#chuck bait

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

Lora: "Is that your dad?"

Jack: "One of them, yes."

what's so fascinating to me about this season is how explicit it is about their family being a queer family even before Cas comes out, Jack says several times he has more than one dad and no one bats an eyelash, Dean pointedly says "I have a family" in "Lebanon" and we know he means Jack, Cas, Mary, and Sam in a way that is very much not nuclear, Chuck makes Dean try to kill Jack for the Abraham & Isaac of it all because Jack isn't just Cas's kid he's Cas's, Dean's, and Sam's equally no matter what Chuck manipulates Dean into saying about him-- my point is none of them have to be fucking for their family to be queer, it just is

[dandelioncore]

I love pigeons so much reblog with pictures of them you've taken/love

[cesium-sheep]

I will say, there is nothing else in the hlvrai tag on wayne's blog other than actual hlvrai stuff or unambiguously transparently gnome stuff, although he may have gone through post switch to remove tags on others and I wouldn't know. and while they love bits and shenanigans, I don't think I've seen them pull an outright bait and switch in the years I've been watching even on april fools. like I actually recall him being fairly explicit that the gnome was not the sequel from the beginning? and either way, I love dumb gmod shit and I generally trust their improv to not turn out hateful.

on the other hand, while I can understand why one might want to from like a creative perspective or whatever since I'm sure they all get pressured about it all the time and it may seem like a way out of that pressure, it is still mean-spirited to hype everyone up on something you know they want just to go "haha I can't believe you losers believed me when I explicitly said I'd give you the thing you want" yknow? like a complete bait and switch is very different than the chuck e cheese ending to me, since the chuck e cheese ending only seemed to deflate completely unfounded expectations of it being tonally serious right through the end but a bait and switch is deliberately setting up expectations to disappoint. which is why I fucking hate april fools from head to toe. so if this really is a complete bait and switch I am still gonna feel disappointed by it and that is not unreasonable, although ofc it would be unreasonable to take it out on the creators even if it was genuine mean-spiritedness vs maybe not quite thinking it through.

ideally I'd like to be able to trust the creators I watch to not, yknow, mock me. and as a queer cripple there's kinda not a ton of those available to start with.

edit: I thought of a good way to put it. by still giving us a bit of what we were promised, our trust was rewarded, instead of punished. april fools style bait and switches just punish trust and that sucks. (my trust has already been punished way more than enough thanks.)

[hunglure]

Drop Shot Finesse Fishing: A Beginner's Guide

Fishing can be a relaxing and rewarding hobby, but it can also be a bit overwhelming for beginners. One effective and beginner-friendly technique is drop-shot finesse fishing. This method is particularly useful for catching finicky fish like bass, panfish, and other species. Before shopping for drop shot finesse fishing lures look at the basics of the technique, from the equipment you need to the step-by-step process of using this technique.

1. Equipment and Tackle:

Before you hit the water, you'll need the right equipment and tackle for drop shot finesse fishing. Here's what you'll need:

Fishing Rod: A light to medium spinning rod (6-7 feet) is ideal. This will allow you to make precise casts and work your bait effectively.

Reel: Pair your rod with a spinning reel that matches its power. This ensures a balanced setup, making it easier to control your line.

Fishing Line: Use a 6-10-pound test monofilament or fluorocarbon line. Lighter line allows for better sensitivity and control.

Drop Shot Weight: A drop shot weight or sinker is the key to this technique. It's usually a cylindrical weight that attaches below your hook.

Hooks: Small, fine-wire hooks (size 1 to 4) are great for drop shot fishing. They keep the presentation natural.

Drop Shot finesse fishing lures: This is where the finesse part comes in. Choose soft plastic lures like worms, minnows, or creature baits. The color and size should match the local forage and water conditions.

2. Rigging the Drop Shot:

Once you have your gear ready, it's time to rig up your drop shot setup. Here's how:

Tie a Palomar Knot: Attach your hook to the line using a Palomar knot. Leave a tag end of about 8-12 inches for the drop shot weight.

Attach the Weight: Slide the tag end through the eye of the drop shot weight, then pull it tight. This will secure the weight below the hook.

Hook the Soft Plastic: Thread the hook through the head of the soft plastic bait and let it hang naturally. This creates a lifelike presentation.

3. Casting and Presentation:

Now that your drop shot rig is set up, it's time to get it in the water. Here's how to cast and present your bait:

Choose a Spot: Look for underwater structures, rocks, or vegetation where fish might be hiding.

Cast Gently: Make a gentle cast to your chosen spot. The goal is to drop the bait vertically rather than making a long-distance cast.

Allow It to Sink: Let the bait sink to the desired depth. You can use your reel to manage the depth by reeling in or letting out line.

Work the Bait: Use gentle rod movements to give your bait a subtle, natural action. Small twitches and lifts are often all you need to entice a strike.

4. Detecting Strikes and Setting the Hook:

Detecting strikes while drop shot finesse fishing can be subtle, so pay close attention to your line and rod. Here's how to do it:

Watch your line closely. If you notice it twitch, jump, or move to the side, it might be a fish showing interest.

Feel for any unusual resistance or a "mushy" sensation when you're working the bait. A fish might have picked it up.

When you think a fish is biting, set the hook with a quick upward motion of your rod. Keep the line tight and maintain pressure on the fish.

Drop-shot finesse fishing is a technique that requires patience and practice. You may not catch fish every time, but with experience, you'll improve your skills and start reeling in more catches.

[mincedpeaches]

Im actually dense as fuck because I watched the winchesters episode live and did NOT catch that it was dean at the end. Thats what I get for only half watching with my laptop in front of me.

[sgt-tombstone]

do you think the recruits make chuck norris type jokes about the 141?

lieutenant riley doesn't go hunting, because hunting implies the possibility of being unsuccessful. lieutenant riley goes killing.

one time sergeant mactavish threw a grenade and killed five enemies. and then it exploded.

sergeant garrick sleeps with a pillow under his gun.

captain price has a bear rug in his room. it's not dead, just scared like the rest of us.

oh my god, 100% yes

Everyone thinks it started with Ghost, but Price was the original hardcore spooky bastard (in a very Chuck Norris kind of way), especially after he got promoted to captain. All of the rookies who made those kind of jokes are gone now, though, so he hasn't heard a Norris joke in a while

Enter Simon Riley.

It starts out kinda small, just an exaggerated rumor every now and then (he wears a skull mask; no matter how terrifying he is, people are going to talk), but then someone brings back Ye Olde Chuck Norris Joke, just one, and the entire mess hall lights up

Everyone is SO CAREFUL not to let Ghost hear about it, especially not the rookie who originally brought it up. By the end of the week, every rookie on base is whispering them and giggling about it. They've gotten more and more outlandish, as jokes do, and because none of the 141 do themselves any favors, especially when they step off the plane from their most recent op covered head to toe in blood, guns little more than mangled pieces of metal, their gear nearly in tatters, but they're all smiling and laughing like they're out for a day at a theme park

Price loves it. It reminds him of his younger days, before he got strapped with so much desk duty, when he really struck fear in the hearts of friends and enemies alike. He's always been the monster in the dark for terrorists, but his years have softened him around allies. Hearing the rookies whisper wild jokes back and forth is incredibly nostalgic and very affirming for him

Gaz and Soap? They're in on it, 100%. They both heard about it almost immediately after it happened and all it took was a shared glance to decide to feed the flames. Whenever they have babysitting rookie training duty, they'll drop little tidbits of "lore", most of it fake but some of it true. They don't have to stretch the truth too much because they know the lunch break gossip the next day will have blown everything out of proportion anyway. Whenever they hear a rookie go, "well, I heard...", they'll always pipe up with, "that's not how it happened, here's what really happened..." and the rookies fall for it every time. They have a shared note where they keep their favorite jokes they hear around base

Ghost hates it. He's used to striking enough fear into the hearts of rookies that they stay approximately forty-seven feet away from him at all times because the very sight of him has them shaking in their boots, but as the jokes grew more bizarre, the fear has been replaced with amusement. It's an awed sort of amusement, but still. Every time he hears a rookie giggle behind his back, he can't help but feel a bit mocked. It's fine when he calls himself nothing but a tool in the army's hand, and he's gotten used to (and comfortable with) being seen as nothing more than a walking weapon, but there are enough true stories about him to garner fear and awe; he doesn't need people making up lies.

It all comes to a head when a rookie starts talking a little too loudly, probably unaware that Ghost is even in the room. It's something stupid, so stupid that it's not even funny, but then Soap butts into the conversation, and Ghost tenses. They meet each other's eyes and Soap keeps direct eye contact as he smirks and says, "In an average living room there are a thousand objects Ghost could use to kill you, including the room itself."

Which is, objectively, true. But there's a glint in Soap's eye, the sort of mischievousness that Ghost loves so much, and he realizes that Soap just gave him the perfect opportunity. Like bait in a perfectly hidden trap. Ghost steps close to the back of the unsuspecting rookie, surrounded by a gaggle of even more unsuspecting rookies, and leans down to whisper in his ear.

"And I'll use every last one of them on you if I ever hear another joke on base, Private."

God, he hopes he isn't a corporal.

Apparently he isn't because the man jumps almost two feet in the air, a choked-off scream escaping his lungs as he whips around to find Ghost standing far too close for comfort, staring him dead in the eyes.

"Me, sir?" He stutters out, and Ghost almost smiles at the fear in his voice. The other rookies shoot to their feet as well, already edging towards the exit but unwilling to take their eyes (or ears) off of the conversation.

"Yes, you," Ghost rumbles, deep and dangerous. "If I hear anyone make a Ghost joke, I will hunt you down and show you why they call me The Ghost."

The poor soldier stammers out an affirmative, or maybe an apology, but he and his friends are out the door before Ghost can really parse out the words, and then it's just him and Soap. Soap, who's grinning like a lottery winner, eyes ablaze.

"That was hot, sir."

"You're fucked up, MacTavish," Ghost grumbles, but he can't keep the smile off his face. Maybe he could have some fun with the 141 jokes after all...

[tojisun]

hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist

i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot

jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.

"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.

you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterday’s but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...

at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.

you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the movies—effortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?

she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. “don’t sweat it, superstar. it’s just that i’m still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.”

you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.

“i’m not–!”

“you’re not what?” tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.

you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

tim’s smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.

“shut up, oh my god,” you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. “i’m not– simon’s not my–”

“oh c’mon, babe,” jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.

tim picks it up for her.

“he buys you expensive things—” her eyes flit to the new promise ring that you’re wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. “and pays for your tuition which i’m so, so jealous of.”

“doesn’t he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?” tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that you’re too preoccupied to drink it.

“he doesn’t!”

twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.

“…he buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.”

see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.

you sniff. “it’s for work,” you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.

“i mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?” tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.

“sugar baby,” jo finishes, singing. “but i mean, who can blame him, huh?” she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. “i’d spoil you too, sugar.”

“oh, you flirt,” you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.

tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesn’t do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.

it’s just—

there’s a whole stigma to athlete’s girlfriends. for god’s sake, they even have a whole label—puck bunny—which is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, but—

you can’t help but wonder if some, not all, of simon’s love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since he’s so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.

so you wonder if this—flying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever having—was his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.

tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.

“y’alright?”

“of course.” you lick your lips. “so did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?”

.

you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.

they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.

you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that you’ll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.

the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simon’s distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like he’s got the damn royals for a passenger.

it’s locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like you’re ten again. it’s honestly not too bad to be alone, if it weren’t for the sudden swarming of your doubts—the very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.

fuck.

“hey, love,” simon’s voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.

you swivel, heart pounding, and simon’s beautiful face creases into one of concern.

“are you–”

“si!” you greet, jogging to him.

he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.

his body is so warm against yours, and you can’t help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.

“you ready to go home?” he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.

you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.

there’s something different whenever it’s just you and simon—your thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. it’s not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but it’s pure unadulterated acceptance.

and maybe it’s because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.

“did you know? my friends think that you’re my sugar daddy.”

you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.

stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuck—

then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.

“do i need to be one to spoil you rotten?” he asks like he didn’t just shaken the foundations of your doubts.

do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man you’re dating to be able to splurge for you.

“no,” you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.

simon’s smile droops, his eyes clearing. “was that something that honestly worried you?”

“i–”

the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.

“you know i love you, right?” simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.

“yeah,” you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. “yeah, si. i know.”

“okay,” he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you aren’t surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.

then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of it—how could a chaste kiss feel so intense?—your lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.

you feel simon’s lips stretch into a grin from where they’re ghosting above yours, and then he’s kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like you’re being swept off your feet all over again.

because simon is not good with words, truly, but he’s managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.

.

“oh god,” jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. “that was a joke! i promise!”

“i know,” you say, giggling. “i swear jo, it’s not you, it’s me.”

she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” you croon, bumping foreheads with her. “...‘sides, simon’s taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, ‘making you doubt how serious i am about you’.”

she sniffs. “…permission to make a joke again?”

you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.

“ow!”

“stop being dramatic—that didn’t hurt.”

[giggles nervously] so uh. 🏃🏻

[ckret2]

Chapter 77 of human Bill Cipher being a prisoner with terrible fashion sense: beach episode!!! Well, lake episode. Close enough.

And a few other people come to town.

Just after dawn, a sleek, nondescript black government SUV, now dusty from a long drive, parked in front of the Gravity Falls Police Department. Three agents in sleek, nondescript black suits stepped out.

As they left the car, Blubs came out to meet them, Durland trailing behind him. "Agent Powers, Agent Trigger! Good to see you again." He shook Powers's hand, then glanced at the new agent. "And you are...?"

"Agent Dale!" The rookie shook Blubs's hand next, beaming. "Very pleased to meet you. I was just saying in the car—you have a beautiful town here, just beautiful."

"Wouldn't stop talking about it," Trigger muttered.

Blubs chuckled. "Why, thank you. We're quite proud of it ourselves."

Durland said, "Say, Agent Dale—don't you agents usually have tougher-sounding codenames?"

"Agent Clyde S. Dale. Like the horse."

"Ohhh. Yup, that'll do it."

"Sheriff Blubs," Powers said. "I trust you have the requested materials?"

"Right inside," Blubs said. "We've got the readings on last week's gravity anomaly from McGucket's scanners, and reports on this weekend's power surge."

"No overlap between the incidents?"

"None anyone here detected."

"Hmm. Has anything else strange happened since we were last in town?"

Blubs hesitated. "Well—never mind all that." He quickly shifted topics, "Say, I like your 'honk if you want to be arrested' bumper sticker." ("Oh is that what it says?" Durland asked.)

Agent Powers said solemnly, "I can get you the contact information of the shop where I bought it. It's a very nice small business run by art students."

"Would you? That'd be delightful."

Powers paused before following the cops and his agents into the police department, glancing out at Gravity Falls' town square—the modest little main street shops, the town hall, the statue of the town founder, the distinctive water tower with the faded muffin graffiti, and the familiar mountains surrounding the little valley town.

And then he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he muttered grumpily, glaring at the town as though it were an old rival as annoyed to see him as he was to see it. "Let's just get this over with."

He followed Blubs into the police department.

####

"Attention, everybody," Stan said, standing in the entryway with his fists on his hips, Soos beaming behind him. "I've got some great news!"

Abuelita and Bill glanced up from one of Abuelita's soap operas; Mabel and Dipper craned their necks to see Stan from where they were having dinner at the kitchen table.

Stan announced, "It's finally time!"

Dipper and Mabel blinked. Bill said, "Great. I'll get the ritual daggers, you can set up the blood red candles. Dolores?"

Abuelita said, "I will put out the good sacrifice altar." Bill laughed in delight.

"Yeah, yuck it up, you two," Stan said. "We're going fishing tomorrow! I've got the bait, I found everyone's rods, Soos and I patched up the old boat, I even—" He paused at the sound of the vending machine opening. "Hey! Ford!"

Ford ducked in from the gift shop. "What?" 

Stan chucked a hat at him. "I made you a fishing buddy hat! See, it's got your name! That's pretty good!"

"Oh." Ford inspected the letters haphazardly stitched onto the hat. "Why?"

"Fishing tomorrow! Half the summer's gone by, and we haven't gone fishing once! The guys from the lodge probably think I'm too ashamed to show my face. But it rained this weekend, the weather's just cleared up, now's the perfect time for fishing!"

"Oh," Ford said again, trying to drag his thoughts from magical tapes to fishing. "If you'd let me know earlier, I'd have built another fish-summoning beacon like the one on our boat." (Bill glanced curiously at Ford at the mention of an invention he didn't already know about; then stubbornly refused to be interested and dragged his gaze back to the TV.)

"No beacons! This isn't fishing for survival, this is about the sport! Asserting our manhood! Just the skill, strength, and patience of three men—and some women and children—against the lake!" (Soos beamed at being included amongst the men.)

Ford considered that. He didn't assert his manhood very often; usually he just sort of let his manhood hang around minding its own business, like an old cat that wants to be in the same room as you without socializing. It sounded like an intriguingly novel experience. "Okay, great. What time?"

"I want everyone on the road tomorrow morning! By six thirty at the latest."

The kids groaned.

"C'mon, dudes," Soos said encouragingly. "It'll be fun! After about three hours, once you're awake enough to think."

"No griping, we've gotta be there early to get a prime fishing spot," Stan said. "Tomorrow's a lodge fishing day. We're going home with a haul so big they'll be embarrassed they kicked me out!"

Dipper asked, "You mean the lodge for the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, right? Why'd they kick you out?"

Stan sighed, "Once the town found out about Ford, they realized I'd spent the last thirty years attending lodge meetings under his membership. Since I'd never undergone the—" He rolled his eyes and made finger quotes, "'sacred angler initiation rites,' they booted me. And they said I can't try to join again, just because of that one dumb little white lie! And my extensive criminal record."

Ford hurriedly crossed the living room to avoid blocking Abuelita's TV view. (Bill looked through him like he wasn't there.) "Stan got a lot more out of my membership than I did—once I'd finished my initiation I probably only ever attended three meetings. I tried to petition the Mackerels to let him rejoin."

"How'd they respond?" Mabel asked.

"They kicked me out too."

Bill scoffed. "Big deal! The Fishmasons and all their subordinate organizations are just a big boring social club that got you hotel discounts three hundred years ago. The mystique around them is more interesting than anything they actually do."

"Figuring that out is why I stopped attending after three meetings," Ford said. "I joined to learn about the dark secret underbelly of Western politics—not sit around eating charcuterie and fancy nuts while everyone talks about baseball and makes fun of me for not knowing what a fly ball is. It's a stupid term! Doesn't the ball always fly?"

"Really, they aren't even worth joining," said Bill Cipher, the only person to have ever been kicked out of seventeen separate Masonic lodges in seventeen separate bodies.

Reminded of the fancy nuts he was missing out on at this very second, Stan set his jaw in determination. "Yeah, well, they're a big boring social club that'll rue the day they kicked out Stan Pines! Out the door, six thirty, on the dot!"

"I don't have an alarm," Bill said. "Hey star girl, wake me at five."

Mabel shuddered at the thought of setting an alarm that early. "No way. You can borrow my radio."

"Hold on, I didn't say you're invited," Stan said. "We've already got a full boat! Me, my brother, the kids, and Soos and his girl. Nobody wants to sit on the lake with you for eight hours."

"I wanna sit on the lake with Bill!"

"Nobody but Mabel wants that."

"Relax! I don't want to sit on a boat with you underpainted clowns either," Bill said. "I just want to sit on the beach! I miss sunlight! Sunlight without being forced to hike through half the valley on no food or sleep."

(Ford decided that was his cue to make himself scarce. He scooted into the guest room.)

"Well," Stan said, "we're not staying thirty feet from the shore, we're not leaving anybody behind, and we don't trust you to stay put on the beach without your dumb magic bracelet—so how do you expect that to work."

"I'll just stay with Dolores."

Stan and Soos stared at Abuelita. Soos said, "Abuelita? Do you want to come?"

Abuelita considered it. "Sure. The weather is nice. I can catch up on my reading."

"Yes!" Bill hopped off the couch. "Then it's a plan!"

"Hey, hold on," Stan said as Bill breezed past him, "I didn't agree to—"

"Hey star girl!" Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Need your fashion services! I need a swimsuit before tomorrow."

Mabel gasped in delight. "What kind?"

"Whatever exposes the most skin without getting me arrested. I'm absorbing as much sunlight as possible."

"With sunscreen, right?" Soos said.

Bill turned and gave him a blank-faced stare.

Soos hopefully repeated, "With sunscreen?"

"Don't need it."

"You totally do, dude. Not many people talk about this? But having more melanin doesn't totally protect you from sun damage, it just slows it down," Soos said. "Trust me on this. When I was like eight, I went to this water park—

"Uh-huh, and three days later you were peeling off flakes of your own dead flesh," Bill said. "It's cute how you think you know more about humans from 23 years of passively being one than I do from 500,000 years of actively studying them."

"Oh."

"C'mon, star girl! No time to waste!" Bill grabbed Mabel's hand and tugged her off her chair.

"Wait, my sandwich—!" Mabel grabbed the rest of her dinner off her plate and shoved it in her mouth as Bill dragged her upstairs.

Abuelita shot him a dirty look as he passed, but turned back to her soap opera.

####

Just past five in the morning, Bill crept by the guest room door. He glanced through the wall as he passed; good, both of the Stans were in bed and sound asleep. Bill wouldn't have had a chance to get up to his mischief if Ford had decided to sleep downstairs.

He snuck behind the vending machine; paused to squint toward the future and confirm that when he looked at the stairs, he could only see himself using them anytime soon; then down to the elevator; and down, down to Ford's study.

Bill sighed in relief when the elevator slid open and he saw that Ford had left his study door ajar. He crept into the room, feet socked, hands gloved—Ford was the kind of paranoid to actually check for prints if he suspected anything, and Bill's triangular whorls were very distinctive—and looked through the objects piled on the shelves and furniture for any concealed sensors or cameras. The coast was clear.

He idly scanned the nearby shelves for any sign of his stolen time tape, didn't find it, but didn't expect to. That wasn't what he was here for.

He knelt in front of a half-disassembled filing cabinet, flipped through the files in the removed bottom drawer until he found several folders together about curses and hexes, and flipped through them until he found the one labeled "Curses & Hexes (w/ ingredients)". Good old Sixer, left everything exactly where Bill remembered it.

He rifled through the pages—"aha!"—until he found the paper he was looking for and pulled it out. Handwritten at the top of a ragged-edged piece of notebook paper were the words "Reverse Sunscreen". Bill read through the list of ingredients—"Oh, pepper juice, not pepper flakes, right."—then put the paper back.

He glanced back and forth between the past and present to ensure he put the files back exactly where he'd found them—again, considering Ford's paranoia, he might notice any difference.

And then he returned to the elevator and headed upstairs.

The whole time he was in the study, Bill didn't let himself glance at the back of the room where Ford's shrine to him used to be.

####

"Heya, pal," Bill said. "It's been a while! Where have you been hiding all summer?"

Gompers blinked up at Bill.

"I guess we both look different than we did the last time we met, huh? I think your makeover went better than mine, though! You didn't fall as far as I did." He didn't have as far to fall.

Gompers accepted the backhanded compliment with utter indifference.

"But hey, why talk about the past! Let's let bygones be bygones. Here." Bill knelt, pulled one of Ford's nutrition pills from the folds of his beach towel, and held it out. "A peace offering! A little snack for you."

Gompers eyed it warily.

"Come on, you've eaten worse things than this."

He delicately ate the pill out of Bill's hand.

"Thaaat's right. Tell me how you like that thing later."

Leaning on his car, Stan—the only other person who'd actually been ready to go at 6:30��looked over Bill's shirt and trout slippers, and asked warily, "You didn't forget that humans need to wear pants, right?"

Bill got to his feet, shoved his makeshift umbrella-cane under the same arm as his beach towel, and pulled up the hem of the puma shirt he'd stolen from the gift shop to reveal his bikini bottom. It was teal with little puffy gold triangles painted on. "Cover-up dress. Your arbitrary fashion rules are different for beaches."

Stan considered whether a t-shirt counted as a dress, decided he didn't know enough about dresses and he might as well give this one to Bill, and grunted. "Fine, you're legal."

"Am I free to go, officer?"

"Never compare me to a cop again."

"Stop acting like one!" Bill trotted off to his ride to wait for the other humans to assemble.

There wasn't room for all eight beachgoers in one vehicle; the Pines piled together in Stan's car, while the Ramirezes (including Melody—honorary future Ramirez—and Bill—magic braceleted to Abuelita) took Soos's truck. So that Abuelita didn't have to squeeze past the front seats into the back, Bill and Melody were assigned the back bench; when Bill greeted Melody and she only responded with a vague mumble and an averted gaze, he scooted closer to the middle of the bench, spread his knees to take up more space, and smugly pretended not to notice how Melody squeezed herself against the door.

By the time the Ramirez vehicle parked at the beach, the Pines family was already out of their car: Stan was glaring up the beach with his fists on his hips, the kids were unsuccessfully searching Mabel's supply bag for Dipper's sunscreen, and Ford was lingering back at the car, pretending to check the contents of their tackle box but actually trying to shake the sudden memory of weightlessness and water in his throat. As Bill passed, Ford muttered, "I'm surprised you wanted to get this close to the lake so soon. Considering." It had been less than a week since their joint near death experience.

"Why not? Nearly drowning was the most fun part of that hike." (Ford wondered whether that was a red flag, an underhanded comment about how unfun the rest of the hike had been, or just Bill being Bill; and, for his own peace of mind, decided it was probably the third thing.) "Looks like you got something fun out of the trip, too." Bill snapped the shoulder strap of Ford's waders.

Ford shoved Bill's hand away. "As long as I have them, I might as well use them."

When everyone caught up with Stan, he was scowling at four men, ages ranging from 50 to 80, wearing fishing vests and hats with the Holy Mackerel's distinctive stylized fish symbol. "Eugene," Stan muttered. "Eugene and his goons wanted to kick me out of the lodge for years. Just because I have a grating personality and am generally unpleasant to be around! And tried to get the lodge to pick a local affordable housing fund as our charity for fundraising one year!"

Ford gave Stan a surprised look. "You never mentioned you worked with an affordable housing charity."

"Yeah. The Compassionate Angel's Fund For Gravity Falls Tourism Business Owners Who Are Behind On Their Mortgage Payments."

Ford snorted. 

Bill said, "I think you should've gotten away with it just for being funny."

"Don't even look at them," Stan instructed the group. "These jerks aren't worth it." The collected group studiously avoided looking at the Mackerels, except Bill and Abuelita, who didn't care.

As they walked up the beach toward the pier and veered around the Mackerels, Stan suddenly stopped, turned straight toward them, and said loudly, "Why, Eugene! What a coincidence! I almost didn't notice you!"

A tall, elderly man with a fishing rod over one shoulder and a black wooden cane in his other hand glanced over at the Pines/Ramirez party. "Oh," he said, with a voice like he'd found a fly stuck in gum on his cane. "Hello, Stan-ley. We haven't seen you out on the lake this summer."

Stan laughed loudly, as if Eugene had told a hilarious joke. "Oh, that! I was just waiting for perfect fishing weather! I'm not about to waste my time out on the lake on a bad fishing day!" He gestured behind himself, "Besides, I had to wait until my whole family was free to come along."

(Soos elbowed Melody and whispered excitedly, "He called us his family!")

Stan clapped his hands proudly on Dipper and Mabel's shoulders—who looked like they hoped the sandy beach would swallow them whole—and said, "I don't see your family, Eugene, where are they?"

"Dead." With mournful dignity, Eugene said, "I outlived my wife and all three of my children. Remember? You ate potato chips during my daughter's funeral."

Stan opened his mouth, shut it, and said, "Was that the really boring one that went like an hour?"

Ford, who didn't always have the best social instincts but could tell when Stan had screwed up, started shooing the rest of the family away from the scene, elbowed Stan, and said, "Let's get to the boat. You wanted to get a prime fishing spot, right?"

Eugene looked at Ford. "Ah. You must be the real Stanford Pines?" he said. "So I'm assuming, anyway. Apparently it's hard to tell you two apart."

Stan scowled; but before he could retort, Bill pushed past him to butt into the conversation. "Is it ever! Listen, take it from someone who's made this mistake—you've got to count the fingers on these two, every time."

Eugene huffed sardonically. "So it seems." (Ford self-consciously hid his hands in his pockets and shot Bill a dark look as he shuffled off with the rest of the family.)

"Say, while I've got your attention—name's Goldie, by the way—I couldn't help but admire your cane!" He tapped the tip of his umbrella against Eugene's cane. "I'm in the market for an upgrade from this substitute I've been using! That's no blackwood, right? That looks like true ebony."

"Good eye," Eugene said, surprised. "Yes, genuine Gaboon ebony."

"Must've dropped a lot of gold on this thing," Bill said appreciatively. "You've gotta tell me where you got it."

"I'm afraid I don't remember off the top of my head..."

"That's fine! Look it up—" (he twisted around to speak over his shoulder as Stan grabbed his arm and dragged him away) "—I'm sure we'll meet again!"

About fifteen feet away, Stan growled, "What was that?"

"Networking. I've got plans for that guy," Bill said. "Hey, did you hear him? Gaboon ebony?" He laughed condescendingly. "Easiest way to make a guy look like a moron, start talking about 'true' ebonies. Didja know the word 'ebony' comes from Egyptian? And when they talked about 𓍁𓈖𓏭𓆱, they were talking about African blackwood. Wood so hard it sinks and you have to tool it like a metal! Gaboon ebony is a flimsy usurper!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"But you don't pretend you do, and that's what makes you better than that guy." Bill tugged Stan down by the shoulder. "Listen, Fisherman. I can't tell you where the fish are biting but I can tell you where they're swimming. It'll give you an advantage, but you'll need to do the rest."

Stan squinted mistrustfully at Bill. "What's the catch."

"The catch is you have to accept my help. Do you want it or not?"

"And why are you offering?"

"Because I think these lodge guys are a bunch of snobs. And they should've chosen your charity. It was funny."

That, plus Stan had been the most reluctant to let Bill live; Bill had to convince him he'd made the right choice.

Bill gave Stan directions to a bunch of fish he could see underwater by the Island Head Beast's right earhole; and then, his good deed for the day done, he headed off to claim a spot on the beach.

Ford had gone into Tate & Backle's to properly purchase the clothing they'd borrowed after the eclipse, and Soos was helping set Abuelita up with a low beach chair and a large umbrella. Bill smoothed out a patch of sand about ten feet from Abuelita so he could lay out his beach towel and dump his supplies for the day beside it. While Mabel and Melody got the boat ready, Dipper wandered around looking for sunscreen to borrow. He saw Bill's tube, snatched it without asking, and generously coated his arms, legs, and face. Bill fought back a grin and pretended not to notice.

He tossed aside his t-shirt and fish slippers, settled down on the towel in his bikini, carefully squeezed several horizontal lines of reverse sunscreen across the front of his abdomen and thighs, and drew a few vertical lines in between to break them up.

Ford trudged over from the bait shop to tell Bill, "I thought you'd like to know those ridiculous fish slippers were thirty dollars."

Bill laughed. "Whoa! Seems like a lot of money for some cheap novelty shoes! It's too bad you decided to trap me in a position where I'm too destitute and powerless to make my own purchases, isn't it?"

"All right, all right." Ford's gaze caught on the bruise-blue line discoloring the skin from Bill's left shoulder to his right hip—had he gotten injured during one of his hikes the past week? Or had that always been there? Ford didn't think he'd ever seen Bill's body shirtless, maybe it had always been here—but then he noticed Bill's lines of sunscreen and barked a laugh. "I suppose you're not planning to rub that in."

"Brilliant observation." Bill began smoothing down the lines with a finger, maintaining the pattern he'd drawn.

"You wanted to come out here to suntan? I'm sure you're already aware of the cancer risks from tanning."

"If I'm in this body long enough to get cancer, I'll welcome it." Bill lay down, laced his hands behind his head, and gave Ford an obnoxious smile. "Anyway, basal cell carcinomas are delicious. There's something kinda romantic about them, you know?"

Ford ruminated on that with thoughtful bafflement, shushed the voice in his head trying to point out that Bill was waving ever more red flags, and concluded that perhaps humans weren't meant to comprehend the romanticism of skin cancer. "Fine."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Stan asked, trudging up to Soos and Ford. "C'mon, we're burning daylight! Let's..." He trailed off, staring at Bill.

His bikini top consisted of two triangular red cups. Each cup had an enormous staring eye.

"See something ya like?" Bill asked dryly.

Stan quickly looked away. "Ugh. That's indecent."

"What is?"

"That—design!"

"What's indecent about eyeballs?"

"It looks like...!" He gestured vaguely but emphatically.

"What? What does it look like? Tell me what it looks like, Stanley."

"Never mind!" He turned away with a huff and muttered to Ford, "Can you believe him?"

"I honestly didn't notice anything until you pointed it out." Ford waved back at Bill dismissively as he followed Stan toward the boat. "Enjoy your sunburn."

"I will! I haven't had a good sunburn in centuries! That's one of the best features of earthling bodies!" Bill got comfortable and shut his eyes.

Soos finished getting Abuelita settled, headed toward the boat—but hesitated as he passed by Bill. Bill opened an eye a crack to glower up at him. "What?"

Soos mumbled, "You could've just told me you wanted to get sunburned. I mean—yesterday."

"But you didn't ask if I wanted a sunburn," Bill snapped. "You just assumed I didn't know how they work. And that's the point: you assumed I was stupid instead of considering that maybe you didn't know my plan."

"Oh. Uh... sorry." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

Bill's irritation flared higher. He sat up. "I didn't say you made me feel stupid," he hissed, voice low, talking fast. "There's nothing that you could do to make me feel stupid. But that doesn't mean you aren't treating me like I'm stupid, does it?"

"Whoa—!" Soos raised his hands defensively. "Chill, dawg. I didn't mean—"

"What's the phrase, do ut des? 'Do unto others'? Your species's phrase. Don't treat me like I'm stupider than you and I won't have to return the favor—sound like a fair deal, Question Mark?" Bill stared up at him challengingly, brows raised.

"But th— I w— You..." Soos's protests that he'd been doing nothing but trying to do-unto-others Bill got jumbled all around under the force of Bill's spotlight glare. His shoulders slumped. "Sure," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Good." Bill lay back down. "Get out of my sun."

Soos trudged away; and Bill took a deep breath, tried to get in a meditative mindset where he could shut off his mind, and focused on the feeling of sunshine on his body.

He'd just about managed to drop into a proper trance when Abuelita called sweetly, "Bill? Would you grab a bottle of water for me?"

His face twitched toward a frown as he was dragged back to full consciousness. Hadn't Soos left them close enough for her? Some grandson. 

"Bill?"

He tried to think of an excuse to stay where he was; then growled in irritation and sat up. "Okay, okay." He couldn't afford to offend the chef with access to the poisons.

The bag with the water bottles was right behind Abuelita's elbow; but maybe her joints were stiff. Bill knelt to unzip the bag. "Another bodice ripper?" he asked, glancing at her book. 

"A powerful sorceress queen has been captured by her enemies. She just learned they are led by her former apprentice."

"I can sympathize with that." Bill dragged the bag up next to Abuelita's knee so he wouldn't need to grab another bottle for her later. "Who's the love interest—guileless guard? Heroic rescuer?"

"The apprentice."

"Sympathy's gone." Bill glanced toward the boat to see what the rest of the household was up to.

They'd already reached the spot Bill had indicated and started fishing. Soos was excitedly reeling in his line; the boat listed to one side as everyone crowded around him to see what he'd brought up. Stan dipped a net in the water to scoop up his catch.

It was a boot.

Everyone's faces fell in disappointment.

Except for Ford's, who gleefully snatched up the boot he'd kicked off during the eclipse when he fell in the lake. He dumped the water out of his boot, switched places with Soos, and began fishing the same spot.

Abuelita said, "My grandson has been very nice to you."

Bill looked at her warily.

"Hasn't he?" She had a polite smile and daggers in her eyes.

He had the oddest feeling that this was going somewhere dangerous. "Yeah yeah yeah, sure he has," Bill said. "Nothing but nice. I think I'll take a little stroll, stretch these legs! See ya!" He stood to escape.

He only got a step away before the enchanted bracelet pulled tight around his wrist. He turned around to stare in amazement.

Abuelita had wrapped the slack of the bracelet thread around her hand.

Bill had made a severe miscalculation.

"So," Abuelita said. "Why are you being mean to my grandson." It was a trap all along. She'd agreed to be handcuffed to him so she could corner him for an interrogation.

"Whaaat," Bill said. "Me? No way! I'd never!"

Abuelita stared at him patiently.

"I don't even talk to him," Bill said, trying to think of a conversational escape route.

She raised a brow.

Got it. "He's just too nice, you see! I don't know how to talk to a guy that nice," he lied. "Makes things awkward!" How could any grandmother complain about her grandson being called too nice? "Yeah—not Jesús's fault at all. I don't hold it against him."

"Ah," Abuelita said, "you aren't used to people being nice to you?"

Sure, they could go with that, try to get him some pity. "Yeah! You know how it is. King of Nightmares, scourge of the multiverse—I'm not a popular guy."

"But you have friends, don't you? The scary ones you brought with you to town last year? Are they not nice to you?"

Bill hesitated, trying to figure out his story now. "Sure—they're nice to me. They're my friends! They love me! They'd do anything I say!"

"Oh. So, you're only comfortable with people being nice to you when you can control them." Abuelita smiled sweetly.

Swift, efficient, and brutal. Bill gaped at her.

"I'm glad you have nothing against Soos," she said. "And that you won't be rude to him."

Bill snapped his mouth shut. "Of course not." He gave Abuelita a tight smile. Played like a fiddle. Even though he'd been lying, she still managed to make him look like a loser. How embarrassing. "If you don't mind, I've got a sunburn to get back to."

"I'm not stopping you." She let the extra thread on the bracelet cuffs unwind from her hand and drop to the sand.

Bill trudged back to his towel, snapping as he went, "I hope this is one of those books you hate where the couple only gets hitched because they've got a baby coming."

"The sorceress has magical birth control."

"Course she does."

Bill flopped onto his towel again and stared at the sky. Ouch.

####

(I've been promising Agent Powers AND a beach episode for ages, and we finally get to them both at the same time. Let me know what y'all think so for!)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Birds of Prey #1 (1996) is like. yes the art is unambiguous jerkoff bait. yes Chuck Dixon inexplicably wrote Barbara talking like some kind of chain smoking broad from 1920s. "batgirl was a real tough honey" who are you. I'll kill you. but also. but also. the plot is Babs plucking Dinah out of a slump in her life and dragging her to Gotham and going "yeah I picked you for this mission because you're a great martial artist but also because you're just the hottest woman alive. I am putting you up in a fancy hotel. I hope you don't mind that I bought some clothes for you. yeah, it's entirely revealing dresses. picking out sexy clothes for you was really fun, don't read into it. also I redesigned your costume, it's time to stop with the fishnets. no your legs are completely still exposed, the costume is just more leather now. don't read into it. I am going to send you to honey trap a notorious womanizer and then loudly complain about it every time he hits on you. we are going to be in communication 24/7 and I am going to sleep with my headset on my pillow so I can always hear you calling for me. you are my physical body in the world and I am the voice in your head and we complete each other." it's the first issue. I think I hauve covid.

[hotheadedhero]

Daft Pretty Boys

AN: I was going to try and get something Halloween-like out but it's been busy lately. Have some fluffy angst with Raph, instead :D

Raphael x Reader

Warning: kinda angsty, soft-hearted Raph ahead :)

When you blessed the turtles with your bright presence and inevitably befriended them, Raphael didn’t realise just how much of an emotional rollercoaster it would be. As a person, you are amazing. You always make a point to engage with him and his brothers, even for the small things. Other than April, they’ve never felt more welcomed by human company before. The thing is, if he were to put one fault on you, it’s your taste in men. 

You fall fast and hard, and it’s not because of their looks. It’s the ones who have this idea that they know they look good: the confidence they exude, sharp-witted flattery on the end of a hook that you can’t help biting into. You get caught, pulled in, they have their fun, and then you’re chucked back into sea awaiting the next juicy-looking cast of bait. One would think you’d be smart enough to not fall for the same routine tricks over and over again but here we are.

Each time you say, “He’s really sweet,” followed by a “This one is different,” but he never is. You’re always taking that chance, betting on the next guy being Mr Right, only for it to end in heartbreak, and every time Raph’s at your aid when you come crying to him. That isn’t said with any malice for you. He will always be there to pick up the pieces. Maybe broken pieces of these stupid shmucks if he just had five minutes alone with them.

You grasp so desperately to hope. Raph would commend you for your optimistic persistence if it didn’t break him to see you in tears. There’s only so much one heart can take. He doesn’t want you to become some calloused husk of your sweet self, too afraid to take another chance. He doesn’t want you to end up like him. Raphael knows he’s unloveable. Regardless of his appearance, he has a temper - one that he keeps as far away from you as he possibly can. His feelings for you never seem to pass despite how much he tries but he isn’t meant for love. That isn’t how this world works. You, on the other hand, should be cherished and he’ll beat the next sorry sucker who does any less than that.

How? How can someone be so foolish to drop you like these men have? He doesn’t get it. Were it him, he’d spend every waking moment appreciating you, letting it be known just how precious you are and how lucky he is to be the one to call you his. But he isn’t. The same daydream can play as many times as it likes, it’s never going to go in that direction. He needs to keep reminding himself of that.

You just deserve so much more than the cards you keep getting dealt. You’ve probably got to be the sweetest person he’s ever had the luxury of meeting. A little bubble-brained at times but that’s in part what makes you so cute. It’s also why you end up in and out of these short-lived relationships, he reckons. Much like now, for instance. It’s almost routine, weirdly systematic in a way, how you waddle into the lair glassy-eyed and red-faced wearing that grey sweater - the one he calls your breakup sweater - that’s two sizes too big for you. So much for the macho man with the green eyes. Making it to one month is a record, so there’s that at least.

Raphael doesn’t say anything, just holds a hand out whilst the other cradles the back of his neck. By now, he’s learnt that there’s nothing he can say. It’s better to wait on you until you manage to find your words. You slowly trudge towards him and smack your forehead into his chest. All he can do is stand there and stare at the top of your head whilst he battles the urge to pick you up and take you away from all this frivolous bullshit. His arm falls to his side as he watches you, and you just about say what he would expect you to.

“I really thought this one would be different,” you whimper quietly and the hiccup in your throat makes his chest burn. “He seemed so genuine.”

Raphael’s heart clenches. He wants to scream that he’s the one who’s genuine, that he’s the one who’s been here through every heartbreak, every tear. But instead, he swallows his words, feeling the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on his chest.

He pats the top of your head, almost awkwardly, and sighs, “I know.”

A pained laugh muffles against his chest. “I’m the problem, aren’t I?” you ask rhetorically, playing it off as some joke at your own expense but it only angers him further.

“It’s not you,” Raph replies, a hint of a growl edging into his tone. “They’re the ones who don’t know what they’re missin’.”

“But there’s a common denominator here. It feels like it’s me.” You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Like, maybe if I was just different-”

“Stop right there,” he interjects, his brow furrowing. “You are not the problem. They are. Trust me on that.”

You always say the wrong things about yourself: the things he thinks about himself on a daily; if he was different. You are such an honest person and yet you lie so frequently when you talk about yourself. A nasty bi-product of those worthless scumbags treating you the way they do. You want to believe him on his word but you also can’t ignore the facts. It’s always the same song and dance. You stupidly cling to hope, searching for the silver lining that never seems to come, and end up in this sad mess of a person.

Raphael watches as you pull away, the warmth of his body replaced by the chill of reality. It’s painful to see you so vulnerable, so exposed. He wishes he could shake you out of this cycle, snap his fingers and make you see what’s right in front of you. But he can’t. All he can do is stand there, the silent sentinel, while you cry into the fabric of your sweater. The moment lingers, heavy and full of unsaid words. He wants to tell you that you deserve better, that you should never settle for the likes of those clowns who don’t recognize your worth. Yet, the words stick in his throat, tangled with his own fear of inadequacy.

He clears his throat, trying to break the tension. “Tell you what, let’s grab a couple sodas and a slice. Sit up top for a bit, yeah?”

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know if I can eat right now, Raph.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to get outta this gloom. Plus, I’m starving,” he responds with a half-hearted attempt at humor, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Finally, you yield. Begrudgingly, he might add, but food and the fresh night air is what you need right now, especially seeing as you’ve been cooped up in your apartment all day crying. He takes whatever pizza he had leftover - it’s only lasted because Mikey has luckily been out - along with a couple cans and leads you through the sewers. Whilst he’s essentially forcing you outside, he goes at your pace, never pushing you beyond that. Sure, it takes longer than it should but you get to a nice rooftop eventually, and before you know it, he’s already got you venting with a slice in your hand.

“And then he pulls out the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shtick,” you say and Raph follows with a quiet “Of course, he does,” before you continue, “and I swear, I could’ve just slapped him.”

“You should have.”

You hum shortly against a bite of pizza and shrug. “Ah, the moment’s long gone, anyway.”

The two of you glance at each other with a small laugh before returning to the view ahead. This feels better. Much better. Once again, your knight in shell-y armour has helped you bounce back from your foreboding. If you had it your way earlier, you would have loved nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch some bad reality TV to cheer you up. Not where Raph is concerned. He’s soft-natured when you need that shoulder to cry on but knows when to crack out a bit of that tough love, too. You’re always thankful for that - him - and you hope he knows just how much of a difference he makes.

"Hey.” He nudges you with his elbow and you look up, noting the light smirk on his face, though the seriousness behind his eyes isn’t something to be ignored. “Next asshole that breaks your heart, you just point me in the right direction.”

"And be an active participant in murder? Not a chance," you laugh and playfully swat him, earning a low chortle. You think you know what he’s getting at and it’s sweet in weird kind of way. With a perma-smile now glued to your face, you rest your head on his arm and speak more gently, "Thanks, though."

He glances down at you and tempts the idea of stroking a hand over your head. His fingers clasp into a fist and he looks ahead again, taking a gentle breath before responding quietly, "Yeah... don't mention it."

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

don’t get me wrong, I think Cain’s motive for killing Abel--to save him from Lucifer--is a neat twist that makes the story queerer and builds sympathy for him, but sometimes making things queer...is worse, like do we really need another predatory gay narrative in a show full of them?

[avatar-anna]

It's Not a Competition (But It Is)

i just feel like this song is so reader coded in this series like she literally gets annoyed by how much she likes him and at first refuses to admit but of course she can't hide it forever...

Hockey Player! Harry x Figure Skater! Reader Masterlist

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing. I'm not staring. Who's staring?"

You narrowed your eyes at Harry from across the couch. He was on one end, you on the other, as you studied for your respective midterms. You hadn't meant to stay after hooking up, but Harry offered his shower and an extra set of clothes and promised not to bother you if you wanted a quiet place to go over your notes, and despite the warning bells flaring in your head, you stayed.

As promised, there were no distractions. You were able to go over your psych notes in peace, the only sounds in Harry's apartment being the instrumental music he put on and the clicks of his keyboard as he worked on his laptop. It was comfortable, almost too comfortable, you thought. This wasn't the kind of relationship you anticipated when you and Harry hooked up for the first time. It was supposed to be strictly physical, transactional, a satisfaction of mutual needs.

But you felt it—Harry's stare as you reviewed key terms and quizzed yourself with your professor's review guide. There wasn't any heat behind the stare, it was more of a soft, warm glow. Affection. Harry stared at you with affection, and you weren't sure how to make the responding butterflies in your stomach stop fluttering so intensely.

"You're being a creep," you finally said, shifting in your spot on the couch as if you could physically shake off the weight of that stare.

Harry's brows raised above his blue light glasses, amused by your assessment. You'd never seen him wear them before, but they framed his stupidly beautiful face perfectly. You thought they softened his appearance, made him look less like the overconfident jock you knew too well.

"You really wanna know?" he asked, a playful grin on his face. "I don't think you wanna know."

"I asked, didn't I?"

Harry's grin widened before turning back to his laptop. "I just think you look pretty in my clothes. That's all."

His smirk was self-satisfied as if he knew what your reaction would be, which pissed you off even more. Before you knew it, you took a throw pillow and chucked it at his head.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"I look pretty in your clothes?"

"It's a compliment, princess," Harry said. "You would be the one to get pissy over something like that."

You sniffed. "Sorry I'm not at your feet like one of your adoring fans."

"Hey now, I never said I didn't like it. I like this thing we have going on. The banter. It keeps things interesting."

"Whatever."

"Would you rather I said you looked hot? Sexy?" Harry challenged, though his smirk told you he was playing around, laying a teasing trap to see if you'd take the bait. "Why can't I tell the girl I'm sleeping with she looks beautiful in my clothes? That's like every guy's wet dream."

You frowned and picked at your nails, trying to ignore the effect his words had on you. "You're sounding too romantic. Like you're my boyfriend or something."

Closing his laptop once more, Harry set it on the coffee table in front of him and turned toward you completely. He looked too soft, too cuddly, too kissable in his worn gray sweatshirt, his hair extra curly from the shower you shared together earlier. And when he shuffled across the couch toward you, the smell of his shampoo dizzied you, made it hard for you to focus on his words.

"You say that like it would be a bad thing," he said. His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of weight to it. This was the conversation you and Harry avoided, danced around, hid from, at every turn. You could see it in his eyes sometimes that he wanted to have it, that he wanted more. But you...you just couldn't.

"We agreed—"

"Yeah, yeah. We agreed. Just sex," Harry grumbled as he pulled off his crew neck. "I can haul you over my knee and spank you all I want but I can't say you can't look cute in my clothes. Pathetic, Y/n, really."

You blushed, playfully swatting his hand away when he tried to push your—his—shirt up. "What are you doing? We already did that!"

"Well not-couples don't sit around studying together, so come on," Harry said, smiling as he play-fought you on the couch.

You giggled your way out of your clothes wrapping your arms and legs around him as he kissed along your jaw. "No, don't do that. This is strictly sex between us. Only girlfriends hold boyfriends like that."

"Don't make fun of me," you said, breathless from laughing.

"I'm not making fun, princess. Promise. We're just two people who love to fuck. And study together and train to—"

You cut Harry off with a kiss, fisting a hand in his hair tight enough to make him hum. The slide of his mouth against yours was familiar, practiced, as dizzying as the first time you kissed him. Since the very beginning, it had been easy with Harry. Too easy, too right. You thought it was just the tension between you and him finally snapping in half, that he'd finally pushed enough of your buttons and you just needed to get him out of your system. And then it happened again, and it felt just as good as the first time. Maybe even better. So it kept happening again. And again. Until you were staying over at his place and he had a drawer at yours and he laughed at your stupid jokes and you knew what he meant when he talked about hockey stats and his favorite place to eat off campus.

And now you were here.

You didn't know where "here" was, though. You knew where Harry thought it was, you knew what he wanted beneath all his teasing and joking. But you didn't know what you wanted. Or you did, and perhaps didn't know how to admit it.

"I should go," you whispered after, even though you knew you didn't have to. Harry's body was warm and sturdy beside yours, the hand drawing circles up and down your back and through your hair pleasant, calming. Your eyes were getting tired, blinking slower and slower as your head laid on his chest.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his chest expanding and falling as he sighed. "But I don't want you to."

You didn't either, though you didn't say it out loud. You just nestled deeper into Harry's chest and wrapped your arms around his waist.

And you stayed.

*.*

Harry woke to the sound of his phone buzzing noisily on by his bed. Too tired to make any sense of who was calling him at such a late hour or why, he didn't even bother sending it to voicemail, merely turning over in his bed and dozing back to sleep once the buzzing stopped.

And then it happened again.

That time, Harry did send the call to voicemail, believing it to be one of Harry's teammates trying to pull some kind of prank. By the third call, he was thoroughly annoyed.

"What?"

"Do you not like me anymore?"

Rubbing his eyes, Harry looked down at his phone, more specifically, the caller ID, for the first time. "Y/n? Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?"

"It's Friday night why do you—hiccup!—why do you sound like you're asleep?"

"Because I was," Harry said, groaning before sitting up in his bed. Running a hand over his face, he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No! Yes! Maybe a little tipsy. The nice bartender gave me a double shot for my drink," Y/n said, giggling to herself.

*.*

Harry woke up some more at her giggling, already reaching for the pair of jeans he'd ditched by his bed earlier. He'd gotten home after an away game earlier and didn't have it in him to go out, not to mention the pile of homework he left for the last minute. Y/n went out with her friends, insisting that she could go a Friday night without hooking up with him. Harry had laughed at the time, but selfishly wished she was with him now.

"How nice of him," Harry replied, trying not to let the idea of anyone flirting with Y/n bother him too much. "So, you're okay?"

"I—hiccup!—I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, you're the one who called me out of the blue."

"Well, I," Y/n started, her voice drowned out by loud noise of whatever bar or party she was at. Then it all quieted as if she was suddenly alone. "I wasn't going to call you, but then I did."

Harry smirked. "Aw, did you miss me, princess?"

"No!" she snapped, perhaps a little too quickly. "No, but I just—I was ready to leave and no one else was and I know it was stupid of me because you're always tired after away games, but I thought—"

"I'm already on my way," Harry said, sliding off his bed as he picked up his jeans off the floor.

"Really? You don't have to. We're not—I mean you're not—"

"Send me your location, princess. I'll make sure you get home safe."

Y/n was quiet for a moment, presumably sending Harry her location while he shrugged into a t-shirt and grabbed his jacket. And an extra one for her, just in case.

"Maybe...Maybe I can stay at your place tonight?"

Harry's heart leaped in his chest, but he didn't let himself get his hopes up. Y/n was drunk, and he might've just wanted to hear the plea, the affection, in her voice. She didn't like him that way, or didn't want to admit that she did. He just needed to be patient.

"Course, princess," Harry finally said. "Sit tight, okay? I'll be there soon."

Skating always brought you clarity. Going through a familiar routine and landing tricks was what made sense. Moving through the music, letting the music move through you, helped you relax.

But today was different. Today you skated around the rink in circles, no choreography or music flowing through you. You skated in a daze, hoping you could leave your thoughts behind you with another lap, but they were as quick as you were as you glided across the ice.

"Y/n?"

Your most persistent thought of all.

You skated one last loop before coming to a stop at the rinks entrance. Harry stood on the other side, backpack on his shoulders and baseball cap covering most of his curls. It was a vision you were more than familiar with, you even knew the slightly concerned furrow of his brow.

"Everything okay? You weren't at the library."

"I—I just needed to skate," was all you managed to say, your breaths still coming out unevenly.

"Oh. Can I join you?" he asked, already shrugging out of his backpack.

"Just like that?" you asked him, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"Just like that."

Leaning across the barricade Harry kissed your forehead. There was a small smile on his face as he pulled away and gingerly pushed that same strand of hair away.

Because that was a thing you and Harry did now. You'd finally admitted to yourself what Harry had known all along, so now he was your boyfriend. It had taken a moment to wrap your head around it, though your dynamic with Harry didn't change all that much. Not at first, anyway. Until your first date at a bowling alley, then the second at a sushi place in town, then you began opening up about your home life, your family, sharing things with him that you never had before. Now you got extremely jealous when girls came up to him and tried to flirt, and Harry, who wasn't afraid to admit he'd always been jealous when he saw you flirt with other guys, wasn't afraid to scare those same guys off.

You and Harry were finally dating, and it was...good. more than good. It was—

"It was the date, wasn't it? Was it too much?" he asked later as skated beside you, having finally gotten his skates from his locker. Harry's skates were clunkier than yours, meant for speed and agility so he could race down pucks and out skate his opponents, while yours is slim and geared toward performing tricks. You watched them as they glided across the ice as you figured out what to say.

The date Harry referred to wasn't meant to be anything special, not any more special than the others were. But then Harry did what Harry did best and went above and beyond.

He somehow scored tickets to the ballet and surprised you with them and a candlelit dinner before the performance. It was perfect, all of it incredibly perfect. Harry in his suit and tie, different than his game-day suit, you in the fanciest dress you owned—pale yellow and off-the-shoulder, the bodice shaped like a bow.

It was a night filled with hand holding and kisses to your bare shoulder as you observed the performance. The seats Harry got were far from the stage, but you didn't care. You were enthralled by the dancers and the night your boyfriend planned for you, and Harry was just enthralled by you. You felt his stare all night, the same one he'd had since the first time you met, only now you knew what it meant.

Then at the end of the night, he walked you to your door, kissed you, and let you go inside. When you asked why he wasn't following, all he said was, "You have a competition tomorrow. I know you like to be alone so you can mentally prepare."

And that was that. He left, and you went inside and replayed the night in your head over and over and over again. You saw him the next morning at your competition, but you were too focused, all your feelings carefully compartmentalized so you could perform your absolute best. But the second you got off the ice, you thought of him, and only him, and all the ways he made you feel entirely too much and how you couldn't see yourself with anyone else.

It was too much, too many giant feelings to make sense of all at once. So you took some time to yourself the next couple days, and instead of meeting Harry at the library to study like you'd planned a week ago and headed for the skating rink instead.

"The date was perfect," you said now, your eyes trained on the ice beneath your skates. "It wasn't—It wasn't the date."

"So...you blew off studying with me because you...what? You just felt like it?" Harry asked, his voice carrying the slightest edge to it. Your boyfriend was incredibly patient despite your apparent aversion to dealing with your growing emotions. But he was still human, and honestly, you were a little annoyed with yourself too.

"No, I—"

"Then what's going on, Y/n? I know things haven't been easy, but if I'm coming on too strong and we need to slow down, then—"

"I don't want to slow down."

"Okay, then what—"

"I love you!" you said, coming to a stop in front of him. The words just tumbled out of your mouth, and now they wouldn't stop, like a dam had broken inside you. "I've come to the realization that I'm in love with you. A lot, and—and I'm overwhelmed by it and a little annoyed that you've managed to make me feel so much more than I ever planned to, so... that's why I didn't show up. I'm sorry, I just—I love you, I guess, and I didn't know how to tell you. But I also couldn't sit next to you and not say it either."

Harry said nothing for a couple seconds, looking down at his skates, then you, then back down again. Then he began to laugh.

You gaped at him. "Hey—You're laughing at me? I know it wasn't as romantic as you would've made it but, but I love you, you stupid fucking jerk!"

That only made him laugh more, which made you spin on your skates and glide away from him. He called after you, but you kept going, except he was a faster skater than you were and caught up to you before you wanted him to. Harry grabbed you by the waist and spun you around so faced him. He was smiling wide, his nose bright red from the chill of the rink.

"I'm laughing because you got to say it first," he said. "I'm laughing because I have been waiting for the right time to tell you, walking on eggshells for almost two years now, and you just—you beat me to it. That's all."

You blinked. Then laughed a little yourself. "So it was a competition? I won?"

"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "You won. Now stop stress skating and come with me to the library, you neurotic freak."

"Competitive ass."

"I love you," Harry said, using the smile he usually reserved for getting out of trouble or getting what he wanted. It was a smile you pretended you could resist, perhaps more for your sake than his, but now you didn't even try.

You rolled your eyes before kissing him, not confused or scared of the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as a result. " I love you too."

[aliteralchicken]

It’s an ecosystem, there’s cishet characters, queer characters, queer coded characters and queer baiting characters, but there’s one we often forget, who has a very important role, the secret fifth character: the one written by Chuck Dixon

[marleyybluu]

Just Sit On It

Spooky x f!reader

Warnings: 18+. bit of fluff and flirting, bit of cockwarming, very much self-insert (inspired by yesterdays events), no use of y/n

Word count: 980

A/N: I had to give this to my favourite boy🤷🏾‍♀️

(Not my gif.)

"You want me to just sit on it?" You ask with fake annoyance in your voice and a quirk in your brow. Spooky chuckled and nodded, a little glimmer in his eye as he looked at you. You two had just finished... whatever round of sex that was, you'd lost count after a while. Both of you high as fuck and missing each other after months of no physical contact, chuck it up to being adults with busy schedules. Sucked.

You were done, out of it and tired— growing a bit sore from how he handled you, not like you'd complain anyway you liked it. You thought he was done too, when you attempted to bait him into one last round he'd respectfully hit you with, "Nah I'm tired for real."

You shrugged and put your shirt back on, chilling in the comfortable silence aside from your music softly playing in the background. You hated a quiet room, especially during sex. But it only took a few minutes for his shirt to come back off claiming to be hot... well it was hot, summer was approaching a lot quicker than it usually did and it was the type of heat to make you angry and irritated with any and everything.

As he lay on his stomach you smiled gazing at his back, how smooth and muscular it was, clean and free of tattoos, unlike the rest of his body. He felt your eyes and asked what was up. You told him you wanted to sit on his back and he let you, you drew faint art on his beautiful skin, and ran your finger down his deep spine. Oof, you loved a deep spine, something about the depth of it was so sexy.

Soon he mentioned he wanted to take off his pants. Again, he was "hot." So you got off and he took off more than just his pants, he nodded over for you to come back and you say there. "I thought you said you were good?"

"I am."

"So why would I just sit on it if you're good?" You challenged with a smirk on your face. Spooky wasn't about to have this back and forth, actions were louder so he sat up and reached over for you, cupping your meaty thigh in his large hand and pulling you on top of him. You gasped feeling him against your sore and yet aching clit.

"Just sit." He shrugged. "And this is comfortable for you?"

He nodded reaching for your hands, interlocking your fingers with his. God, he was just so fucking cute sometimes. You looked down at him as he looked up at you, nothing was said and that's what you liked about your dynamic, you two could just sit like this. Naked or half naked talking about whatever was on your mind or not talking at all.

Adorn by Miguel had come on and you began to hum and absentmindedly move around, for a brief moment forgetting you were both naked on your lower halves. Spooky smiled it was always nice to see you comfortable around him considering when you first met you were so shy you wouldn't even look at him.

He let go of your hands and rested his warm palms on your hips. "Come here."

You beamed and with no hesitation leaned over to meet his lips. Your hands rested on either side of his neck, your lips moving in sync— you could kiss that man all day if it was possible. You felt the bottom of your shirt hike up and pool over your lower back, his hands on your bare ass once again. His favourite part to grab.

One last peck and you pulled back. Spooky noticed the look on your face, a look he was too familiar with— when you wanted to say something but you were too chickenshit to say it, still a bit reserved with your thoughts even though it was clear you could be open and honest with him. "Say it. I could see it in your face." 

You sighed all this temptation was getting to you. "You wanna put it in?" He asked. You bit your lip and nodded, silently thanking God that he was a mind reader at times. You leaned forward reaching between your bodies you gently wrapped your hand around his girth and slowly sunk down on him, he always stretched you out so nicely. 

And that was it, you just sat on it and it was nice (?) and warm... really warm and slick. You actually did not want to move but he did, pushing his hips up into yours, you placed your hand on his chest saying, "Wait, don't move." 

He stopped his actions and resumed holding hands with you. "You're so pretty." He complimented, you blushed looking to the side so he wouldn't notice how embarrassing it was that you couldn't take compliments, especially from him. Your slight distraction was cut short when you felt him move, you giggled turning to him. "Stop..." 

He did it again. "Stop what?" 

"Spooky... I can feel it- ouu, stop." 

He rested his hands under his head and let out a hearty laugh at how flustered you were until he was now feeling something, with your hands planted on his chest you looked down at him with a knowing look. He let out a shaky moan when you did it again. "You stop." 

"Stop what?" 

"Baby, shit, I can feel you tightening around me." You were easily flexing your walls around him in retaliation. He pushed his hips up into you causing you to moan and fall forward, he did it again, carefully thrusting in and out of you-- your pretty love faces like artwork, his favourite thing to watch. You sucked your teeth in realization. 

"Did you just bait me into another round?" 

"Always." 

Slick motherfucker.

Y’all… oof I had to. I’m still reminiscing. I miss my man😭

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Peace and love🤞🏾

🏷️ : @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit

[panties-on-boys]

Gone Fishin’— Chapter 3: Bait

“You don’t even like me.” Wade’s yellow eyes shift to the side a little, then straight back ahead. His stare burns holes in the cattails. “Why’s my life matter more to you than theirs? They’re living, too.”

He hears Logan swallowing behind him.

“The mosquitoes drive me crazy.” Logan replies. He pries off the last barnacle that he can see and chucks it into the lake. “Maybe this is why you’re so damn excitable all the time.”

Pathetically, Wade takes that as a compliment. Excitable. That’s maybe the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to him, actually.

Logan easily could have used a different word. Annoying, insufferable, a pain in the ass, anything… but he chose to say Wade’s just excitable, maybe the one single word that could get his point across without an inherent negative connotation.

Wade turns bright red at that.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61934755/chapters/158481376

[thesplatterman]

tip tuesday: the flyfish (and how to krill them!)

an overview on the flyfish:

the flyfish is one of, if not, the most hated boss salmonids in the salmon run salmonpedia. this flying smallfry shoots out a total of eight tentamissiles across the map. their armor is impervious to ink and so, must be taken out by the use of bombs chucked into their missile launchers.

method one: the casual (bombs)

the usual method is to obviously chuck bombs at the launchers. be careful as to not get too close or too far away, and get to a high inkable area as to avoid the hordes of salmon by the shoreline. throw your first bomb into the right launcher first, as that launcher directs the person in front of it (or the person closest to it.) refuel and launch the other bomb at the remaining launcher. it can be soloed in one go, but it's better to do it with teammates.

method two: weaponry

certain weapons can help with taking out flyfish faster:

explosher: acts the same as bombs. fire the explosher at the launchers to instantly take them out. repeat the same steps of preparation as the first method for the best results.

grizzco splatana: charge up your weapon to cut through any type of surface. you have to aim upwards and move forward towards the flyfish in order to reach the salmonid inside. you need to fend off salmon and also avoid the sludge water, as the splatana isn't easy to stop.

grizzco slosher: the slosher can penetrate any surface with its slosh. fire at the pilot once to krill the flyfish, but save the other three for salmon population control.

method three: specials

the specials are efficient in krilling most bosses, however they are limited to two a round (excluding the one refill in the xtra rounds) and some don't penetrate the forces.

the specials that can krill flyfish: inkjet, crabtank (both need to be used as explosher), triple inkstrike, kraken (to an extent), triple splashdown(?), killer wail 5.1, booyah bomb

the specials that dont: wave breaker, reefslider

method four: cohock sweep*

cohock rounds are by far the easiest way to take out any type of salmonid, but be careful. you can't dodge missiles while within the cannon. if you aim in the middle of the launchers, you can take out both of them at the same time with one shot. if not, then just aim for one at a time. if you get targeted, run away from the launcher and maybe get some eggs in before going back and manning the launcher.

method five: salmonid treason

flyfish can be killed with other salmonids, although its very rare to do so. one method is to make a slamming lid crash on top of the flyfish by either baiting the slamming lid or splatting the slamming lid. another method is to use good ol' joe and make him eat the flyfish by baiting him near the flyfish. however, you also need to lure the slamming lid close to the flyfish and not get splat by the jets of the flyfish or any other salmonid.

extra tips:

to find a flyfish in the fog, follow where the arrows come from when you're targeted. if you're not targeted, follow the opposite of where the missiles launch are coming from.

to avoid flyfish missiles, hide under grates and other objects. if you can't find a place to hide, swim and dodge the missiles.

each missile reload takes five to seven seconds, depending on if they need to relocate the machine or not to get away from you. mostly they just hover in one place.

with multiple flyfish on the loose, it is recommended to use a killer wail 5.1 special to get rid of all the missiles. you need to get to at least the third round in order to not lose any points.