#Funny Goat Shirts

[gemwing1988]

The cover for a vinyl soundtrack for the Cuphead Show.

Really love this. The people who made the show happen really know how to deliver some amazing goods.

[robustcornhusk]

i considered reblogging a post whose points i more or less agree with, especially the commentary, but

there is nothing punk about a library! that's okay! things can be good without being punk!

[heartsandstarsnation]

Tis The Season

To get yourself a silly WOSO Christmas shirt!

[aluminia]

I transferred one of the sketches on digital this time <3

[rowenas-my-fave-child]

Not someone at school praying for me bc I had a band shirt on with a goat that had a knife and blood on it 😭

[marshmellowtea]

btw today at work there was a lady in a shirt that said “yes i do need all these goats” and i’m deathly curious as to what that’s about

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Six: peel

tw: man handling, corset ripping (sorta), non-con undressing, john price has anger issues

The sun is kinder today than it was yesterday. 

Brooding clouds blanket the sky with dynamic shades of grey, blocking out the unforgiving golden rays that would otherwise beat against the back of your neck. A kind zephyr plays with the hem of your dress as you trot along the path behind Soap. The wind toys with his hair—that odd shaped cut that still reminds you of a horse’s rear—and you watch him grumble and huff as his fingers intermittently attempt to smooth the strands down. 

Your horse whinnies and huffs beneath you, prompting you to lean forward and give him a few pats on his flank. Though, you suppose this isn’t your horse. Not truly, anyway. He still belongs to that stranger whose corpse now feeds God’s lesser creatures in the midst of some field. You wonder what his name is. Would a man who was capable of diminishing you into nothing but meat even bother naming a creature at all? 

“Kyle?” you call. 

You hear the dull thud of horse’s hooves behind you temporarily quicken before slowing back to a leisurely gallop. “Yeah?” 

“What do you suppose would be a good name for him?” you ask. 

“For the horse?” 

“Yes. It feels cruel not giving him a name,” you explain. “I keep thinking of him as nothing but the horse in my mind.” 

Kyle sits in thought for a moment as he tugs on the collar of his shirt. The first button comes loose, exposing his sternum. Huffing, he looks down at himself and shakes his head before ignoring it. 

“Well, I’m always fond of animal names,” he shares. 

“Animal names?” you repeat. 

“Yeah. Like Bear, here. I reckon yours looks like a Goat to me,” Kyle humors. 

“Goat? I’m not calling him Goat, that just feels… cruel.” 

He shrugs but is unable to hide the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You could always name him Jester after his previous owner.” 

Jaw falling slack, your scoff escapes you before you’re able to smother it. “Now that is especially merciless.” 

“Rather funny, if you think about it.” 

“I don’t want to think about it.” 

Stentorian rolling thunder suddenly erupts in the distance, and your horse—who you now cannot stop thinking of as Jester—shivers as he perks his head up. Squinting, you focus your eyes on the horizon as clouds billow in the distance with lightning that cracks across the sky as if it’s trying to illuminate Heaven’s basement. There’s a stark contrast between the viridian earth and the darkness of the sky that makes the world suddenly feel ten times larger. The wind picks up and it’s cool enough to have your skin perking with goosebumps. Even Kyle seems uncomfortable as he adjusts his hat to sit lower on his brow. 

“You got a poncho in that carpet bag of yours, Lamb?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t have one… I think Riley packed my coat but…” 

“You should put it on,” he warns. “I think we’re about to have a lovely shower.” 

The rain begins just as you shoulder your coat over your torso. It begins as a soft drizzle—nothing but small spackles of spit that hit the crown of your head and the back of your hands as you grip the reins. Jester’s skin twitches with each drop that hits him, but he follows along the trail even as it morphs into sloshing mud. 

The lowering countryside only darkens as the storm progresses from a summer squall to a full blown tempest. Sheets of deluge pelt the earth and you along with it, and while your coat offers some reprieve at first, it very quickly becomes overwhelmed as every stitch and fibre soaks up the moisture. Now, it sits heavier than sin upon your shoulders and back as you keep your head bowed to protect your eyes from the oncoming precipitation. 

Thunder cracks louder than a gun and twice as angry as your father while lightning spears through the sky in the distance. It fractures the clouds like the broken shards of a mirror, and temporarily leaves you blind. Your cracked knuckles revel in the cold water soaking your skin, but you find the joints in your fingers going stiff. You can’t see a single thing through the brume. Mist hangs so thick in the air that you’re not sure if you’re even still above water. 

“Aye, pishin' it doon out here!” Soap barks over the clamor. He’s placed a hat on his head to protect his face from the storm, but you can still see the way his hair peeks out, completely soaked. 

“How far is Little Wood from here?” Kyle calls out. 

John is quiet for a moment as he assesses the road ahead. “Too far to count on.” 

“Is there anywhere closer? I can’t see shit out here,” Soap asks. 

“We’d sooner freeze to death before making it to any town,” Riley grumbles. 

Kyle hisses through his teeth. “Well we can’t camp here! We’re too exposed!” 

The next crack of thunder sends your shoulders stiffening before every muscle in your body starts to twitch. Skin tensing and jaw chattering, you try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as the men deliberate your options. You can’t recall a time that the summer has ever felt so frigid before. Yet now, soaked to the bone, you fear your fingers may fall off from your palms as nothing more than stumps. Between the rain cooling your skin, and the wind biting into your flesh, you’re certain you’ll be dead come morning. 

“Riley!” John shouts, seemingly deciding on a course of action. “I want you to ride east of here. Soap, you go west. Ten minutes, yeah? Any trees, any structures, you find it and report back.” 

Neither men speak a word before they nod and speed off in separate directions. John’s horse trots closer to you, but you still can’t raise your head as the rain continues to pelt you. You attempt to pull your coat closer to your body. It squelches as water rings free from the fabric. 

“How are we doing, Lamb?” John asks, his voice a surprisingly sharp susurrus that cuts through the pitter-patter of rain. 

“I’m fine,” you say, consonants interrupted by your chattering teeth. 

“We’ll get you someplace warm,” he assures. “And we’ll invest in a hat for you eventually…” 

Riley and Soap return a few minutes later. While Riley’s search bore no fruit, Soap rambles on about some old abandoned farmland hidden just over the ridge to the left of the trail. Everyone concurs immediately, and you find Jester galloping after the others while Soap leads the way. You pray the horse knows what he’s doing—you’re blindly believing in him while your eyes are useless through the storm. 

As you come along the edge of the property, you quickly notice that several old fallen pine trees have made the farmhouse useless, but the vacant barn is still mostly intact. The doors open and close just fine to protect from the algid wind, and while the small hole in the roof would be troublesome to a farmer, Kyle notes how it’ll make perfect ventilation to light a fire inside without inadvertently suffocating everyone. Old straw and rotting hay lines the back wall, but the horses hardly seem to mind as they nuzzle through the dry bedding. 

Once everyone is inside, John shuts the doors behind him, darkening the barn. The shadows don’t persist for too long before both him and Riley light a fire from old paneling. Flames burst to life, and it’s only then that you feel you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief through your clacking teeth. 

“Alright everyone,” John says as he stands. He removes his hat from his head—his hair is surprisingly dry—and flicks the moisture from the brim before glancing at everyone. “Get warm. Get dry. We’ll rest here until this shit blows over.” 

No one argues. Everyone begins removing their layers where they wring them out to dry in some far corner. Riley even removes the mask on his face—that black bandana that always seems to obscure him—and you find yourself gawking at the sight of him. Scarred, crooked nose, and thin lips. He looks more normal than you had anticipated for a man as secretive as him, yet the moment his eyes find you, you decide to concern yourself with your own situation instead. 

Numb, trembling fingers have difficulty undoing the buttons on your coat, yet you slowly begin to manage. One by one, they pop free from their facets and you slip it from your shoulders as best as you can manage as it clings to the fabric of your overdress. Once you’re free of it, you wring out the moisture that plagues it before adding it to the makeshift rack that Kyle set up on the left wall. 

Still shivering, you slowly begin to waddle towards the fire John tends as he adds larger and larger pieces of wood to feed the flames. They devour it with excited fingers as the blaze opens its maw and swallows it whole, leaving behind sparks that sputter into the air where they dance and die into nothing more than just a memory. 

Just as your feet begin to skirt the warmth of the fire, John’s eyes lock onto you. Huffing, he pokes at the logs on the fire with a stick. “Thought I told you to get dry.” 

Your brows furrow, you gesture to the blaze. “I’m working on it.” 

Shaking his head, John wipes stray moisture off of his face. “Not wearing that.  You’ll freeze if you keep that on.” 

“But all my other clothes are wet, and I’m not… I’m not going to wear just my chemise,” you argue. 

Though John is crouched down, his aura is foreboding. A strange callosity fogs up the azure hue of his eyes as he tilts his head in thought, gaze lowering to the way rainwater drips from the skirt of your dress. Then, he stands, and suddenly he is a towering, immovable beast. 

“I’m not asking, sweetheart,” he says sternly. 

Though you’re soaked to the bone, your mouth suddenly grows sere. “I-It’s not proper,” you argue. “Being like that in front of men—in front of all of you. My daddy he- he would…” 

Words fail you as your father’s old soliloquies invade your mind. Purity—virtue—chastity. You’ve seen the way he looks at the prostitutes who manage to sneak their way into town. Scandalized and bitter, he would always berate them unabashed. Scantily clad whores fucking out of wedlock and using their bodies for sin. 

Dress pure. Stay covered. 

John’s hands gesture to the dilapidated barn around him. “Daddy isn’t here right now, is he?”

Save yourself for your husband, should one ever marry a tragedy such as yourself. 

“I’ll be fine like this,” you insist. 

“You’re shivering out of your damn skin,” John retorts as he steps around the fire. “If you stay wet, you’ll be a corpse come morning. Now come, let’s get this off.” 

His hand hardly brushes your arm before you’re shouldering him away, and the way he raises his eyebrow and tilts his head down has you regretting your actions. He is not kind to you when he places his hands on you once more. Fingers digging into your waist, he forces your body to spin as he faces you away from him. Flailing arms attempt to reach behind you to push him away, and when that doesn’t work you twist, but he huffs and pulls you against him as he tugs on the lacing of your corset. 

“Stop it!” you shriek. “John Price, get your hands off of me!”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself because you’re being a prude,” he growls. As he works on ripping your clothes apart, you feel everything loosen. Your corset, your overdress—all of it. You attempt to hold up your overdress, but John rips it from your hands as he forces it down over your hips; you feel your skin scream as he inadvertently pinches the flesh of your thighs. “I told you I’d get you to Grand Hollow, so like it or not, you’re cargo now, sweetheart.” 

Raging against him, you step forward only to trip on the skirt of your dress. Someone chuckles as you fall into soft straw bedding with only your hands to catch you, but you try to push it out of your mind as John follows you, sinking to his knees before you as you twist on your back. He tugs the rest of your over-dress down your legs before tossing it to the side and then working on your shoes and stockings. You don’t even bother to kick or fight against him as he peels you, revealing all the layers you wish he wouldn’t. 

Panting, John sits back on his haunches with one of your stockings still in hand. You’re now bare before him, donning nothing but your chemise and pantalettes. You can do nothing but wipe frustrated tears off your cheeks as he stares down at you. “You are the most headache-inducing cargo I’ve ever had the misfortune of traveling with,” he says with a sigh—you can scarcely tell if he’s joking or not. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows as more tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes, obscuring your vision as if you’re still in the tempest outside. “If I’m such a nuisance, then why’d you even help me!” you wail. “I know it’s not out of the kindness of your own heart!” 

Silence stretches between you and John as the rain continues to beat against the roof of the barn. You wonder how you got here—how you went from shooting a rifle with him this morning, to now screaming at him half naked next to a campfire while his posse watches on with curious eyes and poorly-hidden smirks. 

Despite the malice on his tongue, John looks at you softly. His face relaxes as his eyes study you, inspecting every inch of your face until he traverses lower. When he reaches your breasts, you watch as his pupils dilate and swallow the blue of his eyes until there’s nearly nothing left. Self conscious fingers rests on your chest where they brush against the fragile chain of your necklace. 

John’s eyes lock onto the shimmering jewelry as the campfire bathes you in amber light. Eyes narrowing, you clutch the cross charm in your palm, hiding it from his view. 

The moment it’s out of sight, John huffs before he pushes himself back up to his feet with a grunt. Keeping eye contact, he gathers your shapeless dress from the ground before turning his back and meandering to where your coat is hanging with everyone else’s clothes. 

“Garrick, get Lamb a blanket,” he murmurs. “I’m not keen on letting her freeze.” 

You spend the evening swaddled in a cotton blanket perched next to the campfire as you try to save your last shred of decency. Even the men shed their layers, opting to lounge in their undergarments to keep their legs covered, yet unabashedly show the bare skin of their chests. Riley has more scars than you can count with thick keloids dotting along his chest and arms, and you notice a fair bit of tattoos that you’d never caught on to before. Kyle falls asleep almost immediately as he lays on his stomach next to the fire like a purring cat, and Soap nods off half naked by Riley’s side. 

The only person who keeps their sopping wet clothes on is John. You watch him as he eats, grey shirt clinging to every inch of his torso as if it’s a second skin. When he catches you glaring at him, he greets you with a smile as he continues to chew on his supper. 

If you were braver, you’d mutter the word hypocrite under your breath. 

Later, you’re lulled to sleep by the raindrops beating against the roof and Riley’s soft snoring from across the campfire. This is perhaps the coziest you’ve felt since you left home, despite your rather unfortunate change in wardrobe (or lack thereof). Nestled in a bed of straw, cocooned in a blanket—you don’t think people often get this type of luxury when traveling. Not that you’d consider having your clothes ripped off something to be envied; even in your slumber you find yourself still upset with John Price. 

In your dreams, you’re braver. Stronger. You’ve got a silver tongue that’s as sharp as a knife yet as pretty as a songbird. There’s been countless dreams where you’ve brought your father to his knees instead of the other way around—you do not make him bleed, but you do make him beg. 

Yet, with John Price, you find yourself stunned. That piercing blue of his eyes cuts through your dreamscape as if it’s nothing but the soft mud at your feet, and you find yourself tongue tied. 

When morning comes, you’re roused by rustling. The relentless downpour must have ceased sometime in the night because it’s eerily silent as your eyes flutter open, still laying on your side. Quiet sunlight peeks through the hole in the roof on the far side of the barn, cutting through the air to illuminate the figure hunched over the fire. 

Broad shoulders face you as they curve and rummage through ash, sending sparks flying as more wood is added to feed the dying embers. Thick muscles line straight along a strong spine, and you watch how they contract with movement. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man like this—you don’t think you like the feeling that twists in your stomach at the sight. It burrows, boiling hot into your abdomen before fluttering lower and lower. 

The feeling vanishes when your groggy brain makes sense of the discoloration on his skin. 

They’re scars, you realize. Long, puffy scars that dissect the muscles of that strong back. They’re akin to a bear’s favorite scratching tree—nothing but angry pink lines that desecrate the skin of another human being. Then, there’s smaller scars. Circular holes that dot along fat scapulas and the back of his neck. You swallow the way your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of such violence, even if it’s now only a memory of scar tissue and keloids.  

Each slash was made with unbridled, virulent enjoyment. 

As if feeling your gaze, John Price glances over his shoulder to look at you. While the dawn’s glory illuminates him as if he’s an angel, his dull eyes scream that he’s anything but. He is haunted by nameless ghosts, and you’ve just witnessed the apparition for yourself. 

“Go back to sleep, little lamb,” he murmurs. His voice is soft as he returns his attention back to the fire before him. “There’s still time to rest.”

Mouth having gone dry, you stare at him for a moment longer before pulling your blanket closer to your chin. “You ought to do the same.” 

John scoffs. “You sound like my mum.” 

“You look tired.” 

“Been dealing with naughty animals,” he goads. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “I don’t mean to… be difficult.” 

Sighing, John places one more expertly placed piece of wood onto the fire before his body twists to hide his scars from you. He’s sitting now, fully facing you. Dark curls of sparse hair cover his chest where it trails down through the softness of his stomach, and then lower. With one leg bent and his arm resting on his knee, he offers you the softest smile he can muster. 

“You’re not difficult,” he assures. “I’m just not a good man. Not a very patient one, either.” 

Humming, you think for a moment. “I just still don’t know if what I did was right… leaving, I mean. I’m scared all the time, and I think it makes me do stupid things.” 

“You did the right thing,” he says earnestly. “Leaving isn’t easy, but your life will be better in Grand Hollow, I’ll make sure of it. Trust me, Lamb, your daddy isn’t missing you, and you shouldn’t miss him, either. He’s just missing the control he had over you.” 

Bottom lip trembling, you nod at his words before nuzzling further into your makeshift bed. John sighs once more before leaning forward. His fingers brush against the exposed skin of your shoulders as he draws your blanket higher up—he’s warm. Warm like a kiss to the crown of a head.

“Don’t think about it too hard, love,” he shushes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

John leaves you to rest after that. His feet are soft through the barn as he tests the dryness of the clothes hanging up on the left wall, but your brain pushes out the noise. With your eyes closed, you still think of him: the scars on his back, the warmth of his fingers, the comfort of his voice. For a moment, you think you might be going insane as that odd burn returns to plague your stomach, but it’s quickly washed away as the fire crackling next to you lulls you back to sleep.

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[ckret2]

due to stuff involving a goat, the only thing that can save the pines family is sticking bill cipher in a cute dress, doing weird 70's things to his hair, slapping makeup on him, and sending him to flirt with a government agent

and if that ain't a setup for a chapter i don't know what is

anyway here's chapter 86 of this thing.

####

"Something about this is just wrong," Stan said. "It isn't natural."

"Oh, I don't know," Ford said, grinning. "I think it's funny."

Without looking over, trying not to move his lips, Bill said, "I'd like to see you do better."

It was still a few minutes until the Mystery Shack opened for the day, and he and Mabel were sitting in the kitchen, with Bill miserably wearing a mis-buttoned Hawaiian shirt so he wouldn't mess up his makeup when he changed into his flirting uniform. The makeup supplies Pacifica had sent them home with yesterday were spread out on the kitchen table, and they were collaboratively trying to remember how to recreate the look Pacifica had given Bill yesterday. Thus far, they'd managed moisturizer and foundation and were debating the finer points of concealer color theory.

"I didn't say it's bad," said Ford, whose opinions on makeup only fell into three categories: obviously hideous; fine, I guess; and potentially magical sigils for ritual purposes. "It's just bizarre watching you care about it."

Bill mumbled, "I'm blending in with the Nacirema." Ford barked a laugh. (About time somebody got it.)

Stan elbowed Ford. "What's a Nacirema?"

"It's— There's this phenomenon in anthropology— I'll explain it later."

Stan grumbled to himself about the nerds enabling each other, then said, "Hey. When you do the lipstick, don't make it look too good. If it looks too good, he'll assume you're out of his league and get suspicious when you start hitting on him. I never trust attention from a lady whose lipstick isn't at least a little cakey."

Offended, Mabel said, "Grunkle Stan, I'm an artiste! I can't do a bad job on purpose!"

Bill said, "It doesn't matter! Once I get my seduction hat on, he won't even glance at my face." He poked the top hat sitting on the kitchen table.

"Oh, no you don't," Stan said. "Hat's gotta go, it's too tall. Guys hate it when their dates are taller than them."

"What?!" Bill stared at Stan, aghast. "You've gotta be insane! The hat's essential—"

"Hold still!" Mabel poked his neck with the butt of a makeup brush.

He reluctantly gave up and turned to face her again, but not without muttering to himself, "Can't wear a seduction hat, can't stick my hand in a goat's stomach acid, god forbid women do anything."

Last night's hunt for Gompers had been an abysmal failure—Dipper and Mabel had never even glimpsed him. This morning, beneath the banter, there was a somber air in the room; the household was trying not to think about the fact that their collective safety was resting on Bill's ability to seem appealing to a normal man in spite of the fact that they were having a conversation, and he wasn't even able to convincingly pretend he had a plan.

Dipper was trying to get breakfast around Bill and Mabel. Once Mabel had puffed on a layer of setting powder, Bill twisted around to give Dipper an unnecessarily wide smile. "Hey! How do I look?"

He glanced up from pouring a bowl of cereal and grimaced. "Somehow even less like a real human than usual."

Bill laughed. "Yep, it's the lack of pores." He turned away to check his mirror as he applied his mascara.

Mabel said, "He'll look better once we get the lipstick on."

Soos ducked in from the living room. "Hey, uh, guys?" It was clear he'd been as distracted that morning as the rest of them; he'd misbuttoned his suit jacket. "I just saw the government dudes' car again. Like, in the parking lot this time, not lurking down the street."

The energy in the air changed, like a subtle electric current shooting through the room. "Okay, enough gawking at the freak show," Stan said. "Ford?"

"Right!" He grabbed up his coffee mug, re-thought it, and poured the mug back in the coffee pot and picked up the pot instead, then bolted from the kitchen. He returned a moment later with his arms loaded with his journal, several books, and a couple of guns that would definitely be illegal on Earth if Earth had ever heard they existed. "Basement."

Bill turned toward the doorway so fast Mabel almost smeared lipstick across his cheek. Basement? He hoped Ford meant his study. If they went all the way to the basement, and noticed that somebody had been moving around the rubble of the portal...

"Bill!" Mabel said.

"I know, I know." He turned back to her again.

A final line, and Mabel sighed in relief. "Okay, you're good."

Stan rummaged through the fridge for the first thing he could find to sustain himself and Ford for the day. "Hey, demon. Remember everything I taught you."

"Yeah, yeah," Bill sighed. "Don't claim I have a job he can fact-check, don't pretend I make more money than him unless I want him to invite me to a fancy restaurant and pretend he forgot his wallet, if he asks my age I'm fifteen years younger than him, my human family lives across the country, I don't have any sisters that might be prettier, and there's nothing I wanna hear about more than World War 2 battle tactics or vintage car repair or whatever hobby he's picked up to make himself feel more masculine."

"And?" Mabel prompted.

"And my favorite animal is cats, my favorite color is pink, my favorite flavor is chocolate, my favorite film genre is not slapstick snuff, my favorite time to get married is next week, and my favorite body part on a partner is their eyes still inside their sockets, but if I specify the socket part it'll worry him."

"Right! Gold star!" She smacked a sticker onto his shirt.

Stan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Knock 'im dead," he said. "Not literally. Unless you're sure the other two won't catch you."

"I'll see what I can do," Bill said.

####

The three agents eyed the sign that had been set up outside the Mystery Shack's main door. It said, "Self-guided tour today! $15" and there was a cardboard box taped beneath with a slit cut in the lid.

Agent Dale said, "Do you think that's for us?"

"Probably not," Trigger said uncertainly. "We have a warrant."

"Huh." Dale reread the sign, then tentatively rummaged through his pocket for his wallet and pulled out three fives. Trigger pushed his hand back down.

Soos ran around the side of the shack, breathing heavily. "Oh, wow! What a... totally random coincidence... running into you guys again..." He put his hands on his knees, huffing. "Gimme a sec. I was... running pretty fast... for no reason."

"Mr. Ramirez," Powers said. He held out a search warrant. "We're here to search this building for missing government property."

"Oh, dude, that's crazy," Soos said. "Do you like, have evidence that this property is in the building? Like, I don't know, any kind of... signal that it's giving off, maybe? That confirms it's here?"

Powers turned to Dale. He pulled his tablet out to check. "Uhhh... negative, sir. We're nnnot detecting the signal we picked up yesterday."

Powers frowned. "Hmm."

Trigger said, "Maybe the signal's... on the fritz?"

"Good point," Powers said. "We'd better search anyway. Dale, you start in the museum; Trigger, come with me to the back. I'll interview Mr. Ramirez." He gave Soos a sharp look. "And I hope you'll have more to say today than that you don't know anything."

Soos swallowed hard.

####

From the living room couch, Soos called to Trigger, "Be careful with the stuff in here, okay? This old shack's full of priceless antiques and authentic exotic curios. I glued half of them together myself!"

"So." Powers took a seat in one of the armchairs, opened an unlabeled manila folder and propped it on his knee, and clicked out a retractable pen. "Jesús Ramirez, correct? You prefer 'Soos'?"

"Yep, that's right," Soos said. "When I started school, my cousin Reggie, he'd yell at me across the cafeteria to sit with him, like, 'Jesús!' But some of the kids in my grade thought he was saying, 'hey, Soos!' And it stuck."

Powers nodded slowly. "I... see. And, you're the head of the household."

"Yup! That's me!"

"Property records say that the house is owned by 'Stanford Pines'?"

"Uhhh, yeah," Soos said. "He kinda, stepped down as head of the house, unofficially, and I'm running the house now. Also the business."

"And where is Stanford Pines right now?"

"Oh, he's out." (They had agreed that under no circumstances could the agents talk to Stan, lest something from last summer come up; and they definitely couldn't talk to the real Stanford Pines, whom they already knew as a mysterious superior officer from Washington.)

"When will he be back?"

Soos hesitated. "Ooout of the country. World traveling. Yeah, haha, he's been doing that for the past year with his brother."

Powers flipped a couple pages forward in his file. "His brother Sherman? Who lives in New Jersey?"

"No no, his other brother."

His other brother who died thirty years ago?"

Soos paused. "Uhhh..."

Dale ducked into the living room. "Sirs—I've found something interesting. You have to come see this."

Powers got to his feet, closing his folder and tucking it under his arm. "Excuse me." He followed his agents.

Soos heaved a sigh of relief.

"Wow, Questiony,—you were this close to collapsing like a house of cards."

Bill sauntered down the stairs. He was in a dress covered in yellowy-orangey triangles that managed, for the first time all summer, to reveal that he did in fact have curves, and he'd grabbed a set of green triangular clip-on earrings from Mabel's jewelry. A gold star sticker had been stuck on one of the earrings. Soos thought it was kinda weird to look at him all dressed up, with hair and everything. Bill looked like if Bill had a sister.

"Man," Soos said, slumping back into the couch. "I don't know if I can take another round of that. They're using some kind of government interrogation mind tricks."

"Relax," Bill said. "I'll take it from here."

He shut one eye and shot Soos a pair of finger guns as he backed into the gift shop, and twirled around to go pursue his prey.

####

Dale jogged through the gift shop, nodding to a couple of tourists as he passed—"Morning, ladies"—and ducked through the "employees only" door. A moment later, all three agents jogged into the museum. An older woman asked, "Why are so many handsome men in suits running around?"

As Bill let himself into the gift shop, he said, "Secret government agents! They're here investigating a conspiracy."

"Oh my," the woman gushed. "Isn't that exciting!"

"They'll only be here today! See if you can get their autographs!" Bill leaned on the front counter. "Hey, nice to see you back. You were missed yesterday."

Melody gave him an irritated look from behind the register.

"Surprised you came in, after how you felt yesterday!" In part because Soos was attempting to get as many people away from the shack and out of the danger zone as possible. He'd told Wendy she could take the day off, he'd persuaded Abuelita to go visit Reggie and his wife, and he'd tried to talk the kids into hanging out somewhere else for the day and only relented when they argued that their plucky 13-year-old adventuring expertise could be useful if things took a turn for the worse. Surely, he'd asked his fiancée to stay home too; strange that she hadn't. "Word is you're having trouble sleeping. Bad dreams? If it is, I could help you out. I happen to be an expert on—"

"I don't want your help." Her voice was a lot more venomous than Bill had expected.

He blinked in surprise. He knew she wasn't his biggest fan, but that seemed unnecessarily hostile. "Whoa, just offering! Don't bite my head off. Those don't grow back."

Melody sighed. "Sorry," she said insincerely, looking away from him. "I just... This whole plan bothers me. Flirting with some poor guy just to distract him."

Don't lie to a liar, girl. Something else was bothering her. Still, Bill only said, "Do you have a better plan?"

"Yeah? Just don't do anything suspicious and make sure Gompers stays away from the shack until the agents get bored and leave."

Bill scoffed. "And if they don't get bored?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Why would they? This town's got gnomes, fairies, and a crashed spaceship."

"Well—yeah, but, that's not a reason to focus on the shack."

"Never underestimate what the government will chuck tax dollars at without a good reason!"

Melody huffed, "Okay, fine. I still don't like it."

Yeah, Bill bet she didn't. Especially with the Bureau of Covert Investigations here looking for someone dangerous.

Okay—he'd given the eagles enough of a head start for it to look natural when he casually bumped into them. He straightened up, stretched, and sauntered toward the museum's curtain. "I won't ask you to wish me luck—" he lifted one wrist toward Melody and shook the bracelet covered in evil eye beads that Mabel had given him, "—just don't wish me ill." And then he followed the agents into the museum.

####

"Here it is," Dale said, stopping. "What do you make of this?"

He was standing in front of the museum's taxidermy Sascrotch display.

Trigger covered his mouth, trying to hold back a snort of laughter.

Dale grinned. "It's pretty great, right?"

Powers looked the Sascrotch up and down. "I don't get it."

"Heeey, secret agent man!" Bill swept into the museum and leaned against the wall, head propped against his hand, other hand on his cocked hip. "Imagine meeting you three days in a row, what a coincidence! I'm starting to feel like you're following me around."

Powers looked at Bill—and then started a little. (Not used to seeing him with his eyes emphasized properly, no doubt.) His cheeks immediately turned pink. Flustered, he stammered awkwardly for a moment before getting out, "I—I—Pardon me, I can assure you, you're not under investigation—" Dale and Trigger exchanged a glance and tried not to grin.

"Hey, whoa! I didn't mean it in a bad way." He flashed Powers his best smile. (He'd practiced in the mirror. Mabel had given him tips on not making it too wide.) "Say, since I was lucky enough to see you again, I've got a question for you, secret agent man."

"Yes?"

Bill batted his long, gorgeous lashes at Powers. "Do you believe in love at first sight, or am I gonna have to arrange a fourth meeting?"

"Uhh." Powers's already stellar posture somehow found a way to straighten a little bit more. "The first three times were more than sufficient, ma'am."

"Haha, you charmer!" All right, maybe Mabel had had a point about not opening up with a line about eyeballs. Still, this would be a cinch. Bill had been manipulating humans for millennia, and flirting was no different. Slipping into this role felt natural. He was in his element. He was good at this. He'd have this guy eating out of his hand in an hour.

Dale and Trigger looked at each other again, and Dale said, "Sir, maybe Trigger and I should search the house. You can take the museum."

"Maybe you could interview the locals," Trigger threw in, before they beat a hasty retreat.

"Ho—hold on!" Powers said; but his agents had already abandoned him. What terrific wingmen. Not the best agents, maybe.

"Sooo," Bill said, "if you aren't here to see me, what brings you by this old dump of a tourist trap again? It can't be the displays." He tugged out the waistband of Sascrotch's briefs with a finger and let go, letting it snap back against its waist; a small cloud of dust puffed out of the fur. "Still looking for some dangerous character?"

"No, not at the moment. Nothing you need to worry about," Powers said. "We're here looking for some... sensitive objects?"

"Oh? What kind of sensitive objects?" Bill asked. "I've been to this little tourist trap a few times, maybe I can help find 'em?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

"What, you don't think you can trust me?" Bill batted his lashes. That had been working pretty well for him so far. (The mascara had to be helping. Man, was he glad to have mascara again.)

Powers avoided making eye contact. "I"m sure you're very trustworthy. But—it would be an embarrassment to the bureau, you understand."

"Sure! Sure." Billl's smile wilted slightly. "Well—I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I just watch, would you? I've never seen a real federal investigation in action—seems exciting."

Powers hesitated, his professionalism warring with his very obvious crush. "I... suppose I wouldn't mind." Sure, like he wasn't utterly flattered.

As Powers's inspection took him around the museum and back into the gift shop, he said, "You said your name was Goldie? I don't think I ever got your last name."

Oh he'd better not be planning on a background check. "It's Locke—and yes, I've already heard every comment about it you can imagine."

Powers gave him a quizzical look. "I believe you told us to inform Mr. Gleeful that a 'Mr. Locke' had recommended we purchase a car from him?"

He had said that, hadn't he. If he'd known two days ago he'd have to femme up for this guy... "Sure! I happen to be related to a lot of Mr. Lockes!" Before Powers could pry into this family Bill had just invented, he hurried on: "Say, I never got your name, did I!" Did he? Since he already knew it, he couldn't remember if he'd bothered to ask.

"Of course—I'm Agent Powers."

"Is 'Agent' your first name, handsome?"

Powers flushed a little more, and he mumbled, "Manny."

"Manny Powers?" Bill casually slid between Powers and the vending machine to keep him from looking too close at it. "Like, 'manpower'?"

"Precisely," Powers said. "Obviously, that's... not my real name, just my assigned codename for field assignments."

Bill laughed, "Hey, not bad! 'Manpower,' that's pretty funny."

"Is it?" Powers asked. "Hm. It isn't supposed to be. I'll have to speak with HQ about that."

Bill pressed his lips together. Tell him he's funny, Bill! Guys love it when you tell them how funny they are! Last time hetook advice from a human on anything. He shot an exasperated look toward Melody, who winced in what he hoped was sympathy.

Trigger ducked into the gift shop. "Sir? I think we've found something. Really, this time."

Powers's attention snapped to him. "Show me."

Bill maintained his position until the agents were gone; and then he let out a long, frustrated sigh. He glanced at Melody. "How are we doing?"

She grimaced. "I'd give it... three out of five stars?"

"You're generous, I appreciate that." He nearly rubbed his eyelids in irritation, and only the sight of his red fingernails reminded him of his makeup in time to stop.

In his heart of hearts, Bill felt like he should have already won by now—but then, he'd always hated waiting for things. Usually he could force patience on himself by finding a peephole that would let him see further into the future so he could tell exactly when his latest plan would succeed. In this body, he couldn't see any farther than a few minutes, and he didn't have any eyes he could look through but his own. Like this, he didn't even know whether he'd succeed.

Except of course he would. Of course. He always did. He didn't need to check. He had until the agents left to make some real progress, and that was plenty of time. He'd figure this out.

He almost backed into the living room, remembered at the last second that he didn't want Melody to know about his door ignoring trick, and said flatly, "Door." Melody reluctantly left her station to help open it.

In the living room, Dale was standing on top of the table, which he'd dragged over in front of the TV, and attempting to pry a board out of the ceiling with a crowbar. He asked Soos, "You're sure you don't have a stepladder somewhere?"

"Uh-uh," Soos said. He was hovering in the doorway, wringing his hands together. "It's against the house rules."

"We picked up a faint radio signal," Trigger explained to Powers. "Like from a walkie-talkie with a dying battery, or..."

"Ah-ha!" Dale pulled a gray blocky object out of a space over the ceiling. It appeared to be a radio: it had an antenna, a speaker, a couple of glowing lights flickering on the brink of going out... and a large Bureau of Covert Investigations seal stamped on the front. The eagle peering through the magnifying glass seemed as surprised to see them as they were to see it. "Is... is this one of our transmitters?"

Powers blinked at it in amazement. "What in the Sam Hill is one of our transmitters doing in this building!" He directed the question toward Soos.

Soos flinched. "How should I know, I didn't know this place was bugged! I would've unbugged it if I knew." He paused. "Unless that's a federal crime or something. In which case forget I said that."

"We're the guys that oughta know about it," Dale said, shrugging cluelessly. "Since it's one of ours. Weird."

Powers held his hand out for the transmitter, examined it, and turned it over. On the back a strip of black label-maker tape read, "GOVERNMENT PROPERTY! IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN TO AGENT TRIGGER."

Powers and Dale turned to Trigger.

He looked between them, baffled. "Wh— Well, I didn't put it there! I would've remembered putting it there." He frowned. "I mean... I should remember putting it there."

Powers's lips were pressed so flat together they were almost invisible beneath his mustache. "Well. Obviously, we ought to take it back."

Tentatively, Dale asked, "And... place a new one with a fresh battery, sir?"

Powers's brows drew together in anger. Between gritted teeth, he said, "Not with the civilians listening to you say so..."

Soos was still standing in the doorway, and Dipper and Mabel were peering around him from the staircase. Melody had peeked in nervously from the gift shop. At the callout, the kids and Melody had the grace to withdraw again. But Powers wasn't looking at them. He was glancing sideways toward Bill, standing right by his side—and Bill's wide-eyed gaze never wavered from Powers's face.

This wasn't good—they did not need the agents trying to figure out why they might have left a bug in the shack. Damage control time. "Hey," Bill said. "if you forgot about it completely, must not have picked up anything interesting, right? Otherwise you'da remembered it!"

All three agents' faces immediately darkened and they exchanged meaningful looks. Bill didn't like it when people exchanged meaningful looks he didn't know the meaning of. "Apparently so," Powers muttered.

"I'll just... take this to the car," Trigger said.

Soos backed out of the way to give him room to leave, then trailed after him: "So, are there any other bugs in here we should probably know about...?"

Bill waited until Trigger was already out of the house before he said to Dale, "Hey, does he have the car keys?"

"Oh!" Dale patted his pockets, then hurried out. "Trigger, wait!"

Once his agents were gone, Powers grumbled to himself, "'Place a new one.' What happened to professionalism." He rubbed his forehead. "Find one bug that you mysteriously don't know about, and everyone forgets how to act like government agents..."

He trailed off, giving Bill an uneasy sideways glance. Bill was still staring full force at him. He cleared his throat. "You... have an incredibly penetrating gaze, ma'am."

"Thanks! Keep talking like that and maybe it'll penetrate you," Bill really wanted to say, but didn't; "flirtatious euphemisms that could be about stabbing" and "comments that put the fear of the cruel ever-watching All-Seeing Eye of God in you" were both on Bill's list of banned topics. Instead, he tried, "Thanks! You're incredibly easy to look at!"

"O-oh." Powers adjusted his tie self-consciously. Getting a little hot under the collar, huh. "Am I?"

"You bet! In fact, I was just thinking you really look like dad material."

"That's... kind of you to say," Powers said. "However, I've never liked children."

"Oh." Bill shut his eyes until the urge to turn somebody's bones into thumbtacks subsided. "Sure, that's fine. I can take 'em or leave 'em."

"Sir?" Trigger called from the doorway. "What's our next move?"

"Excuse me." Powers left Bill, heading out to join his agents on the porch.

Bill drifted out to the entryway. Mabel and Dipper were huddled on the stairs. Bill shot Mabel a pained look and hissed, "How could you have steered me so wrong?"

"Sorryyy," she whispered back. "I thought the dad one was a winner!"

"I trusted you, star girl." He slid outside behind Powers just before the door swung shut.

And just before Soos came back in, looking stricken. Dipper asked, "What happened?"

"The agent with the movie star face asked what days the museum's closed," Soos said. "I think they're thinking about searching it more? And, he told me not to leave town? I can't take this, dude." A wild look had entered his eyes. "I'm not cut out for prison. I'm too gentle-hearted!"

"Shhh." Melody took his arm and gently led him away from the door, rubbing his back. "It's gonna be all right, Soos. It sounds like the agents are distracted. Why don't we close the museum early for lunch and try looking for Gompers again, okay? Maybe he's ready to come home. And we can get some fresh air, yeah?"

"Yeah." Soos took a deep breath. "Okay. You're right." He turned toward Dipper and Mabel. "Can you dudes handle the gift shop while we're out?"

"Sure thing, Soos, no problem," Dipper said. "You go ahead."

The twins waited until they heard the sound of the gift shop exit door closing, then Dipper said, "Not it."

"Me neither," Mabel said.

"The gift shop customers can take care of themselves for a few minutes." Dipper opened the back door a crack, and they both crowded against it. Bill—leaning on the wall next to the door with his arms crossed—glanced at the kids through the crack, raised a couple fingers in acknowledgement, and then all three listened to the agents on the porch:

"Well, obviously the flash drive signal wasn't a fluke. They must have hidden it since yesterday."

"We can't leave until we find it and figure out what's happening here." (Bill made a mental note to lord that over Melody later.) "What are our next steps?"

"Should we request more sensitive equipment to scan for electronics? There might be other transmitters in the building with completely dead batteries we're not picking up." (That seemed like a fast way to discover the door hidden behind the vending machine.)

"Maybe we ought to run some more background checks on the rest of the people here. How many of them have we checked out?"

A jolt of fear shot up Bill's spine. And that seemed like a fast way to discover that "Goldie Locke" didn't legally exist. "All right," he muttered through the crack. "I tried this the human way. Now I'm doing it my way."

"Wait," Dipper hissed, "Bill, no! What are you planning?!"

Bill ignored him as he sidled up to Powers. "Not heading out already, are you?"

Powers said, "As soon as Trigger finishes updating HQ." Trigger had walked off the porch and was now making a phone call. Dale surreptitiously scooted to the other end of the porch to give Powers and Bill room to talk.

"Aww, too bad. I was enjoying watching a real investigation at work!"

"Hm. I'm afraid you didn't see us at our most competent," Powers muttered.

"Hey, everyone has an off day or two." Bill leaned closer, just near enough for his bare arm to brush Powers's suit sleeve, and murmured, "And, anyway—not to bad-mouth these rookies, but even on a bad day it's already pretty clear you're the smartest guy in the room. I can only imagine how fascinating it'd be to watch you at work when you're bringing your A game."

Powers cleared his throat, obviously trying not to look flustered. "Well. Yes. We'll no doubt be around a few more days. Perhaps we'll... cross paths again...?"

Not good. Too passive. By now, this sucker was supposed to be falling all over himself to ask out the mysterious blonde. Bill could probably ask him out and it'd go fine—but he wasn't sure how attached this guy was to traditional gender roles, there was a chance it could turn him off.

(That was the excuse he told himself. In truth, part of him was getting mad. He wanted to be the one who was asked out. He should be asked out. He was more than good enough to be asked out, and this over-evolved eukaryote had no right to deny him that.)

He pressed, "Still, I hate to see you go. Three times I've run into you, and I hardly know any more about you than I did on the beach! I get that being mysterious comes with the whole secret agent territory—but I've been going crazy, wondering all night about this handsome stranger in town." He put just the slightest emphasis on all night—and threw in a wink for good measure.

"H... have you?" Powers turned to face Bill fully. "Well... some of my personal information is classified, given the nature of my work, but—what do you want to know?"

"For starters, I think I'm overdue to ask you whether you're single!"

"I—Yes, I am."

"Whaddaya know—something we have in common!" Bill pretended he had to think a moment before saying, "Hmm... Hey, here's another fun little get-to-know-you question: what conspiracy would you most hate to be true?"

(Through the ajar crack in the door, he could hear Mabel loudly whisper, "Bill nooo...")

"That's a fascinating question. I've often wondered it myself." Powers stared off into the distance, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose... I think I'd most hate to find out the government has tried to brainwash its own citizens. Not just propaganda, mind—that's fine—I mean actual brainwashing."

No way. Bill had to pin his lips between his teeth to keep from bursting out laughing. Somebody had forgotten to tell this guy about MKUltra. Wow. Wow. He worked for the Bureau of Covert Investigations. How did he miss MKUltra. Bill had to grope behind himself for the porch sofa and sit before he lost his balance from fighting not to laugh. When he was sure he could manage a few words without a giggle escaping, he squeaked, "Yeah, that—sounds... pretty bad."

"What about yours?" Powers turned toward Bill.

He had to quickly prop his elbow on the armrest and prop his chin in his hand to hide his mouth, pretending to think. He hoped his amusement wasn't showing elsewhere on his face—human faces had too many muscles to keep track of. "Mm! Hmm." While he was trying to get his laughter under control, Bill tried to pick out one of the countless conspiracies in his repertoire that was obscure enough to be impressive but not obscure enough to be suspicious. (Or "obscure" enough Powers didn't know about it—hello, MKUltra.) "Wow, there's—there's a lot that'd be terrible. But hey, as long as we're talking politics—" (Mabel hissed "Bill NO!") "—I've heard a rumor in the area that there's a secret crazy president that was kicked out and covered up in the history books, ever heard about that one?" That oughta grab his attention.

But to Bill's surprise, Powers frowned thoughtfully and slowly shook his head. "No, it's unfamiliar. It must be a local theory," he said. "If the government were to cover up an entire presidency, I'm sure they would have a pressing reason for it—but I do see how the concept would be alarming."

Bill stared at him. Did this guy not know anything the government was up to?! He should have been going out of his mind trying to figure out how Bill knew about Trembley. Powers wasn't the kind of agent who could tell decent lies. If he did know something, he wouldn't play dumb like that; he'd just tell Bill it was "classified." Did he really not know? But the eagles' search for Trembley's remains should have nothing to do with the memories Ford wiped from the agents' minds.

The Bureau of Covert Investigations was so covert, agents usually weren't even told about other bureau investigations they weren't personally part of. So...

Was the bureau running two investigations in Gravity Falls?

Had Powers not been looped into the Trembley case?

"Uh..." Bill scrambled to think of another conspiracy that might catch Powers's interest. (He and Trigger had mentioned Hangar 618; no wonder they had time to work on cases across the country if they were only handling half the active investigations in Gravity Falls—no, focus, focus.) "How about Big Fashion, have you heard of that one? The theory that the fashion industry's teaming up to take down ways for people to get clothes other than buying new. Thrift shops, fabric stores, sewing pattern companies..."

Powers nodded. "I'm familiar with the theory." (Oh good—Bill would've been embarrassed for him if he hadn't known that one.) "I'm afraid I haven't paid close attention to the evidence for it. I already buy all my clothes new—I don't like the thought of another man's skin cells lingering on the inside of my shirts, it feels unsanitary."

It was no wonder this guy had been assigned to Gravity Falls. Bill doubted he was weird enough to really fit in here—but he was just odd enough to feel the town's pull. "For starters, there's the assassination of the president of Valhalla Sewing Machines a few years ago. Sewing machines are one of Big Fashion's top targets."

"Something definitely happened there," Powers agreed, "but all evidence points to the hit being ordered by Crooner Company over their rival line of sewing machines. They did acquire Valhalla just a few months later."

"And Crooner's been battling the bad PR ever since," Bill said dismissively. "Neither company came out of that mess looking good. It was an obvious false flag operation!"

Powers frowned, and for a moment Bill worried that he'd said too much—that Powers either thought Bill sounded like a crackpot, or thought Bill knew too much for some small town civilian... but he said, approvingly, "You know your stuff."

Jackpot. Time to go in for the kill. "I try to! I'm interested in how the gears of the universe turn. Reality, society, politics, business—what greases those wheels? Who winds the clock? There's a lot going on underneath the surface. And I like to keep my eye on all of it." He lowered his voice. "Actually, I'm glad to see you in town. I've also felt like something's going on under the surface of this town, but..." He left the sentence dangling.

Slowly, Power said, "Something... paranormal, perhaps?"

"Ha! Between the Mystery Shack here and that 'child psychic' in town, that's the reputation Gravity Falls has now," Bill said. "I'm not the kind of gullible dope to get spooked by ghost stories without proof. But—whatever's going on here... it does feel spooky."

Powers nodded slowly. "Whenever I'm in this town, I have the exact same thoughts."

Bill fought to keep the triumph off his face.

####

Dipper whispered, "I can't believe this is working."

He and Mabel were crammed against the door, one on top of each other, listening to Bill say, "This has been a fascinating conversation. I'd love to hear more about your work... wink."

Dipper said, "I can't believe this is working even though he says 'wink' out loud."

Mabels shushed him. "Bill's doing great!"

Powers said, "Unfortunately, I do have to go submit my own report to headquarters. But, I'm free this evening. If you'd like to see a movie, or...?"

Mabel gasped. "Idea!" She tapped on the door's window to catch Bill's attention, and, when he glanced her way, she pointed out toward the clearing beyond the porch.

Bill looked at the clearing and twitched in surprise. Through the crack in the door, Dipper tried to see what Bill was looking at. He couldn't see anything in the clearing.

Bill turned to Powers. "Howsabout dinner? There's a diner in town called Greasy's. I've heard good things about it! For starters, that the food is better than the name."

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Wait, hold on—he's not allowed to go out, is he?" But Mabel didn't answer; she was sprinting full speed up the stairs.

From the far end of the porch, Dale said, "Oh, Greasy's is terrific, I went there yesterday for lunch. Makes a damn fine cup of coffee. And try the cherry pie."

"Very well," Power said. "When should I...?"

"I'll meet you at the diner. Let's say seven."

When the agents had left, Dipper yanked open the door. "What was that?! Nobody said you could actually leave to go on a date!"

Bill shrugged. "It wasn't my idea, it was your sister's."

"What?" Dipper frowned. "When did she say that?"

"She didn't. She's going to."

Mabel pounded down the stairs, counting the steps under her breath—"twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty eight"—carrying a neon yellow posterboard folded loosely in half. She ran out the door to the clearing behind the shack, held up the posterboard—she'd written "♡ INVITE HIM TO GREASY'S ♡" in thick black marker—and announced, "Ta-da!"

"You're too late," Dipper said. "Bill already asked Powers and he already left."

Bill said, "I asked him because I saw her telling me to."

Dipper looked between Bill and the poster. "Ohhh. Hang on. This is a future sight thing?"

"Bingo."

"How long should I hold it up?" Mabel called.

"Just give it another ten seconds," Bill said. "That thing's fluorescent, I could probably see it from an hour away."

She bounced on the balls of her feet for a few more seconds, then said, "Okay!" and jogged back to the porch, beaming from ear to ear. "That was so cool."

"Hey, smart girl!" Bill caught Mabel's sleeve before she could run past him. "You know, I've been talking to humans for thousands of years, and you're the first who's ever sent a message backwards in time to me?"

"Really?" Her face lit up. "Shut up! There's no way I'm the first-first!"

"Hand on heart, Shooting Star, no other human's ever tried it," Bill said. "You can't even see the fourth dimension, but you still understand it well enough to send messages through it. I'm genuinely impressed!"

Mabel's delight reached a boiling over point. She cackled in glee, gave Bill a quick hug, and bounded into the living room, crowing, "I'M THE GREATEST!"

Bill watched Mabel zoom into the gift shop, grinning proudly; and then his eyes slid sideways to meet Dipper's. "What's that look for."

Dipper was leveling his best suspicious glare at Bill. "Oh, nothing," he said. "Just thinking about how, the last time I heard you say you were impressed, you were just manipulating me into letting you puppet my body."

"Hmm! Yeah! I did do that!" Bill said. "Did I say I was genuinely impressed?"

Dipper's scowl deepened.

Bill's smirk widened. "C'mon, kid, don't be jealous just because you're not the alpha twin. It'd make your sister feel terrible."

####

"You actually got a date?" Ford asked.

"Sure! As if it's hard!"

Stan smugly held out a hand, palm up. Ford shot him an exasperated look, but sighed, fished around in his pocket, pulled out five large one-dollar coins, and dropped them in Stan's hand.

Bill stared at Ford, brows raised. "I don't know what's more insulting: that you bet against me, or that you've stopped using paper currency." Ford didn't deign to respond.

When they had been absolutely sure the agents were gone—for now—Soos had gone downstairs to let the Stans know the coast was clear; and now the adults were gathered in the living room again to discuss their next moves. Or, rather, Bill's.

Stan said, "So there's still been no sign of Gompers?"

"Nope," Soos said. "He's really run off. Plus, me and Melo—" (at Ford's look, he corrected himself) "—Melody and I drove around earlier looking for him? You know, in case he came out of the woods somewhere? But one of the government guys started following me in a black car? Sooo we had to stop looking, and I guess we're still being watched."

"Which'll make it harder to sneak me out for my date without them noticing I live here," Bill said. Maybe they could sneak him out with the crystal flashlight trick he and Mabel had pulled before, but he'd rather not tell the other Pines how they'd pulled that off in case they ever had to do it again. "We might be able to split 'em up while we outnumber them, but if this goes on for long, they'll bring in reinforcements."

"Ford and I can't help distract them," Stan pointed out. "We've gotta stay inside. And Soos is the only one that can drive Bill to this date. With the kids' help, we've only just got enough people to split the agents up."

Ford muttered, "Meaning there's no one to keep a watch over Bill." He crossed his arms. "Letting Bill flirt with a government agent under our roof is one thing—but I don't like a plan that involves letting Bill out in public and trusting him not to throw us under the bus." (Bill had considered it, but decided it would just cause the government to seize his portal and Mabel to never speak to him again.)

"He wouldn't do that," Soos said hotly—to Bill's surprise. "He already had a chance to run away and he didn't! And if he wanted us to get in trouble, he could have just not helped at all!"

"I..." Ford looked for a moment like he wanted to protest—Bill expected him to protest—but then he grimaced, shut his mouth, and said nothing. There was an even bigger surprise. Bill wasn't actually making progress with Ford, was he? Bill stared at the side of his face, willing him to explain himself; but Ford avoided his gaze.

Stan said, "Listen, I don't like letting him out either, but I don't think we have a choice."

"All right, all right," Ford sighed. "Fine. I don't like it—but unless Gompers shows up in the next few hours, you're still our best hope of getting out of this mess." (Bill decided to pretend that was praise and spent a second basking in it.) "Which means you have to find out everything the agents currently know and suspect, keep them away from anything that could restore their memories, convince them to turn their attention away from our household without the flash drive, andmake sure no one gets arrested. And you've got one date to do it all in."

It was a tall order—but the way Ford said it like a challenge, like he thought maybe Bill couldn't do it, made Bill's blood boil. "Piece of cake! Don't forget it's taken me less time than that to convince you to do a lllot more than that." At Ford's scowl, Bill grinned viciously. "One date's all I need. By the end of the night, I'll have this whole thing figured out." If he said it like he believed it, it was basically true.

####

(The only bits of this that were changed in the wake of TBOB were adding in the discussion about the Seduction Hat; and adding a short section establishing that Powers's team is not involved with the Trembley investigation and briefly mentioning Hangar 618. In the original draft of this chapter, I'd said that a different government department was handling the Trembley case, until TBOB established otherwise. Establishing that Powers's team wasn't on the Trembley case is something that'll be important in future chapters.

From here on out the plot arc speeds up and turns increasingly into some kinda fusion between a spy drama and a reverse heist movie. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts so far and your thoughts on where it's gonna go!)

[sharksandsquirrelsandsnakes-ohmy]

The Human Bit the Werewolf?

Chapter 1: The Bite of 2013

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 2

Stiles chews on things almost compulsively, always has.

He has a binky as a toddler that had to be ripped away crying and screaming even though he'd chew through them. He chewed the lid to every sippy cup he had and the straw to every cup after.

It was funny at first, they'd call him a little chipmunk or a bunny. When it inevitably got annoying, people made thinnly veiled insults about being like a poorly trained doy or a goat.

As a kid, he chewed on the loose-hanging bit of his backpack straps. He was once gifted a cross necklace and he'd always put it in his mouth to fidget with until his dad took it away during church. He chewed on his erasers. When they were taken away, he'd chew on the metal bit of his pencils, and then he'd start chewing on the pencil itself when they took that. If they ever took his pencils, he'd start chewing on his nails or his shirt.

He still chews on his pencils. In fact, he tends to rip the clip off the mechanical ones to chew on them. He’d stick the jeep key in his mouth and rub it between his teeth. At least now, teachers don't freak out if he has gum.

It'd always been like that. Stiles didn’t really know why or what drove it, probably his ADHD since he's never had an original experience in his life(barring the supernatural). That was only half of it, though.

Then there was the biting. And, if Stiles had been a werewolf, things would have gone awry much sooner.

He often got the urge to bite things or people he cared for– after many hors of stressed googling, he figured out it was probably just a form of cuteness aggression his brain didn't properly filter. That said, he used to regularly bite his parents and Scott when he was little, before he was taught not to.

Then he started dating Malia and it got worse. He stuffed the urge down for a while, chewing his pen or nails instead.

The first time he did bite her– it was more of a nip really– it was done playfully when they were talking and joking after having sex. He really thought he’d fucked up when she pinned him against the bed on reflex. Then she told him to do it again.

She'd tell him to bite her while they had sex so he, of course, thought it was a kink thing. When Malia would catch him staring at her and chewing on his pens, she'd glare at him. Apparently, she got annoyed with him and, in a very Malia way of dealing with things, pinned him down against his bed and interrogated him about it.

"Why do you only bite me when we have sex?"

"Wha—"

"I know you want to do it more often, so why don't you," she asked, glaring down at Stiles.

"You want me to bite you more," Stiles asked, shear confusion in his voice.

"Obviously, dumbass," Malia scoffed.

Stiles might he an idiot at times, but he's not too stupid to do what he's told, especially when it benefits him too. And, sure, it was weird the first few times he did it, but it also didn't at all. He’d occasionally just take Malia's hand in his and bring it to his mouth and nip at her fingers.

It was weirdly normal, an easy habit to fall into. The only thing that made it weird was when people stared at them for it, and Malia was quick to remedy that.

When they broke up, Stiles found himself back at square one, chewing his pencils and trying to ignore his brain. It mostly resulted in a lot of teeth grinding.

Stiles started to notice the need to chewnon something got worse around the pack. He tried to chalk it up to his subconscious reacting to Malia, which he knew was bull shit. He knew what it was, who it was.

When Derek would cross his arms and flex just perfect to frame the muscles in his arms and chest or when he'd use the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face, showing off his ab-muscles, or when he'd wipe blood off his face with the back of his hand, or raise his eyebrows at Stiles in annoyance, or– honestly– just exist in the mear vicinity of Stiles, it was like he teeth itched to bite him. Just a little nip, as a treat, ya know? Sometimes the irony of it would hit him, Stiles wanting to bite the werewolf when it should be the other way around. Then again, Stiles had rather regularly bitten Malia, the were-coyote while they dated.

Stiles had problems. Psychological problems.

One late night of blurry-eyed research, Derek snuck in through Stiles's open window and found him asleep at his desk with about a million b's typed into the search bar. He sighed to himself and tried to wake Stiles up. He at least wanted to get the idiot to sleep in bed rather than hunched over the desk.

"Stiles, wake up," Derek whispered, not wanted to alert sheriff of his presence.

Stiles hummed and looked at Derek tiredly.

"Come on, let's get you to bed,"Derek grumbled, lifting Stiles out of the chair so he was standing up even though Derek was supporting most of his weight.

"Thankks Der," Stiles mumbled, letting himself be guided to bed. "Ya know, you’re cute when your nice," he hummed, not fully grasping how much he'd regret it later.

Derek didn't say anything more, rather he tried to ignore the sleepy mumblings.

"So cute I could just..." Stiles clicked his teeth together in a mock bite.

In his tired state, he fully missed how Derek’s face turned red. He tossed the blankets aside and plopped Stiles down on the bed. He didn't stick around much longer, deciding he'd get the info he came for second-hand from Scott.

Stiles noticed how Derek was pointedly absent absent in the next few days. If he wanted information from Stiles, he'd ask Scott or one of the betas to ask. Stiles could text Derek about something and would be lucky to receive a one word text back.

He remembered Derek swinging by and talking some but not about what. He was sure his big mouth was ruining things again, just not how bad.

Slowly, very slowly, Derek started being willing– and able– to be around again. Still, the others ketp giving him weird looks. He also noticed that Derek would look away everytime Stiles looked at his, as if he’d been caught staring.

Of course, things couldn't possibly be normal for more than five minutes in Beacon Hills and especially not with their little group. Inevitable, things went to Hell.

Stiles couldn’t have even told you what it was they'd been fighting– some goat or bull creature with horns. He remembered the horns because he'd gotten the business end of them and a matching concussion. Really, all he remembered was sitting on the cold bathroom floor, watching Derek’s muscle move under his skin as he patched up Isaac or Scott, maybe Jackson.

That bitting itch– pun intended– grew in his head and Stiles just... leaned forward and bit Derek’s arm. His skin was salty with sweat and he could feel the hair against his skin.

He didn’t realize how quiet or still it had gotten when he leaned back. He didn't realize for a while.

"Stiles, did you just bite me," Derek asked as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. He was caught between concern and confusion and arousal but was really trying to stick with concern.

"I did," Stiles asked back, surprised he'd acted on the thought. "Shit, sorry dude. I tend to— I don't know why... Fuck, my head hurts," he sighed, trying to form a coherent explanation.

Before Stiles could figure out how to put things into words, Scott was driving him to the hospital.

And, once again, Derek was avoiding him, only worse! Stiles couldn’t get an answer through text. Derek was never there whe the pack met up. When Stiles tried to stop by the loft to talk, Derek was never there. On top of which, Stiles swore he'd see Derek out of the corner of his eye but there was nobody there when he looked. He was genuinely starting to feel crazy.

He was sure he'd fucked up really bad when goddamn Peter showed up at the school to talk to him.

"Stiles, let's go for a walk," Peter said in his fake nice, higher than thou, tone.

"I’m not supposed to talk to creepy mass murders," Stiles said back, walking towards the jeep instead.

"Now, don't you want to know why my dear nephew has been avoiding you," Peter goaded and Stiles begrudgingly stopped walking. "I must say, you are a rather forward one. I didn’t expect it, though it seems quite obvious in hindsight," he mused.

Stiles shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"From what I understand, you bit my dear nephew without forewarning and in front of everyone. Might as well have stuck your hand in his pocket and kissed him as well," Peter teased.

"Whoa, whoa whoa, what the Hell are you talking about," Stiles asked, starting to get a little freaked out.

"What, do you not do that anymore," Peter asked rhetorically. "I always thought putting your hand in someone else's pocket was rather uncomfortable, but it was a blatant sign that you were together."

"God, I know what the pocket thing means," Stiles said, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "But why are you bringing it up?"

"I know you're not a complete idiot. That's why you're not dead... Yet," Peter added. "You dated Malia so I'm sure you understand why biting Derek was such an ordeal."

"Not, I actually don't. Explaining things isn't exactly Malia's strong suit," Stiles shot back, internally kicking himself seconds after remembering Peter was Malia's birth father. "That didn't sound right. I—"

"Stop digging the hole now," Peter told him, holding a hand up. "Malia didn't tell you, and it was never anything you came across in your research?"

"Obviously not."

"Oh, dear boy," Peter said with a slimey smirk, "biting for us is the equivalent of announcing someone is your partner. However, I'm even more curious why you did it now..."

Stiles decided quickly he was not elaborating on the why. "So, I basically told everyone - including him - that Derek and I are dating, and he immediately had me swept off the ER and is now avoiding me? Nope, still weird," he said and walked off.

Peter, having not expected this turn of events and having no more cards to play, let him walk away. "Well, this will be interesting..."

[bunny-jpeg]

can I pls have a spice pie and maple taffy… with drinks of dark roast coffee and a martini? Served Lance stroll? THANK YOUUUU UR THE GOAT

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i'd love to see what you come up with! and thank you to all of those who have sent prompts, i am working really hard to get them all done. so thank you! i hope you enjoy this, to the twenty lance stroll fans who are all in my inbox (ily) <3 (also picking maple taffy for lance stroll is funny as hell)

edit: i realized that i horribly misread this prompt and got sub!character mixed up with sub!reader, so where ever you are anon. if you wish to submit another prompt, i am more than happy to write it properly for you. (it's been a long writing session tonight!)

spice pie: "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut." + maple taffy: "oh my god you're stupid." + dark roast coffee: sub!character reader + martini: mafia au served by lance stroll (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!lance, dom/sub, sub!reader & dom!lance, jealous!lance

maybe bringing you to las vegas was a bad idea. sin city wasn't the type of place that a girl liked you belonged in. you belonged in the lovely apartment that you and lance shared back in montreal. bundled up in your thick winter coat while you went to go pick up a bottle of wine for dinner or a late night snack run only to whine when the corner store was closed.

sin city was a whole other demon, one that you had never seen. that was what lance chalked it all up to, you trying to fit in, as you tried to leave your hotel room dressed on par with a nighttime slut.

"where are you going?" he asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his button up. he looked good in it, the fabric of the shirt clung to his arms perfectly, only slightly outshone by how it fit his shoulders.

"seeing the other girls, it's not every day we're in the same city." just as the heads of families kept in contact with each other, the significant others of said men in power also kept in contact. except your conversations were a little less business oriented. more casual and fun.

lance eyed you up and down. you were wearing something very revealing, very slutty. he gave a nod of his head, "and you're going dressed like that."

you looked down at your outfit. it was a satin baby pink slip with straps that crossed in the back. it was cut well above your knee and paired with strappy heels. you looked back at him, "why wouldn't i?"

"do you not see what's wrong with it? you look like you should be selling sex on the strip. like a whore!"

you pouted, "i don't look like a whore!" then stamped your foot down like a child. you watched lance roll his shoulders before he closed the space between you two and had you pressed against the door of the hotel room.

he grabbed you by the chin and made you look into his dark eyes. he said lowly, "oh my god you're stupid, i bet i could sell you on the strip tonight. maybe shove you in a stall at the casino and let you put those whorish lips to work." he rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip before he rubbed the lip gloss between his thumb and pointer finger, "you seem ready to be used in a glory hole."

your bottom lip wobbled, "i'm not a whore." you could feel your knees grow into jelly and lance simply pulled you in for a kiss. when he kissed you, you moaned into it and pressed yourself up against him.

when he pulled away and said, "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut." before he grabbed you by the ass and pulled you against him. his cock twitched in his slacks.

you pouted further at him before he pulled you into another searing kiss. it was excited you in a way that you felt almost pathetic when you moaned loudly against him. there was something about your mafia boyfriend that made you simply melt. you were twisted between his fingers, which was why it was so hard to disobey him.

he looked at you for a moment before he roughly patted your cheek, "yeah, you're not going out tonight. tell your girlfriends that we made other plans tonight."

"what do i say?"

he took you by the hand and pulled you away from the door. you were pressed against him for a moment which made you feel warm between your legs. he replied, "lie." and it wasn't before you were on the large hotel room and you were looking up at your boyfriend.

there was something domineering about lance's strong, dark features. there was a mystery about him that lured you in. that was probably why you were initially drawn to him. he was slowly unbuttoning his shirt and eyed you up and down.

it wasn't hard to get you out of the dress, it was barely a scrap of fabric that covered you. if lance pulled on it hard enough he could probably tear the seams. but if he did that, you'd probably cum on the spot. you weren't wearing a bra and the panties you wore barely covered anything.

"i could've sold you for a pretty penny tonight." he chuckled as he took off his belt and wrapped it around his hand for a moment, but then unwound it. you were a glutton for punishment and lance wasn't going to quench that thirst.

you looked at him, naked on the bed. you were seated on the mattress with your legs stretched out. you pouted, "i'm sorry, sir." and that licked something in lance's brain.

it made him drop his belt to the ground and he chuckled, "someone really is sorry, huh." he leaned forward and cupped your face for a moment. he could almost feel your racing pulse under his fingers, "next time, i get to pick what you wear. so i know that you're being safe out there. this city would eat you alive, sweetheart. if i lost you, i don't even want to think what i would do. rip the city in half."

you felt something swim in your guy. you licked your lips, tasting the bubblegum of your lip gloss. you pulled away and laid out on the bed. eventually you inched yourself up into the pillows and reached your arms out for him.

lance quickly got his slacks and undergarments off before he got into bed with you. he got himself between your legs, his chest pressed against yours. your legs hiked up around his waist and his hard cock against your slick pussy.

"fuckin' hell." he groaned as he kissed at your neck, "you feel like a dream. i know it. i know you so well, every inch of you." he sank his cock into you and your toes curled a little. you tensed for a moment before you relaxed enough to slot himself into you.

you held onto his shoulders and let out a soft moan.

lance admired your expression for a moment. he felt a shudder of pleasure through his body as he held onto your hips. he made sure that you were more comfortable with his cock inside of you before he started to move. he rocked against you, gaining momentum with each of his movements.

"i've admired you every day since i met you. you are the most beautiful woman in any city were in. no one holds a candle to you." he gripped onto you tighter and you did the same. the two of you were soon kissing deeply, the kisses were heavy and muffled the noises that you two made. but not the sounds of the hotel bed creaking under you.

"mmm, lance." you whimpered as he moved against you. you could feel the heat across you body. your cheeks flushed with sexual heat. this was how you two always ended up, tumbled in the sheets together, rutting against one another like animals.

"see, you look much better like this. better than any club. if you wanted to get drunk, we could do that here. and then i'd make sure your hangover wasn't too bad. fuck the drunk out of you." he chuckled lowly as he continued to fuck you.

you felt the pleasure continue to course through you. you held onto him tighter as you tried to pick up the pace. the moans were loud and sweet, "please, sir." you were lance's everything. from a lover to a sexual submissive. you drove him wild.

the pace between you two was quick as the two of you fucked with a heat between the two of you. the kisses continued, they were messy just like your pace. it wasn't long before you clutched onto lance tightly with your head on his shoulder as you felt so close to him. sweaty all over.

"beautiful." he hissed as he felt the pleasure hit its peak. you both came at the same time. you thought you could feel his heartbeat as he finished inside of you. you both were panting heavily and the sweat covered your body. you laid out there under him while he pulled away a little bit to admire your naked form. he licked his lips at the sight of you and said, "mine."

you nodded dumbly and said, "yours, always." before lance had you on your elbows and knees with your hips raised. you'd text the others later about why you couldn't meet up with them. but it was hard to do that when your phone was in the living area and lance was rearranging your insides. <3

[hermit-lover]

Hello! I love your writing so keep up the good work :D

I would like to request Ren, Doc and Scar (Separate or not) with a ftm reader, preferably platonic.

It's completely fine if you don't want to though!

(Also if you end up doing it, may I please be ✨️ anon?)

A Moment Of Calm

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

Character: DocM77 x Reader, Rendog x Reader

Type: Blurb (1.8k)

Theme: Platonic, Comfort

Summary: The grind of Season 8 and The Octagon have been wearing you thin, so you take a moment to recuperate after a great success.

TW: Dysphoria

A/N: Welcome ✨(Sparkle) Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy. :)

It’s been a loooooooong couple of weeks, and that's almost an understatement. You thought joining in on Doc and Ren’s shenanigans this season would be entertaining, but didn't account for Doc’s affinity for shooting for the moon (heh). Seeing his projects in seasons past you should’ve guessed it would be equally as crazy, but something in you rationed that maybe he would take it easy. Big mistake. Considering it started with somehow creating a super-chunk of a horrifying amount of spawners. You have been endlessly grinding copper and logs to fuel the shops, hearing shulkers grumble in your sleep, and building up the centre of your new base of operations. The Octagon. It was honestly huge, with complex corners and shape lending to the mechanical aesthetic you’ve leant into this season. It wasn't one you typically built in, unlike the mad scientist, and you’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the ease of terraforming. Soft dirt and plants under palm instead of gritty redstone that has long since dyed your nails. But being part of this team was rewarding in its own right.

You settle into the wooden seat sat on the floor, grunting as your knees crack with effort, and your ribs protest. How long has it been since you’ve taken off your binder?- ah no matter. A sigh pulls from your lips at the chance to relax, a crackling campfire soothing your nerves. The seat isn't necessarily the most comfortable, but after a long day's work you were looking forward to the staple of your meetings. A barbeque. Stretching your shoulders against the tight fabric under your shirt, you look to your teammates as they arrive, chattering animatedly. Ren’s voice carries first, agreeing enthusiastically to something Doc was explaining. Ever the enabler, or hype man as he would prefer. An arm is strung across the goat-hybrid's shoulders, half tugging him into a hug. Doc responds, waving his prosthetic hand to help visualize the words- a habit of his you noticed finally being close to him this season.

“Then if we attach the redstone to the power core as shown in the blueprints-” Upon coming to the crest of the hill, Ren’s gaze catches your own, and his grin widens.

“Hey dude!” The werewolf waves exaggeratedly with his free arm, completely interrupting Doc mid-sentence. He sputters out something about manners, but rolls his eyes and nods in greeting. A rush of warmth splits your own face into a grin. It was nice to have them as friends.

“Took you long enough. I was about to dig in without you.” You tease, earning a playful swat from Doc as he moves to settle in the seat beside you, Ren already taking his place as ‘the meat master’ as he would insist the title be. Laying perfectly seasoned steaks on the grill over the fire.

“You say that as if you weren't late to our last meeting.” Doc grumbles, unable to hide his smug smirk at being able to hold it over your head. Groaning dramatically you flop further into your chair.

“It was one time! You try being on time when Scar has filled your starter base with pandas-” Ren snorts, and you shoot him a glare. Doc hums in debate, he of all people understands Scar’s menace. Doesn’t mean he won't find it funny. “We still have to enact revenge for that.” You remind the pair, causing Ren to perk. A dangerous glint in his eye.

“We should infest Boatem with those bot guys Doc designed.” He suggests, “Cover their landscape with mite-bots!” Arms swooping in a wide arc, you can picture it vividly; The tailored landscape of the builders covered in clicking, scurrying bots. Like chickens but harder to kill. Not a bad idea at all. Your so caught up in the visual it takes a second for it to click what exactly Ren has just called the bots-

“Mite-bots?”

“MITE-BOTS?!” Doc’s cry overlaps your own, so suddenly all you can do is blink. “They aren’t mites! I’ll have you know I modeled them after viruses- which happen to look very cool.” The goat’s instant defense of the odd robots makes you stifle a chuckle, especially when Ren simply flicks his tail sassily. Void, they were so childish sometimes. For as much as Doc tries to seem mature and scary, it wasn't hard to wind him up.

“Mites-viruses same thing my dude. ” The werewolf shrugs, flipping a steak casually with his bare hands. It sizzles loudly and your stomach clenches with hunger, gurgling in protest. The scent of cooking meat making your mouth water. Doc grumbles unintelligibly under his breath- but you get the gist of his complaints for ‘respect’. A common thing he insists upon, despite secretly enjoying the banter. Glancing back to Ren, his gaze is already on you, smiling slightly in knowing. “Hungry?” He asks gently, eyes twinkling with affection despite the bags. He was so chipper it was hard to tell he was as tired as you are. You’d guess having his body be mostly robotic this season meant he likely felt the effects less, but there was still evidence of wear-and-tear. His metal body was scuffed and dirty, not being polished like it should be, pale skin also covered in a thin layer of grime. The evidence of hard work across the three of you is a testament to how hard you were working to complete the project before the end of the season. It was a grind, all hands on deck as you all knew it would be a shorter one.

Blinking back to reality, you realize you’ve simply been staring back at him, neglecting to actually answer the question. You stumble to answer quickly-

“Ah- yea, it smells good.” You manage out, smiling sheepishly back to his patient look. For a brief moment Ren accepts your answer, and you all lapse into peaceful silence. The crackling of fire and sizzling meat overlaid the chirping of crickets and waves lapping on the shore as the sun descended over the horizon. You truly think you can be happy here- friends, good food, enjoyable projects- and then Ren clears his throat.

“I don't mean to nag at all my dude, but I’ve gotta ask…How long have you been wearing your binder?” You inhale sharply, suddenly aware again of your aching ribs and strained breathing. Ah, shit. Of course he would notice-

“Mm Ren’s right, I haven’t noticed you without it- or taking enough breaks for me to assume you’ve removed it.” Doc agrees, sitting up a little further to watch you carefully. The pressure from both of their gazes is almost a physical weight on your skin, prickling an embarrassed heat on your face. Deep down you knew they only cared about your well-being, but the thought of being without it- “Breathe. We wont force you to change if you truly don't want to, but it isn't safe to wear it for so long.” Doc’s reassuring rumble soothes your nerves a tad, as a clawed hand rests gently on your shoulder. Lingering just-barely there as to not spook you, but there enough to ground back to your body. Realistically you know you should change, but the thought of having to exist looking so unlike your true self-

“Here.” You tune back into the present, face-to-face with a plaid ball of fabric. There's a moment of silence as your brain lags behind- then it dawns on you what it is.

“Your shirt??” You glance mildly horrified at Ren- and see much to your relief he is still currently wearing clothing. He chuckles, waggling the shirt ball enticingly.

“You wish I was showing off my abs, baby” He teases, not taking to heart the disgust you can't stop from flashing across your face. Doc huffs a laugh at your reaction, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “But I don’t want to attempt to out-man the ultimate man, my dude.”

It's clear he's trying to flatter you, but you let yourself take the compliment. After all, it was clear he simply cared deeply. Finally reaching out, you grab the flannel being dangled in your face. It's impossibly soft and plush, clearly well loved. The deep red fading away slightly with how many washes it's been through. Ren smiles at that, placing both hands on his hips. “It’s even oversized on me, so I figured it would be comfortable for you to lounge in- if you want.” The offer makes your heart clench- they notice, and more importantly they care enough to try and find a solution where you can all be happy. This server is going to be the death of you- and you already feel a little choked up with emotion. After a moment of debate you nod, and Doc gently removes his hand. You miss the warmth of it, but he smiles reassuringly.

“You can change in the van, we’ll save you a steak.” He jokes lightly, and you scoff.

“You better!” Pointing a finger accusatorily at him, you rise from your seat. “This better not be a ploy to eat my share of the food.” Doc chuckles deeply, choosing to not answer as Ren pretends to look guilty. Feigning annoyance at their lack of an answer, you stalk to the van, nerves building with every step took away from them.

Stepping into the rocket-van the door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into an eerie silence. If you listened closely you could hear the fire- and the low voices of your friends just outside. If you truly wanted, you could just leave now and not change-and they would ignore it because of your emotional comfort- even if they did worry. Or…you could be comfortable physically with minor emotional discomfort. And they would be happy.

… That doesn't make it fair, huh? You pull off your shirt quickly, opting to rip it off like a band-aid. The struggle out of your binder was always a little embarrassing- but you shrug on the soft flannel in no time. It hangs on your frame, doing its job at hiding any shape of body beneath. Instead creating the illusion of one solid shape. You still knew your body was under there- but…it was as comfortable as you could get. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the van and trail back towards the campfire. Doc and Ren are talking in-between bites of food, both their gazes flicking to you at your approach.

You brace for a comment, of any mention of you wearing the flannel and accepting their offer- but Ren simply extends a hand out, holding a steak.

“Dig in! It's not getting any fresher.”

It's that simple moment of acceptance that solidifies it for you; Doc and Ren are true friends.

[villainology]

i feel like a kid running around with their drawing to show everyone else in the room bc i've already told like 2 other blogs about this scenario i had while i was trying to sleep but can you IMAGINE being a family friend of the sawyers? maybe your grandparents knew theirs before times were tough and cannibalism became their means of survival, and your family's died off and left you the little farmhouse and patch of land a few miles outside of the sawyers' boundaries. drayton's clarified you're off-limits (through some honorary family-friend ideals, or as not to upset grandpa 'cause your folks were always kind to them) and you're none the wiser to their true savagery they get up to (you can hear a scream once or twice, when you drive your dad's old beat up truck near their land sometimes, but you always think they've got really rowdy and funny sounding goats). but you've inherited your family's farmhouse and poor little you just doesn't know anything about farming and fixing up the house! no matter how hard you try, nothing grows, so one uneventful day you drop off some seeds as a gift for drayton since, well, they're not getting any use with you, and you mention a problem that needs fixing. maybe it's a rusty shed door you can't get open, or a busted roof. either way, drayton's always liked to keep up apparances and you haven't had a chance to meet the new additions of the family, so drayton sends johnny back with you (after giving him thorough lecturing about how no, you are NOT a potential victim, you're just a little oblivious, and plus johnny's the most... convincingly normal one out of all of them, arguably) to fix something up for you as thanks for the seeds. so now there's a sweaty, attractive, pretty charming (and maybe a little subtly condescending) guy fixing up something because you hadn't the slightest clue how to fix it, so you might as well make him some lemonade or tea and thank him! and, well, johnny might think you're amusing. pretty sweet, pretty cute, pretty *airheaded*. drayton said you were off-limits for anything violent, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't test any other limits, right?

aaaah~ no bc wait I think you’re onto something here!! you got me thinking so many filthy thots rn, so I made a lil drabble, hope that’s okay w you? 😭❤️ sjdbdjdndnfnf I hope it’s written okay, I wrote this half asleep in bed but I couldn’t stop thinking abt it!

warnings — slight dub-con, light smut, Johnny being Johnny!

“Here you go, Mr Johnny,” you smiled up the ladder toward him as you walked out with two glasses of lemonade in hand, “where’d ya want it?”

“Just set it down on the table there.” His voice was stern, a tad hint of annoyance laced into it, not that you noticed.

Johnny stood at the top of the ladder, nail in mouth as he hammered another into roof of your porch, closing off the gap which would hopefully stop the rattling noise anytime there was a gust of wind. He slipped the hammer and last few nails into his work belt before looking down at you stood below him, so innocently sipping through the curly straw in your lemonade glass.

The Texan heat wasn’t good for much, but the way it made a light coat of sweat glisten on your body as the sun began to set was enough to make him appreciate the summer weather. Your denim shorts just a little too high up and your white vest top just a little too low, but from where he was stood he got to have the perfect angle down your shirt, and you were none the wiser.

Johnny carefully came down the ladder before picking his glass up off the table, his eyes never once leaving your body. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, you really were oblivious, so innocent and air-headed that he wondered how you survived off by yourself all these years before coming back to the farmlands.

The way Drayton sent him out here with you alone, like sending a lamb off to the slaughter — an adorable, pretty little lamb making lemonade for a starving lion. Johnny wondered to himself what you’d think if you found out what they were really like, just how savage and dangerous they were, would you run scared from him, give him chase to hunt you down on acres of land?

“Sorry about you having to come out here, I’ve clearly got a lot to learn about all this type of stuff, huh?” You laughed as you gestured toward the house and the land surrounding it.

Johnny was snapped from his thoughts, a fake little smile crossing his face as he nodded, “don’t sweat it, darlin’, friends helping out friends, ain’t that right?”

He knew that Drayton said you weren’t to be a victim, that you weren’t some prey to be chased and hunted down, butchered just for the hell of it, but what about anything else? After all, this was Drayton’s way of saying thanks to you, but what did Johnny get out of this? Where was his thank you for fixing up your roof free of charge? If you weren’t going to be Johnny’s victim then he’d sure as hell find away for you to give him thanks.

“Say,” he placed his half empty glass down on the table beside him, “you moved back up here all alone, not got a boyfriend following you here?”

“Oh, heh, no. Haven’t had one of those in a long while, Mr Johnny.”

“Huh, well that’s just peachy, darlin’.”

He walked from the table and closer to you, his hand stroking up and down your arm as he worked his way behind you, his warm body pressing up against yours as he leaned down to your ear, “how about a thank you for all my hard work, hm?”

His hand snaked its way around your waist and played with the button of your shorts, his lips grazing across the delicate skin of your neck, gently kisses to distract you from what his hands were doing. Truth be told you didn’t want him to stop, and he could tell. The way you let him unbutton your pants without a fight, his fingers working their way between your legs and tracing a line back and forth against your clothed cunt.

“Mr Johnny, I don’t think—”

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t gotta think,” his free hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head to the side so he could more easily bite and suck at your skin, “just gotta do whatever I tell you to do.”

After all, Drayton said you couldn’t be slaughtered like he did the others, but he didn’t say anything about Johnny not being able to fuck you til’ you couldn’t walk no more.

[twoa-plus]

part 3 of turning everyone in gravity falls into Creatures !!

(part 1) (part 2)

manly dan is a flannel shirt sasquatch. i don’t even have to explain this one

since gideon is a kitsune my bestie suggested a kappa for bud to stick with the “little bastards from japanese folklore” theme and i think it works :D also did u guys know that according to The Lore the soul is stored in the ass. there’s like a whole organ for it it’s called the shirikodama which literally means “small anus ball” i am not lying look it up. go tell ur friends this and speculate on how whoever came up with this did so it is guaranteed to be an entertaining conversation

couldn’t find any cute pig creatures so i just gave him more whimsy and covered him in glitter. is the glitter part of his skin or did mabel dump it on him? the world may never know

this one is actually non-canon to the au’s lore BUT im having fun so whatever :D time baby is an ouroboros bc cycles or whatever. also he has a little clock to play with :3

priscilla is a harpy bc of the vibes (terraria harpies i will never forgive u). also apparently “harpy” is also used as a derogatory term for like ?? a gold digger ?? which is hilarious given the context here

free pizza guy. my to-do list of characters comes from tt comments and someone actually said this guy. he has like 2 character traits and neither of them are helpful in figuring out what he would be so he’s a free space to me. get sidehill gougered

PYRONICA !!! i don’t even know what to call the aesthetic i ended up on but hopefully it suits her ?? also apparently she’s the personification of bill’s blue fire so i gave her some blue :3

preston northwest. stupid loser. anyways he’s a blue dragon - they’re lawful evil, very territorial, follow rigid social hierarchies, etc etc, so i think it fits :D also now i kinda wanna see him & stan fight

abuelita is a naga !!! wanted to do smth a little unexpected with her :) they have an association with death/the afterlife which i thought was funny for the “no… he is not there” line, and are often depicted as guardians - usually this is of treasure or rivers but i think we can extend it to soos :D petition to have more good snake creatures snakes are Silly and i Like Them

made gompers a jersey devil :) it’s not the same kind of depiction as the one in lost legends but i thought it was a fun reference regardless, and it fits with the goat thing

slowed down a bit with progress on this thing but i have like 34 of these now i’m too deep i gotta do all of them. whenever i get around to part 4 i’ll link it here (assuming i remember lol)

[pedrithink]

love to hate me ✩ kylian mbappé

KYLIAN MBAPPÉ X MESSI’S DAUGHTER! READER

kylian dates messi's eldest daughter and the media always talks that messi doesn't like him, they really don’t know the truth.

Liked by k.mbappe, antonelaroccuzzo, and 607.829 others

ynmessi cool days in paris with the best people <3

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mbappefan1 it's so funny that y/n wears kylian's shirt instead of her dad's

antonelaroccuzzo Mi niña 😍❤️

k.mbappe 😍😍

messifan1 Y/N, TAKE OFF THIS SHIRT NOW!!!!!!

messifan2 messi hating kylian and y/n dating him LOL

mbappefan2 where did you get that messi hates kylian???

messifan3 FOR REAL!!! messi doesn’t hate anyone 😭

Liked by leomessi, antonelaroccuzzo, and 6.627.388 others

ynmessi muy orgullosa de vós, papá. sos un ejemplo para nosotros y te queremos muchísimoooooo! 😽🤞🏻

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messifan1 SOMOS CAMPEONES DEL MUNDOOO

messifan2 I LOVE THIS FAMILY

antonelaroccuzzo 😍😍

mbappefan1 what about kylian??

mbappefan2 you're not going to post anything about kylian?

messifan7 why should she post something about mbappé? he mocked her dad during the match

mbappefan3 what game did you watch? because in the end kylian even hugged leo and scaloni

Liked by k.mbappe, ethanmbappe, and 3.477.202 others

ynmessi and you? i only have words and feelings of pride. scoring a hat-trick in a world cup final is not for everyone and at the age of 19 you won your first world cup. i’m pretty sure more moments of victory will come for you, don't be discouraged because you did a great job! love you <3

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k.mbappe Thank you very much! 😍 Your support is the most important to me.

mbappefan1 yaaay, best couple!!

mbappefan2 thank you for supporting him 😭

mbappefan3 kylian deserved better than your father 🙄

messifan1 cállate boluda

ethanmbappe 😍

mbappefan4 she posting a pic of leo and kylian greeting each other at the end to see if these people stop creating problems where there are none 😵‍💫

Liked by ynmessi, k.mbappe, and 9.638.028 others

leomessi ➕3️⃣

Felicidades @k.mbappe por ele récord!! 👏🏻

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mbappefan1 messi ending all the fanwars

messifan2 our HUMBLE GUY

k.mbappe ❤️❤️❤️

mbappefan4 him being the good father-in-law he is

messifan1 what

messifan4 THE REAL GOAT

messifan5 come back to barça

messifan6 mbappé & messi the best DUO 👏🏻

Liked by leomessi, ethanmbappe, and 9.772.813 others

k.mbappe Another trophy at home. 🫡🏆

Big congratulations to @leomessi you are #TheBest 👑

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ynmessi the best men in the world on and off the field!!! 🏆🥇

messifan1 ah, he’s so cute…

messifan2 i wasn’t expecting this…….

mbappefan1 the best ones

messifan3 🐐

messifan8 you both deserve it!!!!

Liked by k.mbappe, antonelaroccuzzo, and 5.028.567 others

ynmessi my boy always giving me the best night out in paris 🫡

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k.mbappe My girl 🥰

antonelaroccuzzo 😍❤️

messifan2 adopt me please i want to be rich

messifan1 i surrendered, now I LOVE THIS COUPLE

leomessi 👏🏻

mbappefan1 WE LOVE THIS

ethanmbappe 😍😍😍

[sonntam]

I don't think I've seen a write-up on various fairy-tale and Russian sayings references in the English translation, so I'd like to make one.

"Puddles make poor drinks" and "Gorkhon water will turn you into livestock": what's up with that?

There is a fairytale about a big sister and the little brother. They walk for a long time and the brother is very thirsty. His big sister keeps telling him to keep going and not to drink from the puddles, like a goat. Eventually the little brother drinks from the puddle.

And promptly turns into a goat.

Rest of the fairytale is about the big sister returning the little brother to his original form.

So, this is where the talks about puddles and water turning you into livestock is about.

The Akela joke did not work at all in the translation.

It comes from Mowgli, which is well known due to the USSR cartoon. In the book (and in the cartoon) the elderly wolf leader Akela misses during a hunt... after which he promptly is deposed as a leader of the pack. Mowgli loses his protection and this is a Big Deal.

So whenever a boss in real life makes a silly mistake (say, throwing a paperball into the bin and missing) everyone thinks it's very funny to say "Akela missed!" implying that they will get a new boss now and the current one will get deposed for this mistake.

Here "Akela never misses" means that Khan being at risk of infection and coming into the nutshell does not diminish his importance at all and his dogheads are just as loyal as before, happily delivering loot to him.

There is a saying: "Better a sparrow in hand, than a stork in the sky."

It means that you should treasure what you have, instead of preferring that which you can't get (so easily).

Lara Ravel references that she can't be happy with the little she has. She wants to help others and for this she needs more.

"Maybe I could be useful to you" is a classic thing that various animals say to people in fairytales, once they are caught and plead for their lives.

I think, this is a popular trope in English fairytales as well, but the phrasing here is lifted directly from fairytales in Russian, so pointing it out either way.

"Everyone's shirt is closer to their skin" is a well known Russian saying.

It means that your happiness and comfort is always more important to you than the comfort of other people. Hence: your shirt is closer to your skin, so you care about it more.

"Silence implies assent" is another popular saying (it even rhymes in Russian).

If someone proposes a course of action and no one speaks out against it or for it, then people usually say "silence is a sign of assent" and consider the matter settled. (Or, more often, people then suddenly say that they disagree and you get a more lively and productive conversation.)

I can't find another screenshot, but Dankovsky says something similar about "I wore down seven pairs of shoes getting to this town".

It obviously could be taken as a factual statement, but most likely it's a reference to fairytales.

In a lot of fairytales the protagonist will be given on a long journey seven pairs of iron boots. Once all of them break, the hero has reached his destination.

Same here: it's a fairytale way of saying that you had a long and arduous journey (or in Capella's case, ran around the whole town for years).

"I'll just peek with one eye" is another popular Russian phrase.

"Can I look?"

"No"

"How about if I look with just one eye?"

Obviously, it's nonsense, but it's a typical thing to say if you REALLY want to look at something, so you just say "pleeeease, I will just look only a little".

[pronetoearinfections]

my sprunki hcs but in text from since I haven't drawn all of them yet el oh el

they're kinda based off of their canon but I just added my own little spin :333 BEATS Oren - Cis dude, has a big fat crush on simon. fluffy orange alien with glowing antenna, black shirt with a baggy over shirt and torn sk8ter jeans. he smells oddly enough like banana

he's laid back, uses a lot of today's slang, and skates ALOT. he smokes with vineria sometimes, but VERYYY rarely. ever. he gave Simon an edible once and Simon fucking geeked out and he's sworn to never to it again. Raddy - Cis dude, str8 as FUCK. a buff red goat who has four horns and wears a white tank top and black sweats, his pupils are slanted sidways. he smells faintly of sweat cause he works out so much lol he's short tempered, egotistical, and he works out a bunch, he makes fun of oren and everyone else who's shorter than him for it then gets made fun of being shorter than wenda and durple. Clukr - Cis dude, happily married with garnold. a silver beetle with mandibles near his mouth and on his temples, he has a exoskeleton back and he has little legs on his sides. he smells kinda like oil but mostly of cologne. he's intelligent, and spends a lot of time building robotics with garnold. he's funny, and he makes a loud " TSSHH " with his headpiece when startled or upset. he clicks his wrench on his headpiece when he's bored too, or when he's thinking. Vineria - transmasc, str8. a tall plant with dreads, pink flowers and vines in his hair, he wears a oversized sweater w/ flowers on it. he smells really strongly of weed with a mix of perfume.

VERY laid back, a stoner ( lol ), he draws alot of flowers and paints them. he's very soft spoken, and he's honesty kinda slow when it comes to work & thinking. but he's sweet, he also offers people a joint when they're stressed.

Fun-Bot - Cis dude?????? he's a robot so idk. a grey robot with fur and hair implemented on his head and chest, his eyes r a visor and his mouth is connected to them, his antenna glow when he feels intense emotion. he smells like metal I guesshelep

very smart due to him being a robot, he gets asked alot of questions by the other sprunkis due to him being basically an AI, he likes to read and his antenna move, any time he walks or moves a little robotic " vrr " sound comes out of his joints.

EFFECTS Grey - Cis dude, str8, dating wenda. a fluffy grey dog ( a breed of shepherd dog to be specific ) usually wears a Weezer shirt and a pair of baggy blue jeans. he smells like Britney spears midnight fantasy perfume

slightly sarcastic, seems tired, chill, not much exaggerated personality, he uses perfume because wenda forces him because cologne smells bad to her and she doesn't like it. he doesn't like to get too deep into conversation with those he doesn't know. he's very skiddish, yet tries to play it off as him being ignorant. he sits in deep thought alot, with his head in his hand and his gaze zoned off.

Brud - CIs dude, even he's not sure what he is or who he likes lol. a fluffy brown critter ( I don't know what to make him lol ) with a grey bucket on his head, his eyes are off center and he has two mandibles around his mouth, he also has little bug legs on his side. he has a large abdomen with multiple legs on it like a centepede.( I feel like he'd be some sort of bug ), he wears a light brown sweater and black jeans. he smells like dirt and moss but in a really good way.

he's clumsy, a bit dumb, and he likes to eat moss when nobody's around. he can't process much unless it's explained to him like he's stupid ( which he is ), his mandibles clamp together when he's upset. Garnold - CIs dude, married w/ clukr. a critter who usually wears a pair of oil stained overalls, a white t-shirt, and giggles on his head, his gold suit has goggles on it's head, the suit has springlocks in it and it has an electronic visor, it's made of steel and the springlocks are located in his upper and lower torso, arms, neck, head, and legs. he smells like oil and sweat ( he DOES shower but he works really hard on his creations ) he's buff due to all the heavy-lifting of metal and he spends a lot of time plotting and building robots, both him and clukr built Mr.fun computer, and fun-bot. he's very strong and can carry anything you give him, he and clukr plan things and blueprint them. he has a slight southern accent.

OWAKCX - Cis dude, pansexual with no preference. a spiky lime green sea urchin with fluff on his chest. one of his pupils is bigger than the other. he smells like chlorine in a pool. he's very on edge, he's always tense and alert, when relaxed his spikes go down and become fuzzy and fluffy, he chitters when relaxed. he doesn't talk much and when he does he says words and doesn't connect them into sentences. Sky - CIs dude, str8. he's 14 El oh. El. a sky blue bear who's slightly on the bigger side, he's fluffy, and wears pajamas often. he smells like Lysol disinfectant spray

he's your average teenager, but he collects teddy bears, he's chill and laid back, but he also has alot to say and he's kinda snarky. he thrifts alot of his bears so he has to clean them using lysol. he really likes to sew his bears together and he makes things out of the thrifted bears.

MELODIES - Durple - Cis dude, Bi. a purple dragon with a slightly longer neck than the other sprunkis, he has two long slightly curled horns and webbed fins ( or ears ) on the side of his head. he smells like smoke very faintly. he's very funny and cracks a lot of jokes, he can breath fire and huff smoke out of his nostrils when upset, he's bigger than the other sprunkis due to him being a dragon. he collects alot of things and steals from other people cuz he's a dragon.

Simon - Transmasc, has a fat crush on oren but he doesn't know. a fluffy yellow alien with spikes on the sides of his head,his hair is curly, he usually wears a white t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. he smells like cologne.

he's loud, energetic, and drinks a lot of soda, he likes playing video games w/ oren and he makes fun of him when he loses. he's very out of pocket and has little to no filter. his antenna can electrocute people and they vibrate when he's comforted, he also purrs. but its a weird electric sounding purr.

Tunner - CIs dude, bi. a snake-like critter with a rattlesnake tail ( he's not really an animal but he's DEF something. idk ) who's both fluffy and scaly in different areas. he wears sheriff/cowboy lookin' stuff and he has a very western accent. he smells like fall trees.

he's kind, and gives off dad vibes, he has a STRONG western accent and he enjoys driving and allowing the wind to get in his fur ( and on his scales ) he's tall and slim and his tail rattles when he's really upset. he owns a gun, and his aim is very good. VOICES Mr.fun computer - ??? no clue. a computer bot thingy. a computer who was built a body, his arms and legs are skinny and metal, while his hands and feet are soft and have pawpads. his head is a computer screen and his torso is protected with durable metal. his tail is a black wire with a charger port on the end. he has a propeller hat on. he smells like metal???

he', he likes to have fun and party, he can charge himself by sticking his tail into an outlet. he was garnold's and cluker's first creation. idk what else to wriet

Wenda - Cis chick, dating grey. a fluffy white cat with curly, soft hair. she's tall and hovers over anyone she stands by, she smells like perfume and vanilla.

wenda is slightly rude, but also very flirty when it comes to grey, she's very teasing and she likes to go mall shopping and make grey come with her, and she lets him go to hot topic el oh el. wenda's VERY condescending to literally everyone and will literally look at you while you're upset and baby talk you like you're two. just for fun. lol. but she's also very soft, and if you know her well enough she's sweet and will purr on you.

Pinki - Cis chick, she a MAD lesbian on God trust. a pink fluffy rabbit who wears bows in her hair. she wears juicy couture jumpsuits and other stuff of their brand. she smells like perfume. like. REALLY strongly of really nice perfume brands.

pinki is a girly girl who's actually really sweet, like, REALLY. sweet, she offers to buy the other sprunkis food and presents and she's very sentimental, if you buy her something she'll start crying and hugging you and saying thank you, she often whistles and hums random tunes.

Jevin - Cis dude, blacks little e-kitten.. EHELP. jevin is a blue fluffy angel-like critter who wears a cloak all the time, his cloak has holes in the back of it to make space for his wings. they're like. HUGE. if you pull his hood down he has fluffy hair that's very soft to the touch. he smells like a candle??? Idk

jevin is a closed off, very introverted cultist who doesn't speak much. he's selectively mute and only really talks to black, he's tall and slim and her rarely takes his hood down. he's basically black's disciple but he really doesn't want to be but he won't fess that up to black ( he's kinda scared of him ) when he's upset or scared he'll fold his wings back and scowl. Black - Cis dude, jevins emo alpha..EHELPME. black is also. fluffy. and he's a shapeshifter who usually takes the form of a slightly humanoid with a black tophat. he smells like. good. but you can;t really pinpoint what he smells like he just smells decent idk.

black doesn't speak much, and he's also very closed off, but he's a master manipulator who makes slick, smooth moves on the other sprunkis for his own will, he has a condescending attitude and he's kinda unnerving to talk too. very odd. oddball. anywaysss uhh. yeah. giggle. I will draw my designs of them later