#Brass Knuckles for Sale

[selfdefensegearco]

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ElitEdge ABS Knuckles Review

1. The History of Brass Knuckles: Brass knuckles have a long and storied history, dating back to the days of the Roman Empire. In those days, they were made of iron and were used as a weapon by the Roman soldiers. Brass knuckles were also used in the American Civil War by the Union soldiers.2. […]

[cartsonlinestores]

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NOTE: These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. These products are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.

[gasmonkeyshop5]

What You Need To Know Before Ordering Vape Pens Online: The Pros and Cons

Vaping has become increasingly popular among cannabis enthusiasts, offering a convenient and discreet way to consume cannabis products. With the rise of online shopping, ordering vape pens online has become a common practice. However, it’s essential to be aware of certain factors before making your purchase. In this article, we will explore the pros and cons of ordering vape pens online to help…

[weedshopdenver]

Website : https://weedshopdenver.com/

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Phone : +1 909-375-1901

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[weedshopdenverco]

Website: https://weedshopdenver.com/

Address: St, Denver, CO 80239

Phone: 909-375-1901

Home of top-shelf medical marijuana, wax, and cartridges. Buy cannabis online from a legit dispensary.

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[starry-bi-sky]

This is very inspired by @minnesota-fats post about Danny being Bruce Wayne's clone (which has been rotting in my brain for two days) but an au where danny isn't just Bruce Wayne's clone, but also not fully a ghost.

both ideas can be used separately honestly, the idea just came to me while thinking about the bruce wayne clone idea, and a lot of this idea is just "danny without his ghost powers. i might probably make a part two that delves into him being bruce wayne's clone.

Hear me out.

A Danny Fenton who has the ghost sense and the fangs and the pointed ears and the scary eyes and an increase ecto-essence, but does not have the ability to "go ghost". His accident occurred when he pressed the "on" button on the outside of the portal, and the button electrocuted him due to faulty wiring. He ends up miraculously surviving but not without some new additional abilities (and electricity-based trauma).

Since Danny no longer has a built-in alter ego with the invert wardrobe to match, he doesn't see the point to take ghosts back to the ghost zone. What the hell can he do anyways? All he has is a cosmetic add-in, a lower body-temperature with an impressive ability to hold his breath longer than a human realistically should, and a built-in ghost detector. Not very helpful if you ask him.

That is, up until he goes into the lab after his parents catch a relatively harmless ghost and sees them vivisecting it. He's horrified. He thought his parents were using hyperbole when he said they'd tear them apart molecule by molecule.

(Granted, he also believed that ghosts were unfeeling up until he saw this random ghost being absolutely terrified for its existence on the table.)

After an argument over his parents harming the ghost, Danny goes back up to his room and refuses to leave, not even for dinner. Later that night after his parents went to sleep, Danny steels his resolve and sneaks back down into the lab and releases the ghost back into the ghost zone.

This happens a handful of times, until, finally, frustrated, Danny tells the latest captured ghost to tell anyone inside that if they even think about coming through, he'll capture them and bring them back to the zone himself. It's for their own safety.

The ghost agrees, and goes back inside. Danny steals a "failed" thermos from his parents' stash of weapons. The next time that a ghost shows up, its the lunch lady from episode one. Danny manages to defeat her without being seen, but knows that if there's gonna be consistent daytime ghost attacks then he can't base his luck around fighting without witnesses.

So he fashions himself with a makeshift outfit. This really only consists of an old, nondescript hoodie and a plain black face mask. Its the best thing he can do at short notice, however. Later, for his nighttime ghost fighting, his outfit is only slightly better.

He considered using one of his parents' lab suits. But white sticks out at night and the material doesn't protect you from road burn. His outfit is pretty homemade, with knee and elbow pads under his clothes and multiple layers. A long sleeve shirt over a hoodie over a black denim vest he found on sale. He later on manages to make brass knuckles ghost-proof and manages to stitch them into his gloves. (he gets very good at sewing).

His favorite part of the entire outfit, is a Casey Jones-style full-face mask he found while thrifting. It allows him better breathability than the face mask he was using (calling Rule Of Cool law here), and he can use his scary eyes to make him look more intimidating. His gloves, his mask, and his thermos are the things he carries around with him constantly, and, later on, wears baggier clothing to hide the fact that he's wearing knee and elbow gear under his clothes.

Did I mention he has long hair? Danny has long hair (because GNC danny ftw, it goes past his shoulders) that he braids back. it's a bit sloppy but it keeps his hair out of his face well enough. He takes the fenton creep stick with him.

(He and Bruce have, ultimately, a more lean build than a bulky one. It helped Bruce with his Brucie Wayne persona big time when he had to look like a pretty skinny boy, he uses body language, optical illusion, and body armor to make himself look bulkier as batman)

He still goes by the name Phantom. He still has a bitter rivalry with his parents, who have no idea that its him. They think he's probably some other ghost with beef with the other ghosts (he still triggers their ghost sensors), and still want to capture him.

He doesn't talk around the living. He doesn't have any fancy voice changer and dropping his voice hurts and ultimately, he just uses ASL if he ever has to talk in front of people. The ghosts know his voice at night, but not during the day.

He hardly talks to the living. He avoids them like the plague actually. When he defeats a ghost and there's an audience, he barely sticks around to have a nice friendly chat. He tries to get away as soon as possible. He's paranoid over people finding out who he is. He doesn't have that ghost form to fall back on here.

Oh god this is getting so long, so i'll post another part soon.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 5 June 2013, teenage anti-fascist and unionist Clément Méric was killed by neo-Nazis in Paris. Méric and some of his fellow antifascists happened upon a group of fascists at a sale of Fred Perry and Ben Sherman clothing – popular with both antifascist and fascist skinheads. Despite being physically far smaller than the neo-Nazis, and recovering from leukaemia, 18 year old Méric reportedly mocked them. A brawl then erupted in which Méric was punched in the face five times with brass knuckles before the fascists fled. Méric was a member of the anarcho-syndicalist CNT union, and was active in movements for LGBT+ and migrants' rights. His killers were part of the Third Way fascist group. Two of them were jailed for terms of 11 and seven years imprisonment in 2018 but one was released after 55 days pending an appeal. In the years following his death, thousands of people have gathered to demonstrate in his memory around the anniversary date, and have been addressed by individuals including Assa Traoré, sister of Adama Traoré, a young Black French man who was killed by police in 2016. More information, sources and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/10544/Cl%C3%A9ment-M%C3%A9ric-killed-by-fascists https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=638457261660826&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[firecooking]

A fun piece that took me WAY too long to complete!

I wanted to draw out the Z stacks for my humanoid au and do something fun with the outfits and the posing. I almost always draw them in some form of work uniform or in their formal gear and while that's pretty accurate for most situations they also have non work good clothes, of course in shades of Zero Marine Bigg City approved browns and blacks.

I also wanted to highlight more personal styles with them as well as keeping the context of the 1920s in mind! I also gave them all weapons for fun!

Zip has a VERY stylish youthful way of dressing for the 1920s, his bow tie would be seen as rather formal in contrast to his outfit which would be very youthful and in matching, shorts don't match with sweaters, boots don't match short sleeves, young men often dressed 'eclectically' to 'stand out'. Zip Carries a rather standard hunting rifle, he doesn't much like to use it, but it lets him stay away from danger while protecting himself. He's a small guy and doesn't like to be in the action, the gun lets him keep his distance, and he quite likes that. He does know how to use it and will if necessary.

Zug wears a pretty average day suit, it's pants cut is a little big and the coat is a sport cut, he'd been seen as basically a lousy dresser, sorta like a used car sales man. Zug carries a Tommy Gun, he's a small guy and it gets the job done.

Zorran dresses in a modern for the time business suit, the cut is straight on the pants and jacket and the bi coloured pants and jacket would be seen as a more relaxed choice and he's forgone the vest of old. Winged saddle shoes complete the look, he would be a snazzy dresser in the eclectic sense like Zip. Zorran is a resourceful man and will fight with anything at hand, but a good old fashioned lead pipe is easy enough to carry and conceal and even easier to ditch without suspicion

Zebedee forgoes convention, instead going for comfort and a relaxed fit. The Zoot Suit is still two decades out but the smoking suit is making its debut, considered a wasteful use of fabric Zebedee is on the cutting edge of fashion, even if he just wanted something comfortable. He is a fan of brass knuckles, if he has to fight he'd rather brawl fair and square

Zak, like Zorran, forgoes a piece of the standard business suit, However his piece of choice is the Vest, which sets him firmly into casual. With a dark grey shirt and matching tie, pants, hat and shoes, Zak is scrubbing against the grain of fashion conventions of the time, Zak would be kicked out of a fancy restaurant on sight in such an outfit. Zak keeps a switch blade on him at all times, he's a big fan of stiletto style knives, they make quick work of any target

Zaffre opts to forgo feminine dress but doesn't abandon women's wear. The Blazer is in its second decade as women wear, note the lack of collar notches on the blazer and the single button, and the loose fitting light fabric pants are the trend with young flappers for day wear. Her shirt and tie are what step back into men's wear but are not unheard of anymore. She's young and a great example of a second generation suffragette, the right to vote is just the first step, you know. Zaffre hasn't opted for any weapons yet, the hat pins and batons of days past are not needed when you are ready and willing to beat someone to death with your bare hands. Maybe she'll find something someday

Also have a high chart because I am terrible at drawing them to scale, by 1920s average heights they are all pretty average, Zug and Zaff being extreme but not unheard of, by today's average heights literally all of them are average and below with Zug being unheard of as a 'normal' hight

[selfdefensegearco]

Check Out This Fantastic Post Just Published on https://selfdefensegearco.com/personal-protection/elitedge-abs-knuckles-review/

ElitEdge ABS Knuckles Review

1. The History of Brass Knuckles: Brass knuckles have a long and storied history, dating back to the days of the Roman Empire. In those days, they were made of iron and were used as a weapon by the Roman soldiers. Brass knuckles were also used in the American Civil War by the Union soldiers.2. […]

[dr-malice]

UGH. Here is my lovely superjail oc and his lovely cat thing, whom I love.

And here is some lore😨

> Steven Katz

>

> He is 53; his birthdate is 09/02/70

>

> Posture- straight posture with a small limp at times

>

> Something always carried/Weapon/Tools

> Wallet | snacks for stimpy | brass knuckles and or pepper spray

>

> Skills

> Sniper/was (now prefers not to) | Therapist | Good at reading a room | Later in life human anatomy (future version)

>

> Struggles

> Alcohol addiction, weed addiction several other addictions

> bipolar: Autistic

>

> Strength/Talent

> helping others; can calm others down, has a calming demeanor

>

> Hobbies

> history, guns, theories, learning about marine life, being with the doctor

>

> Habits

> will fiddle with objects, often is blunt, has a strict schedule, has meltdowns

>

> Pets

> Stimpy (skin cat with a human eye, human hands, and feet) is given to him by the doctor; Stimpy is the main thing that brings Steven and the doctor together. As when Steven had gone around to meet the other staff members at Superjail, the doctor had made a mutant cat. Steven is highly fond of cats. So since then, Stimpy has followed both men around.

>

> Area of Residence/Environment

> superjail: his office: his room connected to said office: the doctor's area

> Home Description

> currently: queen size bed, red accents, green floor, and wall, faded, lava lamps (made by the doctor) , bong, metal slab, skulls, a singular sniper (A mix of the doctor's stuff and Stevens's stuff)

>

> Job Satisfaction

> he is okay with it though Is often drained, hard for him to cope

>

> Personality

>

> a very timid man, although does have a few spouts of WOOSH (opposite of timid) ((as he is bipolar and now unmedicated))

>

> Childhood Life

> He had a tough childhood, being born and raised in a farm household in Texas.

> • yeehaw but bullied for being gay at school, and once it reached home he was pretty much abandoned. As his parents were severely homophobic and honestly, just not good people all in all.

> -alcoholic mom and dad

> - James was his partner for many years till James's death. James was the only sense of security and safety Steven had known, hence his severe attachment.

> James and Steven both raised money to move elsewhere.

>

> ~ by age 16 he moved to Vermont from Texas with money he had gotten from sales since he was 14 plus with the help of James

> (raised animals and other side jobs)

>

> Important Past Event

> • Stevens's ex, James, was not a good person to Steven, overly controlling and bitter towards his work since he was in the military, served for 12 years before losing an arm discharge, and found out his husband cheated. He was upset yet couldn't leave. years later jailbot took care of him by "accident"

> The accident is when Jailbot bursts into Stevens's house to take them to be Superjail's therapist. Primarily for Jared. In the process of Jailbot coming in he had accidently killed James. Much to Stevens's dismay.

>

> Best Accomplishment

> Finding stimpy and talking to the doctor

> His therapy degree

>

> Worst Moment

> either the incident with his parents or James, maybe even when everything was taken away from him (first three weeks)

>

> Failure in life

> getting no arm, not leaving James before said incident.

> Timeline :

> 1970 : He was birthed

>

> 1983 Steven had realized he was gay and had gotten with James, who had kept their relationship a strict secret, would even be seen flirting w girls, but never stuck up for Steven (james was a year and a half older than he)

>

> 1986-87 ; Officially disowned, left to Vermont with James (James had family there) to peruse more career options (age : 16)

>

> 1988-89 : Steven had left to go to the millitary and had servered for quite some time as a marine. He was a sniper. James heavily disapproved of his job, But Steven thought it was the only option

>

> 1990-2002 : Steven had been overseas most of this time with a few breaks inbetween

>

> 2002 : Steven was discharged from the millitary due to loosing a limb (his left arm)

>

> 2004 : Steven had finally gone to college to be a therapist

>

> 2008 : He had finished college and became a therapist, which he was quite content with, aswell as he had finally gotten a prosthetic arm.

>

> 2009-2013 : his career had blossumed, he had been a very well known therapist within the state of Vermont.

>

> In 2014 : (when SJ was cannceled so the time line sorta lines up) This is when Steven had gotten snatched by Jailbot upon request of them needing a therapist/hr, James was killed on accident, woopsie

Steven Katz superjail

Steven Katz Superjail Oc

[hecatemoon87]

Mano a Mano: Tom Hardy Characters

Forrest Bondurant vs. Reggie Kray

This is just a fun game. I love all of Tom's characters!

Reggie: So you sell moonshine?

Forrest: Depends on who's askin'.

Reggie: Right...you don't know who I am, do you?

Forrest: Personally, I could give a shit.

Reggie: I'm a gangster, a pretty infamous one. You let me in on a take of your moonshine sales and I can triple your earnings, mate.

Forrest: Ain't no Bondurant gonna work for no limey. Not interested.

Reggie: Maybe you'll change your mind after me and my brother teach you a lesson, yeah?

Forrest: You got a brother? Well, I got two. Let's see who teaches who a lesson.

My personal opinion: I think Reggie and Ronnie would give Forrest a run for his money. Jack wouldn't be too useful, but Howard probably could match Ronnie's aggressiveness. Both Forrest and Reggie like their brass knuckles, don't they?

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Info for Faith In The Future World Tour VANCOUVER, BC - JUN 26 2023

With special guest ANDREW CUSHIN!

Important Times:

7:00 PM - Doors Open

8:00 PM - Andrew Cushin

9:00 PM - Louis Tomlinson

Times are all approximate and subject to change.

General admission (pit tickets):

Guests can begin lining up no earlier than 9AM on the day of show, June 26.

Sequentially numbered wristbands will be put on guests’ wrists upon arrival on a first come, first served basis.

Guests must have a valid ticket for the Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Centre show on June 26 to receive a wristband, and all guests in a party must be present to receive a wristband.

Any guests that have camped overnight or arrived before 9AM will not be given wristbands and will be sent to the back of the line.

Guests are encouraged to return at 3PM to queue for General Admission entry beginning at the East Entrance off Wesbrook Mall. See map for entrance details and follow red flags for the correct entrance.

Security will honour wristbands from 3PM – 4PM. After 4PM, guests will join the line on a first come, first served basis.

Loss, removal or tampering with a wristband will result in loss of place in the GA line.

Guests are not permitted to hold places in line. Please be respectful and courteous to all other guests in line.

Have your mobile tickets open and ready to scan to expedite entry upon doors opening at 7PM.

All General Admission ticket holders must wear a floor wristband provided by the venue upon entrance in order to enter the floor. This is independent from the sequentially numbered wristbands provided for the waiting queue.

There are no in/out privileges.

Assigned Seating Ticket Holders:

All assigned seats (sections 117-102) will enter through the East Entrance off Wesbrook Mall. See map for entrance details.

Please look out for blue flags to guide you to the Assigned Seating entrance.

Have your mobile tickets open and ready to scan to expedite entry.

There are no in/out privileges.

If you have seat tickets there’s no need to line up.

Check the venue’s socials and website for updates!

⚠️ HYDRATION ADVISORY ⚠️

Hydrate before the show, while waiting in line and during the show

For optimal hydration drink something with electrolytes such as Gatorade or LiquidIV

Eat well!

Here are important things to know:

The venue is cashless! Pay with card!

Parking: Several parking options available in the area ($10) info and pay in advance here.

ADA info here 

Cameras: Cameras with a detachable lens or lens of more than two inches are prohibited from all Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Centre concerts. The use of flash photography is also prohibited. The event producer reserves the right to deny camera use at any time before or during the event and to prohibit the use of any camera that is deemed unacceptable.

Alcoholic beverage sales end 1 hour from the scheduled end of the event

NO outside food

NO outside drinks

NO Glass bottles, cans, personal water bottles (metal or hard plastic), coolers or thermoses

NO Animals (except service animals)

NO Marijuana or any cannabis products

NO drugs

NO smoking

NO Large umbrellas

NO Fireworks, explosives and aerosols

NO knives, firearms, Brass knuckles, Tasers & mace/pepper spray, razor blades, box cutters, scissors and unsafe personal accessories or weapons of any kind

NO Spray cans and aerosols, silly string

NO Objects that can be used as projectiles (inflatable balls, frisbees, etc.)

NO Horns, noise makers, whistles, instruments, and bells

NO Jewelry with spikes/studs

NO Laptop Computers

NO Lawn chairs & personal stadium-style seats

NO Selfie sticks

NO Laser Pointers/flashlights

NO Bicycles, scooters, Segways, hoverboards, skateboards and roller blades

There is NO RE-ENTRY!

Lost & Found info here

VIEW VENUE MAP 

VIEW SEAT MAP

*This list is not exhaustive. Items not appearing on the list may still be prohibited at the discretion of Security

For more details click here and here

Bag Policy:

Bags smaller than 12″ x 12″ are ok

NO backpacks

Banners, signs and flag policy:

NO Banners with poles and/or political banners

Signs and flags cannot be hung or fastened anywhere in the Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Centre.

Merch:

On June 26, merch will be available to purchase:

Outside of the arena entrance from 3PM until showtime.

Inside the venue, at Sections 118 and 109/110.

All transactions are all cashless.

Contact:

For additional questions please call the venue at 604 822 6121 or 604.822.3749. You can also access their website. Message them here. Email: ice.rink@ubc.ca. Check their twitter here for updates. Address: 6066 Thunderbird Boulevard, Vancouver, BC Canada V6T 1Z3. Venue: UBC, Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Centre

[londonclubofsherwood]

Stanuary week 1: Mystery

This is my fic for week one of @stanuary. It's set after the portal incident when someone comes knocking on the murder hut's door with some questions about Stanley.

I don't have ao3 so I'm just posting it here. Hope you enjoy!

Stan Pines was snapped out of his math-fuelled haze by a knocking at the door. 

Who could that be? 

He and Ford had no friends in town as far as he knew. No neighbours either, no matter what that Dan guy kept claiming. As  a city boy there was no way he was going  count people who lived twenty minutes away as neighbours. The Manotaurs hadn’t come knocking since he chased one off with a bat, an ultimate shame for their kind. And what tourist would visit at six on a January evening? 

The mystery visitor knocked again, firmer this time. His stomach dropped. 

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way Rico would have been able to track him down to an Oregon town so backwater that it didn’t make it onto roadmaps. But still…

Stan shoved the freshman textbook away. He reached for his baseball bat before deciding against it. The bat was a trusty old thing but would be nothing compared to Rico and his goons with their guns. Besides, the bat would be an immediate giveaway of who he was. Same with his brass knuckles.

He briefly toyed with the virtue of answering with both a weapon and his best approximation of Poindexter. Just put on a mustard coloured sweater vest and start rambling about algebra and parallel dimensions and Area 51. If needed he could, with puzzled and owlish expression, tell Rico that Stanley Pines was dead. Car crash. Very tragic. Or it would be if he cared enough to miss him. 

Rico might even fall for that con. For all the disguises Stan had assumed over the years, he had never managed to settle into one so painfully nerdy. But if Rico still saw straight through it Stan would be just another John Doe tossed into a dumpster to rot. Ford would have no one to bring him back. His family would have another twin to grieve, and this time it would be the good one. The golden child. 

He almost considered leaving it unanswered. But if it was some confused tourist? Stan could never resist a sale. 

So he came to the door as Mr. Mystery. A loveable rouge of a showman with a broad smile and a garish yellow shirt littered with question marks. His weapon? A 'magical’ staff that was in reality a magic 8 ball duct taped onto a cue stick with the mystical ability to shut annoying people up with one good whack. 

He could not be Stanford Pines — the genius whose life he stole. Neither could he stomach being Stanley Pines anymore — the failure who had burnt everyone foolish enough to get close. Mr Mystery was a compromise.

“Welcome to the murder hut!” He said with the voice of a chain-smoking carnival barker. “What kind of spooky mysteries and weird — ah, weirdness are you after?” 

It was a woman. Long coat. Navy turtleneck jumper. Tortoise shell glasses. She looked like a nerd, and a short one too. Relief washed over him that he had not come out screaming with a bat.

“Uh, hello, Dr. Pines, can I ask you a few questions?” 

She must have been one of Ford’s old colleagues. Perhaps someone from whatever not-quite-West-Coast-Tech college Stan had condemned him to. Ford had been given some grant. And while it had become null a year or so ago they still may have sent this woman to follow up on that. 

“Its Mr. Mystery to you, and Mr Mystery is saying nothing about his potential research or any money he may owe.” 

She huffed. “Look, Stanford don’t care about your research. Look, I want to ask you about your twin brother Stanley Pines.” 

Stan froze. 

Cold dribbled down his spine like snowmelt. 

On instinct his eyes looked at her shoes. Brown boots. They did not seem to be of the steel-toed vanity favoured by undercover-cops. Still, a healthy distrust in humanity had never hurt him so far. He crossed his arms and stood up straighter. 

“He’s been dead a while. What’d you want?”

“I’m Helena Cale, a reporter for The Oregon Weekly and I think you’re brother’s story deserves to be told.” 

“Huh. Why don’t ya come in.” Stan said, just because he was sick of standing in the cold air. Nothing more. 

He took her to the kitchen. The half-packed away ‘exhibition’ and the cobweb-ridden gift shop felt far from the right place to discuss your ‘death'. Stan had gotten picky about that sort of thing since he got an actual house with different rooms in it. Imagine that? Stanley Pines paying off a mortgage. 

He plopped himself down on one of the old wooden chairs he had…acquired from a garage sale. Helena sat across from him. She pulled out a notebook and fountain pen out of her bag. Without asking a question she scribbled something down. Perhaps commenting on his charming personality or bold fashion sense. Still, the silence scared Stan. 

“What are you so interested in Stanley for? Sure the guy had personality but he’s hardly famous.”

“I’m actually curious about the circumstances of his death.” She responded.

Stan shifted in his seat. 

“He drove a car off the nearby cliff by accident. It wasn’t a suicide or anything.” 

The words escaped his mouth before he had time to consider how defensive they sounded. Stan Pines was a man who spoke before he thought. He refused to be ashamed about that even if it got him into many sticky situations.

“I never claimed it was. How much do you know about Stanley’s life after leaving home?” 

Stan barked a laugh. The wrong move. 

“Basically nothing. Stan didn’t call or make any effort to tell me what he was up to. Why, do you think he was penpals with some serial killers or something.” 

Helena glared at him —  her brow furrowed — before she recovered her previous unaffected persona. 

“According to the records your brother was homeless for most of his life and had an extensive criminal record. Including…” she rustled through her bag and pulled out a manilla folder “dealings with organised crime.”

He snatched the manilla folder from her and tipped it on its side. The pages tumbled out onto the kitchen table. He recognised most of them. Record after record about Stanley Pines, Steve Pinington, Eight-Ball Alcatraz; a loose spiderweb of mistakes and false identities he had spun throughout the Americas. And this was only a few of his aliases. 

“Who’s Eight-ball.” He said, plucking that sheet from the pile. “Looks like a piece of work.”

That eyepatch. That cut on his eyebrow which had since faded into a scar. Somehow, as he stared into the eyes of his younger self, the good memories flooded back. Late nights with Jimmy. Cheap beer and whiskey from the seediest of dive bars. Pride in being the slipperiest man in all of Arkansas — until he wasn’t. His fingers clenched into fists. 

“Well, he is believed to be one of Stanley’s many, many alibis.” She said. “Did you know he had fake identities?” 

“Figured he would have stopped after twenty-one. Heh.” His joke was met with silence. “But no, I didn’t. And what do you want to do about these? Stan Pines is dead.” 

“You don’t think it’s at all suspicious that a man who crossed so many shady figures just happened to die tragically young by ‘accidental’ circumstances.”   

Stan shrugged.  

“Fine. But even if there was a slight possibility of murder, wouldn’t you want to know for sure. He’s your brother. Hell, if my sister died I would not rest until I disproved any single possibility of foul play. And she’s a primary school teacher.” 

He got it. If Ford ended up dead then Stan would do anything to bring justice. But if Stan died? He wasn’t sure Ford would be bothered to schlep back to Jersey for his low-budget funeral. 

“This isn’t some Jim Thompson story. This is real life, and in real life sometimes no-good grifters die boring, stupid deaths. No mysteries required.” 

He tried to smooth out the tremble in his voice. His father had made clear enough that men should never cry, or really any vulnerability. At least if they knew what was good for them. Thankfully, his coarse voice often hid any emotion which forced its way in there despite his efforts. It had served him well on the streets.

“Jim Thompson?”  Helena asked. 

“Crime novelist.” He answered simply. 

Of course she was probably too much of a nerdy snob to read a pulp thriller. And if she was, Ford definitely was. He probably read those more intellectual books. What was that author Ford liked’s name? Agnes Christopher? 

He was so caught in his musings he missed her next question. “What did you say?” 

“I asked if you were the last person to see Stanley alive?” 

“Eh, yeah. Think so.” 

“Did he say anything suspicious?” 

What had he even told Ford? Had he mentioned Rico? Jimmy? Probably he had just complained about his stupid mullet. He shook his head. 

This hurt — no, it couldn’t hurt him. He was a Pines man, after all. Whatever. It was still a ridiculous waste of time. He needed it to end.

“Get. Out.” Stan said, rising to his full height. 

Helena dropped her pen, leaving blue ink pooling on the paper. But she did not leave, or at least thank him for humouring with what was likely a desperate attempt to capitalise on his brother’s — or really his own death — for clout. 

“Actually, I have a few more questions.” 

“Yeah? And I have one response. Leave.” 

“Your brother’s death is a mystery. Potentially the story of the decade. I need to get to the bottom of it.” 

How many damn times could he hear about a brother dying? See the fake pity of a woman who did not know what she was talking about?

“Well, maybe I don’t care about that good-for-nothing leach.” 

The words clattered in the silence. She leaned back in the seat, her eyes boring into his own. It was not anger that she had met him with, but rather a mixture of pity and disappointment. It was the same look that Mrs. Aylward had given him back in seventh grade when she realised that despite all the help she had given him, he had just copied off of his brother for the final assignment. Well, at least he had plenty of practice disappointing people. 

“You don’t really mean that.” Helena said. 

“Yeah. I do. You didn’t know that bastard like I did. He was a clingy, selfish liar who road on my coattails and when I told him to stop he ruined my life. Then when he finally left he couldn’t even make something of himself. Imagine that!” 

The words flowed from Stan’s mouth with the ease tears could never match. It was too easy to imagine all the terrible things Ford felt about him. Fed by the pure vitriol he felt about himself in his darkest moments.

“You know why he came to see me here in gravity falls? He came to beg for more money and a place to stay. He couldn’t even deal with the consequences of his actions as a grown man. Huh. Guess, my father was right about him. Dying was the most worthwhile thing he ever did. So, yeah, I don’t want some Sherlock Holmes messing around with what should be dead and buried.” 

His breathing was ragged and hoarse. Adrenaline coursed through his body. 

He might have been a bit harsh in his impression of Ford, but there was something cathartic about venting all of his guilt and fears and his anger towards his stupid genius brother who left him with a house and impossible debt. And his hatred at himself for being the one who had all but pushed him into the portal.  

He definitely was too harsh on this poor reporter looking for a scoop. He shrunk in on himself in a way he had not done in a while. His shoulders slumped, his hands clasped in front of him. Helena did not seem to notice his change in demeanour. 

“I understand, sir.” She said instead, grabbing her things and shoving them back into her bag. “I’ll leave you alone here. It seems you were not the kind of man I thought you were. Perhaps you were too…involved in this death.” 

“Look, I meant —”

Of course Stan had found another way to blow things. Helena thought he had killed his brother. And yes, he may have in a way, but it was an accident he would die to amend, not some coldblooded murder. And for all of his flaws he knew that Ford would never kill him.

The door slammed. He heard the rumbling of an engine revving to get out of this cursed patch of wood. Now all he had to do was wait for the howling of police sirens coming down Gopher Road. 

He had never been arrested for murder before. The thought was almost funny before he realised that meant his chance of getting Ford back was zero. North West Realty would come sniffing and the cabin in the woods would go to some random family of holidayers from California who had no idea what monstrous secrets lurked beneath the creaking floorboards. 

He couldn’t let that happen.

He had to fix this. He could talk his way out. He was Stanley Pines, the conman with a silver tongue. Images flashed back of Ford closing the curtains and of him being shoved in that trunk, being tied up in a warehouse, shanked in the side. He grimaced. 

This time he could not afford to fail. 

He had to meet Helena again and try and plead his case that he was a grieving man who was dealing with it badly. He looked at the empty liquor bottles on the counter. Yeah, that story was believable. He could even throw in the fact that he was drunk. 

Heh, perhaps he should have thrown in some ramblings about those gnome jerks who were always going through his trash. That would have convinced her. 

But it had to wait to the morning. The last thing he wanted was to look like a stalker as well as a fratricidal monster. In the morning she would would probably be in Greasy’s Diner. It was the only place to eat in town after all. And she couldn’t cook a decent meal in whatever dinky hotel they had set her up in.

He poured himself a nip of Scot - ish Whiskey (the finest from Washington State!) to steady his shaking hands  and took a seat at his Easy Chair. He had a feeling that he was not going to get a lot of sleep that night. 

The sun had only just crested the mountains by the time Stan was out the door. He clambered into the front seat of the Stanleymobile and turned on the engine. That loud hum was more soothing than anything else in his life. Sitting in the driver’s seat made him feel powerful, like he was in control — sometimes to a dangerous extent. 

The drive to Greasy’s Diner had never felt this long. He wondered whether the mist around here had sort of time-slowing side effect. It would be far from the strangest thing he’d seen and while Ford had never written about it he had always had a flimsy grasp of the passage of time. Besides, that man didn’t know everything. No matter what he thought. 

He parked outside the log-shaped diner. As he got out some lady in a grey flannel jacket swore at him from her truck. So much for small town hospitality. And all because he had sped up at the last moment to take the last spot from her.

Ridiculous. 

Just like it was ridiculous that the place was bustling so early in the morning. Most of the tables were full of couples, and families with small children, and groups of friends. Gravity Falls was full of morning people. He scanned the place for any sign of Helena. She was no where to be seen. 

He considered leaving until that waitress — Susan he thought it was — asked him if he would like to get a table. He was going to decline but then she laughed at that cheesy joke he delivered with his trademarked--Stan-Pines grin so he said yes. He ordered pancakes and a black coffee. 

Then, by the time he was about to leave, Helena came in.   

“Hey, Helena! Can we talk?” 

She looked at him. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a sheepish smile. 

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?” She said. 

She must have had a rough night. Her eyes seemed blank and her voice hollow, compared to that fiery spark he had seen in her last night. Her white blouse was muddied and her coat buttons were done up wrong. Her hair looked unbrushed.

“Uh, it’s Mr. Mystery. Or Stanford Pines. We talked about your story?”

“I thought that I came here to report on lumberjacks and you don’t look like a lumberjack. No offence.” 

“I just live near one. You came to the wrong house.” He lied.

Maybe she had amnesia? She could have fallen and hit her head. It was a ridiculous lucky coincidence but after years of terrible luck he supposed the universe owed him something. Besides, what else could have caused her to forget such a recent memory. It made no sense. But he supposed not much in the town did. 

Ford would ask a billion questions and chase down the answers until the mystery bit him back. Stan was nothing like him. He was a guy who was content to let what happened happen. He had learnt the hard way that messing in what didn’t concern you rarely ended well. It would keep him safe in this strange, old town.

“Well, welcome to Gravity Falls. It’s the kind of place you’ll never forget.”

[nihils-trolls]

You're in a busy market square. It's a pretty standard flea market, folks from all over have set up crudely manufactured stalls. Some are small farmers selling their recent harvest, others craftsmen selling wares. The mixed smells and noise is slightly overwhelming. Every time you pass someone’s stall, their sweet words try to entice you into buying something. 

It's packed here, but through the shifting colors of the moving crowd, you spot something a bit out of place. Three stalls down, on your left lies an alleyway. Following it leads you to more stalls, but the further you go down, the less reputable the vendors start to seem.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a weaselly-looking troll running a stand.  He’s tall, a bit on  the lanky side though. He certainly looks like a walking stereotype you’d find around these parts.

On the counters lie a variety of items: lockets, a vase, scarves and various seemingly random trinkets. He’s seemingly a bit busy, trying to sell some olive a set of brass knuckles they picked up. Guessing by the way they set them down, they weren’t sold on it.

It’s not long before the peddler notices that you’ve wandered over. He brings his attention to you, now, knowing that you were watching his previous sale flop. His voice doesn’t exactly match his face; it’s smooth and feathery, but you can’t help but notice the annoyance held in his tone.

“You gonna buy something? Or should I start charging a looker’s fee?”

[ashly-29]

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