#i wanna put him in a jar and observe

[lil-inky]

his existence brings me both amusement and inexplicable dread smh

the urge to rattle him but naw I don’t wanna be within 3 feet with this man— /lh

[murdrdocs]

Man I dont even wanna read smut for mike rn i want some cute fluff. i wanna love tghat man so good he deserves it. i wanna cuddle him and tuck him unto bed with a glass of of warm type shit

lucky for you i have some fluff loaded up !

[ghostbeam]

Do u guys think rin likes gore in his horror movies or he’s more of like a suspense/scare guy

[beneathashadytree]

THREE CONFESSIONS - RAFAYEL QI X READER

Warnings : spoilers for his date from the last event, references to his Lemurian nature & myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : so much tooth-rotting fluff <3

Word count : 1.5K words (oops)

Additional notes : This was a combination of 3 lovely suggestions I received for Rafayel. Writer’s block sucks sometimes☹️ But I’m actually quite proud of this!! Hope you guys like it🫶🏽🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Rafayel’s tongue wasn’t used to the saccharine sweetness that they made him want to spout.

He was a fighter; a man—who wasn’t a man, not really—who bled for his people and burned like a flame that would never be put out. He lashed out, like a beast that couldn’t be tamed, and struck true, like a blade that never rusted. Though objectively he knew he was beautiful, he always saw himself as having that sort of fierce beauty; a contradictory sharpness and roughness lying in his soft siren-like features.

But somehow, those edges of his were rounded to a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess. All for one person, the very same person who’d managed to tame him first had laid claim to his heart—or what’s left of it. It made him want to do the unthinkable; made him want to speak the words he’d never thought he’d even want to say.

It wasn’t easy to go against your very nature, though. Sparkling daggers didn’t turn into smooth silk over night. So maybe it was the coward’s way out, but he thought the best way to ease himself into it was to devise a new plan, based on 3 things he’d learnt through simple observation and his keen eyes.

1- The way to one’s heart is through their stomach.

“C’mon, let me have it,” Rafayel whined, trying to pry their hands off the bowl that they seemed to have glued to their fingertips. He had not accounted for them being this strong (not that he had it in him to fight harder and potentially hurt them, anyways), nor had he accounted for them joining him as he was baking for them.

Gritting their teeth, they pushed back against him, protectively covering the bowl. “No. I will not let you eat raw cookie dough when you just got food poisoning last week.”

“Oh, but you would’ve let me have it if I had been perfectly fine?” he asked, a challenge in his voice as he arched his eyebrow. “So it’s not on principle of looking out for me then. Some bodyguard you are.” He dramatically waved them off, earning a roll of their eyes.

Unable to help himself, he smiled a little. Maybe every single one of their micro-reactions stung his torn and fractured heart, and maybe he liked it. Maybe the idea of spending the rest of his days bickering like this made his face flush, forcing him to turn to the fridge to hide it.

Maybe.

“You’ve got bonito flakes?” he asked, beginning to dig through their drawers.

“Figured you’d wanna snack,” they snorted, and he heard them set aside the bowl and rummage through their cupboard. “You always get hungry while baking.”

“Hey, are you saying I’m gaining weight?” Rafayel furrowed his eyebrows and turned back around to them. “For your information, I just wanted to add them to the cookie dough. Brand new flavor, it’s gonna be incredible. Trust me on this.”

Horror washed over their features at that, and their hands caught his arms in a vice like grip, an almost wild look in their eyes. “Don’t you even dare, you baking heathen.”

2- Sincere gifts speak volumes from the heart.

“Are we getting any closer?” they asked, shuffling slowly after him on the sand. Though Rafayel was tempted to do anything they asked of him (one of his baser instincts, he supposed, though this had nothing to do with being Lemurian), he still kept them blindfolded and tugged them along the beach.

And so what if a not-so-small part of him was just looking for an excuse to keep holding their hand? He wasn’t embarrassed about that—even if his blush said otherwise.

“Almost… two more steps actua—yeah, right here.” Much to his own disappointment, he was forced to let go of them in order to unveil his surprise for them. Maybe his hands shook a little as he removed the sheet and stabilized it, and maybe he was grateful for the fact that they couldn’t see how nervous he was.

But now that he’d taken their blindfold off and stood to the side, he’d never been more terrified to present his work in his entire life. There he was, baring his heart on a canvas, and there they were—

With a gasp, their hands flew to their mouth, and he could swear that there were no prettier jewels in the world than their teary eyes as they stared at his painting against the backdrop of the sunset reflecting on the ocean.

A vibrant painting of them in all the most passionate hues; the essence of their very soul captured in that breathtaking way of his and immortalized on a canvas. In a way, he’d breathed new life into them, gifting them some of his own years and they possessed all of his.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away. “You deserved something for your last mission. Something more than just empty praise.” Their silence only encouraged more of his rambling. “It’s not an exact portrait, of course, more of an interpretation. Just the way I—”

He didn’t get the time to spiral, because they threw themself into his arms before he could even continue his sentence, squeezing him tightly in their embrace.

“It’s stunning. Thank you, Raf.”

3- Words carry weight.

“If I used your name, would you do whatever I asked of you?” they quietly asked, the gentle breeze fluttering through their clothes.

For a few moments, Rafayel was silent. What was there to say, when someone asked you if they had full control over you? Dare you admit it and risk being hurt by them? Or would you hide the truth out of self-preservation?

“Yes.” The former. He tried to lighten the somberness of the moment by weakly joking. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.”

Another silence. This time, he couldn’t tell what they were thinking. It scared him; Gods, it did. Then—

“Hold my hand, Rafayel.”

How foolish of them, to ask for something he’d so readily give them for no reason. Did they have no idea how his heart always roared to life everytime their hands were entwined? Hadn’t they noticed how reluctant he always was to let them slip through his fingers?

“You’re silly,” he tried to admonish them, though there was no malice whatsoever behind his words. Instead, immense fondness filled his eyes as he gently obeyed, every brush of his skin against theirs deliberate and careful. His thumb stroked the back of their hand, and soon it felt like everything were right in this world, right then and there.

He couldn’t walk away from their gaze. Not when they looked at him as though he was the most heavenly creature of the ocean.

“Now come closer.” For some reason, they sounded as though they were begging with a desperation that even words couldn’t conceal. “Let me really see you, Rafayel.”

And he did nothing, except inch forward a little. After all, what was there to do, when he’d already stood naked before them, his heart bare and his entire being open? There wasn’t anything else left for him to do to show just how vulnerable he made himself for them.

“You already do,” he softly smiled, an aching tenderness filling up his chest as he gazed at them. Gods, he’d never get enough of them, no matter how much time had passed. Amidst the sweet scent of the blooming flowers of the garden, and the gentle sunrays kissing every inch of their beautiful face, they were truly a vision straight out of his most wishful dreams.

Not looking away, not even for a second, they gripped his hand tighter. “Rafayel, just… tell me you—”

A finger against the plush of their lips silenced them, and he met their confused gaze with a shake of his head. Affection brimmed through his touch and overflowed, unable to keep it hidden any longer. “Don’t. You shouldn’t use my name to ask me to do something I want to do myself.”

Rafayel could feel their shaky breath leave them, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, impossible fondness lacing his voice and entwining with every single syllable he devoted to them; always them, only ever them. “I love you. With every part of me.”

Yearning seared through his blood, and he could almost sigh in relief as they leaned further into him. “I—Rafayel…” Rendered speechless, their eyelashes fluttered slowly, heavy gaze flitting between his intense eyes and his lips. Two breaths mingling with each other, hearts entwined like clambering vines—somehow, nature had made them so in-sync that they fell into a familiar beat engraved in their souls.

If he could stay like this forever with them, he’d immortalize the unadulterated, peaceful happiness he felt surging inside of him. For the first time in his life, Rafayel felt that he was made to love; made to rest his weary bones, and finally retract his sharp nails and let himself grow soft in their hands.

For once, both his Lemurian blood and his human soul burned for the very same thing—the person who owned him completely, and someone he willingly gave himself over to.

He couldn’t stand the little distance between them any longer. “Let me show you that for the rest of our lives,” he mumbled against their lips, before letting his all-consuming adoration engulf them both.

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[hoshinasblade]

Hello!! I saw your tangent, about Hoshina being an audio sender, kind of guy. And I have to say I one hundred percent agree with that sentiment. Vice Captain is someone I can definitely imagine being a talker in bed.

Cause when you REALLY think about it. He seems like the type who can easily get away just by yapping. And often times he's developed the social skills to redirect the conversation to something else. Especially during the days when he'd be compared to his brother and all that.

It could be a simple jab or a comment about his incapability to use firearms. And I see him as a person who can easily facade a laugh and redirect the conversation so that it loses focus, away from him. And because he's an expert yapper, I'd like to think that skill transfers in bed too.

Hoshina is a distinctly intelligent and observant character. As such, he's someone who probably knows what his partner likes. Particularly the type of dirty talk they'd prefer.

And since he's so used to having to issue commands and the like. Particularly in the way he orders Number 10 and lower ranked cadets. I'd like to think his transition to rougher talks in bed is made easy. And he comes to find out that he actually likes to be loud. He's a talker.

While I do think he isn't exempt from silly or giggly type of sex. Where he'd enjoy softer moments with his partner. I do think he's meticulous in the way he times and handles intercourse. And therefore would likely prefer and really take his time with his significant other. To properly schedule a time and place to do foreplay; which of course, translates to dirty talk. And such this may perhaps allude to a more leading role in bed.

Also, Pet Names. He's a talker so of course pet names will be used. Both inside and outside of the bedroom, I see Hoshina being the type to use Pet Names to give his partner sweet praises.

Hoshina is someone who I believe is not against the idea of degradation. But I do think he prefers praise over it. When his partner does something he particularly likes, he'd likely yap about it and praise them. Similarly, I see him as someone who's also a sucker for being praised, since he doesn't get too much of that in his life. (Or at least, he was never told outright in his face. As most characters in the manga compliment him via inner monologues or when he isn't in ear shot)

In summary, yes I think he's a yapper. In bed and out of it, he'll talk you through it. 🫡🫶

taking a break from work right now and this has been the best interpretation of hoshina's character that i've ever received, let me explain:

we can all agree that hoshina is a certified yapper. he has multiple scenes in the anime where he's either just laughing or talking (be it to someone else or to himself through some sort of an inner monologue). long story short, that guy has ALWAYS something to say.

and im crying because aside from what you have mentioned that he is intelligent and observant, he is also a natural giver. so if you're into dirty talk, he of course delivers and even exceeds expectations. the thing is he doesn't even have to try hard, when he was being created, god put an entire jar of "smooth talking skills" on him and called it a day. let's just say that his mouth is full of surprises *wink*.

i will have to agree with you on him being authoritative in the bedroom when he's being rough. don't get me wrong, usually he asks you for what you want, what you need - he is hungry for feedback, but sometimes he ups the game and just straight up tells you what needs to happen according to what he wants to happen. im officially declaring that power over you especially during intimate moments gets him off like no other. completely up to you if you wanna resist or you wanna go with it, but him being a boss is a big thing for him.

hoshina being loud in bed, oh god. this is so accurate. i've mentioned earlier that he gets demanding of feedback from you, and im pretty sure that from his end, he doesn't shy from letting you know how good he feels too. i mean, communication is key and all that. above that, he likes your reactions when he moans so win-win.

considering i don't think he has a lot of free time on his hands, he definitely treasures it when he can get you alone with him, so he would definitely take his time with you. the disadvantage is unless you explicitly beg, foreplay can last for hours. he doesn't like to see you suffering, he's just really thorough and methodic. plus, delayed gratification lol.

THE PET NAMES. he'd prefer your name, but pet names are also welcome, if only to tease you. the pet names he gives you always have "my" in front of it though, so it would be my love, my princess, my darling, my cumslut.

ten points to gryffindor because yes, for hoshina, praise > degradation. he's unique though because when he degrades you, there is still some praise in it ("you're doing so well, slut"). this boils down to his love language being words of affirmation, i'd like to think. he didn't really have a lot of experiences in the past where people would appreciate him verbally so i believe that when he gets the chance, he does it for you as a way of healing himself too. and yes lol he likes being praised too. he knows he's good at what he does, but when you compliment him for something really personal ("i like it when you hold my hand cause you make me feel safe"), i just think his eyes would turn into a heart-shaped thing.

just wanna share something that hasn't been mentioned and not nsfw but you won't have any issue with communication while dating the guy - he is honest, and open, and kind when he has to tell you something so he isn't just a yapper at that.

i'd been enjoying these, please send me more!!!

[ieatglue777]

hes so pretty i wanna put him in a jar and observe

[spectralscathath]

Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 2- Blue Light Fright Night

Stan and Ford didn’t expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not a party-hating ghost, not new friends and new enemies, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford’s smarts and Stan’s punching, there’s no mystery they can’t solve.

Ao3 Link

"I can't believe it," Ford scowled as he restocked the snowglobe shelf. Little mini Mystery Shacks mocked him as they sat beside glass-encased Waddleses. How did Grunkle Dipper even get question mark-shaped glitter for these? "Gnomes on our first day- then we don't see jack!"

"Maybe we fought the gnomes so well they told the rest of the forest to be scared of us?" Stan polished the body parts jars on the other side of the aisle. 

"I think you're giving yourself too much credit."

"Hey-" Stan kicked him in the shin. Ford kicked back without thinking, focused on trying to get all the snowglobes lined up perfectly. "Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places? It's only been three days since gnome-pocalypse."

"We're not calling it 'gnome-pocalypse'. It was only a hundred or so gnomes. An apocalypse would require at least a thousand." He was rounding down as well. 

"Fine. What are we gonna call it then?"

"Uh-" 

"So are you guys coming to the party tonight?" Carla interrupted as she came around the corner, her nametag pinned to the front of her pink shirt and a flower in her hair. 

"Party?" Ford looked at her, setting down the final snowglobe. 

"Yeah!" Carla beamed and did a little dance in place, hopping from one foot to the other. "It's at the high school gym- the local sheriff sets up one every month for all the teens and it's super fun. You should totally come and meet all my friends- it'll be awesome!"

Ford's breath caught in his throat, an indescribable mixture of wonder and excitement filling him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. A real invitation to a real party. They'd never had one before! And here Carla was, offering an invitation like they were normal . Like it didn't matter that Ford had six fingers and Stan had the school record for detentions. 

"Yeah, we'll definitely be there!" He blurted out immediately, unwilling to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip by. "Wow, this is so exciting- Stanley, our first party!"

"Have you… never been to a party before?" Carla's face fell. 

" Pfft - of course we have," Stanley jumped in, waving a hand. "He just means in Gravity Falls, yunno. Jersey parties are really different so-"

"Oh, totally. But get ready, a Gravity Falls party is gonna knock your socks off!" Carla was all smiles again. Ford could see the reason why Grunkle Dipper had her as a cashier, she had a very upbeat demeanour that seemed popular with the tourists. The way she talked to them, able to get them smiling and laughing and telling her stories about their travels, she made it look so easy. Like talking to people was easy. Ford wondered how she did it. 

Maybe if he asked, she'd let him observe and record her interactions for science?

"Earth to Sixer-" Stanley poked him in the face and Ford spluttered, swatting at his hand. "You okay in there?"

'I'm fine!" Ford looked around and adjusted his glasses. "Where'd Carla go?"

"A tour finished so she's gone to do her charm offensive on getting them to buy junk," Stan shrugged. "Are you sure you want to go to a party?"

"Yeah!" Was that even a question? "Don't you? Why did you lie to Carla? We've never been invited anywhere before."

"Listen, Fordsy," Stanley put an arm around his shoulders. "When people invite you to do stuff you haven't done, you gotta pretend you have, or else they'll think 'wow, what kinda losers are those guys, never going to parties'. You wanna be in the in-crowd, go along with the popular decision if you don't wanna stand out."

"How do you know that?" Ford scrunched his nose. It seemed unnecessarily complicated, wouldn't honesty be the best policy in any conversation?

"Just makes sense," Stan shrugged. "Now Carla won't be thinking, 'those guys must be lame', she'll be thinking we're cool dudes back home."

"But we're not?"

"Yeah, but you shouldn't say that." Stan patted his back. "Do you really wanna go?"

"Of course! This is a chance to meet the wider population of Gravity Falls, and I bet with all the anomalies in this area, I won't even be the weirdest thing anyone's seen today!" He'd always wanted to go to a party. Like a regular kid. Maybe Gravity Falls wasn't so bad. 

"You're not weird," Stan scowled. "If any of them give you trouble I'll hit them."

"Stanley, mom said one week. You still have three more days." Ford reminded him. 

"Blegh-" Stanley stuck out his tongue. "Now we just gotta convince Grunkle Dipper to let us go."

"Why would we need to convince him? Surely he'll understand how important this is to our preteen social development."

#

"Not a chance." Dipper didn't even look up from the pasta sauce he was stirring. 

"What?!" They yelled in unison, Ford looking like all his dreams crashed and burned and Stan slamming his hands on the kitchen table. He hid a wince. Toughen up, Stan. Be a man. 

"It's a cop party, no nephews of mine are going to a cop party." 

"Grunkle Dipper, do you have something against cops?" Stan had to ask.

"I didn't agree to more questions."

So the answer was a yes. Cool. 

"But Grunkle Dipper-" Ford whined. "We've never been to a party before and we told Carla we'd be there. Please?"

"Okay, here's the thing." Dipper turned around and pointed his pasta spoon at them, pajama pants and a threadbare sweater on. It was silly. It had a puppy on it. "Grenda throws these parties once a month for all the teens in town, and because everyone's kids are there, all the townsfolk treat it as a social event. It's loud, annoying, and seriously not worth your time."

"But we could be party rocking in the house tonight." Ford said it with all the sincerity in his soul and Stan wanted to know how his nerd of a brother had found out about songs that weren't from the 1700s or whenever.

"What?" Dipper's face scrunched before he shook it off and went back to mixing pasta sauce and spaghetti. "Let me explain: I don't 'like' or 'trust' most of the people in this town, and the feeling's pretty mutual. Why don't you just have a party here? This is a house, it can- it can 'party rock'."

"Can we invite people?" Ford perked up.

"No."

"Grunkle Dipper!"

Stan hid a snort-laugh as he watched, studying Dipper more so than Ford, head tilted to make sure he didn't miss anything. There had to be a magic word of some sort to get him to agree. He didn't trust the townspeople, hey?

"If you don't like anyone here-" he cut off Ford's rant about the 'psychosocial development of twelve-year-old brains' before it really got going- "then the smartest option is to bring us into town when everyone's gonna be there." Stan shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, playing up the casualness. 

Dipper looked at him with suspicion. "What's your game, kid?"

"That way you can point out who to avoid and who we should keep an eye on so we can recognise them. I mean, we're gonna need to go into town eventually, might as well get it over with."

"... Alright, that's not a bad point." Dipper nodded, brow furrowed. Stan gave him an absolutely angelic smile, well practiced for when mom busted out the camera for family photos, and Dipper's brows furrowed harder.

"So can we go? Carla invited us as well, it would look bad if we went back on our word. And you said you wanted us to have a good summer."

"Okay, okay, okay." Dipper groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, serving up three plates of spaghetti as he joined them at the table. "You can go, but if Sheriff Grenda asks about me, tell her I'm dead or whatever."

"Yes!" Stan punched the air. "Yes!"

"What?! How is that the conclusion of this?" Ford looked stunned, mouth hanging open.

"Your brother drives a hard bargain, kid," Dipper pointed with a plastic spork. All his cutlery was plastic and Stan thought it was weird, no metal, no forks. But  it was the durable, colourful kind used for camping. "Eat your pasta and we'll get this over with."

Stan shoveled the pasta into his mouth, enjoying the taste of victory. Whaddaya know, for once Stan got them the win. That was never gonna happen again.

#

Ford's excitement only grew as they drove into town, staring out the window and trying to see anomalies in the dark. Stan kicked the back of the empty passenger seat and tossed his head back with a groan. "Why are we listening to BABBA?" 

"Because I love this song." Grunkle Dipper turned it up a notch and sang along, badly. Ford winced at the falsetto of "Dis-co Girl! Coming through! That girl is you!"

"Get me outta here!" Stan's next kick used both feet. "If you're listening, save me, Paul Bunyan!"

"Calm down, Stanley, we're almost there!" Ford could see all the cars parked outside the high school, and a giant RV with GIDEON across the side that towered over everything else. "What's that?"

"First people in this town you need to avoid: Gideon Gleeful and his lil b-" Dipper growled, cutting himself off before continuing- "Bud Gleeful. Gideon's the worst, they're just a creepy pair. Just got back from touring America with their fake psychic act."

"Okay." A fake psychic. Just like their mom. Ford missed her, she promised she'd call every week but it didn't feel like enough. "Anyone else?"

"Preston Northwest is about your age and a piece of work?" 

"I thought you'd have more enemies." Stan grinned mischievously.

"Those are just the child ones." Dipper hooked an elbow over his seat and looked back as he reversed into a parking space, wearing one of the baseball caps from the gift shop with a pine tree logo. His denim jacket and pajama pants clashed terribly with his 'dog playing basketball' sweater. Ford hadn't seen him wear the same sweater twice, but they all looked decades old, handknitted, and far too irrational for him. Perhaps he had some ancient sweater collection?

"How many adult enemies are there?" Stan unclipped his seatbelt as the truck stopped. 

"Don't you have a party to go to?" Dipper waved a hand at them. "Have fun and don't die or something. I'll be here when you want to leave."

"Thanks, Grunkle Dipper!" They chorused and hopped out, Stan racing around to Ford's side of the truck. 

"You ready?" He took Ford's hand for a second, and Ford snatched it back, trying not to think about his hands. It was gonna be fine, this wasn't Jersey. People here would like him. 

"Race you in?" He offered instead, shoving his hands into his pockets just in case. 

"You're on." Stan grinned and took off. He might have been better at punching, but they were both pretty fast from a childhood of dodging bullies. Usually it was a tie. 

This time Ford got there first by mere seconds and paused, able to feel the thud of the music inside in his ribcage. Of course- soundwaves were physical, that only made sense. He was about to lift his hand from his pocket before hesitating. His first party. Did he want to start off with a bad impression?

Stan caught up and pushed open the door. "After you, Sixer."

Ford smiled gratefully at him, stepping in as the smell of dry ice and cheese flavouring hit him. The gym was big, all the bleachers tucked away, and while there was no disco ball, someone had set up projector lights that sent rainbow shapes and lazers everywhere. The room was surprisingly full, and Ford had a sinking feeling they arrived late. "Were we meant to be here earlier?"

"Don't worry- it's cool to arrive late, I heard." Stanley stuck by his side as they stood in the doorway. "Should we find Carla? She's the only person we know here, I think."

Ford had a thought. A bit of a mean thought. Did he want his first impression on people to be Stanley as well? Not that Stanley was bad, Ford loved his brother more than anything, but his nicknames might give people the wrong idea, and the other way around- Maybe Stan would want to meet people without having to talk for Ford as well?

"We can split up, do a sweep on each side, and meet on the other end of the gym." He felt guilty saying it, but he couldn't help being interested in what would happen if he made introductions on his own for once. It was an experiment. 

"See who spots her first so we can talk to her, good idea." Stanley nodded. "Race you there."

He took off through the crowd to the right, leaving Ford to his own business and taking the other. He didn't move as fast as Stanley, keeping his hands in his pockets as he avoided the major crowd and skirted the edges. His head swivelled like an owl's as he looked around, trying to see anyone who might be safe to talk to. 

He saw something sparking near the wall and immediately remembered the various dangers of electrical hazards, resolving to check it and report it to the nearest grown-up- oh, but if that was Sheriff Grenda, Grunkle Dipper said not to talk to her-

Ford didn't really want to do what Dipper said, but… what if he got angry at them for disobeying?

More sparks. He blinked, regaining his focus, and sped up, noticing they were tucked beside the folded bleachers, hard for people in the crowd to see, hidden by the fog of dry ice. 

There was someone there. Two someones. Ford drew closer, in time to see a blowtorch light up and be lowered to a piece of metal. 

"What are you doing?" He blurted out, the two teenagers looking at him. It was hard to make out clear details in the dark hall, but the one leaning against the wall held a plastic bag of sliced bread, and the boy on the floor had a welding visor over his face. 

"Hi there!" The boy stood and flipped his welding mask up, revealing round glasses, a thin face, a long nose, and a friendly smile. "I'm Fiddleford McGucket, local inventor."

"You're an inventor?" Ford smiled. "Me too! I mean- I'm branching out into the field, I'm currently working on a magnet gun."

"Well that sounds mathematically feasible, I reckon." Fiddleford offered a hand to shake, absolutely covered in bandages.

Ford stared at it. "Uh- won't that hurt if I touch it?"

"I've got an un-nat-ur-al-ly high tolerance to pain, doctors say," he laughed, singsonging each syllable in a playful Tennessee twang. "Don't mind the bandages, all from my thingamajig building."

Ford hesitated just a moment longer before he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook Fiddleford's hand.

"Why, that is a mighty fine case of polydactyly you got there." Fiddleford complimented. 

"Th- thanks." He stuttered, in utter shock. No one had ever actually complimented him on it before. Most people didn't even know the term. "You too- I mean- not polydactyly, just thanks?" 

"Thank you kindly, and this here's my friend, Tad."

"Hi, I'm Tad Strange." The deepness of the other boy's voice had Ford reeling. Was that natural? He looked barely older than Ford, with shiny black hair and very neat clothes. He had to be the most nondescript person Ford had ever seen. "Would you like some bread?"

"Uh- okay?" Ford took some of the offered bread. Plain white sliced, from a grocery store. Was he meant to eat this without anything on it? Well- okay, he could try. "Do you carry this everywhere?"

"Of course. It's my emergency bread."

"Oh. Cool?" It didn't seem normal, but maybe it was for Gravity Falls? His hypothesis was correct, he was an anomaly in a town of anomalies! He could fit in here! "I like your voice."

"Thank you." Tad smiled. Ford liked his diction, how deliberately he spoke, how even his voice was. It seemed so calm. "It broke when Tad Strange was seven."

"If we're talking about weird body things, I'm double-jointed?" Fiddleford offered and pulled out a pair of black goggles, a matching pair to the ones Tad had pushed up into his dark hair, hard to see. "Here, put these on, I'm working on improving Tad's phone. I reckon I can really spruce it up."

"Tad Strange would like jetpack capabilities." 

"Yeah! I'd love to help!" Ford's smile was so wide it hurt at the edges, so excited he feared he may explode. Not that it was scientifically possible. 

Was this how easy making friends could be? 

#

Stan plunged into the crowd like a superhero charged through henchmen, keeping his head cocked in case he heard Ford get in trouble. He had to be always ready for bullies, Ford could have all the hope he wanted, as long as Stanley protected him. 

He squinted through the dark, not able to see too much in the weird party lights, lots of pinks and blues and kinda dark. He didn't really like his glasses much when he had to wear them, they were nerdy and made bullies throw stuff at him. He could see most things anyway, just blurry, and as long as he could get the gist he could work with the rest. 'Sides, no point in him having glasses anymore, amount of fights he got in.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he swung without thinking, catching air. Carla's laugh was bright and cheery. "Easy, tiger! Didn't mean to surprise you."

"Sorry." Stan mumbled. He wasn't as noble as some of the boys back home, who didn't hit girls. Seemed insulting to Stan, if they wanted to fight they should get to fight. But Carla wasn't like the girls back home, he didn't want to hit her. 

"C'mon, my friends are this way." Carla took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. Her hand was warm around his, and she didn't even hesitate. Known him four days and still took his hand. Wow, she was nice.

She pulled him to the snacks table, piled high with chips and chocolates and one very big lady in a cop uniform serving punch. Carla let go of his hand and spun around to face him, her skirt twirling as the lazers made the sequin design on it sparkle, and Stan suddenly got why Shermie used to get so weird around girls. Holy Moses.

"Stanley Pines, meet my besties!" Carla gestured at the group. One girl was spinning in place with an eye closed, two boys were having a string cheese war that looked more like flirting than fighting, the other girl was filming, and the last boy was cheering everyone on. "That's Shandra, Susan, Daryl and Edwin, and Tyler! Everyone, this is Stan!"

"Hi." Stan nodded at them, getting a nod back from the girls and Tyler. 

"And- wait, where's your brother?" Carla looked worriedly at him. "Didn't he come?"

"Course he did! Just went to scope out some of the party," Stan played it off, even as he looked around. What if Ford was already getting picked on? "He'll catch up."

"Okay, cool!" Carla looked up over the crowd and brightened. Didn't seem possible but she managed it. "There's Bud! Hold on, I'll get him." She dove into the crowd again, leaving Stan with her friends and no idea what to do.

He grabbed a random bar of candy to eat to avoid having to make conversation, shoving it all in his mouth in one go. He accidentally made eye contact with the cop and looked away too fast. That was probably suspicious. What was it Grunkle Dipper said? Don't speak English to cops?

Carla came back to the group with a wave, her hand entwined with another boy's. "Okay everyone! I need to introduce you all to my new boyfriend, Bud Gleeful!"

Stan was real dumb. Shoulda seen that coming, obviously Carla had a boyfriend. Little weird that it was one of Grunkle Dipper's enemies, but it was Stan's own fault that he got all weird just because the prettiest, nicest girl he ever met thought he was worth being kind to. No point being disappointed because he got stupid. 

"What a delight to meet you all," Bud smiled cheerfully, his brown roots visibly showing through white hair dye. Stan turned his back and started eating more candy.

The other teens offered a chorus of uninterested 'hi's, still focused on their cheese fight. Looked like Blubs was winning, if the goal was to spray as much cheese as possible in his mouth? 

Stan was starting to get why Grunkle Dipper didn't bother with the town, he was not impressed so far. Except by Carla, but she worked in the Mystery Shack so she didn't count. 

"And who might you be, lil fella?" Bud drawled from behind Stan, which had his hackles up and his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Bud was twice his size, but so was Crampelter, and Stan had won that last fight. He wasn't weak and useless anymore, he wasn't the wimp that cried after just one hit, not now that he could fight.

He turned around, feet shifting into the stance from his boxing lessons as he looked up at the bigger teenager. "I'm Stan. Who wants to know?"

"Why, just 'lil ol me'-" he spoke it like a quote- "it's merely just- well, small towns, I tend to know near-everyone. But I don't recall seeing you here before."

"He and his twin are Dipper's nephews and they're in town for the summer," Carla smiled, clinging to Bud's arm. "They're here all the way from New Jersey, how cool is that?"

The other teens looked a bit more interested hearing that, looking at him like he was an oddity, something to gawk at. Was this how Ford felt? All the time? 

"Yeah, what about it?" 

"That's quite a distance," Bud whistled. "Would I be right in assuming you're staying in that old shack in the woods?"

"Where else would I stay, smart guy?" Stan mouthed off, focus narrowing to who else might be coming in for a sneak attack. Crampelter had friends, maybe Bud did too. "My Grunkle lives there."

"Yes, a so-called man of mystery," Bud clicked his tongue. "He's quite a shameless fraud, wouldn't you agree?"

"Coming from someone who's dad is a fake psychic?" Stan aimed for what would hurt, because it hurt when he thought about it. "What a liar, bet you can't trust anything he says."

Everyone gasped. But they didn't know. He loved his mom so much, so much , but she lied so much, just because, even when there was no reason. She didn't mean any harm, but… 

"Hey now, that's not true!" Bud snapped, getting angry, and Stan regretted saying anything when he saw the look on Carla's face. She looked at him like he said something bad. He did say something bad. He was a bad kid, everyone knew it. 

What was he doing? He was ruining the party, he was making everyone upset, and Ford wasn't here, Stan needed him and he wasn't here, and why did he instantly make it a fight? Because Dipper said not to trust someone?  What was wrong with him?!

He had to get out of here. He pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket and hoped and prayed he got it right- got something right- and threw it at the ground. 

It shattered with a flash and a POP! and sent up a cloud of smoke and sparkles that had everyone coughing, and Stan bolted. 

He ran, sticking to the walls and the shadows, passing a supply closet as he looked for Ford. Where was his brother? 

He was rounding the bleachers when he heard Ford laughing. At what? He slowed his steps, peeking around the corner to see Ford holding a blowtorch and soldering something, laughing and talking with two other boys. He looked like he was having a great time. Without Stanley.

Stan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, fists clenched tight and shaking with that energy he got in fights. Ford had some sciency name for it that Stan couldn't remember right now. 

Ford was fine. He found people who liked him. Just like he wanted. Stan was tempted to go over there and say hi- but if Ford wanted that wouldn't he have come and got Stanley? Ford always wanted to show off cool things he found, he dragged Stanley all over Glass Shard Beach, so this must mean Ford didn't want to show off his new friends. 

Stanley could take a hint. Heck- Ford would probably be better off with friends who were smart like him. Stan just caused trouble, everyone knew it. 

He backed away, genuinely considering sneaking out to go sit with Grunkle Dipper. Even if that meant listening to girly pop music. 

Actually-

Nah. Still not desperate enough for that. He still wasn't sure if Grunkle Dipper even wanted them around, Shermie had been the one to push for the trip. Even brought the bus tickets. 

Everyone else kept making decisions and Stan kept having to deal with them. He scowled and found the supply closet again, because at least Carla and Bud wouldn't find him in here if they wanted to get mad at him for causing problems. 

He closed the door behind him and shoved over the nearest thing, sending janitor supplies clattering to the ground as he yelled, just to get the energy out. "I never even wanted to come here! Ford did, not me!" 

He turned and punched the drywall. "I hate stupid parties!"

The drywall cracked. Cracked more. Fell away to reveal a big boxy safe hidden behind the plaster, rusted and covered in dust and cobwebs. Stan had a suddenly cold feeling, a looming sense that he'd done something very stupid. 

A girl's voice whispered in his ear.

"Me too."

#

The screaming started as Dipper chewed a pen, brainstorming new attractions for the track. He caught the smell of ectoplasm in the air, able to recognise it instantly, and shoved open the door to his truck, sprinting towards the gym as a pale glow began to surround the building. 

He could hear the panic of the townsfolk,  his focus set on the door as he raced the ghostly energy, trying to get in before it cut off the gym from the outside world. The boys were still in there.

"No, no, no, no-!" The ectoplasm covered the door right as he reached it, the handle chilling his fingers as he failed to yank it open. He kept trying to jiggle it open before he switched to banging his fists against the glass. "Kids!"

"My lil Buddy-boy!" He heard from behind him, Gideon Gleeful running in his bedazzled suit, his white pompadour bouncing with each step of his wingtip shoes.  Dipper ignored him and braced his shoulder against the door, trying to shove it open. Now wasn't the time to start fighting his nemesis. Maybe? He could multitask.

"Hold on, son!" Gideon panicked before turning to the crowd, hand on his bolo tie. "Everyone, please! I need you all to step back and let me use my psychic abilities! Step back, everyone!"

Dipper felt himself step back before he could snap at Gideon to back off, watching Gideon raise his hand to the building.

"Spirit! I compel thee! Release our children and be banished from this place!" Gideon's voice boomed out bombastically, bringing his TV psychic bravado to the real world.

Nothing happened.

Obviously.

"Oh no! Something's blocking my powers! My innate abilities! That I definitely have!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dipper snarled and pulled a glove from his pocket, yanking it on as he stomped to the door. "Hey, ghost! Open up!" 

He drew back his fist and punched the door, the ectoplasmic coating jiggling like jello before it started to wobble faster, energy building up. Bad sign.

Dipper had enough time to swear for real before the ghost blasted him away from the building and into darkness.

#

One minute Ford was helping solder an ignition wire, the next the walls were glowing and tables and chairs were floating in the air. Snacks were flying, aimed at people's heads as screams filled the air, and Tad had to struggle to hold onto his bread as it threatened to fly away too. 

"What's happening?" Fiddleford clutched his hands together, rubbing at his spindly fingers. The rest of the party were freaking out, some rushing the doors, others trying to hide, some freezing in fear. 

Ford? Ford felt alive . This was it, the weirdness he knew was here. 

"Hold on, I may have an answer-" but the diary was so uncool-looking, what if his new friends didn't want to be his friends because of it? 

"Ford!" That was Stanley! "Ford, Ford, Ford!"

"Over here!" He responded without hesitation, because that was his brother calling and Ford would always answer. 

Stan rounded the bleachers and skidded to a stop, worn sneakers nearly losing traction on the smooth gym floors. His eyes were wide and he almost looked scared. Couldn't be true though, Ford had documented Stan's phobias and fear responses. Paranormal activity wasn't meant to register. "It's bad! It's really bad!"

"Wait-" Ford adjusted his glasses. "Stanley, did you do this?"

"I didn't plan on it, Sixer!" Stan flipped a switch into anger, shoulders hunched defensively. "I think it's a girl! I heard a voice!"

"A voice? So not only is this clearly paranormal activity of some form, but it's aware enough to manifest vocals and self-identify? Fascinating!"

"Uh, Ford? Who's this?" Fiddleford tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh!" He'd completely forgotten they were there, so caught up in the supernatural. "Fiddleford, Tad, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, these are my friends, Fiddleford and Tad."

"Hi. I'm Tad Strange. I like bread."

"Yeah, great to meetcha, the nerd book , Ford, what does it say ?" Stan made a swipe for Ford's jacket, where he knew the book was. 

Ford backed up. "I don't- I haven't looked yet!"

"Why not?!"

"Because-" laughter, vicious and dark, rang out around the room, and Stan whirled, hand out like he was protecting Ford and his friends. Ford stared as Carla lifted into the centre of the room, her eyes glowing white from within and her arms outstretched.

She spoke with a voice that wasn't hers. "Sixty years I've watched you all party! Now tonight will be your last!"

"Hey!" Sheriff Grenda stomped forward and pointed at her. "You're under arrest for possession! Get outta that teenager!"

"Adults," the ghost scoffed, crossing Carla's arms. "You threw this party? Then I'll throw you!"

Carla pointed as Grenda was enveloped in pale light before she seemed to- rip apart? But it looked wet? But there was also no blood or anything, her matter was just rearranged? That was so cool! Oh- and bad too, right.

"Sheriff!" 

"Where did she go?"

"It turned her into a disco ball!"

It had. Ford had never seen a disco ball with a face before. He wanted to take so many notes.

"Back behind the bleachers, c'mon!" Fiddleford dragged both the twins to the corner he and Tad were hiding in, sitting them down as they hid in the shadows. It wasn't much of a hiding spot, but the panicking crowd likely drew more attention. 

"Poindexter!" Stanley grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You gotta focus! How do we stop this?"

"Okay." He pulled out the diary and started flipping through, face burning. He hoped Fiddleford and Tad didn't laugh at the sparkliness of it. "Ghosts, ghosts, I know I saw something- here!"

He cleared his throat and began reading the sticker-covered page, googly eyes pasted onto a drawing of a happy ghost.

"Dear diary,

I fought a ghost today! It was crazy! He was really cute, definitely dreamy, but he was also a major meanie who wanted to destroy town, so dateability: questionable. 

Good thing I saw some of her ghost hunting tapes, otherwise I wouldn't have kicked ghostly butt! I bet this one would have counted as a Category 5, so kind of a ghost wimp. Lemme list the categories before I forget! Womp womp!"

Ford scanned through the categories before he found it. "This must be it! 'Category 8: Haunted Buildings- these ghosts are stuck in one place and make reality go all whoa! But they can't actually hurt people permanently and you can totally work things out with them by talking about their feelings, awwwwww' and then there's a heart drawn in? And people hugging?"

"We're all gonna die," Stan decided. 

"Stan, you have to tell me how this happened. Maybe there's a clue there."

"I just hit a wall." Stan shrugged, looking away. "Same as always."

"Perhaps we should ask the ghost what it wants?" Tad offered as a solution, looking abnormally calm while Fiddleford was having a silent freak out next to him, rocking back and forth and carding his hands through his hair. Ford felt a bit bad to see him so nervous, he must not have encountered an anomaly before. 

"I think it's pretty easy to tell what the ghost wants, Strange." Stan snarked.

"I WILL DESTROY ALL THE PARTY SPIRIT THAT HAS EVER EXISTED!"

"Yeah, that bit's obvious," Ford agreed. "It says that Category 8s aren't unreasonable, so maybe we can convince it to leave everyone alone?"

"We have to get it out of Carla," Stan agreed and took Ford's hand. Ford blinked at him in surprise. Stan must have really been scared, they hadn't held hands in a while. His fingers were trembling. 

Ford didn't let go this time. Not if Stanley needed it. He squeezed his twin's hand and pulled them both out of hiding, the room nearly empty from everyone being turned into party favours and posters and stuff. Carla's body floated, items swirling around her like a tornado, her flower missing from her hair. 

"Hey, ghost!" Ford yelled as he and Stan stepped up. "We wanna talk!"

"Oh?" Carla's body raised a hand and they were both floating. Ford felt Stanley's hand go tight in a death grip, hard enough to hurt. His fear of heights, Ford had to do something. The ghost continued, making Carla's face angry in a way that didn't look right. "What do you possibly have to say? Here to defend parties like everyone else?"

"I- we wanted to ask why you're unhappy!" Ford blurted out. "We want to try fix it!"

"How can you fix it? You were invited to this party like everyone else, I bet you've been to lots of them, everyone has! Everyone but me!"

"No we haven't!" Ford tried to convince her. "Tell her, Stanley!"

"I-" Stan's eyes were scrunched shut, face pale and sweaty. "We haven't! Look at us, we're losers! Who'd invite us anywhere?!"

Everything in the gym stopped spinning. Then it all crashed to the ground, Stan and Ford included. Stan immediately dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the floor, while Ford landed a little steadier. He placed a hand on Stanley's back and looked up at Carla, or, more accurately, at the ghost that had appeared, holding Carla up by the shoulders.

She looked like a normal teenager in retro clothes, just with thick glasses like Ford. 

"You're losers like me? But you don't look like it!"

Ford held up his hand and wiggled his six fingers. "I'm definitely a loser. And my brother…"  they both looked at Stanley, currently muttering 'sweet Moses, I love you ground'. 

"But if you're losers, then why are you at a party?" She scowled and adjusted her glasses. "Especially when one of you hates them."

"Huh?" Ford looked at Stanley, feeling betrayed. Stanley didn't like parties? But he was the one who convinced Grunkle Dipper, and said they'd been to lots to Carla, and-

And, Ford suddenly remembered, dodged the question about wanting to go in the first place.

"Stanley?"

Stanley looked away and swiped his nose with his wrist brace. "Whatever. So what if I do?" He pointed at the ghost. "Why do you hate them?"

The ghost gave a very big sigh and Ford braced for backstory. "No one in this town ever invited me to anything."

"Even all of the parties that were meant for everyone, I would get an anti-invitation. An unvitation ." The ghost floated just above the ground, looking sad.  "So one day, I decided that I would ignore my unvitation and go to a party meant for everyone."

She tilted her head. "Unfortunately, that party was to celebrate Gravity Falls' Annual Heavy Object Tossing Competition, and a safe landed right on me."

"That can not be a real thing-"

"It's real!" Sheriff Grenda, in disco ball form, yelled out. "I've won it eight years in a row!"

"Okay…?" Ford shook his head, resolving to ignore that. "So you've been here ever since?"

"Yes. I've watched people party for sixty years here!" The ghost began to turn red and catch fire. "And still! No invitations!"

"What if we invited you?" Ford offered.

"Or Carla!" Stan blurted out. "Carla over there, you just possessed her. She's super nice and will invite anyone. She invited us, for cryin' out loud."

"Oh. Okay." The ghost floated over to Carla, sitting on the floor staring blankly into the middle distance, hugging her knees to her chest. "Hi Carla! Can I come to this party?"

"Uh…" Carla looked over at them, frazzled and ruffled. Ford nodded as hard as he could while Stan gave her very emphatic thumbs up. Carla looked back to the ghost. "Sure...?"

"Great!" The ghost snapped her fingers and everything went right back to normal. People turned back into people, Grenda was no longer a disco ball, and the music started up again. "I've always wanted to go to a party! Whoo-hoo!"

"Can I ask you a million questions about being a ghost?!" Ford asked now that the danger was gone, pulling out a spare notepad and pencil, not noticing Stan walk off.

#

Stan picked up Carla's plastic flower and held it out to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure?" Carla accepted the flower, putting it in her hair. "I think my whole worldview just changed."

"Yep." Stan hesitated, fidgeting with his wrist brace. "I'm sorry I said mean things to Bud."

"Oh. Well- thanks, but I think you need to apologise to him, okay?" Carla smiled at him and stood up, brushing off her skirt.

Stan nodded and scuffed his shoe against the floor. "I will."

"Thanks. You're a good kid, Stan." She patted his shoulder. "And for the record: I don't think you're a loser, you or your brother. Jersey doesn't know what they got."

"Kay." Stan agreed because how was he meant to argue that? Not when Carla was smiling at him like she believed it, like she wasn't so cool. "Thanks, Carla."

"Carla!" Bud shoved through the crowd, flowery shirt looking a bit rumpled. "Are you alright, dearest-darlingest?"

"I'm fine, really!" Carla beamed, taking Bud's hands. "Stan and Ford saved me."

"I can see that." Bud shot Stan a filthy look. 

"Hey, Bud." Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, having to drag the words out of himself. He didn't like apologising much. Usually it didn't help things. 

"Can I help you, Stanley?" He made it sound utterly frigid. 

"Sorry for what I said about your dad and stuff. It was mean." Stan looked away, looking at Ford, who was introducing the ghost to Strange and McGucket. At least he was having fun. 

"I… suppose I'm also sorry about what I said about your great uncle. It was uncalled for." Bud tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Perhaps we should call a truce?"

"Sure. Truce." Stan stuck out his hand, too late realising it was his braced hand. 

Bud took it, squeezing way too hard and making the bones hurt. Stan didn't flinch and dug his nails in as an answer. 'Truce'. Sure. When Carla was around, at least.

"Yay!" Carla did a happy dance. "The power of friendship wins again!"

They both put on a smile for her, immediately shooting daggers at the other the moment she wasn't looking. Looked like they'd be hating each other in secret. Stan could live with that.

"I'm gonna go check on my brother." Stan yanked his hand back and walked off, already sick of Bud Gleeful. He was joining his Grunkle's rivalry on the side of his Grunkle. 

#

They found their Grunkle Dipper snoring in the back of his pick-up truck, having one of those old people naps he usually had in his armchair. Ford poked his face with a pencil, not expecting him to bolt upright and immediately fall out of the truck with a surprisingly girly scream.

"Augh! Dipper down! Dipper down!"

"Grunkle Dipper, we met a ghost!" Surely he saw the building glow, right? He'd believe Ford now!

"Huh?" Dipper rubbed his head, accidentally showing off the birthmark on his forehead of the Big Dipper constellation. He picked up his cap and set it down, blinking blearily up at Stan and Ford. "You what a what?"

"Met a ghost. Fought her, invited her to a party, whole shebang," Stan yawned. "Can we go home now?"

"I made friends!" Ford already had so many plans. "Can they come over for a sleepover tomorrow? They already called their parents and asked!"

"Sure and sure?" Dipper dusted off his pajamas, surprisingly dirty for a nap in his truck, and Ford noticed something.

"What's that glove?"

"Glove?" Dipper looked down before he noticed the blue glove on his right hand. He made a weird face before he pulled it off. "Uh, it's a- a compression glove? Yep! That thing! For my old man arthritis. Flares up sometimes. 'Cause I'm old."

"Aren't you fifty-seven?"

"I'm whatever age a senior's discount at the movies is," Dipper snarked, and Ford scowled. That felt sorta illegal. Definitely unethical.

"I like your moxie, Grunkle Dip," Stan complimented as he clambered out of the back of the truck. "So did you see any of that?"

"Any of what? I've been sleeping." Dipper blinked innocently.

"Oh, come on!" Now Ford really had to find proof of the supernatural. Time to build a gnome trap.

He reached for Stanley's hand again, resolving to talk to him later about stuff. Stanley squeezed his hand back, smiling at him before he yawned again. 

Ford yawned in response. Okay. Tomorrow. They'd talk tomorrow. Stanley shouldn't have to feel like he needed to hide things, not from his brother. 

Mystery twins forever, after all.

[l0stfoster]

Paul anon here to say eeeeeeYEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE ME SOME CURSED PAUL DOODLES THATS MY SCRUNKLY BOY IM LOEHEVDJDGUEHE I LOVE PAUL HOLDEN

I wanna know more about the feather situation now tho ohhhh you got me intrigued ohhhh my goddddd

And paul just thinking and knowing hes the reason johnny’s in a wheelchair and that’ll probably haunt him for the rest of his life cuz now hes so associated with the greasers he probably knows johnny a lot better now and ohhh im gonna be sick . He probably has so many feelings about the shit he did b4 he was kicked out of the house ohhhh my sweet boy i love you so bad

Paul anon I hope you know you're an icon among the writers. Novva has previously expressed how much they want to put you in a jar and observe you (/pos)

As always I am so joyous that you're enjoying Paul here hehe. I've said it once and I'll say it again. Canon Paul can go kick rocks, Cursed Paul, on the other hand, needs a break from me. I talk a lot below so yeah another below the cut.

The feather situation was a little thing I'd thought about recently, since I've brought up to the writers before about how Two would eventually offer Paul a feather for flock marking, and Paul, by god, does NOT want the feather. Not only does he feel like he doesn't deserve it for what he's done; but it proves something about himself too- that he's getting attached. What the fuck does it say about him if he begins to connect with these people? It doesn’t help the guilt, that’s for sure. Two tries for probably months to get him to take it; literally days on end of offering and being ignored or shrugged off- finally, Paul takes it, but he doesn't wear it, nor does he keep it on his person. The only reason Paul wears it visibly for the first time is because god DAMN does Two pull off some REALLY good sad, pathetic bird eyes (and Dally looks ready to kill him for upsetting Two-Bit, so.)

He just gets so damn unlucky with the timing and circumstances surrounding it. Not only do the harpies already hold beef with him because of Two’s original jumping and the feather issue (most of them are clueless to the fact that Two’s forgiven him, while others are aware and have kinda chilled), but having a soc who’s harmed one of their own in their territory does not sit well with a majority of them, even all these months later; something especially impactful to the Shepard’s Gang. The second one harpy spots Paul with this feather, the immediate assumption is that he’d taken it just as he did with the first one.

I don’t talk about the Shepard’s all too much, but this is a good time to mention that Two and Tim are pretty good friends— so, well, he takes this as a matter that he can settle himself; and it’s a good way to warn this rich boy imposing on their territory that he’s on strike two of three, whether he’s one of the cursed or not.

Paul Gets Jumped, Part 2. It’s definitely not as bad as when the socs got him because, despite their gripes, Tim is half aware that Darry does gaf about this guy (he’s very out of the loop, and doesn’t even know the two are dating). As bad or not, it does freak Paul the hell out due to how familiar it felt to the first time he was jumped. That’s called trauma big guy, you and Johnny can bond over shaking like chihuahuas when you walk home alone. They take the feather away from him too, and you bet your ass he will NOT ask Two-Bit for another one because he doesn’t want him thinking Paul had purposefully disposed of it, especially with how often he’d been turning it down. This mf also ends not up being very fond of harpies outside of the ones he knows (ie; Two, Mrs. Mathews, etc) for a little while. Refuses to walk outside the house unless he’s got someone else with the gang. Two dive bombs on and grabs Paul while he’s walking home once and the entire East side loses power for like 5 hours lmao. Two was not happy when he found out about it too. Harpy: “Oh yeah we got this back from a soc while ago here" Two: Two: “-Isn’t that Paul’s?” Harpy: Harpy: “Th. The soc?” Two: “Yeah??? Paul??? Darry’s boyfriend?? This was his-“ Harpy: “I mean, he had it b- ohhh shit. You gave it to him on purpose.” Two:

Tim is very confused when a ruffled Two slams the door open and off its hinges at his house

Two, slamming the door open: “WHY WOULD YOU JUMP HIM WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME ABOUT THE FEATHER????” Tim, half asleep on the couch: Tim: “..g’d mornin'?”

ON THAT NOTE Paul is,, so utterly haunted by both Johnny's and Two's disabilities, and that is absolutely not helped by the fact that they don't even seem to hold it against him. In Johnny's eyes, Paul wasn't the one who'd jumped him, resulting in him carrying the switchblade that killed Bob. He wasn't the one who held Pony underwater with the intent to kill. Two himself already knows that Paul didn't expect him to be burned as he was, nor was he the one holding the lighter. The blame the gang directs at him varies; especially when they see that the two who fell victim don't even seem to be mad about it. I think that a large reason as to why Pony throws his blame at Paul for Johnny is because, well, Bob's not around to take it. He's an emotional teen who's taking it out on the person he knows had some correlation to it. Besides, I think all of us know Pony blames himself for the church fire; directing that anger at Paul makes it easier to cope.

But yeah, Paul's practically eaten alive by the guilt. It sure as hell doesn't help that he already feels bad for being directly related to the witch that cursed Tulsa.

[selfspinninglies]

He needs to be socialized so ueah. Idk how helpful he would be at dissecting things bc he is good at it but he gets really sad about it after

Just gonna post what i have of that wip now uh keep in mind this is probably really rough its almost 12:30am when i post this

cws/tws: blood, dissection (not detailed at all), messing with dead bodies, mild body horror, a really breif mention of vomiting, implied kidnapping/murder[?], not technically cannibalism but a part of a person is eaten on accident

Sawyer had always been a meticulous person.

They had always picked up small details. Some insignificant (at least in those moments, they argued that anything could become relevant later), and some more integral parts of people that were hidden deep inside that could be easily prodded out with a bit of observation. People were like a collection of items, splayed across a table and hidden in boxes, locked with the key thrown somewhere in the scatter.

They had always enjoyed picking apart those items. Analyzing the catalogue and dissasembing the bits and pieces, bloody hands tearing away at all of the layers that humanity had to offer with clumsy hands. Digits that did not belong there.

Occasionally, things would break, pried apart too harshly and snapped into small bits that offered more insight. A puzzle piece framed in viscera, prying eyes privy to the secret of something ugly under sheets, akin to a disfigured body in a casket. The illusion of something unproven.

They often envisioned themself as that body, that puzzle piece, the barely concealing sheet over something unseen, something that should never be seen. A sheet that was stitched on, a casket locked tight with the key thrown away. Because there was something underneath that was far too much.

If they were ever scrutinized and dissected in the way that they did to others, if their items were to be ripped apart and studied, nothing would be found, because the items are all artificial, planted there to decieve and mislead. There were no puzzle pieces because the puzzle had been completed with neat, steady, clean hands and smile, presented politely.

An uncanny babble of the correct words would pass their lips, and that would be the end of Sawyer's case file.

If the layers were to be peeled back, locks forcibly removed, threads undone, there would still be nothing. Because underneath that were more layers, locks, and stitches, shoddily thrown together defenses to hide things that they had long forgotten.

Wounds had always bled, had always left trails, and eventually someone would smell the metallic tinge in the air.

When they were younger they had quickly realized that something was wrong with them. Or perhaps it wasn't wrong, just strange and unheard of. But in human society that was essentially the same thing.

Their body had properties that others did not. It melted and cracked like it was poorly constructed, extra eyes sat underneath their larger ones (though always closed and brushed off as a strange birthmark), and in the middle of their neck, an extra mouth streched itself out, containing inanely sharp teeth (that were always covered with something resembling a bandage).

They had also discovered that they could survive far more than regular humans should be able to. Though, they should probably rephrase, as there was no explanation for them being human and having these properties.

Many terrible accidents had peppered their childhood which they realistically would have died from. They didn't remember the details, the only remnants of it were distant feelings of tears and the sound of something desperately human wrenching out of them.

They had been more careful, and after then the shell started growing, clamped around them, a poorly fitted mold to be contorted in the shape of. An odd facsimilie, crafted with nothing but apathy and necessity.

Despite all of their efforts, they had been found out, assumedly.

That was the first conclusion that they reached when they woke up in an abandoned warehouse of some sort.

There was no evidence of anything. The items had been taken, there was no casket to speculate, their eyes had been covered (non literally). Whose hands were over their face this time?

They stood up rather quickly, head aching at the action. Sedative affects? Or just regular head pain?

The first and second realizations came fast and hard, a cruel derail of their current train of thought:

One, the place smelled of blood, to the point where they could taste it if they breathed. It was all over them, too, but it wasn't clear if it was theirs or what the source of it was.

Two, the one that really punched them in the face: they did not remember coming here. Or where here was. Everything before here was muddled, like their head had been drowned in molasses. Everything felt heavy. The world was shown through blurry, tinted glass that they could not yet decipher the colors of.

Both were terrifying revelations, yet they felt slightly calm. There were items to pick at. A puzzle to be solved.

.

.

.

Those items had turned out to be the source of the smell.

There were people, ones who's faces envoked some sort of vague memory in Sawyer, though they didn't remember anything outside of that. They were likely strangers that they'd passed by, nameless, meaningless faces. At least, that's what they hoped for, to justify the inevitable.

At first, they searched their clothes, the three of them all had nothing of value.

They exhaled.

Whoever put them here had seemed to know them all too well, because on an adjacent table, there was a strangely clean knife. They gripped it tightly, ridgid stance and uncomfortable hands

They did what they did best and dissected.

.

.

After the work, they had found two keys and a tag with an address on it embedded. As expected, whoever dumped them here had wanted this.

They sat down, accidently leaning against one of the vessels. They didn't pay it much mind to it, they were already disgusting and the thing was dead anyway, so it didn't matter. A distant thought came. It probably didn't want them to do this.

Slowly, they picked themself up and hugged the thing. Arms loosely draped around the vessel, head resting on its shoulder. A small, uncharacteristically honest whisper worked its way out of their mouth, oddly gentle despite what they had just done.

"Sorry. I had to."

They flinched at their own words. They did not deserve the grace of giving apologies. Their hands had moved with practice, devoid of remorse. It was clear from that action that regret of this strain was not in their nature. They had been given claws to tear and teeth to bite for a reason.

So they did the next logical thing and continued to hurt.

They bit down hard on the shoulder they rested on. It tasted like metal, and felt absolutely horrid going down. They had accidentally taken a chunk off.

Immediatley an intense wave of guilt crashed over them. They didn't know why, it was just deduced that they were not meant for this. Something had nested inside of them that was painfully human and foreign: grief.

Grief for someone they did not know and would never know. Grief for what had been done to its- their body.

Their eyes burned, water pricking at the edges and blurring their vision. Why? The question was repeated in their head so many times, yet there was no answer.

They shuffled closer to the corpse, now leaning directly against the exposed organs, and lay there, sobbing and whispering in the dingy space. Blood and tears mixed into something ugly that stained them on the surface and the inside. Remnants of this incident would ve there in memory.

They peeked over the shoulder after a bit, the same shoulder that they had torn into, with a gaze akin to that of an anxious child peeking over their parent's shoulder, unsure and afraid. So very afraid. Fear had also invaded them, trickling into their veins in an unpleasant manner.

They felt awfully ugly in that moment. Viscerally aware of how their body felt. Cracking and melting. Defective in some odd way. Vomit rose and fell, never actually escaping.

It had taken an uncomfortable amount of time for them to get up and collect themself.

They took the unlabeled key and unlocked the door, stepping out into uncaring winds that made them aware of how blood-sticky they were.

Despite all of their usual planning, after locking the door, they walked, unthinking. Aimless. A part of their mind nagged at them to find out where they were, get new clothes, and go to that address, but most of it was focused on what had transpired in the warehouse.

This would be another layer, a separate casket where three bodies lay, dissected like a high school biology project, another door behind lock and key. This was standard. It was fine.

The only thing that was truly in Sawyer's nature was lying.

They never dared to look those people in the eye.

[withacapitalp]

Because the girlies really loved my last post about Argyle (and I can't remember if I put this here or not) have some more unconditional jargyle love

“I got a job today,” 

All conversation halted as over a dozens pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. Argyle gave them all a half smile and shoving some more vegetables in his mouth. 

“A job?” Jonathan managed to sputter out, looking at Argyle like he was from another planet. He did that a lot, always had, so it didn't really bug him.

Argyle was fine with being weird.  

“Hawkins Pizza! Gino wants me to start on Thursday, earlier if I can. They reallllllly need the help,” Argyle said with a disappointed shake of his head, taking another bite of broccoli and telling them the whole story. 

He had gone in on an impulse while he was waiting to pick up Robin and Steve from work. He had just wanted a slice, maybe to pick some up for dinner tonight so Joyce didn’t have to cook, but he had walked into a waking nightmare. Half baked mushy dough, tomato sauce that tasted like it came right out of a jar, and a cheese blend that had zero stringiness. 

They didn’t even have pineapple. It was a complete travesty.

The owner hadn’t appreciated his observations at first, even threatened to kick him out, but he had managed to swing the man around by offering to make him a real pizza. 

Twenty five minutes later Argyle had a job offer and a super nice new boss. Turns out the dude was way chill, just overwhelmed by being one of three restaurants left standing after the earthquake. But good pizza made everyone feel better. It was one of the reasons Argyle had loved being at Surfer Boy so much. 

“Y’all won’t be able to handle the sick ass pies I’m about to be slinging,” He said with a lazy shaka and a chuckle. 

Everyone was still looking at him, but not with as much confusion. They all congratulated him,  lowly going back to the conversations they had been having before. 

Well everyone except Jonathan, but that guy was always zonked out. 

“You’re staying?” Jonathan finally asked. 

“As long as its still cool for me to crash on your couch, my guy,” Argyle answered. Shoot. He probably should have asked that first before taking the job, but he had just been excited to get to start making pizzas again. Being in Hawkins wasn’t anything like Cali, and he had jumped at the chance for something just a little bit familiar. 

“Of course it is. Stay as long as you want,” Jonathan answered automatically, not missing a beat, “I just- I-“

Jonathan cut himself off with an irritated sigh, turning to stare down at his plate. Argyle let him have the moment, bopping his head along to the music playing in his head and happily spacing out. 

Jonny needed things like this, moments where he could debate whatever was going on inside. His best friend was ‘cerebral’ as his abuela would put it- he needed time in his head to find the right thing to say. 

Or he needed time to find the courage to say he wanted to say without fear. Either way, Argyle didn’t mind waiting. 

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to want to stay,” Jonathan mumbled out, still keeping his eyes on his plate and not his best friend, “I mean given how insane everything is,” 

It was insane. It was all insane.

Two weeks ago they had been hitting golfballs into old cars and talking about how Jonathan needed to get his shit together, and now they were sitting in the living room of an abandoned cabin halfway across the country, surrounded by people who had only taken ten days to feel like family to him. 

It was insane that Jonathan’s little sister could move stuff with her mind, and there was apparently an alternate dimension full of hell beasts that were determined to break into their world and destroy everything. It was insane that he had known nothing about the guy he swore was his best friend, and it was insane that Argyle still managed to find a way to love him through all of it. 

But sometimes insane was a good thing.

“Where else would I wanna be?” Argyle said instead with an easy grin, slinging an arm around Jonathan’s shoulder and leaning into his best friend’s space. 

[steddieas-shegoes]

If you're still accepting requests:

Steve has an embarrassing secret (regularly wet the bed as a teenager or something equally embarrassing) and Eddie and the kids find out and they make a few too many jokes about it, upsetting Steve. Eddie wises up and apologises and comforts Steve, and eventually gets the kids to apologise as well.

I hope it's okay I went a slightly different route for the embarrassing thing, but it just seemed like it fit more with me making Steddie happen😂 I also included Robin because I fully believe she was the first and only person to know about it since he was a child and she's super overprotective of him because of it. - Mickala ❤️

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

Eddie watched as Robin knocked Steve’s shoulder, effectively waking him up from the very brief doze he’d managed to slip into.

He wouldn’t think much of it except for the fact that it’s happened three times tonight.

If Steve’s that tired, she should just let him sleep. It’s his house, after all.

But she doesn’t.

No one else seems to notice, which is alarming on its own.

For a bunch of kids used to having to be observant about shit, they sure do seem oblivious to this. Maybe because they feel safe here? Maybe because they just assume Robin and Steve are weird?

When it happens a fifth time, Eddie calls them out.

“Why don’t you let the man sleep, Robbie?”

The kids all turn to look at him, then at Robin, who looks at them like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I just know he doesn’t wanna sleep yet,” she shrugged, clearly lying.

“Oh, c’mon. You would have given up by now if that was all,” Eddie pushed.

“It’s nothing, Eddie. Drop it,” Steve said, more serious than the situation could have possibly called for.

“Is it nightmares? Because you know we all get them sometimes,” Lucas asked.

“Nope.” Steve slapped his thighs as he starts to get up. “Anyone need a drink?”

“Is it embarrassing?” Eddie asked, finally realizing why Steve and Robin may be trying to avoid it.

“Nope,” Robin said.

Steve remained silent.

“What is it? You snore really loud? You talk in your sleep?” Mike asked, finally appearing to be interested in the conversation.

“I suck my thumb! There! You happy now?” Steve was bright red, and looked just irritated enough that Eddie considered not making a joke.

“Wait, like…when babies do it?” Max asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you have pacifiers, too?” Mike asked around a loud laugh.

Everyone giggled except for Robin, who was watching Steve with worried eyes.

“That explains why you always pretended to be super cold at sleepovers. You were hiding that you were sucking your thumb!” Dustin put together.

“Doesn’t that fuck up your teeth? Did you pay to have them fixed?” Eddie asked.

Part of him was genuinely curious, part of him was teasing.

But he watched as Steve’s face did something new, something he never wanted to see it do again.

He looked hurt, but more than that, he looked scared.

Why would he look scared of them?

Before he could say anything to get the kids to stop, Steve was walking away and Robin was getting up to follow him, sending them all a glare.

But the kids didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t think it was as serious as it was.

Eddie stood up and put his hands on his hips, not thinking about how much he must look like Steve in that moment.

“We fucked up. It’s okay to tease friends sometimes about stuff, but clearly Steve is really self-conscious about this and isn’t okay with it. When he gets back, you’re all gonna apologize. If you don’t, you leave. I’m gonna go check on him,” Eddie sighed.

The kids were silent as Eddie walked to the staircase and up the stairs.

As he got closer to Steve’s room, he could hear him crying and Robin talking quietly to him. He couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, but he knew she was trying to reassure him.

Eddie knocked once on the door, hoping they’d let him in, hoping they’d realize that he wasn’t coming to hurt Steve anymore than he already had.

Robin opened the door, shielding Steve from view.

“What?” she asked him, trying to hide the sounds of Steve sniffling on his bed.

“I just wanted to apologize. I’ll leave after if he doesn’t wanna talk,” Eddie said quietly. He knew the kids were probably listening downstairs and he didn’t think they needed to be a part of this conversation.

“I don’t think he wants to see any of you yet,” Robin said, somewhat apologetically, like she knew Eddie meant it, but also wanted to protect her platonic soulmate.

“It’s fine, Robs,” Steve said from the bed, his voice completely broken.

Robin moved out of the way and let Eddie through, and when he looked at Steve curled up in bed, his heart broke.

Steve was always the strong one, always appeared confident even when the kids teased him about how much he cared about his hair or his lack of a date or his misuse of words.

Eddie had always loved that about him; That he could face anything with the confidence of a person who had never lost.

But this was different, and clearly he’d been so secretive about it for a reason.

“Can I sit with you for a second, Stevie?” Eddie asked, hoping Steve understood that he could say no if he wanted to. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure him into hearing an apology he wasn’t ready for.

Steve nodded, sniffling again as tears continued to fall from his eyes.

God, they really fucked up.

Eddie sat on the bed, watching as Robin left the room, silently having a conversation with Steve before closing the door behind her.

“I’m really sorry about the teasing. We should have realized that you didn’t want to make a big deal about it and stopped. No one actually thinks less of you because of something you can’t help, okay? Especially not me. I’m the last one to judge considering I still sleep with a stuffed animal every night,” Eddie admitted.

Steve lifted his head and looked at Eddie, lifting his hand to wipe at his nose.

It shouldn’t be as cute as it is, but Eddie’s already admitted to himself that he thinks everything Steve does is adorable.

“You do?” Steve asked.

“Yep. And, to make it even more embarrassing, I didn’t even have it since birth or anything. Wayne got it for me when I moved in with him when I was 10. He knew I was having trouble sleeping and thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

“Yep. I don’t always cuddle with him, but he’s always in my bed,” Eddie gave him a small smile.

“Does anyone know?” Steve rested his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes.

“Just Wayne and you,” Eddie said, looking down at his lap.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Eddie looked over at Steve, who still had tears dripping from his eyes, though much slower.

Eddie reached out and used his thumb to slowly wipe them away.

Steve closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Is Robin the only one who knows?” Eddie whispered, not wanting to interrupt the moment, but wanting to know a bit more.

“Other than my parents and Tommy, yeah. But I think Tommy thought it stopped by the time we got to high school. But um, my parents never liked it much. And I guess when it didn’t stop when I was in elementary school, they decided to try to make it stop. I remember them making me wear gloves, and soaking it in vinegar, and my mom even sprayed hairspray on it at one point to try to get me to stop, but it still happened. My dad refused to even talk about it once I hit middle school. And then they stopped coming home so I guess they figured it was my problem to deal with. Tommy pretended not to notice, which I guess is better than teasing me about it.” Steve sighed. “And then I fell asleep at Robin’s after Starcourt and it happened and she asked me about it. So now, she makes sure I don’t fall asleep in front of anyone so no one else finds out.”

Eddie nodded along, hating Steve’s parents even more, and somehow hating Tommy slightly less for at least not making Steve feel bad about it.

“It’s just a comfort thing, yeah? You don’t do it consciously.”

“Yeah. Robin said it’s something about oral fixation, which sounds dirty and I’ve told her a million times-”

Eddie smirked as he leaned in to kiss Steve on the lips.

It took Steve a moment to start kissing him back, but when he did, he let out a small sigh against Eddie’s lips and placed his hands in Eddie’s hair.

“Gotta say, I didn’t really think sucking my thumb in my sleep was a turn on,” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips when they parted, resting their foreheads against each other.

“Literally everything you do is a turn on for me. But besides that, I just wanted to kiss you. That okay?”

“Yeah. Uh. It’s great. Is that something you’d wanna do again or…?”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him again instead of answering.

A knock on the door interrupted them, but Eddie didn’t move off the bed, just placed his hand on Steve’s hand by his head.

“Yeah?” he called to whoever was knocking.

“Can we come in?” Dustin asked through the door.

Eddie looked to Steve, who looked unsure.

“You don’t have to let them in, but I think they want to apologize,” Eddie whispered.

“Come in!” Steve called, though he didn’t move or try to make Eddie move his hand.

He seemed to want, maybe even need, the comforting touch.

The kids all piled into the room, all of them looking like they’d been through another round of Upside Down shenanigans.

“We just wanted to say we’re sorry about the teasing. El told us about how she started sucking her thumb when she first started living with Hopper because of all the changes and how hard it was to stop. We didn’t mean to take it that far and hurt your feelings.”

Will must have been the one chosen to speak for all of them, but they all added in their own apologies quietly when he finished.

“Thanks guys. It’s okay. I know it’s weird so I get it,” Steve said, still sounding too sad for Eddie’s taste.

“Hey, no. We all have weird things. It doesn’t give anyone a free pass to push boundaries,” Eddie said, giving the kids a look.

“Eddie’s right,” Dustin said. “I know what it’s like to be made fun of for stuff you can’t control and it sucks, even when it’s people you know don’t actually mean any harm. We’re really sorry.”

“It’s alright, guys. Thanks for saying you’re sorry. Is it okay if we have movie night tomorrow instead, though?”

The kids all agreed quickly, and Robin appeared by the door to tell them to call their rides and get the hell out.

She shot Eddie a look that said he’d be getting a very specific type of talk the next time she saw him, but she didn’t say anything as she kissed the top of Steve’s head and said her goodbyes.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m alright,” Steve said to Eddie, who was already slipping his shoes off so he could get comfy in bed with Steve.

“I’ll leave if you want me to, but I think I’d really like to stay.”

Steve watched as Eddie walked over to the lamp in the corner and shut it off. It was still early, barely past dinner time, but he was exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions and not sleeping very well the night before.

“You can stay. But. Well, you know. It’s gonna happen,” Steve was blushing, but Eddie wasn’t gonna let him be embarrassed about it.

“I know. Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” Eddie shrugged.

“Okay.”

Eddie got in bed, pulling the comforter and sheets over him, and nestling against Steve’s back, wrapping his arms around his chest and tugging him close.

He felt Steve relax completely against him and he couldn’t help but smile against his shoulder, letting his lips linger there in a soft kiss.

It didn’t take long for Steve to fall asleep, Eddie could tell when he did from the way his breath started puffing out slower, his grip on Eddie’s arm going slack.

He soaked in the moment, let himself think about being here, holding Steve in his arms, kissing him.

And then he felt Steve’s hand that was laced with his lift up, and Eddie’s thumb was in Steve’s mouth before he could do anything to stop it.

He wouldn’t have stopped it anyway.

If this was what Steve needed, he would be here every night.

[demialwrites]

Butterfly in a Jar Ch 4

AO3 Link

You return the next day to find Rufus surprisingly eating breakfast in the dining room with Reno. Rude is washing dishes in the kitchen. Rude's latest dish is still warm. Tseng parts from you and goes to get you a portion of the food. You follow to meet Tseng halfway.

“You don't have to,” you say, smiling.

Your smile falters when you realize you've gotten quite comfortable here. You forgot you were in danger. It feels good, though.

You glance over at Rufus. He looks better but he's still gaunt. Your next goal is going to be to get him to eat more regularly. Also, his shirt collar is done up to the top button. It gives you hope the dog collar is still under there. If you were alone with him, you would have hooked your finger on it. It's the next most satisfying action to tightly holding the leash. You want to see him try to talk himself out of this while you're holding his nose to the plate, making him eat like a dog out of a bowl.

“How did you sleep? How long?” you ask him instead, like a normal person.

He's mid-chew so he looks at Tseng. It's still strange that his keeper answers to him.

“Twelve hours.”

You refrain from cheering out loud. You scored a victory. You can avoid being crushed by the president, so far. It's actually Reno who verbally acknowledges the win.

“Fiiiinally,” he groans, “I thought we were gonna get an order to all jump in a volcano.”

“I can still arrange for that,” Rufus deadpans, after swallowing.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rufus is joking with Reno, which indicates some mutual respect between the two. Reno gets up from the table and gives his dish to Rude, who mildly reminds Reno it's his turn next time. Reno skedaddles immediately. Silently, you agree, doing dishes is gross. You should tell Reno about the gloves you found. With him gone, you're left thinking about the volcano comment. Is it because he cares about the VP or that the president would come down on all of them if things didn't improve? Surely not, that would be a waste of an entire group of good people. At least Reno's on your side. Hopefully, Rude is, too. You want to keep eating the free, delicious food.

You also wonder how much of a disruption having the VP down here is for the Turks. He is a prisoner here but he's also the president's son. They must have accepted you so easily because they want your help getting Rufus under control. Or out, entirely.

After Rude places the last dish in the drying rack and leaves, Rufus eyes you from the side.

“Care to explain?”

He pulls the collar up until it's visible but curiously, he doesn't remove it. The sight of it makes you smug. You allow yourself a tiny smile, then assuming he's asking for terms again, you explain that he needs to sleep more. You add that he should eat more, too.

“Is that it?”

It takes a second to realize that wasn't rhetorical. “Huh?”

“Tsk.” He leans back in his chair, looking down on you again. He leans over you and talks right into your ear with a self-satisfied grin that puts you on alert. “Why don't we skip right to the fun part and-”

If he wants to start behaving like this, not even his title will stop you from correcting him. You jam your fingers in his mouth, making him end his sentence with gagging sounds. Before he gets the idea to bite like the untrained dog he is, you pull them out.

“You wanna try that again?” you ask, as he frowns and wipes his lips.

“Interesting, aren't you? My new ‘Master’?”

You ignore the heavy sarcasm. “Well, that depends on you.”

“Oh? On me doing what, exactly?”

“If you're a good boy.”

He gives a short, disbelieving chuckle but his gaze still lingers after.

“What?” you ask.

“I knew it was related to sex when I saw you. You're my type.”

“ Tseng knows that?”

“It’s not surprising. If he couldn't manage that level of observation, he wouldn't be fit for his position.”

That explains why you, specifically, were brought in. Perhaps Tseng researched and chose you personally. Did he know about what you did in your free time and had subsequently employed here with Rufus? It's not that you were embarrassed about it but you preferred to choose who knew. Also, if he's researched you, what else does he know? The poor man must know things a person would rather they didn't.

You then realized something. No one ever checked your bag. Tseng definitely knew. Thorough bastard.

“Well. At least this will be interesting,” Rufus says.

And at least he's starting to accept the situation. You have to wonder what being his ‘type’ means. It can't be a series of people taming him over and over. He must mean your physical appearance. That brings a slight warmth to your cheeks, making you fidget in your seat. But it's not enough for him to use against you.

Rufus decides he's going to try to use his good looks against you. He doesn't have much else since bargaining with you didn't work and the Turks follow your orders first, not his. He asked you to come to his room to discuss something when what he was interested in was not a chat at all.

He leans over you, so close that his bangs tickle your cheek. If someone else were to observe, they might think he's about to peck your cheek. Or take a bite, judging by the voracious look in his eyes. You look over at them. They sparkle with playfulness, like sunshine on the surface of blue ocean water in a tropical coastline. One that you've seen on posters for Costa del Sol, anyway. You can see it would make most people drunk on the idea of kissing him. However, they lack warmth, a fact while you anchor yourself to so you don't get sucked in.

“Master.” He has dropped the sarcasm this time. He speaks the word like it's a fun new toy to drop from his mouth. “Am I your type?”

He's probably thinking you wouldn't be here if he wasn't. He must not fear for his life when his father gives him an order like you do. You're not down here just for brief fun with a rich, pretty brat. That’s just a bonus. You could answer no, because so far he doesn't seem to fiercely guard his ego like you'd expect of someone with power. He's never mentioned you not using his title. But it's best not to push it. Besides, it's not that he doesn't look good enough to push to the floor and mount, it's just hard to take him too seriously with the collar visible.

When you don't react, he straightens up and shrugs. “Why are you here, if we're not going to have any fun?”

“Fun? You looked like you were going to hump my leg, Dog.”

“I'm a dog, am I?”

“A pretty puppy,” you reply dismissively, watching for his reaction out of the corner of your eye.

He doesn't react to being called pretty; he's heard that before. His eyes search your face, trying to put together the puzzle pieces of what's going to get him what he wants.

“Why don't you ask what I want?” you say. “You might get your ‘fun’ faster.”

“Figuring out is part of that fun, isn't it?” he says, the accompanying smirk making you itch to stuff something in his mouth to make him shut up again.

“Like you're that patient. You just want to go back to that room.”

“Perhaps.”

Rufus lets the word hang in the air.

It's starting to seem like he's getting the last word. His attitude is making you feel petty so you can't have that. You turn and say, “Sit, Puppy.”

He starts to walk over to a sofa.

“No. On the floor,” You point down, “where dogs usually sit.”

He sits cross-legged on the rug, propping his chin up with his elbow on his knee. The head-tilt gives the illusion of patient obedience but you can't get comfortable yet.

“That was too easy,” you say.

He smiles, eyes especially narrowed. “I'm a good dog.” The weight of his full attention is making you nervous but you can't stop now.

“If you're so good at that, then down .”

He raises an eyebrow at that one. “We could do that on the bed, you know.”

“Lie down,” you repeat. Good training requires a little patience. When he tuts, you tack on, “If you don't, I'll ask Tseng to buy you a kennel.”

That makes him laugh. “Then you would have to explain our little game in detail.”

He's betting you feel more shame than he does. And apparently, you will indeed have to push him to the ground. You squat down and plant your hands on his shoulders. This is taking some effort but earning your new seat is part of what makes it satisfying. His back lands on the floor with a soft thud. You sit in his stomach. He allows this to happen with an easy smile that suggests he’s still treating this like a game. That or he's into it.

“You're too trusting,” you tell him.

“Tseng wouldn't put me in danger.”

“Right. The background check. Maybe some surveillance thrown in, too?”

“That's the least of it.” The cocky man places his hands on your waist.

You push them away. “No. Good boys lie still unless ordered to.”

“Don’t you want me to touch you?”

Yes , but, “That's not the point.”

“Right. The point is to be good,” he says lightly.

You don't believe for a second that he's learning the lesson. He's still playing around. You don't have all the time in the world to let him fuck around until he learns.

[superstarzolar]

your gabe is so silly i wanna put him in a jar and observe him and feed him little treats

this isn’t technically an art request ask but i like drawing gabriel so i’m gonna use any reason to do it …. Anywayz gabriel loves treats and doodads of sweet nature….

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝒈𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 : 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 ꒰ 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒔 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ summary, featuring alessio 781 : you are a new hero and you follow a group of criminals back to a warehouse after they caused havoc on your patrol. as you prepare to strike, you are stopped by a perculiar figure. friend or foe? you know not. your choices will have consequences and unlock further scenes and endings.

start your playthrough at the main menu. ꒱

“Even so, I want to help.”

Your voice drains its earlier irritation as you turn to the supposed ally. Your own arms folding across your chest as you tilt your head to get a better look at him. The angle in which he stood cast shadows over his face – but the closeness certainly did him justice.

“It’s my job, and people got hurt,” you say no more. Your gaze momentarily dropping to the crew once more. Observing their discussions through narrowed eyes. Their glowing slew of orange and red holographic screens and what you can only imagine as an exchange of contraband.

You pry your attention back to Reaper. Now it is your turn to trail his figure up and down. A once over that he notices, yet seems not to comment on. Instead opting to pour his focus into your eyes.

The silence strings between you both. Twining through the icy air and rising a frost of tension through your chest.

He cracks first. A huff leaving his mask before he spins around and throws his hands up.

“Aiyaaa, fine. You heroes and your sense of justice or whatever,”

It sounds like an insult. But the way in which he shakes his head and the ghost of a chuckle points to something else.

Not that you have the time to question.

His warmth invades the cold air around you. Dark glove clasping at your shoulder to steer you forward. Silently. So that both of you stand along the expanse of the catwalk’s railing and peer over.

“I’ll let ya help on one,” a leather finger rises. Right in front of your face. “Condition. You listen to me, capisci? Reems won’t hesitate to put a bullet in that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

The fingers tap on your temple. You shiver. Frown. Yet nod along in agreement.

“Got it.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

Shadows engulf you whole when he pulls you back in. His eyes fixed to yours as he explains the plan of action. Through it all you note two things.

1 - He’s been at this for awhile.

2 - He typically works alone.

You’re not sure whether the first one assures you or not. Nevertheless you are attentive to plan. Anything to make up for the nitpicks of earlier’s failure that still prick at your mind.

Yet despite it all – and you do not know whether it is instinct or chance – but you flicker attention back to the group. Scanning through their forces as Reaper lists off quick points of what to look out for. What to spot.

And amongst it all, you spot an anomaly amongst oranges, reds and blacks –

Frightened eyes. Bound hands. The glowing clasp around wrists.

A civilian.

You flash back to earlier’s episode.

So your eyes hadn’t deceived you back then. If only you acted quicker.

Your mind races with a newfound guilt. Adrenaline pulsing through your veins as you rapidly spot around the group. Searching for something. Anything.

There.

An opening.

What to do?

. ˚◞꒰ Take the risk. ꒱

. ˚◞꒰ Alert Reaper. ꒱

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[ladylooch]

BTS of Stella on that bus ride with Connor and David 🤭

A/N: So bestie 👆🏻 and I had already talked about Stella on the bus. But I did get another ask about it this morning! Thank you Nonnie! How you enjoy this adorable sweetness.

“Hey! Boys!” Connor yells out to the bus as he steps on with a bouncy Stella in his arms. “Baby coming on board. Keep it clean.” Connor wasn’t entirely worried about that tonight. There is a sour mood over the boys after losing to a close rival in the waining seconds of the game. He feels similar, but having to transition quickly into dad mode means he doesn’t get to wallow in it like the rest of them.

“Stell!” David yells. “Come sit by me!”

“Okay!” She exclaims, pointing to her daddy to go towards his defensive partner.

“Luc is pissed at me, isn’t she?” David asks when they get to his row.

“Well you’re not currently her favorite person.” Connor says, sitting down next to him. 

“I know you already yelled at me during the game, but it wasn’t intentional. Are you mad?” Connor slowly turns to his D partner, giving him a ‘duh’ look.

“My wife is sleeping at Lio’s tonight. I’m solo parenting, which means I can’t have a beer. I don’t get my favorite woman in my bed, curled into my side after a post-game boink. Yeah, I’m still mad.” Connor settles Stella on his lap facing him. Stella looks up at him with big eyes. Her little lips curve into an amused smile. Connor can’t help but grin back, chuckling. 

“Kiss?” She puckers her lips aggressively. Connor inhales heavily then attacks her face with kisses. She squeals and giggles, sending infectious happiness through the bus of grumpy Rangers. A few of the Russians point and smile, waving at Stella. “Hi!” She yells back, showing them her toothy grin.

The bus releases air to begin the journey back to the New York side of the river. Stella gasps, looking up at her dad.

“We going! I need a snack.” She insists, nodding her head. He reaches into his suit jacket for the bag of Goldfish Lucie handed him. “Open.” She pats his hands. 

“Ask nicely.” Connor redirects her demanding energy.

“Peeeeeease?”

“Fuck, she is cute.” David murmurs. Stella gasps again, looking at David then whipping her head back to her dad.

“Yeah, that’s a bad word, huh baby.” He gives David a side eye.

“Oh shit, sorry. Fuck! Sorry! Sorry!” David clasps his hand over his mouth. “Wait, is shit a bad word?” Connor ignores him, but Stella looks concerned.

“He gonna have to put lots of monies in the lego jar.” The concept of the jar is that when they, well when Connor, swears money gets put into the jar for a lego set for Stella. 

“Yeah. Daddy is gonna have to front him I’m sure.” Connor grumbles, handing over the opened bag of orange crackers. 

“Fishy.” She grins, stuffing one in her mouth. She chews gently, poking her fingers around to grab another one. “For you!” She exclaims, passing one to David.

“Thanks, Stelly Belly.” David eats the cracker. “Ooo, those are good. Can I have one more?”

“No.” Stella says simply. She puts one up to her dad’s lips. Connor sucks it into his mouth, then kisses her fingers.

“Thanks, baby.” Connor observes his daughter, glad to see she is content for the moment. But he knows this will not last. Stella hates sitting for long periods of time and there will be traffic after the game tonight. Getting back will have them in moments of stop and go. 

When they get to that first stall, Stella gets antsy.

“No. Go bus. Go!” Stella squeals anxiously. Her hands ball into small fists while she tries to wiggle out of Connor’s hands.

“No. You need to sit here with me until we get off.”

“No! I don’t wanna!”

“How is daddy going to keep you safe if you’re wandering around?” Stella scrunches her nose, squirm harder. “No.” Connor says more firmly, tightening his grasp on her. “Please sit still.” Stella sucks in a big breath, preparing to cry. Oh, here we go.

“Stell, do you know wheels on the bus?” David asks. Stella looks over, confused. She shakes her head no.

“You do, babe. The wheels on the bus go round and…”

“Round!” She yells, eyes widening at the realization she does know. “Yes! Yes! We sing!”

“Boys.” David calls to the rest of the team. “The wheels on the bus go..”

“Round and round.” Some of the boys call back.

“Hey! Let’s go! Wake up! We need to support our little Ranger.” 

The next round is louder.

“The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town.”

The deep voices of men drown out Stella’s voice as they sing through all four verses. There is a little confusion in the third verse about what happens to the bus next. But a Canadian rookie googles it and the boys jump back in just as boisterous. 

“Beep, beep, beep!” Stella giggles as she sings. Connor tickles her tummy. Some of the boys have their phones out recording to send back to their families. 

When the team finishes the song, they all cheer. 

“Great job, boys! When are we opening on broadway!?”

A collective laugh goes through the men, then everyone settles down as the bus begins to flow through lighter traffic.

"I spy! I spy!" Stella says as they make their way over the big bridge. This is a game him and Lucie play with her because she gets nervous about the bridge. 

"I think it's too dark." Connor tells her, kissing her cheek .

"Oh." She frowns, eyes getting big and sad. David can't have that. 

"I spy... something.... blue.” He begins.  Stella looks around, trying to see over the big bus seats. 

"I can't see." She whines, unsure. Connor sighs. They might need to get another verse of wheels on the bus going stat.

"Yes, you can see it from here." David promises her.

She looks him over, then her dad, not seeing any blue. Connor gives her jersey a little tug by the hem. Stella throws her hands wide on her chest.

"Me!" She squeals. David cheers and Stella collapses into giggles.

"It's you!”

Stella giggles excitedly. Then, she suddenly lays her head on Connor's chest, looking at David. She reaches out for him to hold her hand while her long lashes begin to close. Her baggie of goldfish is half falling out of her hand. She is suddenly so tried, literally crashing. Too tired to even fight the sleep anymore.

Stella keeps gripping two of his fingers as she falls asleep. Her small hand can barely get around the big defenseman’s appendages.  Her cheeks become pink from being sleepy. Her pig tails are lopsided from all her I spy searching and whipping her head around at every noise. Her cheek smooshes deeper into Connor's chest as her mouth opens to pull in puffs of air.

"How do you and Lucie only have one kid?” David asks. Connor is rubbing Stella's back over her jersey, helping her settle into her sleep. David throws a little pout at the yawn that stretches Stella’s mouth open.

"Lucie won't let me get her pregnant again.” Connor moves to his right to see if Stella is sleeping. She’s close. He grabs her bag of gold fish so it doesn’t spill all over the floor.

“You gotta wear her down man. The world needs more of these kids.” Conner smiles, kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “Maybe you’ll get a boy?”

“Honestly man, I kinda want all girls.”

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

dumps a couple stars in your inbox ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ want director's commentary!

gimme so cries the wolf - and i do actually have a part specifically, namely the lil talk between eclipse and monty that ranger ends up eavesdropping on, oh and actually also also eclipse's thought process encountering the other demonic animatronics - he brought the broken animatronics in, safe, n seemed quiet about it iirc. but also yeah any bits u wanna talk about too i want lore gimme

(and, technically cheating bc theres no fic for old forest gods but. spare old gods crumb? something about the lore you're really excited about? honestly curious about how/ if/ when the bet reveal happens, can imagine y/n feeling rather betrayed, hurt, whole lotta drama, or alternatively thats what sun and moon (and eclipse? since he comes in later) expect but y/n just does their damnedest not to wheeze laugh bc of all the people to woo in that town they picked the aro one. great job guys everyone hit the showers. but here too anything ill take everything gimme pleaaaseeee)

ok so I'm gonna split this ask into two because hooooooo there's gonna be BIG responses here, so this post is gonna be for SCtW and I'm gonna make another for Old Forest Gods AU

god the lil talk between Eclipse and Montague, when Eclipse opens up more about his struggle between wanting to stay vs. their original intent to leave once separated from Sun and Moon. I spent like 2 months working on that conversation. it was like I was physically fighting Eclipse's emotional repression. one of the biggest challenges I've really experienced with Eclipse is that they develop like. lightning fast, in terms of personality.

the reader has to remember that when he and Monty are having this conversation, Eclipse has only been ALIVE for what. 2 weeks? maybe 3? his WHOLE EXISTENCE has been the barest fraction of a regular human. mix that in with the fact that he has scattered memories from Sun and Moon, and demonic instincts, and yeah. sometimes I've needed to take steps back and observe this myself. is this too fast? is this too slow? one of Eclipse's biggest struggles is he literally doesn't have words to express a lot of their emotions, because he hasn't learned them yet, which was an important part of the conversation that was overheard. he physically has to pick through describing these feelings, hoping that Montague can give a better explanation (because the 200 year old grimm can provide more insight apparently)

but yeah. at the end of the day, Eclipse is limited in experience and understanding. it makes him narrow-sighted unfortunately, and struggling with trying to talk about emotions with Montague vs spending so much time taking all those emotions and cramming them in a tiny jar when interacting with ranger!Y/N? not a healthy combination. certainly not a useful one for a writer who is desperately trying to figure out how their characters are supposed to be interacting on the page

the broken animatronics too, ogh. as far as everyone thinks, all the other animatronics have been in the same boat as Sun/Moon - there was a soul in there, it mixed with a demonic presence, and then instead of getting free like Eclipse, they got stuck in the animatronic and turned feral. Eclipse mourns that, in a way. he brings the animatronics remains in as a small act of respect. he believes these meant something or someone like him existed, if only for a few seconds.

for some more lore:

yes as you may have noticed there, Montague is well over 200 years old. the church he originally protected was de-consecrated and demolished about 50 years ago due to severe weather damage, and rebuilt over the graveyard. with shifting cultures, Montague was called a hellhound and barghest in his various sightings, resulting in his temperance shifting accordingly (great power in names)

in chapter 1 I put a direct quote from Castlevania because it was very funny and doubled as the first hint that Eclipse had memories from Sun and Moon's time in the daycare

ranger!Y/N put salt around their bedroom doorframe on Montague's advice, and needs to spend half an hour 'refilling' it once every two months by scraping salt in using sandpaper

I started hinting at Eclipse's 'lightning breath' in chapter 3, making it a solid 6 chapter lead-up to it finally appearing in chapter 9. well worth it in my opinion~

(response for old forest gods AU is HERE)