building. Something must have happened, if Conan had felt it necessary to invade his apartment so early in the morning.

Conan levels another unimpressed look at him. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Furuya frowns, running through his three mental calendars, only to come up blank. He doesn't have a shift at Poirot today; he isn't meeting Kazami until this evening; and his only current orders are to investigate Mouri Kogoro, who is more than likely planning on spending today watching TV until a new case happens upon him.

(Honestly, Furuya had been planning on spending today catching up on paperwork and laundry.)

Conan sighs, with more exasperation than Furuya thinks is called for. "Mitsuhiko's birthday, remember? You said you were going to take us camping, since the professor has that conference this weekend and Okiya-san's car is too small for all of us."

Furuya's frown deepens. "Mitsuhiko-kun's birthday is next week." He knows this for a fact, because even though Amuro had volunteered to drive the Detective Boys to the campsite on Mitsuhiko's birthday, none of them had seen fit to tell him what day it was. Furuya had asked Kazami to look up Mitsuhiko's birth certificate, and that had taken care of it, or so he had thought.

Conan frowns right back at him. "Yeah? But his parents and his sister are taking him out for dinner that day, so we're going camping the weekend before his actual birthday." Suddenly, his body language turns sheepish. "We...may have forgotten to actually tell you that, though..."

Furuya sighs. There goes his quiet day of doing laundry and paperwork.

---

send me prompts for this ask game!

[blenderfullasarcasm]

I’ve never noticed this scar before?

"Hey, Ai-chan, where'd you get that scar?" Ayumi asks curiously, before taking a sip of her juice. "I've never noticed it before?"

Ai freezes, her heartbeat stopping for a split second, though she's sitting so her reaction likely won't be obvious to Ayumi.

She sets her onigiri back in its box, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. "I'm not sure what you mean, Yoshida-san," she replies, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Ai has a lot of scars. Most of the more incriminating ones are only visible when she's Shiho, but she can still see them when she looks in the mirror, can still feel the phantom pains even when she's in the form of a six-year-old. She wouldn't be surprised if Ayumi could see them as well.

(It's nothing more than she deserves.)

Ayumi frowns at the form of address, but doesn't mention the distance Ai has put between them like she usually does. "I'm talking about the little one on your middle finger!"

Ai...does not remember having a scar on her middle finger as Shiho.

Ayumi helpfully points to the scar she means, taking another sip of her juice. It makes a loud slurping sound; she'll be running out soon.

Ai glances down at her hands. She does, in fact, have a small scar on the middle finger of her right hand, not even half a centimeter long. Where did she...

"Oh," she says softly, the memory coming to her a moment later.

Ayumi looks towards her expectantly.

"I was helping Hakase with dinner a couple weeks ago and accidentally cut my finger," Ai explains. She can't take her eyes off the tiny scar.

(She wonders she would keep it if she ever goes back to being Shiho. She doesn't think she would mind if she did.)

"Oh, okay," Ayumi says, taking a bite of one of the red bean mochi she has for dessert. She holds one out to Ai. "Want one?"

Ai shakes her head, then picks her onigiri up and takes another bite.

It's good.

---

send me prompts for this ask game!

[blenderfullasarcasm]

"tell me what happened" + "wake up, come on, there's something i wanna show you"

Something pokes Furuya in the cheek and one hand is wrapping around the weapon under his pillow and pointing it at the culprit before his eyes snap open.

He comes face-to-face with Edogawa Conan, looking incredibly unimpressed. "Come on, wake up," he demands, for once sounding like a child his age should.

"Ah, so it's just you, Conan-kun..." Furuya says, painting an amicable smile across his face as he slips into his Amuro Tooru persona as easily as he silently slides his weapon back under his pillow. "You should be careful if you wake someone up like that. You don't know how they'll react."

Conan rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, Amuro-niichan!" he chirps, playing along with Amuro even though it's clear he doesn't see the reason for it.

Furuya is grateful for it, because he knows for a fact that his apartment has been bugged by the Black Organization. It seems he's on thin ice with them at the moment, and he would really rather not have deal with the repercussions of whatever Conan's about to tell him.

(He does not know how Conan knows where Amuro Tooru lives, and Furuya can't ask him right now, when anyone listening might discover that a six-year-old had managed to find his safe house. He doesn't think Bourbon's reputation could take the ding.)

(He makes a note to investigate later, though.)

"So, why are you here, Conan-kun?" Amuro prompts, still smiling genially. "Does Mouri-sensei need me for a case?" he adds, to provide the bugs with a reason that Conan would know his address. Furuya makes his eyes go hard and flat, pouring some of Bourbon into his gaze so that Conan knows he needs to agree.

Conan gets the message. "Yup! Oji-san says you gotta come right away, or he's leaving without you!" he chirps, even as his brow furrows, glancing around Amuro's apartment like the Black Org is made up of amateurs who would leave bugs in plain sight. "There's something I wanna show you first, though!"

Conan's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing and bright, and Furuya knows that this part of their conversation, at least, is not a charade at all.

"Is it the ice cream shop on the corner, I wonder?" Amuro asks dryly, even as he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Conan forces a giggle that manages to sound mostly natural. "Maaaaaaaaybe..."

"Let me get dressed first," Amuro says, ushering Conan out of his room and into the kitchen. He quickly changes into some of Amuro Tooru's light pastels, ignoring the darker clothing at the other end of his closet, then heads back into the kitchen.

Conan is standing more or less where Amuro left him, and that's how Furuya knows that he's snooped around approximately half of his living space in the five minutes he had taken to change.

(Furuya isn't particularly worried about that, though. There's nothing in this apartment that isn't Amuro's or Bourbon's.)

"Ready to go?" he asks Conan, who nods and scampers over to the door. Amuro follows him at a more sedate pace, which Conan seems to think isn't fast enough.

"Come onnnnnn, Amuro-niichan! We're going to be late!" he hollers from halfway down the hallway as Amuro pauses to lock the door behind him. Amuro frowns slightly, then hurries after him.

"Tell me what happened," Furuya demands, once they're a block away from his building. Something must have happened, if Conan had felt it necessary to invade his apartment so early in the morning.

Conan levels another unimpressed look at him. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Furuya frowns, running through his three mental calendars, only to come up blank. He doesn't have a shift at Poirot today; he isn't meeting Kazami until this evening; and his only current orders are to investigate Mouri Kogoro, who is more than likely planning on spending today watching TV until a new case happens upon him.

(Honestly, Furuya had been planning on spending today catching up on paperwork and laundry.)

Conan sighs, with more exasperation than Furuya thinks is called for. "Mitsuhiko's birthday, remember? You said you were going to take us camping, since the professor has that conference this weekend and Okiya-san's car is too small for all of us."

Furuya's frown deepens. "Mitsuhiko-kun's birthday is next week." He knows this for a fact, because even though Amuro had volunteered to drive the Detective Boys to the campsite on Mitsuhiko's birthday, none of them had seen fit to tell him what day it was. Furuya had asked Kazami to look up Mitsuhiko's birth certificate, and that had taken care of it, or so he had thought.

Conan frowns right back at him. "Yeah? But his parents and his sister are taking him out for dinner that day, so we're going camping the weekend before his actual birthday." Suddenly, his body language turns sheepish. "We...may have forgotten to actually tell you that, though..."

Furuya sighs. There goes his quiet day of doing laundry and paperwork.

[blenderfullasarcasm]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

My engines are operating at suboptimal capacity, ART informed me halfway through our cargo haul to RoeElXie.

What do you mean, ‘suboptimal’? I asked it suspiciously.

(inspired by this fanart by @foxprints)

[blenderfullasarcasm]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

goon pranks batmobile, more at 11

[blenderfullasarcasm]

Trick or treat! 👻

snippet!

I was so nervous that I didn’t even sit down once I got to the lounge, even though there were plenty of chairs I could sit on if I wanted. Instead, I paced up and down the length of the room, measuring my steps so that they were perfectly even. (Ratthi told me once that he’d had to do that during the last few years of his compulsory Preservation education (which was optional secondary education for most planets and stations in the Corporate Rim) while also blowing some kind of horn. I didn’t know if he’d been bullshitting or if that was an actual thing in Preservation Alliance territory, or if the whole thing had been a simile (metaphor?) for sex or something (ew) so mostly I just didn’t think about it.) I tried to force my respiration to match the rate my feet hit the ground. It worked only some of the time, and, even worse, I was too wound up to watch Sanctuary Moon. I probably wouldn’t be able to do anything except pace the room until ART fucking TALKED TO ME and put my paranoia out of its misery.

Send an ask with "Trick or treat!" & you could receive a 3-sentence fic, drabble, headcanon, sneak-peek at a WIP, the last sentence they wrote, a new fic idea…

[blenderfullasarcasm]

Trick or treat! :D

last few sentences I wrote!

ART said, My research indicates that the correct amount of salt for a cake of that approximate size ranges from one to two quarter teaspoons, colloquially known as ‘pinches,’ ‘nips,’ or, in some systems, ‘mini units’. This contestant may be involved in the competition under false pretenses. Are you saying that they’re a plant? I asked, suddenly much more invested. There is a 84.76% possibility, ART agreed.

Send an ask with "Trick or treat!" & you could receive a 3-sentence fic, drabble, headcanon, sneak-peek at a WIP, the last sentence they wrote, a new fic idea…