#and they keep that up in the junkyard too

[eye-may]

Do you have any Munkustrap headcanons mayhaps? The people would love to hear it if you do <3

I was waiting for someone to ask about Munkustrap!!! granted I would have yammered about him unprompted eventually anyway but YAY!

pls accept this speedy doodle of Munk having, what I imagine is one of very many, serious conversations (tm) with with his protegee Alonzo <3

"alonzo I told you the kittens could not watch terrifier 3. I say the things I say for a reason. now neither of us will be able to sleep for a week."

all kidding aside, yesss I have a LOT of thoughts about Munkustrap and how he and his story drive a lot of things that happen in my fanverse lol. I'll keep it relatively brief for now because if I don't moderate myself I'll end up writing 100k words worth of incomprehensible diatribe. somewhat abridged yammering beneath the cut!

edit: this mostly ended up being formatted in extensive elucidations on his relationships with other cats, with references to his backstory through that...which I hope isn't baffling lmao hopefully yall can make sense of it

✨Personality

My Munkustrap is pretty heavily based off of 98's Gruberstrap. That is to say, he's a very "warm" version of the character, a softer and more patient leader compared to some other interpretations where he errs on the side of strict and stringent.

Munk has a pretty troubled background (not unlike Tugger and Alonzo), but I place his symbolic age at around 30-35 so that he's still young and has things to learn and growing to do, but still old enough to have already matured and wizened up past a matrix of self-destructive idiosyncrasies he has dealt with in the past. He may not fully realize it, but he wasn't entirely dissimilar to Tugger in his adolescent days (at least, insofar as feeling governed by his emotions). The temporal distance from his early youth has enabled him to mellow out, think more clearly, and capitalize on his better attributes such as decisiveness, a good grasp on strategizing, and being empathetic and caring.

He is, of course, known to be a straight arrow...that is to say, very about rules and order, following traditions, establishing a hierarchy, having respect for authority and elders, etc. However, he is not immune to lightheartedness and joking around. He's a good, gentle playmate with the kittens on occasion. He lives for directing plays (although subversively he might take them a little too seriously sometimes lmao). He definitely lets a Dad Joke slip out every once in a while. He can read and write, and is pretty erudite about a handful of subjects that extend beyond life in the Junkyard. He's a pretty well-rounded chap!

He's not particularly spiritual or mystical, but has always been fascinated by the mysticism inherent in felinity, and has a unique connection to the concept of magic due to his connection with Old Deuteronomy. He's more naturally attuned to felinity in every corporeal sense, and has strong and thoroughly-developed opinions about the meaningfulness of Jelliclehood along with its history and customs.

He's gentlemanly and intelligent, courageous and dignified, so a pretty archetypal 'leader/hero' character. his faults are brought out by adversity with which he is not familiar...as someone who prefers adhering to precedent and keeping everything in order, he feels very challenged by untrodden territory. While he's good at thinking on his feet, he's also prone to overthinking after the action, and letting that repressed sentimental side from yesteryears cloud his approach. When he's feeling menaced by uncertainty, you'll see those cognitions buoy to the surface...overprotectiveness, stubbornness (sometimes he's bad at listening to suggestions!), over-intensity, and over-worry that he tries his darndest to conceal. He may periodically fall into lapses of "work-life imbalance," for turn of phrase (feels weird because we're talking about mystical dancing singing cats but you get it).

Perhaps his biggest fault is difficulty ceding control. There is no bigger control freak in the Junkyard, even though many would probably assume that the title goes to Jenny. Jenny is more ostentatious in her form of leadership, yes, but Munkustrap is far more immoderate when it comes to judging what he can feasibly handle. Bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, after all, does not a healthy habitude make. Munkustrap's elders...namely Jennanydots and Old Deutoronomy...occasionally remind him of that.

He also perpetually Tired (but doesn't show it!) and, despite maintaining his veneer of cool-headedness, does in fact Have Anxiety lol.

🫂 Notes on Relationships

Tugger - They are half-brothers, and symbolically, there's about 10-15 years between them. So the age gap is significant, but Munkustrap isn't exactly old enough to be his father (try as he might to parent him in the frequent absence of Old Deutoronomy). Truly the Annoying Younger Brother Ever, Tugger gets on his nerves faster and more effectively than just about anybody in his life. Granted, their pasts respective of each other aren't the most conducive towards a harmonious, peaceful relationship, but the same circumstances are what make their bond so close and significant. If it weren't for Munkustrap extending the olive branch to a very misled young Tugger, the latter would have never been able to severe himself from Macavity. Meanwhile, Tugger's effects on Munkustrap are less literal and obvious but just as significant. He acts as a looser, more optimistically nihilistic buffer to Munk's razor-sharp edges, and frequently functions as a catalyst for Munkustrap to unearth a bevy of feelings and emotions he's long been in the habit of smothering. They frequently bicker and frustrate each other, yes, but they know how to work with one another when it counts, and they love each other very much.

-

Old Deuteronomy - Munk is one of a few examples of a child of Deuteronomy who was raised primarily by the latter; among cats, it's frankly more common for those born into colonies to have been "raised by the village." Munkustrap has always been very close to his father, has bottomless admiration for him, and abides by his platitudes unquestioningly. Deuteronomy recognized a unique fervor and emotional vulnerability in a young Munkustrap and allowed the latter to attach himself inextricably to him. it's because of this connection, and Munkustrap's unconditional adulation of his father, that Tugger has traduced him as being a rather ideal "little soldier."

After a huge fallout with Macavity (whole thing it's a WHOLE THING), Old Deuteronomy took Munkustrap and his other followers (including Skimble, Jenny, Jelly, Gus, and Asparagus) and splintered away from the colony, going onto to establish the Jellicle colony that inhabits the Junkyard, as seen in the actual musical. For a while, the group focused on rebuilding and recuperating, and succeeded harmoniously. but, after a while when the reconstructed colony was comfortably settled, Deuteronomy became more of an itinerant than Munkustrap had ever known him to be, coming and going patternlessly. Munkustrap knows that he can always attempt to reach out to Old Deutoronomy (there's a postal system cats use...again...whole other thing) in times of need (i.e., when Munkustrap learned about Tugger being in Macavity's possession) but at that point, Munkustrap became established as the de facto Secondary Leader and had to establish himself as capable and independent. He never outwardly questions what Deutoronomy is up to when he's away on his long sojourns to Who Knows Where...but he's never one to question his father. (Tugger, on the other hand...)

Macavity - Macavity is symbolically around five-ish years older than Munkustrap. Closer in age than Tugger and Munk, but the gap is still significant. Munkustrap was born into the same colony as Macavity, and the two did share a portion of their respective childhoods together; Munkustrap being, of course, rather worshipful of Macavity as a kitten. Macavity, for his part, engaged with Munkustrap, and the latter retains fond memories of their interactions...but he also remembers how, with the clarity of hindsight, Macavity seemed to "troubled" back then. He was a bit moody, but that's not wholly unusual for an adolescent cat! More uniquely, he seemed oddly attune to the Jellicle Moon...an evidently Mystical characteristic. He often sought solitude and was reclusive, cagey, secretive, and was obsessed with his developing his mysticism and harvesting magic of Deuteronomy's ilk.

Ultimately, Macavity attempted to persuade Munkustrap to join him in a staged rebellion against Old Deuteronomy; but, even at such a tender age, Munk knew better than to be cajoled, and ultimately sided with his father. He tried in earnest to talk Macavity out of his pursuit of power, but of course...it was fruitless. And the ramifications were abominable. Ultimately, Macavity attempted something of a mutiny that resulted in the deaths of Munkustrap's mother, his two littermates, and the injury or loss of many of his friends and cats he considered to be family. To this day, Munkustrap blames himself for knowing of Macavity's designs, but underestimating him and failing to prevent the disaster. He vowed to never allow such calamity to befall his loved ones again, which manifests in the fiercely protective persona for which he's known. Whatever love existed between the two brothers has been seemingly lost to time; Munkustrap has grown past his bitterness, anger, and desire for retribution...but what's left in the wake are sadness, regret, and wariness.

-

Mistoffelees - The youngest of the protag trifecta of Munkustrap/Tugger/Mistoffelees (for purposes of not getting lost in the sauce, they are, in my mind, the Kirk/Spock/Bones so to speak), Mistoffelees is something of a little brother/son/protegee ??? person??? to Munkustrap. Their relationship is a little hard to compartmentalize, but it's warm and familial all the same. Munkustrap sort of supplies to Mistoffelees what Deuteronomy was to Munkustrap. The magical cat, of course, is far from the first youngun to ever stumble into Jellicle territory in need of reprieve, but usually raising the new arrivals is a village effort. And it still was for Mistoffelees, but Munkustrap zeroed in on him in particular for two major reasons: his inexpendably cathartic effect on Tugger, and the whole Being Magical. Munkustrap remembered, of course, the quixotic fascination his older brother had with magic and the legends surrounding it, and his own proclivities towards harvesting and using it, but Munk was not prejudicial towards Mistoffelees because of that. He knew from the onset that Mistoffelees and Macavity are incomparable, and wanted to make sure that Mistoffelees would never lose touch with the goodness at his core. He also wanted to solidify that Mistoffelees would not be treated differently because of his abilities, but would get to enjoy a normal and secure upbringing. Also...he intuited immediately that it was important for Macavity to Not Find Out about this inexplicably magical cat. (Magical Cats aren't exactly unheard of but they're really not...supposed to be able to exist anymore lmao)

In return for Munkustrap's warmth and extensions of care and friendship, Mistoffelees has always been eager to be helpful and useful, and often functions as a "right-hand man" for the Jellicle Protector in many of the banalities of life in the Junkyard. Despite his aloofness and eccentricities, Mistoffelees has always sought to please and prove himself to Munkustrap, despite the fact Munkustrap has always had confidence in him and never required proof or reassurance that the conjurer was someone he could trust and rely on. hhhhh idk their relationship is cute to me!!! they're cute!!!!

-

Alonzo - Alonzo and Munkustrap have a lot in common...like Munkustrap, Alonzo's early youth was peppered by loss and grief, disasters outside the scope of his control for which he still blames himself. Also like Munkustrap, it is because of these developments that Alonzo has sworn himself to be a protector for all those he holds dear. But, unlike Munkustrap, Alonzo is heavily saddled with endless self-doubt, self-flagellation, and fear. He's around Tugger's age, and Munkustrap recognizes how much learning and growing he needs to do, but also recognizes the drive and intensity propelling him towards becoming either a mess of self-destruction, or a rocksteady protector and friend on whom others can rely. Munkustrap instinctively took Alonzo under his wing, becoming his unofficial mentor, and is pretty much the only cat toward whom Alonzo is open and affectionate. The latter often goes to Munkustrap in times of doubt and fear, but also focuses on impressing and emulating the Jellicle Protector in any way he can. When it comes to being backed up during an altercation, or any matters concerning the security and safety of the colony, Munkustrap knows he can rely on Alonzo above anybody else to back him up. The two are very brotherly and familial with one another, and together make a duo that I, personally, would not fuck with.

Also, importantly, Alonzo supplies a sort of catharsis for Munkustrap as well. While the Protector may not realize it, being able to guide and mentor Alonzo functions as something like reparation for his own past failures; now he's able to pass on the lessons he's learned so that Alonzo won't make the same mistakes he made, and Alonzo being his protegee reassures him that he's capable of positively influence those who are in his care. (which he doesn't often conscientiously doubt, but losing his family instills fear in the back of his head that he'll fuck up in any way with his new family, a fear that's usually surfaced in conjunction with Tugger)

Jenny - She is a surrogate mother figure to Munkustrap, and one of the only cats to whom he yields his absolution of authority in the absence of Deuteronomy. (not unlike the way Kirk often has to cede to McCoy...two star trek references in one post about cats??) He's known her his entire life, and she has always been a source of comfort and guidance towards him that is similar, yet still different, in comparison to Deuteronomy. I like to think Jenny is one of the few cats that Munkustrap would ever go to for advice or consolation, and also one of the few cats who will openly question his approaches or point out his shortcomings. (it comes from a place of love!) Munkustrap also just thinks she's hilarious. A heavily burdened cat like him needs the unique combination of comfort and levity that a cat like Jennyanydots can provide! together they have a lovely rapport <3

-

(here comes the somewhat controversial takes pfffttt. you can flame me if you want idc it's the internet and I know what I signed up for lmao but if you are a demestrap purist who may become emotionally compromised by the suggestion that a romantic connection between the two is Not A Given, feel free to skip this part)

Demeter - listen. I know you're wondering but I'm going to keep it short for now okay. suffice it to say, they have a bit of a back-and-forth, so to speak, mostly stemming from Demeter trying to navigate the residual damage of her troubled past (and.....present) but. my version of Munkustrap is on the aroace spectrum (hides) and so instinctively doesn't move in on Demeter out of an impulse to "rescue" or "fix" her. And for her part, whenever she does indicate an interest in anybody, it's not like she's driven by a long-sufferer's Need For True Love. And even if it were, I'd lampshade that as Not A Good Basis For A Relationship. like idk it's a complicated thing, but regardless, I think she's a fascinating character on her own, far outside the realm of her sensuality and her relationships with the male characters lol.

So continuing, Munkustrap doesn't overstep the fact that she's an adult who can make her own decisions, and also he can see with his own eyeballs that she errs on the side of indecisive regarding her estimation of Macavity, and morality in general, and his mind is not clouded with "I Am A Straight Man In The Presence Of A Beautiful Woman" so as to persuade him to, for some reason, insist that she's not capable of making poor decisions, and trust her judgment above anybody else's in a comparable situation. He, of course, would like to help her, within reason, like he would like to help any cat who expresses interest in being a part of the colony and embracing the mores of Jelliclehood. And he is, of course, kind and helpful towards her because that's the kind of cat he is. and it has nothing to do with an urge to romance her. 😬 or protect her with anomalous fervency because She's Just A Girl (honestly idc about any implications regarding gender roles that have wormed their ways into various versions of CATS bc these are CATS and they lack culturally gendered expectations/roles and also they lack secondary sex characteristics)

because Demeter is rather flighty and cagey, and Munkustrap is a Busy Bee, it takes a while for the two of them to even really become friends, and when they do, there are still some ups and downs granted by a bevy of contrasting opinions/idiosyncrasies endemic to the respective characters. Once he gets to actually know her, Munkustrap does believe in Demeter and encourages her to make progress, but he doesn't hover over her or fuss over her more than he does any other of his adult friends lmao. in the few instances that she behaves in a sensual manner towards him, he's like...ig open to it, but again, he's on the aroace spectrum and navigates those kind of connections within that realm, which To Me means that, in his case, he's never governed by romantic, sensual, or sexual impulses/attractions. bc listen. I just love a male hero who is not ultimately fulfilled by A Woman's Love and Having Children (those things are great for some people!!! pls don't think I am suggesting otherwise lmaooooo)

if it seems like these past few paragraphs have a defensive tone...it may be because I operate in anticipation of being condemned by passionate shippers (and also I too am on the aroace spectrum and thats not for nothing lol) but like I said it's the internet and ik what I signed up for. I have nothing against believers in demestrap. not to mention that yk, hal.........it's about cats.

anyway!!!! Munkustrap has a meaningful relationship with everyone at the Junkyard, but I'm gonna stop here for now lol. I could write a passage for every possible combination of every possible pairing of cats but I have already gone beyond the scope I originally imagined pfft. I hope this gives an adequate enough glimpse into how I construe him and his personality and a little bit of his backstory. sorry if's confusing af, or if I focused too much on other cats. also I alluded to a few things that I'm not even sure I've expanded on before. but if you made it through this whole thing and if you care at all about my fanverse pls don't hesitate to ask for expansion or clarification on anything

ty for the ask!! <3

[handfulofmuses]

Mondo rolls his eyes. His tongue quickly licks over his eyes to keep them moist.

Still, there was relief as Xever managed it. He hates getting tied up (last time they tried to dissect him and that was not a pleasant experience). Aside with how tight it was, not moving is really not his thing for someone who is constantly on the move and all over the place.

“Thanks, dude.”

The gecko glanced around the room. Considering his skateboard is nowhere to be seen, they left it at the junkyard.

His attention turned to Xever when he tried to open the door. Obviously it’s locked. But this appears to be their only way … out? Probably too easy.

Mondo followed towards the door. If it is locked then that means - yep, Xever is already ahead of that.

Lockpicking was one of the skills the gecko was good at. It took him a few tries but once he got a hang of it? You bet that aside from running errands the kid used that opportunity to treat himself at times as well. It was a useful skill ; one that he still possessed while living with the mutanimals.

Most of what he learned came from Xever. In a way he never really left and the kid was not sure how to feel about it, but Slash found his skills useful. If he can’t help the team by fighting, then, well, he has other ways.

While the fish was working on the lock, Mondo took another opportunity to glance around the room. He saw something, but pretends he didn’t. It’s well hidden.

“Guard dogs,” the gecko whispered. As in - they are being watched. There is a hidden camera. It’s just something he would sometimes say when they were in a place and he spotted the hidden cameras.

Probably his way of a secret code word.

"No, that might just cause you to hurt yourself. You can trust me to do at least this much right?"

Xever was working the blade back and forth slowly making the tape break apart. There was a good motion going with this and not long later Xever managed to get himself free though Mondo still needed some more help before he could get loose from the binds.

"Hold still..."

Since Xever was now free it only took one swift cut to get the rest off of Mondo so he could move again. Now with them free they could explore the room more together maybe find a way out. There was a door nearby, the fishman tried it but it was locked. Xever could use his legs to kick it down, but if they wanted to be sneaky they could do things another way. So, Xever pulled something out from another leg section a series of small tools he then started using upon the lock.

This ought to bring back memories too for Mondo. They had broken into places many times together, with Xever taking hold of Mondo's hands to help show him how to pick locks alongside the fish. It was one of the more happy memories the pair shared together.

flashback

"See, now this lock here has pins. You need to listen for the small little dinks when you manage to push one of them up. When all the little dinks are up then click the door is unlocked! Come on now Jase, let's see you try! Show me you got the skills!"

Xever was smiling as he helped guide the reptile through the process.

[godnattakatta]

thinking abt mungojerrie and demeter (again)

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 4 - Calm Before the Storm

With the beginning of a new day it was like the calm before the storm. You stood up pretty late at night, making your way to a center, luckily they didn’t push for information knowing your situation is a dime a dozen around these parts.

Thank god. Though you did debate giving them your name or even a nickname, you decided against it. After all, you’re not staying here long term, you don’t need to cement your name here. Not as a civilian, or as spider-woman.

You shouldn’t even be here. You don’t belong here.

After having a fresh meal, bless the hearts of the passionate people out there giving out kindness like air, fix yourself up, and return to your makeshift home to decompress.

The cold air nipping at your face cools you off, making you vigilant of your surroundings. Quiet, a bit too quiet. Gotham isn’t known for its silence after all. Pushing the uncomfortable feelings aside, you decide to call it a night.

Making significant progress on your watch became your saving grace. The anchor of your sanity.

So the first thing you did in the morning was quickly get a nice breakfast at a shelter before dedicating your time to building the beacon until nightfall.

The voices in your head were getting restless so you even fixed up a radio you found in the piles of junk just to have a noise buzz in the background.

Days, you spent days inside this safezone you made a shelter out of. Two days to be exact. With how limited and unlimited your resources are, you had no time to waste. You had your own world to get back to, and help Miguel stop the Spot. Every day you spend here is costing you so much already. But you keep going, because you know you’re making progress.

Your routine was mostly some time in the morning, eat and wash up at any center, and go straight back to the junkyard. Snack for lunch and for dinner, back at another center. You make sure to hop around so as to not draw attention or to get familiar with anyone.

You don’t belong. Pretender, faker, liar, fraud, phony, sham.

You know that better than anyone else. You feel like a fraud. This world is like a different color pallet, monochromatic to you. You can’t stain this world with your presence.

You’re getting nauseous just thinking about it.

When taking some semblance of a break, you usually take walks to calm your mind in the morning, where crime is least likely to occur. And so far, you’re right!

Though there were a few (three) instances of muggers, and a drug dealer. Though you did stop (and robbed) them, but not as spider-woman, just as normal (fake) civilian you.

Those were the one’s just in your way or happening to you. Other than that, you have not put on the spider-woman suit to fight crime.

Why would you?

You were about to return home soon, if everything ends well. And it seems like luck is on your side since you have not caught a glimpse or heard any of the batsonas nearby. This also gave you hope.

So, how do you celebrate your near completion of your super secret science project?

Well, with ice-cream and a place of destination for your super secret science project!

So off to the library you go!

Finishing your ice-cream, you take in a breath of the polluted air of Gotham and make your way towards the library.

It was silent, and tranquil. Something you weren’t able to feel for some time. No big baddies escaping Arkham, no terrorist attacks, no bombing threats, no bat encounters, nothing. Just silence, and peace. And you embrace it with everything you have.

Your constant tense body finally felt itself ease as your stress levels went down.

Entering the library and once again greeting the librarian, you made your way back to the same seat you did days ago. With a clear mind, you browse the maps and possible locations for your beacon.

Finding a couple of very good locations, you made sure to memorize the landmarks and streets so you can pick the closest one.

You were giddy! Basically shaking in excitement. Tonight is the night! You just need to tweak a few things and you would be good to go! You would finally have a signal that can ping your location! And if you have time, you will be able to message Miguel through your signal.

With excitement, you quickly left the library and made your way back to the junkyard. Days of your blood sweat and tears, will all finally pay off your desperation to go back home.

Just a couple of adjustments.

Running into the warehouse, you turned on the radio and began to work.

Hours upon hours and you finally managed to get something done. It might have looked like a baby’s school robotics science project but hey! Ya got something at least!

You made something fast, not pretty.

Now, to connect his baby to a power source that won’t reveal your location- god knows you don’t need the bats up on your ass. If you trusted this world more, maybe you would have gone to Batman/Bruce Wayne first. But you know that- one, that idea is garbage at best, that’s how you would most likely get your cute ass locked at Arkham. And two, you know for a fact that Batman doesn’t trust metahumans or something- and you having enhanced powers in your fucking DNA, makes you the paranoid one.

You don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, especially the Batman’s. It just boils down to, you don’t trust him or his brood of sidekicks. That and the fact that if you could do it by yourself then you will.

And you’re already doing it. Ha! Take that universe!

This was a job for spider-woman. Changing into your suit, you hurriedly carried your mini beacon, and soared through buildings to find an appropriate source of electricity. You know you don’t have the right technology (you’re using scraps for fuck sake) to create an effective and accurate signal, but with this little baby, you should be able to send out a general area ping.

This way, for anyone who is looking for you (you fucking hope so) they can lock into a general area of the multiverse.

You are holding onto hope you get discovered soon.

Landing on top of a random construction site, you made quick work setting your things up. Connecting the cable to your beacon, and one towards your watch, you use the last cable and walk over a power generator.

This is it, this is where you’ll finally finally have a semblance of a chance to leave this universe. You just want to go home. You don’t exist here, you checked when scrolling through the web.

Not someone who looks like you- or a spider-woman either. You don’t belong here, and you never had the intention to play pretend either. This world isn’t your problem and you aren’t needed. So, now you’ll ping your location and go home.

Your very own emergency distress signal.

You plug your cable in the generator and it causes a power surge.

You pray to be discovered.

-

“B! It’s happening again!” Oracle’s alarmed voice caused Batman to head out immediately. “But this time it’s different!”

“Same place?” Hopping into his batmobile he sped off. “Different how?”

“No, this time it’s in the Narrows. A construction site twenty minutes from your location. It’s pinging like crazy!” Oracle couldn’t understand what was happening.

It had been a regular Thursday night until she got a ping of another disturbance. Not quite the ‘quantum disturbance’ like a few days ago, but then it was the flickering power surge. She was quick this time, getting an accurate location and with Batman on the way, they’ll find out what this is.

“It’s definitely the same as a few days ago, but not big enough, not strong enough. Causing a power surge!”

The surge only lasted ten seconds. Ten seconds too long. Then silence and all the light and energy came flickering back in that area.

“Robin’s close, he’s on his way B.” As if nothing had happened. Oracle wasted no time in finding cameras to see the situation. But the ripple effect caused security cameras to shut down for the duration of the surge. “Shit. Cameras are down- can’t find anyone in or out.”

“Hm.” Batman grunted. This was a grunt of annoyance.

Upon arriving on the scene, Batman made his way through the partially completed construction site. There stood only one other figure, and it was Robin.

“There was no sign of the perpetrator when I got here.” He spoke, his fixed glare at the spot where the ping was the strongest. “I surveyed the surroundings, nothing.” Frustration was clear in his voice and clenched teeth.

This confirms what Oracle said through the comms.

Batman sighed. Whatever was here, left just as quickly. This means that whatever caused a quantum disturbance days ago, is still here. In his city. In Gotham. And when he finds them, he’ll make sure to squeeze out every bit of information they possess.

He won’t take any chances of possible alien life force coming and going as they please.

“We’re not completely at a loss.” His words caught Robin’s attention, so he continued. “That means whoever did this is still here. It wasn’t as big as the other one, which means the recreation was not enough. Whoever or whatever it is, is still here.”

Robin processed the information and affirmed. “Understood. Means they will try again. And soon.” Robin makes sure to ping this area as a priority zone.

Batman nodded. He will find whoever is behind this. No matter the costs.

Nothing will escape their watch.

-

“No! No no nonono!”

Just as you plugged in the cable to the generator a huge surge of power came through, quickly to find a connection.

Your watch sprang to life, a bright screen greeted you and quickly you sprung to action. Seeing the universe number glitch but readable.

Finding a smidgen of a connection, you started calling Miguel; it couldn't even connect.

You wanted to sob.

“Miguel! Miguel please please see this! Please please please!” Then the connection went out and the watch turned black.

You felt like your whole world was crashing down on you.

You tried, you really did try! You did your best. You have always done your best. But in the end, it seems that no matter how hard you fought or tried to fight, defend, and protect, it just was never enough. But you lost waaaaay too much to give up. Especially now.

You’ll get discovered soon. And not by the ones you want to meet. “Fuck!”

You couldn’t let this get to you. They might be coming. Quickly unplugging the cables you grab the beacon and swing away, using the night as your cover to make a grand escape.

After all, you still were able to at least find a connection, just not a strong one. Try again next time.

A fire grew inside you. That’s right, you’ll just try again, and this time make something better. As long as you weren’t caught you can still make something better. “Can’t give up.” You spoke through your tears. You’ll fix this, you have too. It’s just you against the world.

Just like Miguel, you’ll throw yourself into fixing things. Making it better.

The obsession of trying to make things right by any means necessary, broken and unbroken. Take things apart and build it back together again, same and before, or better, greater even.

A Tinkerer if you will. Anything to be useful, needed, wanted. And in order for you to feel that, you’ll build an even stronger signal. This time, you’ll make your watch better.

You know Hobie Brown knows how to build his own watch. You both do. Discussed it when Hobie casually said he missed your presence at times. So you’ll just upgrade yours.

Building a better beacon and upgrading your watch requires more material. So you’ll plan for the days ahead. You will learn from this failure. You have to. You need to.

Your greatest failures were failing to save Ben, protect May, and defend Peter, those you cared for the most. You can’t afford to fail this. You will make it back. It just seems that you’ll be stuck here just a tad bit longer.

“That’s okay… everything will be okay.” Your erratic mind becomes calm again.

You learned to take responsibility for your actions and mistakes, learned to accept the consequences and help others face their own, and finally to heal and move forwards, to hope. And right now, you’re hoping for a better outcome soon.

“I can do this.” Landing on the warehouse you climbed through a window, throwing your mask to the side, landing on your workbench. “I can do better.”

You were known as a dangerous spider. You have years of experience, years of trials and tribulations, you’re smart, curious, and compassionate. But you’re hungry, always hungry to learn more, to consume knowledge. You use what you learn and become better than yesterday.

You’re a dangerous spider because you always come out of every experience learning more, learning to be better as you adapt, plan and overcome every obstacle in your way.

You’re a dangerous spider, because you push yourself to the brink it’s almost madness. Your obsession of not being weak, helpless, and vulnerable forced your body to adapt at a rapid pace. It terrified your enemies and comrades. And how easily you can hide that obsession is also terrifying.

It’s the calm before the storm.

And right now, you need to plan better. You’ll leave the Narrows, go somewhere else. Possibly Park Row? No. That’s the Red Hoods territory. Maybe somewhere less chaotic. Oh! East End sounds perfect! It’s one of the places Batman doesn’t really interfere with.

Perfect.

You’ll only leave once you finish your beacons. Because you know the bats will come here, and most certainly discover that someone has been here building no matter how you try to cover up your doings.

Batman is just that good. You just won’t take any chances.

-

In a different universe far faaaaaaar away. Miguel discovered a heartbreaking partially audible voice recording of his missing protégé.

Location unknown. Coordinates unknown. Universe unknown.

You were lost, and he doesn’t know how to find you.

Prev; Next;

I know it feels like I'm rushing and to that- fair probably. I also really want to get into the bat family and stuff. Their actual civilian personas i mean. Not their vigilante alter ego. You are going to meet them next chapter for sure, I just need to find a way to up the states for you. Make you feel dread and anxious.

I'm not a funny person, so I feel like I am doing the spider-sona injustice. Rip.

[whathehonestfuk]

selkie!steve who's parents took his coat when he was young, told him it was to keep him safe and he believed it - why wouldn't they want to keep him safe?

only with time to have it turn on him as he got older, the coat locked away in a safe he's never known the code to, the very reason he physically can't stay away from home for too long, even if the fights between him and his dad are getting worse and steve longs to be free. he wants his coat. why can't they see it's not keeping him safe to have it away from him all these years? the fights about his coat are short, loud, and violent and steve never wins them.

but besides, they usually make up from their fights when steve caves and apologises, most of the time at least, so when his parents leave for yet another business trip, it starts as it always does; a blessing to be near his coat without having to be near his parents. it's when a month goes by with no word from them, a tinge of worry niggles at steve. two months, he starts trying random codes on safe, half sure they're wouldn't have left him without giving him back his coat, right? right?

it's as he's dragged it out to his car and to the junkyard, desperate and 4 months with no contact from his parents, trying to prepare to try to smash it open, potentially ruining the coat just at the chance to get it free--

--when eddie munson finds him, calms steve down just enough so he can hear eddie say, "i can crack on of those, if you need"

steve can't tell if he's more relieved to be free when the safe door finally wrenches open, or more politely upset when eddie doesn't even try to take his coat

It's years of Steve trying to hint and basically trick Eddie into taking his coat but Eddie just won't

He finally blows up about why Eddie won't just keep him

Eddie wants to but he was waiting for Steve to offer his coat because he would never just take it

[agoldengalaxy]

a headcanon about every gravity falls character I can think of off the top of my head:

- dipper’s chewing pen habit came from his mother, who tried to get him to stop biting his nails by handing him a pen instead. he doesn’t bite his nails anymore, but he’s uncomfortably used to the taste of ink now

- mabel learned how to knit out of spite. an adult at school told her it was probably too hard for her and she learned it all by herself out of pure rage. she can and will knit nearly 2 sweaters per week now

- stan keeps a journal to document all the things he begins to remember. sometimes he’ll be talking to ford and cut himself off mid-sentence to jump up and rush to grab his journal excitedly. he jokingly calls it journal 4

- when visiting a new city, ford decides to get a tattoo to match stan’s. finally he has a tattoo that he actually likes

- soos is BELOVED as the new mr mystery. sales are even better than when stan ran it, but he keeps that a secret from stan so as to not hurt his feelings

- along with all of the obvious stuff wendy is good at like cutting lumber and climbing trees, she also holds a world record in cup stacking

- melody is trying really hard to beat wendy’s score. they have a friendly competition. soos doesn’t understand why they can’t BOTH hold the world record. he loves them both and can’t root for either and it’s stressing him out

- once the therapism took away his arts and crafts hour, they gave bill a piano. he’s surprisingly good at jazz

- when fiddleford moves into the northwest mansion, he adopts two raccoons and one opossum from the junkyard to bring with him. he is very good at taking care of them and they adore him

- pacifica collects pokémon cards. she’s very secretive and very territorial about them. no one she battles can beat her. her favorite pokémon is drifblim

- when robbie hit puberty his hair actually started getting curly, so he straightens it every day. it is completely and utterly dead from all the heat but he keeps telling himself it’s a later problem

- gideon is coding his own website to blog his journey of becoming a better person. it’s slow-moving and frustrating but he thinks he’s…having fun??

- grenda and candy have been friends since candy moved from korea at age 6. grenda saw she was sitting alone at school and had no problem going to ask her if she liked boys. to this day candy is so grateful that grenda has always been more direct than she is

- abuelita just adores melody. she affectionately calls her mija whenever she visits

- blubs and durland have their honeymoon at disneyland. durland likes the teacups the best. they make blubs sick but he does it for him

- lazy susan’s home is full of home goods decorations like “I like cats more than people” and “autumn leaves and pumpkins please!”

- toby determined finds himself settling well into his role as bodacious t. although shandra jimenez still doesn’t like him back, she’s nicer to him now. she even introduced him to a friend of hers, whom he has taken on several dates

- mayor tyler still likes to gossip and encourage fighting whenever he can, even within his own office. he insists upon a good natured rivalry with the neighboring towns, which results in some destroyed property. his approval rating is through the roof

- blendin blandin finally discovers xanax

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n- 3.5k: boothill comes back to you for a tune up, but instead of his body, it's his heart that needs tending to after you scare the hell out of him [minor boothill story spoilers if you're not caught up on that jazz, but nothing major!]

warning(s)!: boothill is implied to have an artificial tech!eye and he takes it out (not descriptive tho!)

the last time boothill saw you, he was in for a cooling agent refill. it was also during that last visit when he saw that you had fixed up the small robot he had picked up on a distant planet and brought back as a gift. with your affinity for tinkering with things, he knew you'd like it. and he wasn't wrong.

it's been a month, maybe, and while that shouldn't be considered a very long time away considering his goal steeped in revenge would eventually require him to be gone for far longer- or even not come back at all- he damn missed you.

that, and the censor inside his eye has been on the fritz and well... if he can't see, he can't exactly shoot straight. he didn't need to be discharging bullets like a psychopath- he's a galaxy ranger, not some low-ringed IPC lacky who's a bit too trigger happy.

luckily, his eye wasn’t so fudged up that he couldn't see at all. the world around him was all blurs if he moves to quickly, but given the time to adjust, he's able to more or less make out what was in front of him. just don’t ask him to read anything... not that he was stellar in that department to begin with. it's like the crosshair infused with his artificial eye was out of focus or something.

boothill knows the path to your shop- that acts also as your home- like the back of his hand. someone could pluck his eye right out of his head, yet he'd still navigate his way to where you are. it was one of the few roads he has taken time and time again. he hope's it'll stay a place he can keep coming back to in health or otherwise.

stepping off his small, single-man ship after landing it near the junkyard you usually dig around in, he stumbles out of it onto the ground with a censored curse. he wishes he could land the thing closer to your shop, but he had once come in with too much a gusto and scorched a section of your lawn. once was all you needed to prohibit him from landing anywhere near the building again.

the walk from junkyard to the shop wasn't a treacherous one, hardly even a workout. still, the back of his neck just at his hair line breaks out into a cold sweat. it isn't brought on by exertion, but by the engraved instinct that something... wasn't right. something in his gut was telling him something was wrong.

boothill's learned to trust his gut.

his leisurely pace picks up to a more urgent gait and he can smell the 'something wrong' before his unfocused eye can try and see it.

it smells like smoke.

his steps falter at the disgustingly familiar scent- the smell that brings back memories he forces himself remember. memories that push him towards his goal of revenge- his goal in finding oswaldo. memories of his ruined home. he swallows thickly but it does nothing for his throat that's sudden too dry.

boothill hated fire. he's hated fire since his original name died with his family... with his daughter. since he chose to become "boothill" altogether he's abhorred fire.

he's familiar with fire. with its destruction. with its color. with its smell and heat and ruthlessness. its lack of mercy and greedy nature to swallow up anything in its path that can scorch.

the billows of smoke he could barely make out once his long, mechanical legs took him running to your shop could only be explained by fire. where was it? was it large? contained? were you inside? were you hurt? the cowboy didn't see any flames from outside, so it must not be that bad yet. you're fine. you're fine. you have to be.

all formality is left at his heels when he barges through your shop's doors. there's not much smoke in front of the shop when he enters.

"y/n! are you in here!" you don't respond to his shouts. "fudge!" god, boothill wishes he could properly curse right now. screw his synthesia beacon to hell.

the dim lights make it harder to navigate the area around him with the addition of his already busted vision, but just like the path leading him here- boothill is familiar with the inside of your home. he could walk it blindfolded and deaf.

boothill follows his nose. the smell of smoke got stronger the further back into the shop he goes. the ranger starts hearing commotion along with his narrowing down of where the fire was coming from.

clanging. some bangs. you're coughing. you're cursing.

boothill pushes open the metal door that leads into the main workshop with his shoulder. the room is always filled with all sorts of scrap metals, wiring, wielding tools, normal tools, and all sorts of other gadgets and knobs that he's sure you keep cluttered in different drawers and corners.

the smoke he saw outside floods the workshop, filtering out through the windows you had thrown open and up the chimney you don't ever use unless you need to melt down metal. the grey, sooty gas lingers high towards the ceiling. wafting around his head as soon as he enters the workshop, causing him to choke on it before his mechanical insides whirl into filtering it all out of his system.

sometimes being mostly robotic had it's perks. not choking to death on smog was always a plus.

"sugar!" he calls that familiar endearment over all the noise you're causing. the normally sweet, yet playful, nickname he's been calling you since he discovered your unbelievable sweet tooth feels sour coming out of his mouth this time. your coughing is muffled, and he can only assume it's because you're covering your mouth with a cloth or something. you better be, he hisses internally to himself.

"boothill?!" your shock is as muffled as your cough. "hold- gahk! son of a- hold on a second!" he can hear you rushing around the shop's concrete floor. "ore, did you get to the switch!" you direct your attention away from the unanticipated arrival of boothill. instead, you steer it towards the aforementioned, small robot you refurbished into new, mech-life. you had named it ore after the piece of unknown gem used as his power source.

small beeps of affirmation filter through the soot and smoke and you cough three more times into the cloth you're holding over your mouth and nose.

"flick it left!" you instruct ore. another set of beeps before the shop is bombarded with a force that's almost enough to knock boothill off his feet. the smoke was gathered quickly into a vacuum of air that soon collected all of it up then sequency shot it up and out the of chimney.

the room was basically clear now. all that's left after ore flips the switch back to the right to halt at vacuum assault is the mist of remnants that would soon find their way out the windows you intend to keep open for a good, long while.

you lower the rag from your mouth that had been used to keep smoke from invading your lungs and grimace at it. you had been previously using that rag to wipe oil from a machine you were working on. the very same machine that you had kicked a bit too roughly, causing some faulty wiring inside to shift and ignite. that bucket of broken bits was what led to this predicament in the first place!

finally, you look towards boothill. you hardly get a chance to acknowledge him properly since the moment you turn towards the doors he had come through; he was already at you.

crossing the room with urgent, quick strides, his metal arms clad in his cropped jacket and hanging red scarf wrap around your shoulders. one of his hands push against the back of your head and he doesn't care if the threads of your hair tangle into the groves of his fingers. his chin drips to rest his cheek against your crown.

his head dips so low, cheek and face pushing against your head so closely that the brim of his cowboy hat dents against your skull before falling off to the floor. it falls upside down with a soft thwomp and he can't seem to care.

"hey," you whisper in shock as you curl your arms upwards, bringing your hands to rest concerningly against his shoulders. his scarf was soft against your palm. your fingers thread through parts of his long, white and black hair that rest over his hunched back.

you've never seen him like this. not ever. you were certain that if he were completely human with a full body of flesh and blood, he'd be shaking like a leave. "boothill," you call, trying to get him to hear you.

he doesn't answer you. not verbally.

boothill shakes his head in two small shakes, somehow pushing his cheek further against the top of your head. he was taking deep breaths, taking in the smell of oil and rust and work that you always seem to be coated in. the arm around your shoulders holds you hostage and the one behind your head doesn't let your face pull even a single inch away from his neck where he keeps you.

his eye is still blurry and he still can't see properly. he needs to keep you against his body so his censors can make sure you're alive.

boothill can't 'feel' anything anymore from the neck down. the metal frame he calls his body is just that- metal. a shell that doesn't allow him to feel pain externally. so, he needs to anchor your body to him, so that all his internal do-dads can verify to his malfunction vision that you were okay.

you don't know how long boothill keeps you still like this. you don't keep track of the time. ore beeps confused and concerned once it finds its way back to the nearest tabletop closest to both of you. it's digital face with two oval, pixeled eyes that slice in half like a cartoon character's paint the expression clearly. there's even a small dash of pixeled sweat at the corner of it's 'face' that shows just how distressed it is.

eventually, boothill uncurls his arms from you, and you wince at the small strands of your hair that do end up snagged in his hands and knuckles. when you finally get away enough, you look up at him.

his face is down turned and anxious. there's a cold sweat on his cheek that's come from his hairline and slides past his ear (did he still have sweat glands?). he looks empty without his hat on, even though you should be good and well used to the sight. he often gives it to you to wear when he comes by- for whatever reason.

looking at him longer, you notice something off. with squinted eyes, you reach up and touch his cheek.

"hey, is your eye-" the cowboy jolts at the feel of your hand against his flesh and you wonder if he's sensitive to skin-to-skin contact since this small space is all he has left to experience the sensation. you go to pull your hand away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

boothill feels you pull away and quickly stops you. his metal palm that's still warm with the heat of your body pushes against the back of your hand as he leans his face into your warm, soft palm. his bullet earring is cool against the tip of your fingers that he isn't engulfing with his hand. the eye you're so used to looking at shuts at the sensation.

"boothill?" you try again now that you've both had time to calm down. you really have never seen him act like this way. was this really the same haughty, galaxy ranger who waltzes in every few months or so because he keeps jamming his arm gun, or running low on coolant, or just to bug you?

"the fire," he says. you look behind you at the scorched pile of metal that was the sole perpetrator for the whole kit and caboodle. "are you hurt?" the synthetic twinge to his voice is more noticeable when he speaks lowly you notice.

you shake your head before answering. "no. i'm okay."

"swear it." he doesn't ask.

"i swear i'm not hurt. i didn't even inhale all that much smoke." your thumb skates under his eye as he reopens it. you almost go to your toes to look closer at it. it looks different than usual. like something about it is... wrong? "is your eye okay?"

"what caused the fire?" he completely ignores your question in lieu of his own and if he wasn't so distraught right now, you would've let him have a piece of your mind. but you don't. you can circle back around to his eye once he feels satisfied.

"an old rig i found in the junk yard. i thought if i could fix it up, it'd make a decent heater for the winter months. but, i messed it up and it blew up in my face." you pout at the loss of a project since you weren't willing to go through another fire 101 lesson any time soon. you'd dissembled the hunk of junk and place it back in the junkyard where you found it.

"so that's what is was," he sighs. hearing your explanation, his shoulders deflate, and you swear you hear his body hiss out tension. "dadgummit," he curses. "scared me shirtless. don't do that, sugar." he was calming down. thank goodness.

"sorry about that," you chuckle humorlessly, "i wasn't expecting you, so i'm sorry you had to see that."

you don't know much about boothill's past. he's told you bits and pieces, but you've never take the initiative to actively pry into it. you can tell it hurts him to recall, so you just leave it be. you know he doesn't like fire. he hates the ipc- some guy named oswaldo you think it was? he lost his family on his home planet. that's the extent of the man before 'boothill' you know for the most part.

but you were able to put two and two together. the idea of someone dying and homes being scorched must scare him.

you pull you hand from his cheek and raise it so your fingers invade the right side of his hairline. the black curtain of bangs shift with your movement as you comb through the treases once, then twice before dropping your hand again. his bangs return to their black cloaking nature to his face's right side.

"it's all okay now. isn't that right, ore?" you look over your shoulder to your small assistant robot. its concerned expression it has been favoring shifts into jolted delight as its square head nods with a series of affirmative beeps. a bright green, pixelated thumbs-up pops up on its face before disappearing into curved eyes that blink open reassuringly.

you take both of boothill's arms gently and lead him to the small sofa that's full of mismatched patches of fabric from all the patching up and repairing it's needed over the years. you let him sink into the cushions first before following, you knee touching his.

your hands find themselves in your lap, finally disconnected from boothill and he's just about sad over it. but, he was calming down. and he didn't need to cling to you like that- honestly, he's almost embarrassed over it. acting like a scared dog like that? god, he wishes he could overheat into a full system meltdown.

"feeling better?" you ask. he takes a deep breath and can taste the lingering smoke in the air. still, he nods.

"yeah," he sighs. "yeah, i am." the sound of small metal taps rush around before coming closer. looking down, ore had taken it upon itself to jump from the worktable to the floor. grabbing the brim of boothill's fallen hat, it began the mission of dragging it all the way back to its rightful owner. ore's digital eyes curve up again when boothill and you look down at it from the sofa.

you chuckle before leaning down and offering your hand with your palm up. ore steps backwards up your fingers, dragging the hat that is five times its size and hanging onto the brim as you lift it and the hat into the air. ore offers the hat back to boothill with a smile he can see better now that the little guy is closer to eye level.

the galaxy ranger accepts his hat back, flipping it over and dusting the top of it off. he didn't need his eye to work to know it was probably covered in dust from ore dragging it across the concrete floor you most certainly haven't swept yet.

"thanks, lil buddy." ore chirps happily at the praise.

you lift your arm to let ore rest on your shoulder where it takes the small carabiner you fashioned onto a small guard you wear in the shop and clasps it to his back. you made this so the robot wouldn't constantly be falling off your shoulder since it often makes itself comfortable there.

"so," you clear your throat, "about your eye." you try and get down to business now that the situation has passed. "does it need refocused?"

"sure does." if memory serves, you have a machine for autofocusing equipment around here somewhere. you lean over the back of the sofa, snagging your laptop you keep behind it on a roll away desk that way it doesn't get harmed by all your other tools or dirty by a strong pump of oil or something.

you unclasp ore from your shoulder carabiner. "could you go and find the adjustment scanner? i think it's in the toolbox drawer, top right. if not there, try two rows over." ore chirps and slides down your arm to your lap, then down your leg to the floor.

boothill can't see but can hear the little metal steps run off across the room.

"how does it get onto your tables?" he's asking partially to fill the silence, but also because he's genuinely curious. "figured you'd be cartin' the fella around everywhere."

"i usually do," you admit. "but, i did install small pully lifts with extra wiring and metal pieces i had laying around." you open your laptop and open the screen to unlock the device. "once on one of the metal pieces, ore can pull himself up manually with the designated wire."

the man chuckles at the image of you macgyvering something like that up. "you're dang cute," he chides. he can imagine you sitting on the floor, eyes squinted and leaning in so far, your spine would scream while installing those things. you don't respond. you usually don't to his passing words of flirtatious intention. whether deliberately or obliviously, he doesn't know.

soon, ore returns and hands you the piece of tech you need. hooking the scanner into your laptop, boothill can hear it whirring as the fan of your laptop kicks on to prevent any overheated crashes.

"alright," you let ore back on your shoulder and the robot hooks itself on safely via that carabiner. "let's see what's wrong."

you stare at boothill's unfocused eye. boothill looks back at the blurry image of you. you huff after a solid fifteen seconds of still silence.

"if you expect me to pop your eye out myself, guess again cowboy."

for the first time since he got there, boothill barks in laughter. oh what a mental sight that would be! it's slightly horrifying to picture having the person he's so infatuated with pluck out his eyeball thought.

boothill turns his back, a series of hisses and deep breaths later, he turns around and with his empty eye socket closed, offers you the tech eye he was installed with when he underwent his initial cyborg transformation.

it took 20 minutes and some light jabs from you- 'how did you uncalibrate it this badly?'- before the scans show a recalibrated and refocused eye. you hand it back to him before he's reconnecting it with his socket. the wires hiss and attach into place nicely.

"now that's better!" he cheers when he blinks and is able to see clearly again. he looks at you for the first real time in a month and he's never been happier to see the soot covering your nose and cheeks. oh, you're too cute.

the hat he's kept on his lap the whole process is relocated to your head the moment he could see your face and recognize it again. it plops over your skull and you sigh as- once again, he's making you wear his oh so precious hat.

"if i ask," -you flick the brim of his hat on your head- "will you tell me why you insist i wear this thing every time you're here?"

"nope," he pops his p before lifting his arms to rest his elbows on the back of your sofa. finally getting comfortable. he stares up at your ceiling. "it's a secret."

the fire made a sooty mess up there. it'll be a bitch to clean no doubt.

the hatless cowboy chuckles to himself as he hears you huff with an eyeroll. "naturally."

a/n pt.2: okay wow. this got a bit outta control. whoops? also, i didn't want to gender Ore so hopefully reading the lil guy as 'it' isn't as confusing as i think lol

[year2000electronics]

Does Monster Falls Dipper ever get the hang of being a deer?

he does! it takes some time but he's not bumping into walls as much :] (mabel also bumps into walls she just also used to bump into them as a human so its less notable (see her literally running into the door in soos and the real girl LOL))

its a little hard though, because most of the town's residents at this point are people who are in gravity falls because they grew up in gravity falls- soos has been here since he was at least 12 according to the show, gideon was born here, as were people like pacifica and wendy who have LONG family lineages, even characters like tyler and robbie shrug and say "well im a monster because my parents were monsters, too" so there's not a lot of advice for people who are only JUST getting cursed.

the only two who have something close to advice for them are stan and fiddleford. stan's advice is often hidden behind insults or tough love but there's definitely an undertone of "guy who knows exactly what it's like to have your center of weight dramatically shifted by something", and meanwhile fiddleford... isnt actually helpful at all. but he keeps offering dipper parts from the junkyard to "replace those ones".

I THINK HE DESERVES A "BIG DAMN HERO" MOMENT THOUGH. like, a part where not only does he help save the day, but also does it BECAUSE he's a cervitaur, y'know? and where better to put that than GIDEON RISES!!

DEER HAVE VERY POWERFUL KICKS!!

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part three

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Three - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

My legs feel numb, something cold and metallic digging into my back—chains, pinching at my skin. I try to shift, but the restraints hold me tight. There’s a warmth surrounding me, and I glance up to see Johnny's face, our noses inches apart. “Welcome back, Pumpkin!” Deadpool’s voice calls out from behind, dripping with that annoying cheerfulness that makes me groan and drop my head.

Johnny twists us around, the chains binding the two of us together keeping us suspended above the ground. Now, I’m facing Logan and Deadpool. Deadpool’s staring at me, and while it’s hard to tell through the mask, the tilt of his head makes me think he’s smiling.

He turns to Logan and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

Logan’s response is gruff, “Not all of you was asleep.”

I cringe. “That’s so—"

“Hot?” Deadpool interrupts, his tone mockingly hopeful.

“I was going to say disgusting.”

Deadpool pouts, his voice taking on a playful edge. “I sense a little closeted anger there.”

I squint at him, feeling the absurd need to defend myself. “I’m pretty comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much.”

“Don’t clench those cheeks of yours too tight, Pumpkin. I see the way you look at Wolvie here.” He tilts his head towards Logan, who finally meets my gaze.

I quickly look away, shame creeping in. He must hate me for what I did. Or for what I couldn’t do.

Deadpool starts rummaging around, searching for something. “Don’t bother. They’re very thorough,” Johnny tells him, a slight edge to his voice.

Logan cuts in, his tone demanding, “You know where we are, start talking.”

Johnny’s voice is calm but serious. “You’re in The Void. Think of it as purgatory. Reed called it a metaphysical junkyard where anything useless goes before it gets annihilated forever, and where the TVA sends people that don’t play nice with the rest of the multiverse.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Like you?”

Johnny nods. “And you. Or her.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “What does the annihilating?”

“Alioth,” Johnny answers, his voice low.

Deadpool’s eyes widen behind his mask. “Alioth is in this thing? From Loki, season 1, episode 5? You know she wrote a fanfic about Loki. I’m talking to you, reader.” He suddenly turns to face the empty space, as if he’s breaking the fourth wall again. 

I squint at him, my voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing?”

Deadpool gives me that familiar little head tilt, and I can almost see the grin beneath his mask. “Just keeping things meta, Pumpkin.”

Johnny continues, “Everyone here is on the run from Alioth. Most don’t make it. But there’s a resistance. Other people like us that manage to survive. We’re hiding out in the borderlands, trying to find a way to fuck outta here.”

Logan nods, his voice resolute. “Then that’s where we go.”

Deadpool's eyes light up with excitement. “We? Us? A team? The answer is yes. Shake on it.”

Logan unsheathes his claws, the metal gleaming menacingly.

“Fuck! You nicked it,” Deadpool yelps, pulling his hand back quickly. “Just got the tip with your little steak knife.”

Logan ignores him, turning back to Johnny. “These others can help us get back to the TVA. They can fix things.”

Johnny lets out a dark laugh, and I nudge him, trying to keep him focused.

Logan’s eyes narrow. “Something funny, Bub?”

Johnny’s expression grows serious. “She might have something to say about that.”

Logan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s she?”

Johnny's voice lowers ominously. “In The Void, you’re either food for Alioth, or you work for her.”

The words hang heavy in the air as we approach the gates—or rather, the colossal, decaying corpse of Ant-Man. His gigantic hands, now reduced to skeletal remains, are locked together to form the entrance. As they creak open, a cold shiver runs down my spine, a foreboding sense of doom settling over me. Johnny’s body flares with heat, a stark contrast to the icy dread filling my veins, betraying his own spike of anxiety.

We’re unceremoniously dumped out of the cage, rolling onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the courtyard. The atmosphere here is bleak, desolate—a wasteland filled with the lost and the damned. Variants and mutants alike mill about, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed by the relentless despair of this place.

From behind, I feel Pyro’s glare burn into my back. I turn slightly, catching sight of Toad, still nursing his wound. With a spiteful smirk, I stick my tongue out at him, my eyes glinting with a momentary spark of defiance.

The air around us shimmers, rippling with unseen energy as Cassandra’s presence draws near. In my sleep, I had only glimpses of her, vague and haunting. But now, as her silhouette emerges, a pang of grief stabs at my heart—she reminds me too much of Charles.

Deadpool breaks the tension with his usual irreverence. “Oh, you must be this year’s Juggernaut.”

“Please be quiet,” I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Keep your voices down,” Juggernaut rumbles. “She don’t like the chatter.”

Logan casts a sidelong glance at Deadpool. “She’s gonna love you.”

Deadpool, never one to heed warnings, continues, “Is it Charles? Hey, hey, Chuck, it’s us!”

Logan and I exchange a grim look. “That’s not Charles,” we say in unison.

Cassandra steps from her wheelchair, moving with a graceful menace as the sunlight catches her bald head. The air around her seems to crackle with latent power.

“Ah, shit. Oh, ableism great. That’s not gonna go over well with the woke mob,” Deadpool quips, earning a scowl from Logan.

Cassandra’s eyes settle on Logan first, cold and calculating. “A Wolverine. I wondered when I’d get one of you.” Then she turns to me, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “You’re one of Xavier’s.”

Deadpool, ever the disruptor, cuts in. “You know him, you know Chuck?”

Cassandra’s smile is thin, almost serpentine. “Oh, I knew him. We shared a womb. Tried to strangle the sly little fellow with my umbilical cord.”

“Amen,” Deadpool responds, almost gleeful. “I’ve never loved roommates. Mine’s blind, except she could see cocaine for some reason.” He turns to Logan, searching for an ally. “You wanna chime in, Your Majesty? I’m dying here.”

“Who are you?” Logan growls, his patience wearing thin.

“Charles Xavier’s twin,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with venom. “Cassandra Nova.”

Deadpool’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, shit. Is it anal birth?”

Cassandra’s expression remains unreadable as she assesses us, her tone almost playful. “You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.”

Her gaze sharpens as she shifts back to Johnny, a predatory gleam in her eye. “And I’ve been trying to catch this little firefly for years, haven’t I, Johnny? You picked the wrong time to make new friends.” She spares me a brief, dismissive glance. “I’ll get to you later,” she adds, her voice like ice. “—pumpkin.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, the way it slithers off her tongue far more menacingly than it ever did from Deadpool.

Deadpool, undeterred, presses on. “Oh, Johnny told us all about you.”

Logan’s warning is low and dangerous. “Maybe shut up now.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” I echo, my nerves fraying.

But Deadpool barrels ahead. “We were just talking here. Yeah, Johnny told us you’re a psychotic, megalomaniacal asshole. His words, not mine. Hell-bent on domination and pain.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “You said all that about me?”

Johnny stammers, panic clear in his voice. “No, no! How do you— I didn’t say anything!”

“Sticks and stones, Johnny!” Deadpool laughs, his tone mocking. “Don’t let her intimidate you. Like you said in the convoy. This finger-licking, dead inside, pixie slab of third-rate dime store nut milk can eat your delicious cinnamon ring and kick rocks all the way to bald-hell.”

Johnny looks horrified. “I have never said any of those words in my entire life!”

My muscles tense, knowing Deadpool is pushing too far. “That’s enough, Deadpool,” I warn, preparing to act if necessary.

But Deadpool continues, seemingly oblivious. “Ah! The modesty! People think I’m a shit-talker, but this guy, next level.”

“What? This- I- wait- I don’t even know what half of that means!” Johnny protests, his confusion growing.

In a flash, I manage to blip Johnny back a few hours, replacing him with a decoy just as Cassandra’s wrath descends. She tears into the decoy with brutal efficiency, ripping its skin clean off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing Johnny is safe, even if the others are none the wiser.

Deadpool gasps in mock horror. “Not my favorite Chris.”

Logan’s fury is palpable. “You stupid piece of shit, you just got him fucking killed!”

I feign distress, staring at the decoy’s lifeless form, playing my part.

“Hey, we’re all grieving!” Deadpool adds, his tone too flippant. “PS, do you know what he was doing to the budget?”

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. “Alioth is hungry.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” Deadpool protests, his bravado faltering. “Big Yellow is a backup Anchor Being, and I’m Marvel Jesus, MJ if you’re nasty. This may be hard to hear, but there’s another British villain. He’s gonna destroy my universe, and I’m gonna stop him.”

Cassandra’s smile is chilling. “Oh, honey, you don’t really strike me as a world-saving type.” Deadpool flinches. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He tries to regain his footing. “I didn’t want it to come to this. Either you help us, or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man, with zero warm-up.”

Logan tries to change the subject. “Where’d you get the chair?” 

“Once in a while, I do get a Charles through here,” Cassandra muses, her voice distant, almost nostalgic. “Never mind, though. No. He didn’t care to find me.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Ah, Gen-Z and their trauma-bragging! Can’t you just stuff it down, turn it into accomplishment or cancer like the rest of us?”

Cassandra’s eyes gleam with dark amusement. “But I’m not like the rest of you. Except maybe the Wolverine. Now, we could be truly terrifying together.”

Logan sneers, his claws itching for a fight. “You’re that scary, huh?”

“The TVA certainly thought so,” Cassandra replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “They sent me here before I could walk. And you know, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love it here.”

“You live in a garbage dump,” Deadpool retorts, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s smile widens, a cold, cruel thing. “I think we both know who lives in the garbage dump. The Void is a paradise. I can wield my power here without shame. Unfortunately, I had no Charles Xavier to teach me temperance.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and predatory. I’m still coated in the thick, warm blood of Johnny’s decoy, and the sight only seems to excite her. “I told you I would get to you. I’ve been waiting to crack into that mind of yours.” She steps forward, her finger outstretched, and I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

But she’s too fast, closing the distance in an instant. Her long, cold fingers seize my face, digging into my temples with a vice-like grip. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot lance that stabs through my skull as she roots around in my mind. Flashes of my past flood my vision—my dead friends, my failures, my desperate search for Logan. And then, the happier memories, from a time long gone, when Charles and Erik were younger, when hope still felt within reach.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Cassandra rips her fingers free, leaving me crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath.

I hear Logan shout something, but the words are muffled, lost in the haze of agony clouding my thoughts.

“Interesting,” Cassandra murmurs, almost to herself. “But boring. Your Charles, he protected you, made you feel safe?”

Logan’s growl is low, feral. “We’re done talking.”

“No,” Cassandra whispers, her voice a silken thread of menace. “We’re just getting started.”

Next Part

A/N: Guys, I’m on a roll and I was originally going to write this chapter as a recap but with Logan’s POV, instead, those will be added later as bonus chapters! I’ll try get a masterlist up and running.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[strrykais]

control alt + love [k.seung smau]

12. balls to the face

"here are your maps, and walkies. we split up in twos, felix and jeongin you head to crow nest, jisung and changbin head to the junkyard." seungmin says looking at the guys.

"minho are you okay with hanging out in the tower at the capital? we need a high vantage point of our flag." he says pointing at the map staring at minho as he nods. "okay chan is staying with the flag defending, ill head to the fort raptor, when you spot their flag don't engage, call for back up."

“remember jongho and mingi are their best shooters so be mindful when you are in open areas, their shots are nasty and accurate. wooyoung is our best bet in capturing if we want to win.” felix says glancing around at the team. everyone gives nods.

“hongjoong and seonghwa arent the best shots but they are fast and good at hand to hand combat to be careful.” minho says looking at jisung.

“whats that look for?” jisung scoffs. “why are they good at this thing?”

“this is how they team bond they do it like once a month with their staff. seungmin and I join from time to time.” minho tells jisung. “dude you literally came to one of these.”

"what about me?" you say side stepping behind minho raising your hand before the two of them could continue.

"you are with me." seungmin says looking at the walkies making sure they are on the right channel. "okay that's everything, remember stay hidden and don't get shot."

you watch as the team disperse seungmin still continuing to look at the map. you walk up next to him trying to glance over his shoulder.

"shorty you are too close. i can feel you on my back." he says glancing over his shoulder

"oh sorry" you say stepping back only for him to turn around walking to you, you slowly step back more but seungmin continues to step at you completely blocking you in when your back hits a tree trunk.

"what are you doing? aren't we supposed to head to fort raptor." you say avoiding eye contact glancing around him.

"im going to fort raptor, you on the other hand, well depends on how you answer this." seungmin says pressing his gun into your lower stomach.

"you gonna shoot me? are you being for real? whats up with this damn team and not having their teammates back?" you say huffing out.

"listen yn, one thing my team does is have each others back. im sorry that the little game you and jeongin were playing didnt go the way you want, but there is something you need to learn and im gonna teach you." seungmin says leaning in, the barrel of the gun digging deeper into your stomach.

"and what is that exactly?" you say trying to seem more cool than you were feeling inside. you couldn't exactly understand what is going on but your heart was racing and you felt like your breathing was erratic.

"teamwork. i know its hard to be heard because you are new, and a girl so you feel like you have to shout. but we, your teammates arent the ones you need to be shouting at. we had your back the moment felix picked you. we had to fight tooth and nail to get hq to even accept the idea of letting a girl on the team. i also understand friends fight its a normal thing to bicker especially with us living together. but what you won't do is belittle your teammates on live game play like that ever again. jeongin can be a lot, trust me i know the kid for 3 years, but sometimes you gotta be the bigger person and either ignore it or talk it out. i don't care that we lost because i knew it. but your fight didn't just effect you and him. it was effecting everyone. your game style change to a selfish one and minho and jisung had to pick up the slack you were pulling. and whatever they couldn’t keep up with, changbin had too pick it up. you caused a chain reaction. do you understand what im trying to say."

seungmin steps back when he notices you havent said anything, lifting your head you stare right at him.

"you are right im sorry, it won't happen again."

"you are right, it won't because ill bench you." he says turning around walking away.

you giggle out at his joke, only for you to stop when you notice he isnt laughing.

"wait you arent serious about benching me?" you say grabbing your gun and calling out after him. seeing him give you a little smirk and a shrug he continues to walk.

"hurry shorty we are behind schedule."

previous | masterlist | next

a/n : i apologize for the lack in updates.. lwk been having writers block but we are SO BACK ALSO SEUNGMIN CRUMBS when the slow burn is fr a slow burn.... :( how excited are we to have this ball rolling??

tags: @onlyhyunjin @15092000volcano @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @kikieatsfood23 @hvnverse

[talekinesis]

Pines Family Morning Headcanons

So because I just learned that I'm apparently a morning person, I'm going to headcanon that Stan is too

But not the extroverted kind of morning person, like Mabel, who wakes up with energy and is ready to go go go

Stan wakes up early and he enjoys the quietness of being the only person up. He enjoys early mornings in the winter when it's still dark outside. He likes having the quiet time to himself so he can just sit there and drink his coffee in peace.

Ford doesn't wake up early though, he sees Stan because he didn't go to bed at all, but he is surprised to see Stan up so early.

When they were kids, Stan always slept in as long as he could and was usually grumpy in the mornings.

After a conversation, they both realize the reason Stan hated mornings back then was because he had to deal with their father and then teachers that didn't like him, and it was a more stressful time back then.

But now Stan is an adult and doesn't have to deal with anyone other than his brother or Mabel occasionally, which is company he actually enjoys, so it's worth getting up early for. Sure Mabel wakes up with a truckload of energy right off the bat but she also understood very quickly that her Grunkle enjoyed the quiet time, so she'd keep it down for him, which he was grateful for.

If she absolutely needed to get her morning energy out, she'd go outside to chase off the gnomes that get into their trash.

Dipper is not a morning person at all. He doesn't wake up with energy like his sister, and he doesn't even enjoy the quiet like his Grunkle. This kid wakes up dead to the world and it takes him time to fully wake up.

If they've gotta go somewhere early, Stan's well aware he's usually gotta give him time to wake up or just carry him out to the car. When he gets older, Stan gets him his own coffee mug and makes sure it's ready for him when he gets up.

He also makes sure Dipper doesn't just live off of Coffee like Ford does.

No one really knows Ford's stance on mornings because his sleep schedule is all sorts of fucked. If you do see him in the morning, it's because he's still up from the previous day. If he does manage to get sleep, he sleeps in late because he's exhausted.

When he was younger though, he'd naturally wake up early but still be groggy and sleepy for the next half hour, not fully waking up for a while. He wouldn't be able to fully understand something that had been spoken to him, it took him a minute to process.

-

Bonus because he's not a Pines but I just love him

Fiddleford was always a morning person, and the type to be cheerful about it. This guy woke up and would go about his morning whistling, which is something Ford put up with because Fiddleford would also make him breakfast and coffee.

He used to wake Tate up in the mornings by just flipping the light on and talking to him in a normal tone of voice (something his son hated), and he'd wake his wife up with a kiss (something she tolerated because it was him)

Today he's still a morning person, and for a while acted as the town's "rooster," as many people would be woken up by the sounds of banjo playing and know to get up and ready for the day

"Oh there's McGucket, it's 6 am, time to get up."

Even after he moves into the mansion, he still walks down to the junkyard to play because it's been routine for 30 years and it's familiar to him, and the towns people hadn't said this, but it's also comforting for them as well, because he's just always been there, it's just always been part of their daily routine

Some people never realized how much they actually liked him being there. Especially Tate, who finds the most comfort in hearing his father up and playing Banjo so early, it really does help him start the day.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! Authors choice! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

a continuation of 1

Gus is going exactly eight miles over the speed limit when the sirens start.

This is Shawn’s fault, since he’s the one that had agreed to meet Gavin right before they were supposed to be at Henry’s. When he glances up to see the large, white cop heading towards him, he decides that if Shawn’s gotten him into this mess, he can get him out.

Shawn is very, very serious about keeping his work and personal life separate, but this is the one instance that he encourages Gus to break that barrier. If more major cities had a diverse police force, he wouldn’t feel like it was necessary quite so often. 

Unfortunately, since Shawn has yet to get the appropriate stationary, he’ll have to go back a generation with this trick.

“What’s this?” the officer says, staring at the back of his license.

“Oh, that’s my father in law’s old police business card,” he says. Shawn reaches out for it back when he does this, but Gus keeps his hands on ten and two. “Apologies, sir, I’ve been carrying that thing around for years. Can never be too careful, as I’m sure you know.”

His eyes flick to Gus’s hand and the gold band on his ring finger. “You’re Henry Spencer’s son-in-law?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers evenly. “I’m actually headed to his place now. You know how he is about punctuality.”

That gets him half a chuckle and the tension in his shoulders starts to ease, up until the officer asks, “I thought Henry had a son?”

It can be a delicate balance, weighing the potential racism against the potential homophobia, but this isn’t Gus’s first time doing this either. “Lots of people think that. It’s the unfortunate name choice.”

That gets him some more sounds of amusements, then his license is being handed back to him. “Tell Henry and the missus that old Kingfisher says hello.”

“Of course, thank you, sir,” Gus says, pleasant smile firmly in place until old Kingfisher is back in his car.

He carefully pulls back onto the road and stays five below the speed limit the rest of the way.

There’s a lack of rusted piece of junk motorcycle out front – Gus would prefer it if Shawn would just buy a decent bike, but he likes tinkering too much for that – and he wishes he was surprised. Henry’s grilling in the yard and he waves a hand in greeting as soon as he steps out. “Gus! What the hell are you driving?”

If only Shawn was here right now, because he’d said the exact same thing when he’d pulled up in the blue Echo and he was still valiantly fighting against the very real truth that he and his father can be uncannily alike. “It’s a rental.”

Henry wrinkles his nose, but any further commentary is cut off by an obnoxiously loud engine as Shawn turns the corner and parks next to him, kicking down the stand and pulling off his helmet in one motion. He clocks the look on both their faces immediately and holds up a hand. “I know, I know, don’t be the moldy grape at the bottom of the bag about it. I’ll fix it this weekend. I’ve already put in the order for some of the parts.”

That’s sort of the truth. They’re going to the junkyard on Saturday so Shawn can play Frankenstein, but there are a couple things he buys new every time because one motorcycle accident due to a worn belt was one too many for Gus.

“Can’t you two just get a couple of normal cars?” Henry sighs.

“This is a normal car!” he protests, holding the gate for Shawn to walk ahead of him. He really hopes that he didn’t meet with the mayor in jeans and a flannel, but he also knows better. Shawn slaps his ass as he walks by, and he’s tempted to yank him back into a kiss, but Henry hasn’t seen them since he picked them up at the airport and he figures they can be on somewhat good behavior for at least one dinner.

“I have dubbed it the Blueberry,” Shawn says, using the same voice he does when giving stupid names to chess pieces.

Henry rolls his eyes even as he pulls Shawn down to ruffle his hair, causing him to yelp and pull away, even though the helmet had flattened it enough that he’s probably doing Shawn a favor.

It’s all normal and familiar and they eat dinner on the porch, the weather a welcome relief after the last couple of years on the East Coast. Gus is thinking about how nice it is to be back in Santa Barbara and how much happier Henry looks than when he was in Miami, and that’s probably only partly to he and Shawn moving back too, when Henry says, “What are you boys doing for work now? Gus, Shawn said something about you working on some sort of drug trial?”

Which is when he realizes that Shawn hasn’t told Henry why they’re back like he promised he would and Gus should have known that he would chicken out, but now he’s trapped at this table. He considers simply fleeing and locking Shawn out until he talks to his father. Henry’s seen him do worse.

There’s really no such thing as impressing the in-laws for him. Well, maybe with Madeline, but Henry knows him too well and has known him too long for there to be any of that. Shawn’s mother has too, technically, but he saw her a lot less than Henry.

“Yeah, he’s an executive at Middle Earth Pharmaceuticals,” Shawn says, as if Gus hasn’t frozen with the fork halfway to his mouth. Henry is frowning. It’s too late.

“It’s Central Coast Pharmaceuticals, Shawn,” he says, lowering his fork. Henry’s steak is his favorite and now he can’t even enjoy it because it’s a steak built on lies.

He shrugs. “I’ve heard it both ways. They want him to revamp their internal systems and rearrange some routes. Plus they’re hoping they can use his contacts to make more sales.”

That last part had been more implied than listed in his job duties, but he’s not wrong. “More or less.”

“Alright,” Henry says slowly, now aware that there’s something wrong but not having yet figured it out. He still has time to run. “What about you, Shawn? Surf instructor? Ballon animal operator? Sommelier?”

“Dad, please, you know I’d never cheat on Gus,” he answers. Gus can feel his knee bouncing underneath the table against his own, the only sign of his anxiety.

Gus clears his throat. “I know you know what a sommelier is, Shawn. You’ve worked at two different wineries.”

“Well, neither of them were French,” he says, as if that doesn’t prove that he knows exactly what it is.

Henry leans back in his seat, staring them down in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of their childhood. The line between Cop Henry and Dad Henry had always been thin and retirement hadn’t really done much to change that. Gus stares at the space over his head while Shawn continues eating with faux obliviousness. Finally, Henry says, “Alright, just tell me. It has to be better than Boston. I hated you working out there with those assholes.”

Gus slinks down in his seat.

Henry frowns before straightening. “You’re not working in Los Angeles again, are you? Shawn, you made enemies there, a lot of them, you can’t just waltz back in, and Karen isn’t there anymore-”

“It’s not Los Angeles,” Shawn interrupts.

His frown deepens. He knows if it was another stupid, casual job then Shawn would have told him already. “This isn’t like Argentina, is it?”

God, Argentina. That had sucked. It was supposed to be legit, and had been, up until Shawn had gotten involved in – well, Gus does his best not to think about it, since he’s not supposed to know anything about it. Neither is Henry. As far as they’re supposed to know, Shawn worked at an Argentinian winery for a year.

And he did! At least on paper.

“Nope,” Shawn says, popping his mouth on the last syllable.

“Alright, enough,” he says, “this is ridiculous, just tell me…” As he trails off, his eyes get wider. Gus doesn’t whimper, because he’s a grown man, and because of exposure. He’s nearly immune to Henry’s temper after all this time.

Nearly.

“Shawn!” he shouts. “You are not working at the SBPD!”

Gus stands abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. Shawn reaches out to grab onto his shirt, but Gus hops back. “I’ll just get started on the dishes, shall I?”

“Traitor,” Shawn hisses, but Gus refuses to feel bad about this.

As much as he doesn’t want to be a widower, he knows better than to get in-between Shawn and his father.

[marsoid]

answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

[sp0o0kylights]

There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

 Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived. 

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow. 

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV. 

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around? 

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…) 

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.” 

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it. 

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time. 

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved? 

It was stupid. 

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around! 

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school. 

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted. 

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came. 

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones. 

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.” 

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made. 

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too. 

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window. 

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state. 

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful. 

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.” 

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.” 

And that? 

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too. 

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended. 

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.” 

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God. 

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused. 

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.” 

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!” 

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.  

“No shit Wheeler.”  Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying. 

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there. 

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes. 

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it. 

Any of it.

Ever. 

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment. 

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music. 

“I’m not a narc, so no.”  

“Not about the bar.”  

Now Steve just looked confused. 

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew. 

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.) 

“What about then?” 

 “You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading. 

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons. 

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared. 

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then; 

“Nah.” 

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make. 

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out. 

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face. 

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did? 

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway. 

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious. 

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”  

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!” 

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair. 

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say. 

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle. 

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!” 

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!” 

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!” 

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.” 

Gross, gross, gross. 

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end. 

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.” 

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.” 

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend. 

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen. 

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?” 

Oh God, Mike was crying again. 

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain. 

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.” 

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated. 

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that. 

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over. 

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it. 

He wasn’t quite done though.

 There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place. 

He had to know if Steve saw it too. 

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there. 

“Hey Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?” 

Steve sighed. 

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.” 

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes. 

 Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself. 

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him. 

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too. 

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either. 

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--) 

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted. 

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all. 

Even if it was just Steve. 

xXx

Bonus: 

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.” 

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?” 

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way. 

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.” 

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful. 

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind. 

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret. 

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?” 

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.” 

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.” 

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic. 

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?” 

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.” 

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.”  Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids. 

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him. 

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!” 

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie  was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.” 

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man. 

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

[spirit-lanterns]

I feel like Jingliu in the android AU has like a virus on her code that puts her out of commission. Like how's she's Mara struck, she's seen as a very dangerous Android that is to be reported so that the government can decommission, AKA destroy, her for safety since the virus let her break out of her code and become sentient which led her to killing a lot of people out of self defense. She's definitely a military grade android so she is especially dangerous. But engineer/mechanic reader finds her buried in a junk yard (she was looking for parts and stuff) and took her back to her shop to repair her. It could be where jingliu is the first robot that ended up staying in her shop

Yoooo this is such a cool idea for Android! Jingliu :0

It fits so well with her canon character too! I imagine that Android! Jingliu is a current unauthorized threat roaming the city and the police is working very hard on trying to track her down. Usually all Androids have a tracking device implemented in their systems so it’s easy to see where they’re going, but perhaps the virus corrupted the device/Jingliu went against her own code and ripped it out herself 😨

Now that there was a rogue, military-grade Android on the loose, it’s plastered all over the news and many Androids and their owners are forced to stay alert. Of course, with a stroke of unfortunate luck, the Engineer ends up encountering Android! Jingliu resting in some junkyard, and she would’ve been skewered to pieces if not for Jingliu currently recharging herself near an outlet…

Because she is held back by a dead battery, the Engineer is able to get closer to her and examine this rogue android herself without any dangers. Unable to resist her tinkering behaviors however, the Engineer can’t help herself from wanting to “fix” Jingliu, which causes her to wake up and see this odd little human trying to patch her up. Her corrupted code is telling her to kill on sight, but her body won’t move and instead; she just keeps watching the Engineer fix her with slow, unblinking eyes. Once she’s fully charged, she has the full capability of murdering the Engineer on sight, but for some reason chooses not to, simply getting up and following the Engineer once she tries to leave.

Congratulations, you’ve accidentally made the killer android like you 😅

[m0rkl]

The People We Become || Portal!Stanley AU

Hi, mom said its my turn with the Portal Stanley!AU. I have no art skills to accompany, but I sure can yap about it.

The Portal Incident

When Stan pushes Ford into the portal, he grabs Ford's sleeve, trying to yank him out. He's successful, but stumbles into range of the portal himself and is pulled in. Ford screams for him and runs to try and shut down the portal. Stan tries grabbing onto anything he can to save himself, but starts yanking at wires, causing the portal to go haywire. It explodes as he's pulled in, knocking out Ford in the process.

When he wakes up, the portal is in ruins and Ford has no idea if Stan made it through or died in the explosion.

He panics, unsure of what to do and realizes he'll have to more or less start the portal from scratch if he wants to save Stanley.

While this is all going on, a little ways away, Fiddleford is on his own, contemplating erasing Stanford and their work together from his mind completely. When he feels the explosion, he rushes to the lab and finds Stanford panicked and distraught. He hastily explains what happened and tries to get Fiddleford to help him build the portal again so they can save Stanley, but Fidds knows he can't. It's too dangerous.

They end up getting into a huge fight and Fiddleford erases Ford's memory of the past month. The last thing Ford remembers is realizing he was wrong about Bill and his research needs to be taken away. Fiddleford tells him he already destroyed the portal and its over. Ford, being injured and unwell from everything leading up to the incident as well as the explosion, figures Fiddleford is correct and just passes the hell out.

Fiddleford locks up the basement and locks away the memory gun away, feeling guilty for erasing Ford's memories.

As he's taking care of Ford, Fiddleford hides away any evidence that Stan ever came and puts his car in the junkyard, thinking its all for Ford's own good.

Stanley Enters The Portal

Stan enters the portal and is immediately lost to the space between dimensions. However, he has Ford's journal with him still. As he's floating through space-time, Bill notices the blip of the portal opening and comes to his location.

He tries to con Stan, saying the journal was something he and Ford wrote together. Bill says if Stan gives him the journal, he can take him home! Of course, Stan knows all too well that if a deal sounds too good to be true, it usually is. He tells Bill to fuck off and when he doesn't Stan punches him in the goddamn eye. Bill is momentarily more shocked than anything and Stan goes tumbling into another section of time-space.

He ends up in a sort of central hub for interdimensional travelers and is pretty much immediately arrested for not having any type of identification or trans-dimensional travel authorization. Is it fair? No, of course not, but when has any kind of law actually been fair?

Stan ends up in interdimensional-space jail, but criminals are criminals where ever you go and Stan is more or less in his element here. He charms enough people to get in with a crew and they eventually break out.

Stan gets some illegal documentation to keep him from getting arrested on the spot again, then goes on to continue the same type of life he was living before, just this time ✨Sci-Fi✨

I have a lot more on this, talking about how Ford and Stan's personalities are affected by their different lives and the various differences in relationships. Also all of Stan's adventures across dimensions! ...I would like to name this AU but I have no idea what to call it yet