#trying so hard to get... you dont even know where you are

[strawberry-nugget]

Ahhh I do NOT know what this is other than depressed af Bakugo, who is trying to be a good boyfriend with a hint of fluff

It starts as something as innocent as forgetting to fold your laundry after a hard day of work. Although he never does that, he's too meticulous about the house chores even after a 12 hour shift. You don't yell at him and he doesn't yell at you. He has ordered take out before even getting home and he eats in silence, after offering you some of his pizza and you decline, hurt that the portion of food that you made for him will go to waste. He doesn't say anything else for the remaining twenty minutes he remains awake and you end up folding the laundry.

By the time you go to the bedroom he's fast asleep, blond hair covering his forehead and mouth open enough so he can breathe through it. you notice the band aid on his nose; another wound he didn't bother telling you about.

It's a silent, muffled goodnight that puts you to sleep and not his arms around your waist but it's okay, you’ve been more than used to it.

When apathy isn't something that's enjoyable or even barely tolerable when you're in a relationship, you overlook it.

You think of him more often than you see him and you see him all the time. 

He delivers flowers to your workplace as an atonement for giving you the cold shoulder last night with a note. 

‘Sorry for being so grumpy lately, date tonight at 8?’

Your coworkers definitely enthuse about it and you grin like a schoolgirl. You think that even if you get off at six and you barely have enough time to get ready you can make it. So you text him, frenzied and insanely happy that you can make it and he snaps a picture of him drinking his smoothie while sitting on a railing of a building. Then he tells you where you're going for the night so you can be there as he'd be coming right after work.

Or at least he was supposed to. 

So what? He doesn't show up on a date. Katsuki's a pro hero, in the top five, too, so you can forgive that one time, despite having to endure the looks of pity from the waiters at the restaurant he has booked, and despite paying the minimum order fee all by yourself. All while downing a bottle of wine, dressed in your best clothes, make up done so nicely, in such little time too.

You try not to cry, at least not in front of anyone, because it's one time and it's okay that he didn't even bother to cancel on you, he for sure must have been busy! 

But you don't find it in you to plan another date anytime soon, and you don't allow him to mention whatever happened that night when he gets home to you. He’s battered, he’s bloody and behind red eyes there's that sorry expression of a dog that’s trashed the whole roll of toilet paper. 

You dont yell, you don't fight. He runs a bath for himself and you wash his hair.

Though, you'd love to actually at least leave a sassy remark on what he did, you're scared that his response won't be up to your standards or liking and hurting yourself like this -yes, begging for an explanation to the happening is begging- is not something you plan on doing. 

Until it happens again. 

This time, it's worse, because he's supposed to meet you and your friends at the cinema, on a day patrol shouldn't take too long to end. On a day there's no new article about a monstrous villain destroying the city. And yes, you do refresh the news section on your phone every second, with the way he's been getting so beaten up on the daily.

But this time, it's okay, because he lets you know beforehand. 

10 minutes beforehand. 

Through text. 

And even if it infuriates your friends, you can live with it. It's fine, you tell yourself and your friends. It doesn't usually happen, and he actually made an effort to let you know so you don't have to wait on him. 

It's more than understandable, you tell your friends, because your boyfriend (if you could call him that still) is a pro hero, and you, nothing but a civilian. His lifestyle is far more important than yours. Which, you actually find funny in the moment, now that everyone's staring at you. 

But your friends do not find it funny, actually. They don't lecture you yet, if they did, you'd burst in tears, and you enjoy the movie as much as you can in their company and rheir company alone. 

They're all you have, at the end of the day. 

Katsuki doest really have an everyday life as a civilian. And while striving to become number one he's overworking himself 

There's also the time he shows up to your friend's art gallery opening with his hero costume -broken left gauntlet and grease and mud all over his hair and face- because 1) you've lectured him about never showing up and the impression he's left on your friends and 2) he really is trying to make an effort and well 3)he doesn't really care about an amazing public image.

Your friends hate him. 

You don't.

The annual hero ratings come around the corner and he's fallen one place on the chart. The two of you spend that night at his parents’ and some subtle comments that youre not sure from whom it is worded sparks a fight with his mother, she tells him to not visit her again if he doesn't fix his attitude. They end up fighting over the phone every single day.

He gets worse after, always towards himself, as if he's done all the bad in the world. He spends most of his day on patrol and in the gym, but he doest bulk anymore. He’s more than okay with you making him lunch for work, he’s not mindful of any of his habits for a while.

Every single day that passes he’s more unhappy. Every day is worse than the other.

You continue to wash his hair and do the laundry on days he comes home bleeding and you don't get mad when he just wants to stuff his face in pizza. You go to bed with him and never let him sleep alone.

“you're s’nice to me when you don't have to” he mutters as you're stroking his hair away from his forehead. Not one of you is focusing on the movie that's playing. He;s sprawled like a cat on your chest, breathing from his mouth like that night.

“Its just cause i want to”

“m sorry i stood you up on that date”

“no need to talk about it” you reassure him. And its like he gets mad when you place a kiss on his exposed forehead. Brows furrowed, eyes half lid in exhaustion.

You pay him no mind, averting your eyes to the screen on your right He’s been so frustrated, you just know he's going to want to pick a fight

“dumbass. you should have dumped me.”

“You want me to dump you?”

He shakes his head in your chest as a response, hands wrap even tighter around your waist. 

“Stop saying dumb shit then okay? and stop thinking you don't deserve to be happy because life is shitty right now. You're the one who told me. Remember?”

At that he hugs you impossibly close. Pebbled chest pressing on your stomach as he wiggles his hands to wrap your feet around his waist. Your hoodie is lifted, just above your belly so he can plant a kiss on your skin and slanted red eyes look into yours again, this time more determined.

He knows how life has been for you. Things keep happening to you one after another and he's been there to witness it. To hold you. Your relationship with your own mother is only a little worse than his own and now, for the first time he actually understands how it's like to have someone hold him through all that he's been going through. 

No one can understand him better than you do, no one can love him better than you do.

There's an end to his restless nights, as you're spending them wrapped in his arms, face squished between his pectoral muscles. And now it doesn't matter if you sleep for two, five or eight or twelve hours. You're always rested. He’s not grumpy in the morning. Your migraines are gone. His muscles aren't sore anymore.

 Katsuki never had a civilian life, but when he comes home to you it's the closest he can get to one.

(this is my first post in two years be nice)

[lemon-wedges]

Hello!!! I love your art and your style. I'd love to hear your inspirations behind how you draw and, in addition, hear a bit about your painting process (I love the impressionistic look your paintings have)

ahh!!! thank you so much ;u;

Ill tried my best to break down my thought process behind my drawing, so i hope this all makes sense aahaha

undercut cause it came out real long

SO Karl Gnass is an instructor that i took an anatomy class with. and who broke down anatomy in a way that really helped me grasp space. like space a figure occupies. and from that i think my characters feel a bit more...grounded? im not sure what the right word would be but tangible is something people sometimes say about my art.

And i do think when youre able to make a figure look like its really wrapping its hands around something it makes character interactions a lot more intimate.

heres a few under sketches i do when i start a drawing (i am trying REALLY hard not to use my nsfw ones tho those are pretty perfect when it comes to showing u anatomy RIP)

after i got the poses done ill turn down the opacity and rough sketch out details on top of these. and once THATS done i move onto lineart. and the most important aspect of this step is NOT TO TRACE YOUR UNDER DRAWING!!!! thats what sucks the life out of your work!!!!

instead you use your undersketch as a guide. ilI actually redraw the simple anatomy underneath very lightly, erase where they over lap and then add line weight variety + darken up the details.

examples of this are gonna look a little messy but. Left is the original pose i drew out with rough details. right is the drawing i do on top of it. you'll see theyre not one to one and theres some lines i didnt fully erase out when redoing the anatomy. i find my clean up has a lot more energy when i do this.

the thing about my style is that you'll notice i never actually do actual clean smooth lineart. and thats because i HATE DOING THAT SHIT. like i did learn how to do it and consistently forced myself to do it for over a year. and while i do think i learned a lot about line weight and drawing clearer. i realized? its just not for me. I like a textured brush and i like being able to see those small lines i didnt get to fully erase out because i think they look cool lol and thats ok!! do what you want forever man!!! its your art!!!

Also before i move onto painting ill show you this neat little trick. you know those more "loose" drawings of mine that feel more gestural? the begining process is exactly the same. the difference is i use a chunkier pen and try to see how much i can simplify details + just feel out the energy of lines

NOW PAINTING.

man. where to even start.

the thing about painting is that its an entire different set of skills that need to each be honed on their own and will slowly build up together. ill break it down like this.

VALUE, COLOR, and TECHNIQUE

I've said this on another ask before but you'll notice ill do a lot of black and white sketches. and i do that to practice choosing how to group values.

like this example. how light is laios' wolf coat compared to his skin? or kabrus skin color compard to laios coat. when do you want to really push the contrast of light and dark and when do you let values be closer to each other when you DONT want attention

the next step from this is adding a light source.

and when you're working in black and white its a lot easier to pay more attention where you want your light/how its gonna look like hitting youre characters and how far youre gonna push your shadows.

and you know if you get good at this you can play with limited color palletes

this is literally just be picking out blues and hitting the bottom with the gradient tool to light it up

NOW COLOR

is a lot harder and also very subjective. I do a ton of impressionist studies where i just color pick the fuck out of a piece to see what colors masters used + knowing the history of paint and what colors were available during that time period. +knowing what colors = what mood + knowing what colors to use when you want to be more realistic vs when you want to lean into more stylized+ what colors YOU specially incline towards + AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

its a lot and im actually still learning myself

But when i do a painting i collect a LOT of refrences of the kind of mood i want my own painting to feeling like. I've show the first example in another ask before but heres one from my latest labru too

WHen i actually start a painting tho they look like this. The top drawings are just flat colors with a simple outline of where i want the light to be hitting. like in my value studies im just trying to get the idea down, seeing what values need to be darker vs what is lighter. and how the light source covers the character.

figuring this out in the begining makes the rest of the painting so much easier because youve essentially made all the big compostion decisions NOW. from here you can start playing with colors.

my second stage, youll see with drawings at the bottom, is when i start using my texture brush to lay in extra shadows and just play with variety.

and then? i start rendering

that would be TECHNIQUE

And well....thats also something thats gonna be very subjective.

With my own style im not interested in rendering everything to perfection. Im trying to figure out how to texture hair/skin/clothes in ways that make them feel like the materials they are while also showing the energy of my brushstrokes.

I dont zoom in while i paint btw. everything i do is zoomed out so i can see the entire drawing. it helps me not tight up my strokes while also letting me build up all areas of the painting equally. the only time i zoom in is when im lining out the eyes/mouth of a character. and yeah. it drives me insane doing this because ITS SOOOOO Tempting to obsess over paint 1 area forever then zoom out and see that nothing matches lol

The other thing about my style of painting. Is that im not gonna use the exact same formula for every piece. like this isnt cell shading. you can have an idea of how to texture skin/clothes/hair and sometimes it looks great and beautiful in one painting and then it looks like shit in another. ive overhauled a lot of paintings multiple times because what i thought would work doesnt and ive had to force myself to explore and play with my brushstrokes. and you know? i wouldnt have it any other way. it means none of my paintings are gonna look alike! and i think thats pretty cool :D

ill leave you with this in the end. a painting im in the middle of doing and debating to overhaul cause im just not feeling the strokes. who knows what ill look like in the end

anyways i hope this helped a little? even if you look at all this and go. IM NEVER GONNA DRAW LIKE THIS BOZO ahahah

BUT I WISH YOU LUCK ON YOUR OWN ARTS :DDDD

[sycamorality]

thinking abt that 1 time where i was semi-active on a discord server for a yter i watch cause his content actually interested me.

at some point in the announcements channel he posts a link to a game, asking everyone in the server to playtest the game. i'm sideyeing this game because…. this guy is a minecraft youtuber. this guy made a world with only one block where structures generate in the world. so i talk in general chat like, "hey are we sure we can trust this..?" and i try to warn people that this could be a scam and call it out that he could've been hacked because he's not the type to do this.

some other people are suspicious too but i'm the only one being 'loud' about my suspicion and pointing it out. one of the mods, who to my knowledge was the guy's friend, is like "no he's not hacked he's made games before". so i download the game and run it through a malware tester. guess what it turns out to be. i post a screenshot of this in general chat. i think it gets deleted pretty quickly but some people do see it. i keep trying to point out hey this is malware dont downlaod it and play it..? but the mod who is the guy's friend keeps saying "he's made games before" etc etc and someone plays it in vc. yes, it's a simple 2d shooter, But its still got malware.

and i'm just sitting there in vc like. guys. guys this is fucking malware. guys. oh my god guys. i also point out that the youtuber doesnt type like he usually does. he usually types all lowercase with a few specific typos and he's not doing that right now which is you know, weird as fuck. i'm still weirded out because he's not the type to make a game like this?? and then after a few minutes they like. start kicking people from the main server, specifically people that are voicing their suspicion, and thats finally when people started realising. oh shit. something's fishy about this.

and someone makes a temporary server for everyone thats active to gather while shit continues to go down and the main server is locked down because the hacker's realised theyve finally gotten got. so the hacker's doing damage control and people are talking in the second server someone made and then the youtuber joins with an alt on the second server after two hours or so and confirms he got hacked and that the game that "he" sent was malware. and i'm just sitting here trying my best not to go "I TOLD YOU!!! I FUCKING TOILD YOU!!!! I SAID IT FIRST!!! I SAID IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER IT WAS POSTED AND YOU DIDNT LISTEN"

anyway i ended up leaving that server later because there were a lot of nsfw/18+ jokes that were thrown around even though there were minors on the server. actually 1 of those were directed at me and it was someone "joking" about commissioning me to draw nsfw and me responding "im a minor" and him replying "i see... so ur playing hard to get" and i brought that up to the youtuber and he just brushed it off like "no he just makes jokes like that. hes just like that"

[wartsandwarlocks]

The party was… boring. Everyone was pissed, but in the annoying way, and Lily could not wait until they’d all leave to clean up the common room and finally sleep. She had been drinking the same gin tonic for at least an hour, and the couch had already sunk where she was seated. Her eyes had started to close on their own, allowing her to slowly float away into a dream. Maybe sleeping in the common room wasn’t so bad.

“Why don’t you like me?” James blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Lily said blinking rapidly. She hadn’t even noticed him.

“I try sooo hard for you to notice me and like me but I can never get to you, so please Evans I’m desperate I’ll do anything to get you to like me.”

“I do notice you.” Lily said smirking “you’re incredibly annoying.”

“So you want me to stop annoying you? is that it? Consider it a done deal.”

She considered it, imagined peacefully walking down the halls and eating lunch and classes without James making faces at her, the amount of time she could put into her studies without him talking over her every time. She thought about the quiet dinners, early bed times, casual breakfasts and smooth classes. The thought of it alone made her want to kill herself. “Nah, it’s ok.”

“Is it my face? I can change it!” James said pointing his wand at his face “Who can I turn into?”

The sudden fear that James’s face could turn into anything different forced her to turn around and stop him. Which was great because she could see how his brown eyes were surrounded by some deep shade of red instead of his usual white sclera. “Oh fuck, James are you high?”

He sat up suddenly and looked down, and with a really high pitched voice he said “who? Me? You’re crazy Evans.”

“You’re high as shit!” Lily laughed.

James looked at her uncertainly. “Not as shit, it’s going down I swear.”

“God you’re so stupid.” She cackled.

“Are you disappointed? Did I offend you? I’m sorry.” James fidgeted with his hands.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Lily smiled. “Where are your little followers.”

“If you mean my friends, I only know Sirius and Remus are upstairs so I have to wait down here some time.”

“Why would you have to wait here?”

“You know why.” James said wiggling his eyebrows.

Lily looked at him attentively. He knew something. Suddenly this night became interesting. “I do not. Tell me.”

James started fidgeting and looked askance.

“James.” Lily grabbed his face. “Tell me. Now.”

“Look, if you don’t know I can’t tell you.”

“Tell ya what,” she said ignoring her voice of reason. If she were a cat, she would most certainly be dead by now. “Trade you one secret for another.”

James whole demeanor changed, his mouth spread into a huge smile and Lily could see his imaginary-dog-tail wagging behind him. “How about a kiss for a secret?”

“Bummer, I had such a good secret to tell you. What a shame.” She dramatically threw her head back and put the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Fine! But it’s top secret, so i’ll have to whisper it.”

“Ugh, fine.” Lily sighed leaning over and placing her ear at James’s level. He obviously took the opportunity and kissed her cheek smiling. “James!”

“Sorry! Couldn’t help it you’re so beautiful Evans.”

“Tell me!” She punched his arm.

“Remus and Sirius are upstairs… well… i dont really know how to put it…”

“James, if you dont tell me this instant I’ll go get Mcgonagall and tell her how high you are and get you kicked out of… Of everything! Every club, every merit you have won,” she snapped her fingers. “Gone!”

His eyes widened in fear. He hesitated for a moment but then slowly approached her ear and whispered. “They are together. Like, together together.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“You know, they are together, alone in our room, I can’t go there… Get it?!”

“Huh?!”

“They are fucking, Evans.”

Lily froze. No they weren’t. She would have known. Remus would have said something. They are best friends, of course she’d know. “Come on James, a real secret.”

“I mean it.”

“No James, I would know.”

“No you wouldn’t. No one does. I swear.”

“Then why do you-“

“I caught them showering together.”

Lily looked at him incredulous and burst out laughing. “No way.”

“You can go check for your self for all I care, just know they are messy, it’s not a very pretty image.”

She thought about it, let it sink in and suddenly, things made sense. Remus was happy, he was always sneaking off somewhere with a lousy explanation and she had caught him more often than not smiling at nothing or being strangely flustered during lessons. Remus and Sirius were fucking. Holy shit.

“Oh my god.” She became aware of her labored breathing. “ Oh my GOD! HOW?! WHAT?! HOW?! OH THAT CUNT!”

“Inner voice!” James fretted.

“Right sorry.” She said slumping back down. “How? Why wouldn’t he tell me?! God I’ll kill that bastard, how could he! I’m his best friend.”

“I know I was pretty freaked out myself.” James laughed.

“This is so unfair why do you know and I don’t?”

“Oi! I am best friends to both of them, mind you. Also trust me I did not want to know, wrong place wrong time.”

“Fuck.” Lily breathed out “Fuck!”

“Come on Evans, it’s not that ba-“

“It’s so unfair! Why doesn’t Remus trust me? I’ve never said anything- No wait I have said multiple things about hating Sirius.” She said chugging the left overs from her cup. “Besides you’re such a terrible secret keeper! I’d trust Pete way more than you.”

“He knows.”

“OH MY GOODNESS?! Does everyone but me know?!”

“Just us, promise.”

“What am I supposed to do now? Play dumb?”

“Ideally. please.” James asked, his eyes glistening.

“This is fucked. I hate him.” She said crossing her arms. “I can’t play dumb, James, I just can’t! I’m so mad!”

James smiled as he shifted closer to her. “Need me to kiss it better?”

“Fuck off.” Lily fought a smile.

They sat in silence for a moment, Lily kept staring at the wall in front of her as rage and some bitter resentment pooled in her blood, she breathed hard and considered just walking up there and beating Remus into a pulp, or at least try to. Meanwhile James sat with his arm over the back rest, holding his head and looking at Lily with a smile.

“What?” She burst.

“You are so beautiful.” James smiled as an idea slowly formed into his brain. “You owe me.”

Lily grew angrier remembering their deal, she had no secret, or maybe she had too many, but they were too big to tell now. “I peed my pants once in fourth year after acing a test I thought I was going to fail.”

James burst into laughter. “Hilarious. But I told you a huge secret, so I’ll need something better.”

“I don’t have big secrets.” She lied.

“Come on! It’s so unfair!” He whined.

“If you help me bust them, i’ll tell you my biggest secret.”

“No! Leave them be, they need this trust me.” His eyes grew as he sentence finished.

“Fine!” She thought of something better. She needed to win this. “If you let me tell Remus you told me I’ll tell you two.”

“Deal!”

“I’m not wasted enough for this…” She mumbled. “I actually really like you.”

“I knew that!”

“No James, I really do like you. Like, like like you.”

He was frozen, the weirdest smile she’d ever seen hanging off his face, rising and falling each second. Then he just… laughed?

“Oh come on! I’m really not in the mood Potter!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry Evans, I just-“ he huffed. “When?”

“I have for some time now. Quite some time. Since last year actually.”

“Wow.”

“Ok then, goodnight!” She said standing up so quickly she saw stars. Maybe she was drunk enough.

“Wait! Can I kiss you?” James said with stars in his eyes and his hand stretched out.

“No!” She hurried before he could actually convince her.

“Alright then, I’ll see you for my daily love declaration tomorrow morning then.”

“Right. Cheers Potter.”

“Cheers indeed.”

[frondere]

*shakes can* more pins and needles please? the first part you shared is so adorable! Loved this part "They raced through thickets, weaving stories of pirates and explorers, the world theirs for the taking."

ty for enjoying!!!! I shall be oh so nice....and give you something slightly beefy....please enjoy!! u know the drill..u see something...u dont say something....!!!!

You, lovely viewer, can see the first part here

So, yeah, he ended up pinning the damn thing. It didn’t look great—looked pretty lousy, actually—but who cared?

 He wasn't Ford.  

The moth was better pinned than it was left to get lost in the grime of Ford’s lab, that’s all it was. 

At least, that’s what he told himself.

 The problem, though, was that there was this gap now in Ford’s display, an uneven number of empty spaces that bugged him (no pun intended). A busted piano key on an otherwise perfect set. 

Just... bare. 

And every time he glanced at it, something about that empty space stared back at him, like it was daring him to finish the job, to make it look… symmetrical. Logical, if he were Ford. He could practically hear Ford muttering that, in that teacher’s-pet tone of his. 

And so, slowly, it became a habit. He started slipping out of the lab every now and then, taking “breaks” that weren’t really breaks—wandering along the back trails near the shack, through the damp woods and brambles, scanning the ground almost unconsciously. It wasn’t like he was actively searching for dead bugs. But if he happened to stumble across something, well, then maybe it was worth a second look.

Not that he needed much of an excuse for breaks. He was drowning in technical junk that felt like it was written in some kind of intergalactic code. Quantum mechanics, portal theory, electromagnetic propulsion—he’d thought it might be as simple as building the Stan-o-War with Ford, but it was like trying to solve a mystery without a single clue. A nightmare to sift through without a high school diploma to his name, let alone Ford’s mountain of degrees. So, yeah, a break here and there, where he’d “just happen” to find the odd bug, wasn’t so much slacking as it was survival.

Besides, he was figuring out some best practices, too—pin the forewings in this direction, press the hindwings that way, cedar chips to keep pests out, control for moisture, all that. Ford had left some anti-pest sachets stashed in the basement, and he found himself sprinkling them around, like he actually knew what he was doing. It was practical, really. Some people paid a hell of a lot of money for this stuff, so in a way, he was saving money by doing it himself.

Somewhere in all that, the bugs even gave him an idea: The Murder Hut. People in Gravity Falls would pay through the nose to see weird, creepy things, and Ford’s collection of odds and ends was a treasure trove of just that. It wasn’t hard to work up a spiel, either—Ford’s dusty stash had enough bones, feathers, and mysterious “artifacts” that he didn’t even have to make much up. The town ate it up, hook, line, and sinker. One day he’d display a “Jackalope Antler” or the “Invisible Man’s Gloves”; the next, some cursed thing he’d dug out of a forgotten box. As long as he slapped a “Do Not Touch or You’ll Be Cursed” label on it, it sold.  And he’d use every dollar they dropped in his greasy hands to pay off Ford’s debt-ridden shack, which somehow—Jesus, Sixer—was almost two years behind on mortgage. Like Stan needed more debt, especially debt that wasn’t even his.

Gravity Falls thought he was a brilliant recluse—some strange scientist who only stepped out of his lab to mutter secrets at the townsfolk. Worked fine by him. Daytime, he was the big mystery man selling freak shows, and by night, he was back in the basement, grinding his way through Ford’s books, pretending he knew enough science to wrangle a portal machine back to life.

But every so often, after the hustle, the whole act would wear on him. He’d find himself sinking into the kind of black-hole thoughts he usually kept a lid on. He’d sit alone at Ford’s reclining chair, nursing a drink and watching some shitty soap opera that the old rabbit-eared TV could pick up, lost in the static and drama. He’d feel that sharp sting of guilt, this old, rotting feeling that it should’ve been him pulled into the void, not Ford. 

And yeah, sometimes he’d be back at the bug cases, zoning out over Ford’s meticulous collection, picking at thoughts that felt better left buried.

The bugs, at least, were easy to understand. They were all shapes and colors, some ugly, some downright beautiful, without a single number or formula to complicate things. He didn’t need to memorize larvae stages or migration details or any of that garbage. He just had to make them look good.  The Gravity Falls library had a few field guides on moths and beetles, and he’d pocketed them without a second thought, no intention of ever bringing them back. 

He found himself taking little “expeditions” outside, field guides in hand, picking out names, identifying colors, sometimes seeing the same bugs his kid brother used to pin up with that bright-eyed obsession. And the names started sticking, like he was getting the hang of a foreign language. There was a strange satisfaction in it, almost addictive. He’d even gone so far as to order a few “extras” from the dusty catalogs Ford had lying around, rare ones from across the world, some already pressed, just needing a good place in the display. Maybe he could throw together a different display in the Shack, and sell moth-man-themed junk to the rubes. 

But Ford’s originals, the ones from years ago? No way. Those were off-limits. The thought of handing those over, cheapening them with tourist's eyes… no. He’d sooner walk out of the shack than let those get messed up. If he wanted a case full of unique specimens, he’d find duplicates. Let Ford’s stay exactly as they were, safe and untouched. It just felt right, like something sacred, or as close to sacred as he’d ever admit to.

Sometimes he found himself looking into the cases, the glass casting back his own reflection—Ford’s reflection. His face, right there in that mirrored surface, surrounded by wings and antennae, his brother’s meticulous handwriting labeling each specimen with a date and place. He could almost feel Ford beside him, that kid with the saltwater-and-ink smell, who’d grin up at him with that rare, shy smile of his, patting Stan on the back for “getting it.” And as he looked, his chest tightened, the memories clawing their way back up, and he wondered if it had always just been about getting Ford’s praise. Or if maybe there’d been something else he wanted, something he couldn’t put a name to.

But that was a ridiculous thought, wasn’t it? Just a stupid, pointless thought.

~

Thirty years, and the old “Murder Hut” had morphed into the Mystery Shack. Apparently, “murder” didn’t scream family-friendly or touristy enough. Not that Stan ever thought he’d find his calling in a dumpy roadside show, but this kind of thing turned out to be in his blood—scam artistry with a flair of mystery, the whole town eating up every word like it was gospel. Maybe if things had gone a little differently, this could’ve been his life right from the start. But hell, no point in dwelling. He already had too much weight on his shoulders, too many regrets boxed up and shoved away in some far corner of his mind where he could pretend they didn’t exist.

Tracking down Ford’s second and third journals had been another mess. He’d gotten damn good at self-taught nuclear chemistry, computer science—practically any subject Ford’s machine might require him to know. Like he had any choice. And it wasn’t easy, but when had his life ever been easy? Each day that passed felt like he was inching closer to the edge of a cliff. There were weeks, then months, then years of grinding away, fixing parts, recalculating, rewiring. Progress came slower than a snail crossing the Sahara, and every step forward left him feeling emptier, a little more brittle, like he was killing himself to bring Ford back. 

Maybe he was.

But it’d be worth it. 

It had to be.

This summer, he agreed to let Shermie’s grandkids come up for a visit. At least he wouldn’t be stewing alone in that dusty shack. Mabel’s loud, and Dipper’s a curious little brainiac, but they’re good kids. They’re not like him and Ford—they’ve got a shot at something, a chance to actually be happy. Sure, they’d nearly bailed the first night, their decision hinging on some magic eight ball, for crying out loud. But he’d baked them cookies, something to soften the blow of being stuck here.

Two months in, Mabel came hollering down the stairs about a package. Dipper threw in something about the mailman tally—he swore the guy was a werewolf because of some flea he thought he saw jump. Stan sauntered in, smirking. “Any guy can get fleas, kid. Doesn’t mean he’s a werewolf.”

Mabel snorted mid-sip of juice. “Maybe the flea jumped on Dipper,” she teased, which Stan jumped on right away. “Might be time for a flea collar then, huh?”

Dipper glared, cheeks puffing indignantly. “Then the whole house would need collars. Fleas just jump from person to person.”

“At least I shower every day, so I’d be safe.” Mabel’s grin was as bright as it was smug.

Stan tossed Dipper the scissors and gestured at the box. “Cut it open, would ya? I’m gonna make breakfast.” He turned back to the stove, letting the kids go at it.

A groan escapes Dipper as he pulls out a display, a mix of distaste and fascination on his face. “It’s…another one of your bugs,” he says, holding it up like it’s diseased.

Stan perks up from where he’s flipping pancakes. “Oh yeah? Which ones this time?” he asks, sounding casual, but there’s an edge of interest he doesn’t hide too well.

Dipper pulls out the first case, examining it. “Looks like... a mantis?” He hands it to Mabel, who oohs, mesmerized by the soft pink color, her nose practically pressed to the glass.

“Pretty in pink!” she beams, turning it for Stan to see.

Stan nods, amused. “Yep, that’s the one. Figured it’d play into the whole alien theme for the tourists. Folks around here go nuts for anything that looks otherworldly. ‘The Tiny Mantis God’ or somethin’.”

Dipper shrugs, not fully buying it. “Could just make a crop circle out back.”

Stan snorts. “Kid, that’s the first decent idea you’ve had since you got here. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Dipper shrugs. “Never asked.”

Next, Dipper reaches into the box and pulls out a little beetle propped on a miniature toilet. Stan laughs, “Now, that one? Couldn’t resist. That’s pure art, right there.”

Mabel dives her hand in next, tongue between her teeth as she pulls out another case, squinting at the name. “Uh... Auto… Automeris io?”

“Peacock moth,” Dipper supplies, glancing at the label under the display.

Stan turns to look, his face falling a bit as he recognizes the error. Damn it. He plates up pancakes for the kids, pouring sprinkles and strawberries on Mabel’s, bananas and chocolate chips on Dipper’s. As they gaze at their breakfasts with grateful eyes,  he huffs as he pulls the case to him. “Damn thieves,” he mutters. “They gave me Antheraea polyphemus, not Automeris io.”

Dipper pauses mid-bite, brow furrowed. “How would you even know that?”

Stan gives him a sidelong look, resisting the urge to grin. “Look at the eyespots, genius. Automeris would have these deep black rings with white centers. Polyphemus? It’s got these large, purplish ones, layered like it’s lookin’ at you. Plus look at the tinge of pink.” He taps the case, showing Dipper the subtle difference, and the kid’s watching with rapt attention, actually listening. That kind of mistake shouldn’t happen, especially to a guy who’d been collecting for years.

Mabel raised her brows, grinning. “You actually sound… smart. Like, nerd smart.”

Stan clears his throat, waving it off, his face a touch red. “Hey, I’m a paying customer, I gotta know what I’m ordering,” he grumbles. Dipper nods slowly, agreeing, but there’s a little smirk on his face that says he’s filed that piece of information away. Stan grumbles, snorting. “Just ‘cause I play dumb doesn’t mean I am, kid,” he says, reaching over to mess up Dipper’s hair.

As he glances back at the rest of the box’s contents, his eyes narrow.  Most were imports, pinned and framed for his real collection. 

Mabel noticed him lingering over a few, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “Gonna put those out on the table?” she asked, and Stan shook his head.

“Nah,” Stan says, “Gonna have Soos mount these three, something’s been knocking them down lately.” Dipper interjects, “Told you, it’s the gnomes,” but Stan waves him off. “The rest’ll go…. somewhere else.”

Stan pulls out the final item in the package, a little baggy with something for Mabel. He holds it out. “Kinda weird and in that abnormally shaped earring style you’re always going for.”

Mabel gasps, peering into the bag, where two delicate, resin-encased Lunar Moth wing earrings catch the light. She beams up at him. Stan rolls his shoulders, popping a few joints.  “All right, punks. I got a tour to run, so don’t cause any trouble.” His stern face melted into a grin as the kids laughed, chorusing, “No promises!”

Later that night, when everything was finally quiet, he slipped down to his basement, pulling out the moths for his private collection, fingers grazing each delicate display. Rare, beautiful things, some from as far as Asia and Europe, wings folded in perfect repose. It wasn’t like he splurged often—money for lab equipment and military-grade chemicals didn’t come cheap. But for once, he’d let himself have this small indulgence. He was close to getting the portal to work; he could feel it. Every gut feeling he had said he’d finish it, that something was about to give. This summer would be different. It had to be.

But right now, this was what he had. He handled each carefully, pinning them with the precision he’d learned over the years, his own quiet tribute. Ford had always fussed over the wings, the placement of every last part, and somehow, Stan found himself doing the same. He worked on autopilot, arranging each one with a kind of grim satisfaction, a small part of him hoping Ford would see this someday. 

He paused, staring down at the display case. The years had made Ford’s face hazy, his image lost somewhere between the edges of memory and imagination. He knew Ford was alive, could feel it deep in his gut. But what did he look like now? Time had changed them both, carved them in different ways. Stan saw it every time he looked in the mirror: the lines around his eyes, the rough drag of his face, the slight paunch that had settled in around his gut. He’d lost count of the hard nights, the empty days, the scars he’d dragged along with him all these years.

Ford… Ford would be different too, sure. But Stan liked to think he’d aged well, that he’d still have that fire in his eyes, a sharpness Stan always admired, even envied.

Stan leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face, catching himself lingering on a thought he didn’t want to entertain. Maybe, just maybe, when he brought Ford back, things could be different. Maybe they could be brothers again, in a way that wasn’t cold, guarded, and broken. Or maybe it could be… anything, anything that felt like a real connection. But that little voice whispered louder, tugging at something in him he didn’t dare name. He’d buried it down deep, but here, in the quiet, he could almost hear it.

 But that was insane, ridiculous. No place for that here, no point.

With a harsh breath, Stan slid back his chair, closing the display case with a soft click. Just a couple more parts, a few more months.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

theres no way first didn’t get a boner while filming those things… i dont even hava a dick but i got a boner

anon did you see the post where i said write something unhinged about fk and i might write fic? anyway here you go, unsolicited fic:

First is fine, of course he is. 

This is his third series writhing against Khaotung in front of a live crowd, and he’d died of mortification several times already, right now he’s just trying to breathe and get through it all. So he’s doing well, he thinks, all things considered. Just him and the blank white ceiling.

“No, the lamp throws the balance of the shot off and it hides all of Khaotung’s waist.”

And Khaotung, that traitor chimes in, “You can’t block out my waist! I shed blood for this.” To his credit he does sound genuinely anxious and First knows how hard he’s actually worked. But First is also genuinely anxious about how he is crotch up, tenting on a bed surrounded by no less than five crew members who are frantically trying to handle this situation. So far they’ve tried the covers, sweats, coffee mug on random table and apparently the latest, lamp, was also swiftly rejected. The compromise between artistic expression and First’s boner apparently eludes them still.

One would think that several people perplexed over his dick, would drive his boner right down but Khaotung, that traitorous beast, hadn’t separated from First. Instead, he lay with his head contentedly cradled on his shoulder, the heat of Khaotung’s thigh draped across First’s, sears his skin. And so, here First continues to lay, best friend tucked into his side, dick rock solid and leaving very little to the imagination in his white boxers. Light and dark color coding is fine until the outline of the veins running along his cock start showing up on HD film.

Just as he thinks Jojo is ready to just give up on the wide shot altogether, Khaotung, that absolute criminal, suddenly hums. “What if I just?” He mumbles to himself and then slithers down a little until his soft cheek is pressed against his chest, Khaotung’s warm breath steadily blowing over his nipple - dear god.

And apparently that wasn’t even the worst of it because the very next second - yep, that’s Khaotung’s arm pressing into his hard-on, shielding it from the camera. Jojo nearly screams, yelling out a generous amount of praises for Khaotung while First’s insides slowly dissolve into goo.

“Relax.” Khaotung, that incorrigible demon, says, “You know I take it as a compliment.” Yeah, so. First is just fine.

[shirecorn]

shadow of the colossus style game but the titans just flick you off or return you gently to a giant leaf with a pat on the head

[sallytwo]

Jennifer nearly jumped into the water / and she was tired like no one's ever been tired

[moonpaw]

Fighting DEMONS rn trying not to get invested in one piece to figure out wtf you're posting about!!!!

come here cyber.... we have this thang

‎

[crescentfool]

🍊🫐 throughout time!

[ratatatastic]

lmaoooo maffhew wanting the knot immediately and having to wait for sasha to catch up with that is so deeply funny like. this omega is not subtle and you’re not a stupid alpha babe! can only imagine what benny has to say to maffhew about it once he catches on and stops banging his head against a wall

idiots to lovers is always great but especially when its two people who would be hitched with 10 kids by now if they stopped being dumb for a single second like its that easy and yet...

to me they very much fall around the same time (infatuation at first scent if you will) just that sasha takes some time to get there not because he's dumb (okay he's a little dumb) but in the sense that its like "this person is very interested in me, i can see and recognise that but theres so much cognitive dissonance in my brain right now between knowing that intrinsically and finding that hard to believe so i unintentionally play dumb because obviously i'm reading too much into things it cant be me they're interested in haha that'd crazy but they're being awfully touchy and flirty with me wow"

but also it takes two to tango and we have to acknowledge that and this is when i would love to bring up the ways in which this man decides is the best way to go about that because he is a catholic school girlie... there's so much hilarity to be had here especially because his flirting is very uh how you say... a little ass backwards if you will especially considering dynamics

"I make it a point to keep the door closed when we're alone in a room together! That's basically a clear invitation that I'm down to fuck!!! Im basically asking to be ragdolled on his knot!!!"

and Benny just pinches the bridge of his nose like "I don't know how to explain to you in a way you'll understand that not everyone went to Catholic school."

But saying that Sasha does side-eye the door knob heavily when Maffhew goes over to close it the first time and he starts sweating like he just got dragged into a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven he did not sign up for and he's 13 again and oh god he got paired with a really cute girl, and he hasn't even had his first real kiss yet and-

And then absolutely nothing happens because Maffhew is just waiting with a polite expectant smile (because his work here is done, he did the heavy lifting know it's Sasha's turn) and this is when Sasha's dynamic classes training kicks in and he basically scolds himself for even assuming in the first place because this is clearly a show of trust (correct) not an invitation for extra circular activities (incorrect buzzer noise) and it basically becomes "This Omega really trusts me, I'm honoured especially as Pack Leader that I'm able to be so accepted into such a private space with the inherent knowledge that I will not encroach their boundaries whatsoever because consent is verbal, this is not in any way an invitation to take advantage of them this is deep platonic trust I will guard with my life :]"

and if you listen closely you can hear the lovely sounds of Maffhew bashing his head into a wall about how much of a gentleman Sasha is but also COME ONNNNNN... you know... once Maffhew realises what's happening which (looks at my watch) is not due for another few months really

Battle of wills: unstoppable force (maffhews catholic school understanding of dynamic interactions) vs immovable object (overseas alpha cotillion classes)

And if you think it's an Oh! An overseas dynamic thing! It's not. The Euros are watching the horrible car crash in front of them and doing absolutely nothing about it because it's none of their business, but they will stare at it... maybe judge it a bit but definitely are observing from the tall grass.

and I'm also not saying that luosty lundy forsy and bobby have a current running bet of how long it'll take for maffhew to break sasha in but i'm also not not saying that... luosty goaded lundy in the midst of a gossip session ("It has to be 3 months, right?) forsy happened to be around so lundy turned to him for advice ("7 months.") and maybeeee bobby overheard from all the way over from his stall and puts in his two cents for what it's worth ("6. Captain nice but not that nice. Very impatient." "So 3!" "No. Impatience makes him double the time, and wait longer. 6 months.") (lundy finally settles on a good 5 months because he's indecisive)

And Sasha does eventually pick up everything maffhew is throwing down... eventually... and when he does it becomes more so I want to court this omega the way they deserve I will take this slow and romance them sweetly :) *smash cut to maffhew caterwauling like a cat in heat*

but also once again its not like maffhew is helping sasha in any way this is idiot4idiot and benny would like to enjoy the car crash with the euros but unfortunately that's his soulmate, thats his bestie, his littermate from birth who has been weaned on the same teat as they climbed over each other to get to it, the first girl you kissed in your childhood bedroom because somehow you started play fighting on the bed because she was like i could totally pin you down easy and then she does and you always noticed how beautiful she was but shes even more gorgeous when she's pinning your wrists to your hannnah montana duvet you promised yourself youd changed out before she came over but you forget and well she teased you about it and you cant help but giggle about how perfect this all is and it seems that the natural conclusion to this is to taste the strawberry lipgloss of her lips because whats a kiss between besties huh its tacky and sticky and it tastes like summer and just other apt metaphors to put here about the inherent -isms of their relationship that i nearly cant put to words properly other than girls having fun (they are fucking)

and well anyways benny is watching and he has a lot of things to say about how its been proceeding so far

"You should really use your words."

"I am!"

"Right because smelling like a fucking perfume shop in the middle of October is using your words."

"This usually works with most Alphas okay!"

"Sasha isn't most Alphas."

"Tell me about it." Matthew grouses before he peeks over to Sam, looking up from beneath his eyelashes—the exact way he knows both endears him to Sam but also absolutely miffs him all the same, "Worked on you, didn't it?"

"Oh, is that what we're doing right now? We're calling getting a lapful of a preening O in preheat in the middle of a roadie a normal way to go about these things."

"It worked didn't it?" Matthew reiterates.

"It would work better if you use—"

"Okay! Alright!! I get it!!!" He does not.

like benny here is unfortunately an active listening participant in the going ons of the fuckery if not because hes involved by proxy because of maffhew because who else will hold his hair back as he calls him a dumb bitch you know

[give-grian-rights]

can someone tell me why im being abnormal about a character i've barely touched the content of. like yay yippie i watched like 20 hours of you. there's fucking 80 years of content get me OUT OF HERE?

[dittolicous]

i dont care where you live in the usa or w/e... if you dont vote for biden you are throwing away your vote and enabling trump. because *everyone* thinks their vote doesnt matter and piddles around because of that. hell, everyone thinks 'its only me, it wont make a difference' about THOUSANDS of things, like littering, picking seashells, taking stones from rivers, etc. and in all of those situations THEYRE FUCKING WRONG. if anything unites us, its our damn ability to think we alone are the outlier despite everything indicating otherwise.

and miss me with that 'biden is just as bad/is a murderer' shit. 1) cool, and how do you plan to change things in a mr. nazi-dictator trump world? how are you ACTIVELY making a difference? 2) CHANGE IS INCREMENTAL. the reason things suck so much is because the left keeps taking slow change as 'no change' and giving up before we can gain any momentum to make big change!

if you vote in hamas or w/e to protest... you might as well throw dirt at all those suffering innocent people. you arent saving palestine that way. that is not a helpful protest. you'll only enable trump to win by throwing away your vote. it is the one bit of actual power you have, so USE IT RIGHT! stop in-fighting for one moment! look at what is possible to achieve in reality! dreams arent fulfilled overnight!

when you feel like your vote doesnt matter, remember this - you have to try anyways

[hella1975]

the closest ill ever get to being a pick me girl is the joy that fills me when the chefs at work so clearly favouritise me. like im there nicely cleaned up in my smart-casual uniform just a 20 year old waitress smiling my customer service smile and behind me spawns Scary Dog Privilege 10x in the form of several burly middle-aged chefs at least three of which have criminal records and would all stick a bread knife in someone for bothering me

[longmaxsilvarg]

will forever have a soft spot for chloe cause yeah dawg i get it we can try to avoid becoming attached out of the overwhelming fear of being abandoned again but miserably fail together

[baekhyunsbestie]

hello! i really like your fics 🥵

i just saw him in latex gloves and it made my mind go crazy.. like… imagine gynaecologist!Baekhyun, examining the reader with his slender fingers ahh it’d be pure heaven 😇

(sorry if it’s weird, i hate my mind too)

hahahaha thank u for loving my fics, babie! <3 :') omg YES the latex gloves and the doctor coat had me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 wow i kinda need to write gynecologist!baekhyun asap