#kinda folk art inspired if you squint

[haverkampink]

Four familiars - acrylic on board, 3x9". A bit of an experiment, I'm not usually an acrylics user, so I wanted to see how it behaved. I don't love how translucent a lot of the colors are (I really had to pile the paint up on these), but maybe that's just the quality of the paints I got!

[lemon-dokuro]

REVELATION, folks. We were discussing Touhou character designs in a group chat and I brought up that Kana's apparently inspired by/visually referenced from Salada from Loop★Sarada (by Takemoto Izumi, naturally), who looks like this

And the two people I was talking to were like. It just looks like ZUN coloured the wrong parts blue but just went with it. And that kinda checks out! Here's a mock-up of Kana with a Salada-like apron compared to her normal portrait.

It really looks like ZUN either accidentally filled in the wrong colours and liked how it turned out or intentionally tried to mix things up. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Ghhh... But at least now I understand that her dress is not nearly as lovecraftian as I thought. What a heartwarming ending.

By the way, @dungeontoaster also pointed out that Kana's gloved hand is likely just weirdly drawn folds on her apron, which opens a whole new can of worms. I certainly believe that. Like, look at the full portrait.

That certainly looks like a ZUN-drawn fold rather than a hand. Just compare it to the one opposite to it. Her gauge attack sprite also has no glove if you squint.

And, well, she's gloveless in her ending image as well. But she's not wearing a hat either, so it's not much of an indication.

CONCLUSION! As charming as ZUN's early art is. He really makes it hard for you if you want to be pedantic about outfits.

[roo-bastmoon]

Tin Foil Hat Time!

Okay.

Let me start by saying this post right here is prolly full-tilt delulu and really not meant to be taken super seriously. But put your tin foil hat on and come with me...

Ready?

Here's a photo that JK's brother uploaded on Christmas Eve to his Instagram. It's adorable. Please take note of the gray travel pillow resting on top of a blanket that seems to have some blue and white stripes in one little section.

And here's a photo Jimin uploaded on Christmas Eve on WeVerse. Please take note of the gray travel pillow resting on top of a blanket that seems to have some blue and white stripes.

It's probably nothing.

There's plenty of gray pillows and striped blankets in the world. Right?

We absolutely cannot go around saying that Jimin spent the holidays with Jungkook and his family.

But now, we also can't NOT say that.

Again, I gotta stress: probably just a coincidence. Coincidences happen.

But let's just keep in mind that we only catch a glimpse, a little sliver, of their actual lives. Eventually, more always comes to light, but sometimes it takes months or even years for them to share the details with us, if at all. Someday, Jimin might mention that he was with JK and his brother on Christmas, and it would not be totally out of left field.

Since coming home from Vegas, when the press published news about Jimin's apartment "seizure," we haven't seen Jikook ride in cars, glom all over each other, or hang out together in public off schedule. And that's a steep departure from the Jikook we saw in the past.

But we have seen dropped honorifics, watching each other carefully, inside jokes and pop culture references, wearing similar jewelry, hugs and hand holding, teasing the hell out of each other, knowledge of each others' diets and drinking habits, plenty of affectionate interactions, and very. intimate. birthday. posts.

Sometimes we see very, very little... but when we do see it--the vibes, y'all.

Of course, their vibes don't mean they are dating. But the silence also doesn't signify a breakup. Whatever their status is, they are absolutely okay with each other. We can all see they are very much more than okay with each other.

And maybe possibly perhaps they still hang out with each other quite often, but they are just not sharing it with the public, considering the terrible invasions of privacy and god awful threats of violence that occurred this year.

Then there's just weird coincidences that might mean nothing. Like the way Jimin got YOUTH tattooed behind his ear, and later that's where JK chose to get his 7. Or the way JK's moon has craters in and Jimin's... well... take a look at this:

Kinda looks like a moon couple tattoo, if you squint. But it could just mean they really like the same kind of art style. *shrug* They did get them at different times and we know Taehyung inspired Jimin by showing him fan art... It could be related, or not. They do sometimes use the same artists. I guess it's open to interpretation, much like everything with these two.

The same way that CCTV footage of JK in a convenience store back in October with someone dressed all in white kinda looks like Jimin to me. Looks like his height, his shoulders, his fingers, his hat. But we can't see his face, so it could just be another member or non-BTS friend. (I'm not gonna post it because it's their private time and taken without consent, but it made the rounds on Twitter this week and initially folks were saying it was Taehyung in the store. Of course it is possible that Taehyung and Jungkook were at a mini mart close by Jimin's apartment in October, but, the camera angle made Tae look super short if so.)

What's my point? Do I have a point? Get to the point, Roo!!

Can I say for sure Jikook are a thing? No. And it would be super irresponsible of me to do so.

But it would also be premature for me to say for sure they aren't close any more.

Okay, now you guys can take your tin foil hats off, and put your birthday party hats on.

It was Tae's birthday and Jimin brought that soulmate energy in full force, of course. Even though there was no live to end the great bear/tiger cake debate of 2022, Jimin still posted several times on WeVerse and even dug around and found his Insta password, lol.

This photo was likely taken by JK the day that Vminkook played basketball in the rain in In The Soop.

And Tae seemed to appreciate it a lot because he commented "I love you" right under that post:

This alone should be enough to stop the ship wars. This alone should shut the haters up about fanservice and fake friends. I know it won't but... it's clear as day, whether we see them hang out or not, that these guys all love each other.

As Army, we should honor that and trust them.

Love,

Roo

[nightwings-circus]

DC Masterlist

(not my image. any images, gifs, and art are the right to the original creatpr.)

* = smut. 18+. Blogs with no age that are completely blank will be blocked.

I have made it VERY clear any blank blogs or minors will be blocked. Disrespecting that boundary is gross and if you do that you need to evaluate your decisions.

ABSOLUTELY NO REPOSTING ALLOWED. Do not reupload my content on any other sites/accounts under any circumstances. I will block you and report you and warn others about it.

my DC Masterlist :) all of my fanfic is here! updated when new fic is posted

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Fluff:

- Polaroid

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Synapses: random as fuck story Inspired by some dialogue prompts and a tumblr post about a jl couple going as other jl couples for halloween (i cannot find it for the life of me I'm so sorry). Angsty jay. lots of random filler but I really wanted to write it, and i kinda wanted to turn it into a full story at some point. If anyone wants to be apart of a tag list let me know :)

word count: 1,181 words

- Gasoline tears

Jason Todd X fem!reader

Synapses: fluff and angst, also arguing. obvious language warning, also some light smut, no actual sex just some pretty heated make out sesh.Jason has been working on his bike a lot so you've been spending time with his brother Dick, cue to a heated debate followed, a lot of possessiveness and jealousy followed by some sexy making out.enjoyyyyyy!

word count: 801 words

- This is what falling in love feels like

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Synapses: after a smoke sesh reader can’t help but admire her handsome vigilante boyfriend

Warnings: mentions of smoking weed, some making out (nothing too steamy), mentions of feelings of panic (very very brief)

Smut:

- Animal i have become *

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: heavy smut, Pollen, biting, choking, Dom! Jason, pet names, lots of praise, needy Jay, HEAVY SMUT. It’s pretty steamy folks.

Synapses: Jason was out on a routine patrol and left you at home, but he comes back sprayed with pollen and oh so needy to fuck you into oblivion.

word count: 1,408 words

- Boyfriend *

Jason Todd X fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ only. Minors and blank blogs will be blocked. Oral (M! And F! Rec.), full sex, pet names, cheating.

Synapses: Dick leaves you alone at a Wayne gala for a certain outlaw to snatch you up. Loosely Based off the song Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

word count:

- Third times a charm *

Jason Todd X fem!reader X Dick Grayson

NO BATC*ST.

Warnings: 18+. Absolutely no minors or blank blogs. You will be blocked. Pure smut: oral (M! And F! Rec.), unprotected sex (be smarter then them), threesome, choking, fingering, slight BDSM undertones I guess?. I think that’s everything

Synapses: After Jason catches you and Dick in the act, tensions are high. They’re even higher after Dick catches you and Jason only a few days later, the third time however, is a night none of you will ever forget, especially since it’ll determine who gets the girl of their dreams.

Word count:

- the cat and the bird *

Jason Todd X fem! Reader

Warnings:Smut!!! 18+, light(?) Gun play, penetration, caught in the act, some light fluff after if you squint. Pet names.

Synapses: a patrol leaves Jason frustrated and on edge, and Alley-cat (y/n) has to help him cheer up, one way or another.

word count:

Shorts:

- comfort cuddles

Jason Todd x fem!Reader

Synapses: jay has a few days without patrol and comes to hangout with the reader, but reader is so tired they can’t get out of bed. Luckily jay swoops in to save the day with some much needed (on both ends) cuddles

Word count:

- So long farewell

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Synapses: nobody is safe from a heated argument in a relationship, especially not you and Jason, but will it be okay this time?

Word count:

- Husband zoned *

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Synapses: jason comes home from a long patrol and you decide to play a fun little joke on him, what comes next is a shock.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Fluff:

- New recruit

Dick Grayson X fem!reader

Part one | part two | part three

Synapses: you’re a former member of the league of assassins, and now you’re the newest member of the titans. You meet a lot of new faces, but the leader, Dick Grayson, catches your eye.

Smut:

- One knock away *

Detective!dick Grayson X fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, handcuffs, dom!Dick, praise, implied pain k!nk, pet names (baby, darling, doll, sir a couple of times), thigh riding, all the good horny shit.

synapses: you're the newest vigilante in town, though some people aren't huge fans of you at the moment. when a knock disturbs you and a cop enters your house for questioning connected to the new masked crusader; you meet detective Dick Grayson, formally anyways.

word count: 2,016 words

- Stuck together *

Dick Grayson X fem! Reader

Warnings: smut. Oral (m! Receiving), I think that’s all? 18+

Synapses: you get stuck in an elevator with your least favourite person Dick Grayson and the tension finally gets to you guys 👀

- Third times a charm *

Jason Todd X fem! Reader X Dick Grayson

NO BATC*ST

Warnings: 18+. Absolutely no minors or blank blogs. You will be blocked. Pure smut: oral (M! And F! Rec.), unprotected sex (be smarter then them), threesome, choking, fingering, slight BDSM undertones I guess?. I think that’s everything

Synapses: After Jason catches you and Dick in the act, tensions are high. They’re even higher after Dick catches you and Jason only a few days later, the third time however, is a night none of you will ever forget, especially since it’ll determine who gets the girl of their dreams.

[koiantlers]

Puppet Show

Welp, I couldn’t stop thinking about this AU by @fedoraspooky. I’m a sucker for things being a show.  And the thoughts just kept going even further when @modmad and @doodledrawsthings drew even more things to go with it (go check out the art of all these folks and look at those amazing drawings, because I’m smitten)

Anyway, came up with names and a like???? kinda backstory just for this fic, I hope it’s alright! 

"You've made puppets before, right?"

Conall McCoy-Jackson has been asked a lot of stupid questions in his life, but this one takes the cake. The man stares at his friend, before finally, he huffs, "We went to school together, Karl."

"Right! Right…" Karl rubs his hands together, clearing his throat. Karl Abram has always been a nervous man, quiet and preferring to keep to himself. Since they were wee ones, Conall has always stepped up to the plate to be the loud one, the aggressive one, the guy who you deal with if you mess with Karl.

"I...just have this idea," he starts, and his eyes drift down to the floor, "for Timmy."

Ah. Lil Timmy. 

Conall has met the boy several times, an uncle to him considering how he's friends with his dad. The boy is a quiet one, just like Karl. And, unfortunately, a lonely one. Especially now, since his mother…

Karl clears his throat again, shoving Conall's thoughts away. "He loves puppets...and...last night, I stayed up and wrote this whole thing. It just came to me, suddenly, as if she was writing it with me."

Karl's eyes go soft as he thinks of his late wife, and a small smile comes from him. "This story...about these girls looking for objects they lost, and they meet all these characters. Each world is different…"

Karl goes on, describing it. A mafia boss who cooks, a loud mouthed conductor, a purple swamp, an icy mansion...he sounds the happiest Conall has heard him in awhile. He sounds hopeful.

"I just...need help, you know," Karl laughs quietly, looking at Conall, "I can write, but I can't make the magic happen."

Conall has a job, bills to pay. He shouldn't be considering this. There's a high chance it fails, like every other project whenever folks get like this. Doing a show is hard. It takes a lot.

But, his fingers are itching to make it. He feels that flutter in his chest, the excitement as he's already imagining the character. Can already think of how they'd work. And, a smaller part of him says that even if it fails, it'll make a lonely boy happy.

"Fine." He sighs, and chuckles at how Karl's eyes light up, "I'll help. And I know who else can help."

His husband is great with connections, after all.

--

"I think it's great!"

Conall raises his brows, looking over at his husband. He, honestly, was expecting to have to butter him up, get him into the idea. But nope, DJ has his eyes all lit up, that huge grin on his face. The same face he makes when his inspiration is flowing, all those ideas that pop in his head.

"Puppetry is such an underused thing, you know. More shows should use it. And I know the perfect little divas to play the girls." He's already shoving his phone in Conall's face, who huffs and shoves it back a bit before looking.

A picture of two girls and his husband stare back of him. Right, this was for some movie remake, the two girls dressed up in dirty orphan clothes as they smile big. They look so happy, and his husband is laughing next to them. "Their names are Hailey and Bree and they are angels."

DJ also calls their grandkids angels, so Conall is doubtful. He hums in acknowledgement as DJ continues, "And, oh! For the ghost, you said it's gonna be a big puppet?"

"Yeah, will have poles to move it around." He watches as DJ swipes through his photos, stopping at a photo of a man smiling shyly.

"Perfect, Syrus here is real camera shy, but he's an amazing actor, has the best laugh for that ghost fella." And DJ keeps talking, more and more excited as he shows Conall pictures. Already he plans on which calls to make, how to get in touch. There's excitement in those eyes of his, and Conall knows he felt the same tug that Conall felt when talking to Karl.

--

It, amazingly, goes smoothly. They have actors, a script, a stage that DJ manages to get. It goes so smoothly that Conall is almost dreading it, worried that it'll all be a bust.

But he can't fret on that now, not when he has props. He's already made the ghost, Snatcher, and still feels that warmth from how excited Hailey and Bree got seeing it, and how Syrus was instantly giving the puppet a voice and moving it around. He'd already had to fix the damn thing, thanks to those three playing around.

But, he's glad for it. Because that means it's perfect, being used like that.

He's working on the penguin now, the one his husband voices. And he can't help but put touches of his husband into it. The afro, which he had in high school, the red coat that is DJ's favorite color…

"He's missin' something." He mumbles out loud, squinting at the little bird. It's good, of course, he knows because Bree keeps excitedly coming over to look at it, but...it looks...incomplete.

"Needs shades."

Conall jumps, and curses at DJ, who snuck up on him. The man is smug, a playful glint in his eye as Conall huffs at him.

He glances at the puppet. Sunglasses… "Yeah? What kind?"

"Starry kind, darling, of course." DJ still has his smirk as Conall rolls his eyes and snaps, "Just because you had a pair that one time…"

But...hmm… Conall goes quiet as he looks back at the penguin. He pauses before he reaches for his notebook, looking at the sketch he made before of it. He quickly sketches a pair of starry sunglasses…

Hm...actually, it doesn't look bad. He glances DJ, who is still sitting there all smug, and Conall huffs before he tugs him over by his shirt.

He kisses him, a quick one before he says, "Thanks, love." His husband hums, playing with his hair as he replies with, "Anytime, darlin'."

Making the glasses are easy, as is attaching them. The second he does, DJ is picking it up. "Well, isn't he just a groovy lil guy."

Of course, the puppet is named DJ Grooves by Bree because of that.

--

The first episode is recorded. Conall still feels that anxiety in the back of his head, about how this is all a waste. But...he spies Timmy watching, wide eyed and enchanted in the audience, as Hailey jumps around on stage, as puppet Mafia Goons run after her. 

The anxiety melts away, as he sees how happy that kid looks. Along with the other kids in the audience, all laughing at the silliness of it.

This show is going to do fine, he decides.

[sirkkasnow]

02 Always Take the Nickel Tour

Ao3 link

07/01/13 Monday

Morning dawned with a pleasant chill. Between Stan, Soos and Ford, they got the old station wagon - a sky-blue Ford Fairlane - rolled away from the house and tucked in at a shallow angle next to the Stanleymobile. The S still leaned forlornly against the dented siding. They’d get it hauled up and nailed back into place later.

Stan swept the road-trip debris off the front passenger seat and cracked the glove compartment. He set aside the age-yellowed manual and the service records, most of them crisp and fragile on ancient transfer paper, one new, extensive and computer-printed.

He then flipped through everything else, scanning with an expert eye for items of interest. 

Brand new insurance card in the name of Clara Jane Merrick. A small collection of much older insurance cards in the name of Charles and Caroline Merrick. Vintage pressure gauge, matte black LED flashlight, heavy-framed designer sunglasses, can of pepper spray.

Photograph in a gold-stamped cardboard frame. Stan fished that one out, curious. The photo stock was the old-school linen textured stuff. Three blondes of varying shades grinned back at him, lined up like nesting dolls by age – forties, twenties, preteen – with matching sunhats and huge smiles. The smallest and darkest-haired was instantly recognizable as Clary. She was maybe twelve years old here, a beaky girl still growing into the aquiline nose neither of the others shared. He flexed the frame in one hand, squinting in to read the penned inscription on the photo's back - Carrie, Charlie, Clary.

Stan filed that away for later reference, returned the less-relevant stuff to the glove compartment, then leaned way over along the bench seat to pull the hood release.

The sun had slipped past noon by the time Clary finally emerged from the house, looking far less threadbare than she had the prior night. She was crisply dressed in yesterday’s Bermuda shorts, a fresh button-down shirt and a silk scarf patterned with dragonflies - wrapped twice, snug, knotted off-center at the throat. “Good afternoon, Stan.”

“Hey, Clary. Feelin’ better?” He was elbow-deep in the car’s guts by now, a few unsalvageable bits laid out on an old towel to one side. Grease streaked his forearms. The engine was pretty nice for something near the age of his own wheels, a huge V-8 that had seen very little use. This must have spent most of its life in a garage.

Clary stepped in alongside Stan, peering despondently into the engine compartment. “Sore, but rested, at least. What’s the diagnosis?”

Stan hissed in thought. “Drive belt assembly’s shot, electricals are kind of a mess. Radiator hoses of course. Think the engine block’s okay. The body damage isn’t too bad.”

Clary ran exploring fingers along the battered chrome of the front grill, mouth set in an unhappy line. “Except for the concave hood, I suppose. What can I do to help?”

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“Repair? Not a thing.”

“It’s gonna be a while.” Stan glanced sidelong to study her profile.

“Ford said it may take weeks.” Clary’s tone was conflicted, teeth catching lightly at her lower lip, brow furrowed.

“Ford doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about when it comes to cars, but yeah, he’s not wrong. This thing’s old and the parts are gonna be a pain to scavenge up.” Stan straightened and toweled off his hands. “Orderin’ stuff in would take a while and I know from experience that you don’t always get the right widget through the mail. Might have a couple ideas about local sources…we’ll see. You okay?”

That air of pinched distress was tight around her eyes again. She rolled her shoulders back, looking up and out into the forest. An unhurried breeze set thousands of green-velvet branches into whispering motion. “Okay enough. It’s gorgeous here,” almost as an afterthought.

Stan flicked his gaze heavenwards for a weary moment. Yeah, she’d be staying for the duration. What the hell was it with tourists and pines? “Y’get used to it. Check out the Shack yet?”

“Not yet. I was promised an expert guide.” She stepped away, heading around the back of the wagon to unlatch and hoist down the mountain bike from its rack. A faint residue of reddish dust clung to the tire rims. “Maybe when I’m done unpacking the basics? Since I’m going to be here a few days, there are people who need to know my plans have changed.”

“Thought you were on vacation.”

“Money never sleeps, and unfortunately it’s easy to get some things done on the road.”

She trailed back and forth for a while, parking the bike and hauling a larger duffel bag into the house. Stan worked methodically through the last few items on his engine checklist and jotted down an occasional note. By the time she returned he had a more or less complete catalogue of what needed work. He lowered the badly-dented hood into place and latched it. “Fixin’ this is gonna be an adventure.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Let me know what you need in terms of parts, I can cover whatever – “

Stan ducked his head, stifling the wide flash of his grin behind one hand. “Careful, kid, don’t leave yourself quite that wide open. This is pretty much on Ford anyway so I’ll take most of it out of his hide. C’mon.” Clary paced in his wake, looking up and out across the Shack grounds like she hadn’t bothered before – probably a fair enough assessment after yesterday’s chaos. “So car repair’s not your bag, no shock that. How about arts and crafts? Tall tales? Improv?”

“I’ve had to put on a song-and-dance routine for the IRS a few times. Does that count?”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Depends on whether you pulled it off.”

“I definitely pulled it off. At least no one’s come looking for me yet.”

“Maybe you help me help Soos around the Shack, then, put those tap-dancin’ skills to the test. A favor for a favor.”

Clary frowned at him in puzzlement. “I’m game to try. This is all a bit outside my wheelhouse.”

“Honestly, you could get stuck in way worse places than this. We’ve got tons of stuff for the discernin’ passerby. Merchandise, magic, mystery, uh, mayhem, you get the picture.”

They walked through the house and he held the showroom door open for a moment. Clary peeked through at the flock of tourists trailing after Soos like happy ducklings. “You interested in this kinda stuff?”

“Interested enough to read the bumper sticker. Not enough to actually plan you into my itinerary.”

“Damn shame, that, you’d be missin’ out on the ninth wonder of the world.” He managed to time it in sync with Soos’ patter, the rhythm of the show familiar as breathing, and got a chuckle in return. “They’ll wrap up in a few, we’ll take a quick look at the gift shop until they clear out. Then you get your Founder’s Tour.”

“That’s you, then, not Soos?”

“Got it in one. I built this place from the ground up! Sure, the house was here and the junk was here, but I’m the one who spun it into a wondrous house of mysterious junk.” His hands swept up and out in a marquee arc. Clary gave him that wry, oblique glance he was getting used to.

The gift shop was temporarily abandoned. Stan made himself comfortable leaning against the counter and watched her pace the periphery, trailing careful fingertips over the snow globes. “Take a look around! If you see an impulse buy, make it.”

“I’ll pick out a few things before I go. If I don’t have physical evidence, no one will believe that I was here.” She picked up a snow globe, flipped it over to stir the flakes into motion, then set it down with exaggerated caution and headed for the freezer.

“Just because you’re stayin’ over does not mean you get to sneak in here for an ice pop.” He watched her peer through the glass at their collection of frozen novelties. “This as far out west as you’ve gotten? I mean, we’re off the beaten path and you’re just passin’ through, right? Most folks would’ve taken the main route north of here.”

“This is my fifth state in - “ She frowned, then sighed. “Three days with the overnight, I guess. I’ve been taking it slow and sticking to the state highways, since I’m traveling solo.”

“Long way to drive alone.”

“Yes.” Clary skimmed through the T-shirt rack and plucked out a question mark to hold up against her chest. “You started this place up, then. Can I ask how long you’ve been at it? There’s some history here, I can see that much.”

“Thirty years.” Easier to say now that the long wait was over, that was for sure. He studied her thoughtfully; she was a tough read compared to the usual Gravity Falls crowd. “Can’t say that I ever thought I’d start to enjoy this line of work, originally the idea was just to get the mortgage paid, but go figure. Built a pretty nice business out of tellin’ lies – ‘scuse me, stories.”

A bare sliver of a smile curled along her lips. “You did. I can tell this is a local institution. You’re retired now?”

“More or less. My brother wanted to haul me off on an expedition. Couldn’t say no.” Stan ducked his chin, smiling to himself. “Couldn’t up an’ close the place either, so I left it all to Soos. Been nice to come back and see what he’s made of it, stick my hand in again. You can take the man out of the Mystery Shack, but you can’t take the mystery out of the man, I guess.”

Clary came to rest at the counter next to him, hands empty, he noted. “So I get a rare chance at a tour from the original Mr. Mystery.”

“What, nothin’ here inspires you to drop a wad of cash?”

“I think I’ll make my purchases after I have a functioning car.”

“Fair enough. You’re about to witness a true master in action.” The excited murmur of shopping-primed tourists was beginning to build at the interior door. “We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before the next gaggle rolls through, so you get the short form. Anythin’ specific you want to see?”

They slipped out of the shop as the current group started to trickle in, ducking into the showroom. Stan couldn’t help sweeping an arm out to indicate the entire collection. “Behold, the Mystery Shack!”

Clary appraised the exhibits with cool cynicism. “Which one of these gets the least attention? I’ve always loved the half-hidden displays best.”

She strolled at his side, hands in her pockets, lips twitching now and then as he spun familiar stories. Coaxing a laugh out of her at the right points, a smile here and there, felt like a little victory. There was a customer like this in every tour, the one who’d been dragged along by family or friends. If that one could be won over the rest of the group would be eating out of his hand.

“I have no idea what this is. Must be a Soos addition.” Stan peered at the tiny huts shingled with pine cone scales built into a series of branches suspended from one of the ceilings, glittering with well-concealed LED lights. “All right, the Village of Cannibal Pixies, to whom we’re apparently now rentin’ space in the showroom. They’re out huntin’ their fellow fairies for the rest of the day, but they’ll be back this evenin’ and no doubt throwin’ quite the party, which is just as well, because most of the other fairies ‘round these parts are about as much fun as a root canal….”

She had to bite her lip against a horrified laugh. “I thought these were all your creations?”

“Nah. You’ve gotta keep the mix fresh. Throw in somethin’ new and the tourists will flock through the doors. It’s been almost a year since I got to add a new exhibit, actually.” Stan nudged her in the side with an elbow. “And you are gonna help me put my mark on the place again. Think you’ve soaked up enough inspiration?”

“I’ve soaked up something. Inspiration for what, exactly?” Stan ushered her through another door, one tucked into the shadow of a larger display’s curtain. They wove together through a twisting hallway and he savored her blink of surprise when they emerged a few steps down the hall from the kitchen.

“We’re makin’ another attraction for the showroom.” He’d already laid out most of the basics earlier that morning, with a vague plan towards taking stock and maybe patching some bits and bobs together, but the prospect of testing their new guest’s creative skills – not patience, that’d be rude – was too good to pass up.

The contents of the kitchen table were pauper’s choices, honestly. A handful of pelts, odds and ends left over from birds long since parted out for other projects, a couple of smaller skulls, coils of heavy aluminum wire for armatures. Clary sifted through the remnants with a careful hand and a dubious expression.

“Surprise me.” He dropped off a tack hammer and a few brads on his way past. She made a faint incredulous noise, her head swiveling to follow, and Stan shot her a flat look of challenge: Show me what you’ve got, bean-counter.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she settled cautiously into one of the kitchen chairs. “Pliers?”

“Toolbox under the table.”

The toolbox jangled heavily as she hauled it up into easy reach. He tuned out the low noise of her work for a while. His own projects kept him plenty busy – sprucing up the display cards for a couple of the new oddities Soos had incorporated, reviewing the merch inventory and a couple of new concepts, moving on with a hum of pleasure to update the current supply list for the Stan O’War.

It was the better part of an hour before he heard the chair scrape back. “Tinfoil?” Clary asked.

“Two drawers over from the fridge.”

A few clunks and a crinkle, then he heard her muttering spoon, spoon under her breath, clattering through the silverware drawer. She paced back over to the table and dragged the chair back in with a shallow sigh. Stan glanced over and saw her hunched over an armature, brow creased as she padded out the shape.

“You all right over there?” He was trying not to laugh. This was not the kind of focus he’d been expecting.

“Flashbacks to high school art class, nothing too traumatic, I promise.”

This went on for a while. Stan drifted out of the kitchen to track down one of the Shack ledgers and his last box of spare critter bits, which he set wordlessly at her elbow. She ransacked the contents and didn’t look up when she spoke. “Putty?” He rattled through a drawer and dropped off half a jumbo packet of the plumber’s two-part type on the table, which Clary pulled in and unwrapped.

It was well past five when something mostly complete sat before her. She had come up with a compact little mustelid nightmare, something weaselish in build with elaborate grasping talons pieced together from every sharp claw remaining amid the sorry leftovers he’d dumped out of his dwindling box of tricks. Wings scavenged from a sharp-shinned hawk he’d collected on some roadside ages ago were anchored in half-furled at the shoulders. The mink skull had been carefully if inexpertly re-skinned. Brow ridges and tiny, twisting horns sculpted out of plumber’s putty crowned the toothy head.

The thing was cute in an amateur way. He thought, bemused, that it might make a decent plush toy.

Clary flipped the critter over, features creased in complete concentration as she stitched in the last bits along the belly. “Got any paint?”

Stan folded his arms, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “Y’know, normally I’d just patch together bits from a fish, a squirrel and a chicken, and call it good.”

“Hell with that, we’ve got tourists to impress.” Clary hissed under her breath as she stabbed herself with the needle. When she finally stretched, he heard her neck pop and saw the wince. “What time is it anyway?”

“Half past time to pack it in, kid.”

She sat up straight in surprise, glancing out the window into the saturated deep-golden light of late, late afternoon. “Oh no.”

Stan tilted his thumb her way, letting the grin widen. “So I think you might be on the hook for pizza tonight. Seein’ as how you’ve been dead to the world for hours and we’d be goin’ with cereal otherwise.”

An indignant pause hung in the air as her brows rose sharply. “There’s still plenty of time for me to call my insurance company. I might well have whiplash. Those old-school bench seats with no headrest are infamous for that.”

He slung a dirty look over his shoulder as he retrieved the paintbox from a cupboard. “Ford said you were fine.”

“I don’t think I heard him mention a medical degree in that list he rattled off.”

“All right, fine, we’ll split pizza for the gang.” Her eyes narrowed to calculating slits. “Lady, you drive a hard bargain. Howsabout you tell me what this thing is and then we’ll talk.” Stan opened the paintbox and sorted through half-empty tubes of acrylics. “You know how to drybrush?”

“Nope.” Clary studied her spiky-clawed creation, somewhat at a loss. “Let me mull this over a moment….”

“It helps to have some idea what you’re doin’ before you start stitchin’ things together, y’know.” Stan picked out a dark chocolate brown and laid down a quick basecoat on the horns. “You’ve outfoxed the IRS? Then all you gotta do is think on your feet.”

There was a brief quiet. The weight of her gaze lingered on him as he dipped into a deep purple and started shading along the inner edge of the brow ridge.

“This is the lesser Northwestern horned hawkweasel,” she said at length, adopting the deep, plummy tone of a nature-documentary narrator. “Or the midnight mink. Fierce far out of proportion to their size, these crafty, fearless creatures feed mainly on fish and whatever birds they can catch. Usually solitary, as the moon wanes they gather up in gangs to hunt their favored prey – nightmares. The bigger, the better.”

“Where’s a winged weasel gonna find nightmares in the depths of the Cascades?” Stan plucked out a liner brush and limned the eyes with a perfect pinstripe of metallic teal.

“Everything that can think has dreams. These little fellas like the blackest, bleakest ones they can find, and some of the denizens of these forests have deep and terrible dreams. If not for these guys, some of those denizens might wake up.”

Stan snorted in soft amusement as he laid highlights in along the horns. “Not terrible for a first shot. Soos might dig the idea, and hell, at least Lovecraft’s long since out of copyright, yeah?” He sat back, assessing, then touched on a last few dots of color. “This is about as show-ready as it’s gonna get. Hang on a sec.”

He toted the not-quite-weasel down to the office, setting it on the least cluttered file cabinet for later – it was going to need a story card at the very least – then swung by the deserted gift shop, cracking the vending machine open to fish out a couple of ice-cold Pitts. Clary was packing away tools by the time he returned to the kitchen, and he set a can within easy reach. “Nothin’ like a cold one to finish up the day. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She picked up her can, popped it, then tapped its edge against his. “I’ve got to wonder.” He eyed her, momentarily wary, as he dropped into his own chair. “What possessed a man from New Jersey to land way out here in the hinterlands of Oregon? It’s certainly pretty, but this is about as close to the absolute middle of nowhere as I’ve ever been.”

“You actually interested in me? Or do you ask everyone these kinda questions?”

“I’m mainly interested in you.”

That was a bit of a surprise. A chuckle snagged in Stan’s chest as he met her frank regard. “Usually the longest I can get people to listen to me is when I’m sellin’ somethin’, and even then it’s tough luck.”

“I don’t buy that for a second.” The faint curve of her smile was half obscured by the rim of her soda can. “No way you kept this place running for so long without knowing how to string an audience along in suspense.”

“It’s, ah, it’s a knack. I’ve been good at it ever since I was a kid.” He cleared his throat and took a lingering sip, buying a moment. Her brows quirked in expectation. “So, you’re serious?”

“How long do you plan on leaving me in suspense?”

“The last time someone started askin’ personal questions, she tried to eat me,” Stan muttered. “Can you imagine? I’m practically skin and bones.”

That bought him a sharp laugh, right on the beat. “Come on. You can’t just leave it there.”

Stan took a long look at her, then drew breath, fired up the cockiest grin in his repertoire, and launched in. “So, y’see, there’s this irresistible thing called ‘revenge’….”

Clary was a good listener and a better interrogator, absorbing whatever outrageous half-truth he had to offer without scoffing, pressing with well-targeted questions at every opportunity. Every time she cut close to the bone he’d flash her something shiny to distract. Verbal sleight-of-hand was so second nature by now that he barely noticed doing it. Stan couldn’t tell how much of it she was buying, which was disconcerting as hell.

In the end he paid for the pizza. She slipped in behind him to press an overgenerous tip into the delivery driver’s hand.

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There are plenty of repair records in the glove box, the old manual, and some other potentially interesting odds and ends.

Just take the repair records and the manual.

Go through all the personal paperwork.

Is there any money in there?