#Great Bacon Knowledge

[unproduciblesmackdown]

tbt the deh days baking motif interviews like it's time for will roland cooking v'logs while someone is there to pepper in q&a moments & conversation (&/or extended tangents) starters

[donutz]

Catnap & Dogday being silly with reader

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Zeki aph☆

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

It’s early in the morning, and the kids have woken up(some of them, those are the early birds).

You and PickyPiggy help out with the breakfast, surprisingly you two never get tired of it.

PickyPiggy is very familiar with food so of course she won't get bored, but you? It can be confusing on why you never get tired.. Of cooking and baking for the kids.

Both of you cook everyday, at least for breakfast. Cooking over 500 pancakes, bacon(sometimes), and eggs isn't thattt bad!!

That's what PickyPiggy and you say.

So while you were cooking pancakes, you were by yourself. PickyPiggy already took care of the bacon. Seems.. Weird. Because y'know, bacon is pork. But she doesn't know that so let's keep it a secret.

You had 400 already done, just 100 left. Then you and Picky have to work together to set the table and place down the plates of food.

You finished pouring out the batter for a few pancakes then sat down somewhere on the couch.

You're cooking for all the kids, but the little ones come first. The little ones are 1-6, the youth is 7-10, then the older ones are 11-17. Why do the little ones wake up earlier? You're not sure.

Since there isn’t anything to watch except Smiling Critter videos. You decide to watch that. While it was playing, you kind of— zoned out..

‘Why don’t I have hands instead of hooves’?

Then Dogday and Catnap came out of nowhere.

“Sheepy”!

“...”

Dogday jumped on you while Catnap crawled on the couch and sat next to you.

“What’cha doin?!” Dogday asked, he was always so interested in what you do in your everyday life. It’s just a routine, sometimes it doesn’t always stick to that but it’s okay.

“Waiting for the pancakes to cook—” While you were speaking, apparently PickyPiggy woke up and wanted to check on the cooking.

“Oh that’s great! Your pancakes are amazing! As always!” Dogday always compliments you on your cooking.

“What’s the ingredients for em? Again..?” And for some reason he couldn’t remember the ingredients every single time you told him. But you don’t mind.

(This is a real recipe by the way you can actually make this, it’s how I make pancakes!) While making eye contact with Picky, you were stating the ingredients.

“So I first use 1 cup of pancake flour”(You can use any, I think, I’m not sure since I’ve been using the same one every time I make pancakes)

“Then a ⅔ cup of water(If the flour looks like it needs more water you can do a full cup!)” You were hand motioning to Picky to flip over the pancakes since they should be done by now. She did it so you don’t have to worry too much, now.

She’s taking care of the pancakes now that you’re explaining the ingredients to a very interested puppy, and a very much listening kitty.

“Then three slices of butter, after getting the pieces I put it in the microwave, for 30 seconds or 1 minute, depending on how big the slices were”

“And to add some yummy flavor to it I use cinnamon, as much as you want really, also if you want to make it really sweet, you can use milk”!

“After putting the ingredients together, you mix 'em up! And now you pour the batter on the griddle, as much as you want”.

“Also if it’s too dry you could add more liquids(any of them, the melted butter, the water, the milk) or if it’s too liquidy you could add more flour”.

“... Wow! Sheepy you’re so cool when it comes to cooking and stuff!” The puppy was wagging his tail at how amazing you were with your knowledge about making food.

Then he gave you a big hug, he was on your left side so you put your left arm around his back.

“Thanks—”

Then Catnap rubbed his head against yours while purring.

Even if Picky is still in the area, she’s too sleepy to process Catnap’s affection.

You didn’t want to sleep here on the couch so you suggested to the polar opposites that, “We should move to our critter bedroom or something”.

While you three were walking to the critter room, remember how I said that some kids were early birds? Yeah, and someee of those kids were out of their bedrooms. So you and Catnap had to deal with having them go back into their rooms, since Dogday isn’t too good at that stuff.

He sometimes gets.. Manipulated by the kids.. They reason with him and tell him that it’s okay to stay out of the rooms. Then he goes, “Okay!” It’s not annoying, but it is annoying that the kids were taking advantage of Dogday’s kindness.

After that frenzy, you guys were actually heading back to the critters’ room.

Luckily, the workers thankfully had sympathy for the critters so you all actually have a place to rest. Even if you don’t need to sleep.

All the critters, except Picky, were playing around in the room. Then your trio came in and walked in on a party. Like a teenage birthday party, it was actually crazy. And somehow Craftycorn was drawing during all of this??

Catnap, Dogday and you were going towards your bed, just sitting on it, watching the madness. There was so much laughing, the room could be mistaken for a bunch of 3 year olds.

Then, KickinChicken threw a pillow and it hit Catnap’s face..

The room went silent, though, Craftycorn was still drawing.

“Oh! Sorry Catnap! I’ll try not to hit you again”!

He slowly turned his head towards the chicken, looking scary as ever.

But then you scratched the underside of his chin with your wrist(since you’re a sheep and have wool) or if your critter actually has hands then you scratched under his chin with your hand.

“Sorry about him, continue.” And then the playing started again.

And yes, Catnap started purring.

[ckret2]

Chapter 43 of suddenly human Bill Cipher is pretty eager to remain imprisoned inside the Mystery Shack:

The Eclipse: Part 1

Gravity's disappearing in Gravity Falls. Bill has an explanation for what's going on that has absolutely nothing to do with him, and also doesn't make any sense. Fiddleford has an alternate theory that makes a lot of sense, and has a whole lot to do with Bill. Ford trusts Fiddleford.

####

"An eclipse," Ford repeated. "Gravity's vanishing, you're floating, and you expect me to believe that it's due to an eclipse."

Bill shrugged. "I don't expect anything out of you. Believe whatever the heck you want. That's what it is, though."

"Even if it wasn't a ridiculous notion, there aren't any solar or lunar eclipses anywhere near Oregon this summer—"

"Did I say the eclipse was solar or lunar?" Bill asked. "No. I didn't." He breezed past Ford, heading to the kitchen. "Hey, is anybody gonna eat those pancakes?"

"Mine." Dipper ran past Bill to his abandoned plate.

"Then what kind of an eclipse is it?" Ford demanded.

Bill leaned on the kitchen counter, crossed his arms, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "Gravitational eclipse."

"There's no such thing!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. I Think Having A Mere Five PhDs Means I Know Everything! Please, enlighten the trillion-year-old all-seeing eye who spent a year correcting all your math with your superior knowledge of physics!"

"It's twelve PhDs and you know it."

"Oh, so what! I can still count 'em on one hand." (Dipper gave Bill's hand a puzzled look.)

"Is that how it is!" Ford huffed angrily. "Fine, great teacher—would you be so kind as to educate your student on what the devil a 'gravitational eclipse' is!"

He fully expected Bill to start spouting some absurd science fiction explanation; but instead, Bill hesitated, gaze flicking nervously toward the ceiling. Ford looked up, but didn't see anything.

"Just don't worry about it." Bill rubbed his right eye. He turned away from Ford to watch Dipper struggle to squeeze pancake syrup out of an uncooperative bottle. "Everything will go back to normal in three days. Just—don't look at the sky."

"Why not?"

"Don't worry about it," Bill repeated.  "Hey, take off the lid and stick a knife in, you're never getting anything out that way."

"I've got it," Dipper said testily.

Soos came downstairs at about the same time Stan joined them from the hallway. "Dudes, I think something weird's going on," Soos said.

Ford turned his back on his fruitless conversation with Bill. "We've noticed. Gravity's decreasing."

Soos paused. "Oh," he said, slightly deflated. "I thought I was developing super strength."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"So what's causing it?" Stan asked.

"I don't know yet."

From the kitchen, Bill called, "I just told you!"

Ford didn't look at him. "I don't know the real reason yet."

Stan asked, "Think it might be a portal thing? When it was powering up, gravity got kinda screwy. It wasn't like this, though. Any time there was a surge, gravity hiccuped for a few seconds. It never just... went down a little."

"And not for this long, either," Soos said. "It's been like this all morning." He paused; then asked, hopefully, "You sure we aren't just all developing super strength at the same time?"

Ford shook his head apologetically.

"Aww."

"I suspected the portal first," Ford said. "But I just looked it over and checked the equipment. There's no way any of it could have powered on. It's been completely disassembled since last summer." 

Stan shrugged. "What else could it be?"

"The gravity anomalies occurred whenever the portal was connected to the Nightmare Realm. All I can think is that perhaps it's something else with a connection to the Nightmare Realm that might be having a destabilizing effect on the fabric of reality. Something much weaker, but steadily regaining power..." He turned to cast a venomous look at the kitchen. "Power like the ability to float..."

Bill had been preoccupied with dipping a strip of raw bacon into a stolen uncapped syrup bottle; but at the accusation, he stared at Ford in disbelief. "What—are you kidding me?"

"Have a better explanation for why, the moment all this starts, you can suddenly hover down the stairs?"

"Sure," Bill said. "I'm better at floating than the rest of you because I've been doing it longer."

"Oh, that's stupid!"

"You're stupid."

"You're up to something," Ford snarled. "I know it."

"What could I possibly be up to!" Bill spread his hands, exasperated. "Seriously! Tell me! What could I possibly be up to?"

Ford screwed his face into a scowl, trying to think of any way Bill could have orchestrated the gradual decline of gravity while imprisoned in the Mystery Shack. "You are up to something," he said firmly.

Bill groaned and rolled his eyes. "Well if you ever figure out what, let me know! I'm dying to find out what I'm plotting." He chugged from the syrup bottle like it was a flask. And then had to keep holding it up while he waited for the reduced gravity to work on the syrup.

"Hey, Dr. Pines?" Soos held up his phone. "Just got a text from Tate. He says Old Man McGucket wants to know if you can come discuss the gravity issue?"

"I was just thinking the same thing. Let Fiddleford know I'll be there as soon as I can. Does he want me to bring anything?"

"Nope. Just your handsome face." Soos chuckled. "He—he didn't say that part, though. I did. I just think guys should compliment each other more."

Ford nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Soos."

"Grunkle Ford, can I come too?" Dipper dumped his dirty dish in the sink. "I could—I dunno—help brainstorm solutions, or something...?"

"I'd be delighted." Ford had wanted to spend so much more time with Dipper this summer. By now, he'd thought they would have had at least one hike through the mountains around Gravity Falls and maybe dug into a couple of old mysteries he'd never solved. At least this was one mystery Ford could bring him along for.

Dipper's face lit up. "Hold on, let me go get my journal." He ran upstairs, bouncing up two steps at a time in the reduced gravity.

Ford murmured to Stan, "You can hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

Stan nodded slightly. "I'll keep a close eye on him."

"Good."

When Dipper had returned and they were headed out the door, Bill called from the kitchen, "Keep your head down out there. And get inside as soon as you can."

Ford shot a dark look at Bill, but said nothing. "Let's go." He shut the door behind them a bit harder than necessary.

Soos headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. As he passed, Bill said, "Hey. Does the 'guys complimenting guys' thing only apply to humans, or what?"

"Oh. Uh..." Soos pulled his head out of the fridge to look at Bill. "You... look good in yellow? Is—is that a good compliment? I don't know what triangle demons consider a compliment."

Bill considered it. "Sure, it'll do." He dipped another strip of bacon in the syrup. "I look even better in gold."

####

A quarter mile from the shack, Ford drove over a small bump in the road he'd gone over a hundred times before.

The car bounced so high that Ford's head hit the car roof.

Somewhere, he just knew, Bill was laughing at him.

####

Dipper's knee had been bouncing for three minutes straight by the time they approached the gate to the Northwest Manor. "Dipper, are you alright?"

"Sorry." Dipper planted his foot flat on the floor. "It's just—we're driving really slow, and this whole gravity thing is kind of an emergency..."

Just nervous. "I know," Ford sighed. "I can't go any faster without losing control. Lower gravity means lower traction between the tires and the road." But it was driving him mad.

At the manor, Tate greeted them at the door with a slight nod. "Hey. Dad's in the lab."

"Thank you, Tate. I know the way."

When they entered the lab, Fiddleford was working with a soldering iron on an electronic device the size of a toaster. He looked up as soon as they came in. "Stanford, Dipper! Good timing. Come in. How's the shack?"

"Down a few rubber balls."

Ford left Dipper to drift around the lab inspecting Fiddleford's equipment and listening in on the conversation as he and Fiddleford caught up. Fiddleford had first noticed something was wrong during his usual morning post-coffee rambunctious rollick, when he leaped high enough to bang his head on the ceiling. ("All the way to the ceiling? In this house?" "Well, I was standing on the counter, you see." "Ah, of course.") He'd immediately built a vacuum chamber he could drop various tools and cutlery in so he could measure the acceleration of gravity. Usually, objects on Earth fell 9.8 meters per second. When Fiddleford first measured, falling objects accelerated by 7.9 meters per second—almost 20% slower than they were supposed to. Now, it was 7.7 meters per second. If that rate of decline was steady, gravity must have been going down overnight without anyone noticing. By Fiddleford's calculations, gravity was decreasing by around 1.5% an hour—and, if it continued at this rate, it would be gone the day after tomorrow, by early afternoon.

(Bill had said three days. That wasn't even two and a half.)

Fiddleford had done some scans and called some old college pals down in Texas to ask if they'd noticed anything strange—and it seemed that Gravity Falls was the only place in the country experiencing anything unusual, at least according to NASA's data. Fiddleford had asked Tate to drive around town dropping things; quelle surprise, the gravitational oddity seemed perfectly contained to the circumference of the town's weirdness barrier.

"If you're in communication with NASA, I don't suppose you could ask if..." Ford winced at himself, "they've... noticed any astronomical anomalies?"

Fiddleford stroked his beard. "I reckon I could, but—why?"

Ford sighed. "Bill said this is being caused by what he calls a 'gravitational eclipse.' Which sounds like patent nonsense, but—on the one percent chance he's telling the truth..."

"I getcha. That Bill's as trustworthy as a rattlesnake with rabies—but until we know what's happening, we ought to consider every possibility."

"Yes. Precisely." Ford paused. "Can... rattlesnakes catch rabies?"

"Absolutely not! Which is why you should never trust one what says he's rabid."

"Ah. Yes. I see," Ford said uncertainly.

Like Ford, Fiddleford's first suspicion was that this had something to do with the portal—a suspicion that was scuttled when Ford informed him he'd already checked the portal. Ford's own next theory was that Bill personally was somehow behind this. His gravity already seemed to be far lighter than the rest of the town. But Ford didn't know whether that was because Bill was causing the gravity-reducing anomaly, or because the gravity-reducing anomaly was disproportionately affecting Bill. And even if Bill was causing it, as yet Ford had no idea by what mechanism he was doing it.

Fiddleford had the first idea that might explain how this was physically happening: dimensional rips.

At the end of last summer, the town and surrounding woods had been lousy with small dimensional rips torn in spacetime by Weirdmageddon and its aftermath. A few had been large enough for a grown man to stumble through, but many were barely as long as a fingernail. Ford and Stan had spent the last few days of summer running through the town and the woods with the kids, armed with alien adhesive, glueing shut the rips; and then—after traveling back and forth to California to attend Dipper's bar mitzvah and to get hollered at by Shermie for disappearing and/or faking a death—they'd spent most of the next month taking care of even more rips. (Just enough time for gnomes to steal Ford's new Journal 4.)

The remains of the rips could still be seen throughout Gravity Falls: odd invisible seams in the air that seemed to make the woods behind them bend strangely, like the transition between air and water where light refracted differently. Sometimes the sun would line up just right with a gap in the leaves so that you could see a sunbeam bending in midair.

Fiddleford had two theories:

Theory one: even after they'd sealed up all the rips, the distressed fabric of reality around Gravity Falls had grown threadbare. Rather than a few huge rips tearing through to the Nightmare Realm, countless micro-rips were forming—hundreds of thousands of holes between the fibers of reality, too tiny to be seen or detected—and they were reaching critical mass. The structural integrity of reality itself was about to catastrophically fail. The barrier between here and the Nightmare Realm could shred apart at any minute, ripping open a massive maw too wide to ever be repaired, irreversibly swallowing Gravity Falls into Bill's dying dimension of madness and leaving a frothing pustule of chaos trapped inside the weirdness barrier, ready to spread across all of Earth if anything should ever pop it!

Or two: something else was happening.

Ford thought it was worth investigating. The damage was already there; maybe Bill knew it, was exacerbating it—perhaps by his mere presence—and was just hoping the humans wouldn't figure it out before his homecoming.

"You remember the wormhole detector I built last September to sense when new dimensional rips were openin' up?" Fiddleford asked. "Well, it ain't detected a thing in town since March—but if these micro-rips are real, they'd be too little to detect from any farther than forty or fifty feet. So's I whipped up a portable scannermadoohickey!" He picked up the object he'd been working on when Ford and Dipper arrived. "You can take it to the places with the most damage and wave it around to see if it senses anything!"

Ford inspected the scanner. "It says it's detecting eighteen right now."

Fiddleford waved him off. "That's fine, a few itty bitty little tears oughta be expected for the kinda damage we got last year. But if my theory's correct, there's somewhere in Gravity Falls that'll have hundreds of thousands of tears within the scanner's radius. That's what we're looking for."

"Great. And, what do we do if we find them? Such small rips would be impossible to individually seal with my adhesive applicator."

"I thought of that, too!" Fiddleford scrambled over two tables, knocking tools on the ground as he went, to grab a plastic cone-shaped object the size of a football. He scuttled beneath the tables back to Ford. "Look! I made a glue grenade!"

"A—a what?"

"Once you figure out where the micro-rips are concentrated, just pour that alien adhesive of yours into this spout here, pull the pin, and chuck it! It'll instantly seal up all the micro-rips in the area and then cover the whole town in a cloud of alien adhesive, closing any remaining rips!"

"Hmm... It sounds risky. It would use up the rest of our andhesive all at once," Ford said. "And the environmental impact could be devastating."

Fiddleford blinked. "Environmental impact?"

"Just think of an adhesive this powerful settling over the whole town and forest in a thin film. It would glue people's pores shut! They wouldn't be able to sweat! Imagine. And that's just one example of the potential consequences."

"Hm." Fiddleford scratched his head. "I could invent a body lotion with alien adhesive solvent?"

"Or, maybe we should only use the grenade once we're sure that such an extreme measure is necessary."

"Aww." Fiddleford kicked his foot in disappointment. "Hold on—let me at least whip up a spray attachment for your adhesive gun. So's you can patch up any clusters you find as you go." He darted between several tables, searching through drawers and tool chests for supplies, and then returned to his soldering station.

"Wait, hold on," Ford said. "In the space of a morning, you've built a vacuum chamber to calculate the gravitational acceleration in Gravity Falls, called NASA to get ahold of somebody to collect data across the rest of the United States, built a handheld version of your wormhole detector, and built a grenade to distribute alien adhesive?"

"I sure did!"

"And, how long have you been awake?"

"An hour and a half!"

Ford stared. "Where do you get your coffee?"

Fiddleford glanced across the room at Dipper, and whispered, "I'll tell ya later."

Dipper had drifted over to the miniature particle accelerator and was slowly circling it, inspecting all the pipes, trying to figure out how it worked. He was leaning over the trash can when Ford drifted over to join him. "Hey, Grunkle Ford? I... think there's a cat in here?"

"You don't know that!" Fiddleford shouted. "It could be dead!"

"No it's not, I can hear it meowing."

"That might be something else! You can't tell!"

"I could just open it—"

Fiddleford chucked an empty plastic spool of solder wire toward Dipper. "Don't you touch that!"

Dipper withdrew his hand from the trash can lid and looked at Ford, baffled.

"I'll explain how it works," Ford said.

While Fiddleford worked, Ford caught Dipper up on the details of the fuel they needed for the Quantum Destabilizer, the contraption Fiddleford had built to synthesize it, and the complicated way they'd tried to paradoxically (not) observe the experiment in progress. When Fiddleford came over to offer the completed spray nozzle, Ford asked, "Any progress on figuring out how to get this thing working?"

"No," Fiddleford sighed. "I've been lookin' into more stable paradoxes to replace the cat. But as far as the observer—I'd hoped usin' twins might just get close enough, but I've redid my cac'lations three times and I'm afraid the only way to get this thing working is by gettin' one person to both observe and not observe it at the same time. If we can just do that, we'd have all the fuel we need. But for the life of me I can't figure out how."

"Maybe if we had two versions of the same person from different dimensions..." Ford mused. "But that would require opening up a portal to reach another dimension, and there's the risk that uniting parallel versions of the same person might destabilize our entire dimension. It's not worth the risk."

"It sounds like one of those impossible riddles," Dipper said. "Like, 'If only a barber shaves people who don't shave themselves, and if anyone who shaves himself isn't a barber, then who shaves the barber?' Because if he shaved himself he wouldn't be a barber but since he shaves other people he has to be a barber..."

Ford said, "A second barber shaves him."

Fiddleford said, "He just don't shave at all."

Dipper paused. "I think I told it wrong."

Ford patted his shoulder. "But I think you're on to something. We need to think of this as a riddle; and every riddle has a solution. We just need to find it."

"After we save the town, right?" Dipper asked.

Ford smiled wanly. "One crisis at a time."

####

They agreed that investigating all the potential micro-rip hotspots around town would probably necessitate a camping trip—which was the only bit of good news to come out of this mess so far. Due to all of this summer's Bill bullsoup (as Stan had taken to calling it in front of the kids), Ford and Dipper had hardly gotten to see each other so far, much less do any serious paranormal investigating together. Hiking and camping while in search of the strange sounded like exactly what they'd been missing out on—and it would've sounded even better if the situation weren't so dire.

Ford and Dipper came back in the Mystery Shack as Shandra Jimenez said on TV, "Today's top story in Gravity Falls is that gravity isn't falling. Many residents recall similar incidents around this time last summer, when gravity intermittently shut off entirely, leading many to ask: could this possibly be another devastating effect of global warming? Temperatures today are—"

Ford scoffed. "Global warming. Of all things. Gravity is probably the only part of the environment it isn't affecting."

"I dunno, Ford, maybe you oughta consider it." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the couch, chin in his hand. He had his eye patch over the eye he'd been squinting that morning. "As long as you're already rejecting the real explanation to make up one you like better, why not go whole hog? Let's adopt a real crackpot theory."

"You want to talk about 'crackpot theories'? Global warming sounds at��least as likely as an eclipse."

"That says a lot more about your education than it does about the theories."

Ford grit his teeth. "You know I'm one of the most educated men on Earth."

"And that says a lot about your planet's educational system."

Stan, sitting in his armchair reading the paper, folded it down to glower at Bill. "Stop antagonizing my brother."

"Tell him to stop making it so easy."

Ford grit his teeth harder, but ignored Bill. "Dipper, go pack your backpack. I'll check the basement and meet you when I'm done."

"Right!" Dipper hurried up the stairs.

Ford crossed the living room, checking the micro-rip scanner—88 detected rips, over five times higher than at Northwest Manor, but still nowhere near the 100,000 rip danger threshold. He'd see whether that remained true next to the portal. He paused next to Stan's armchair, "Stanley, do you remember where we stored the alien adhesive applicator?"

"Uhh... when's the last time we used it?"

"Last fall, right before we headed to Seattle."

Stan lowered his paper, staring at the ceiling. "I think we stored it in one of the lockers in the basement, right?"

"It's not there," Bill said.

Ford gave him an exasperated look. "And how would you know."

"Because the first day I came here, I emptied out all those lockers and hid their contents while I was waiting for the rest of you to get downstairs."

Ford smacked the back of the armchair, making Stan start. "So that's what happened to my infinity-sided die! Where the devil did you hide it?"

"Frankly, I don't think you're responsible enough to handle that kind of power," Bill said archly.

"Where's the adhesive applicator!"

"What do you need it for?"

"That's none of your business."

"Pity." Bill turned up the volume on the news.

Ford moved between Bill and the screen. "If you don't tell me where you hid it..." What threat could he make? This was the demon willing to threaten suicide if his captors didn't keep him entertained.

"Tell me why you need it."

"As if you'd give it to me if I did!"

"Maybe I'll find your cause noble," Bill said flatly. "Try me."

Oh, what did he have to lose. "Fine. I'm testing to see if imperceptibly small rips are opening between Gravity Falls and the Nightmare Realm. If they are, I'm going to seal them shut." He hoped the revelation would throw Bill off—he hoped he was close enough to the truth to shock Bill into giving something away.

Bill's eye widened, eyebrows shooting up; and then he burst out laughing. "That's what Specs filled your head with? Embryonic wormholes? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! And you're turning to him for an explanation when you've got a being with infinite answers sitting in your living room?"

Ford scoffed. "Sure, infinite answers—and just like the infinity-sided die, whatever I get is infinitely more likely to be trouble than anything useful. Now tell me where you put my adhesive applicator."

"I didn't put it anywhere." Bill held the remote out to the side to change the channel and stared at the TV straight through Ford, as if he didn't exist. "It's still in the basement. A little adhesive leaked out, I couldn't get the locker door open."

"Ha!" Stan slapped an armrest.

Ford whirled around to glare at him.

Stan held up his hands appeasingly. "Sorry! Sorry. That's not funny. Wasn't—wasn't funny at all. How dare you, Bill."

"I know, I'm just the worst."

Ford held in a harsh sigh and stalked out of the room. He didn't have time for this—not when they were on a deadline to prevent whatever was happening. (What if it became too late to reverse before gravity even reached 0%? What if they were approaching a tipping point when the whole sky would rip open?)

He opened the vending machine and headed downstairs.

####

He had to break the locker door to get the alien adhesive applicator out. He'd have to figure out how the nozzle had leaked before he stored it again.

According to the sensor, there were over a thousand micro-rips detectable just from standing near the portal controls. The number increased as he approached the portal itself; the highest quantity the scanner detected was nearly 5,000. Over fifty times higher than on the shack's ground level. It was clear some sort of damage had been done here.

But Fiddleford had said, for them to be concerned about reality shredding, there should be hundreds of thousands of micro-rips in one location. And Ford trusted any numbers Fiddleford gave him; wherever Ford tended to double-check his math, Fiddleford quintuple-checked his.

Even at the interdimensional portal itself—the spot where the veil between Gravity Falls and the Nightmare Realm had been ripped open and stitched shut so many times, the spot where the rift that nearly ended the world had been formed—there were less than 5% of the rips they needed before they started reaching dangerous levels.

Ford looked up at the portal, frowning.

The portal's torn and crumpled pieces lay against the cavern walls where he'd left them last summer.

Never mind. There were several other places that could be hotspots for micro-rips. He couldn't draw any conclusions about what was happening here until he'd checked them too.

But whatever was happening, it certainly wasn't an eclipse.

He added Fiddleford's spray attachment to the adhesive applicator and filled the chamber with a mist of glue, until the scanner read less than 200 micro-rips; then stopped by his study to grab a couple maps of the mountains around Gravity Falls, his antique lantern, and a tent; and headed back up to the house.

####

During their past year of travels, Stan and Ford had started keeping two emergency backpacks stocked in case they needed to flee on short notice. The backpacks contained everything they'd need to survive in the wilderness or a strange city for three days; and Ford had thirty long years of experience to teach him exactly what supplies that necessitated. He grabbed his backpack out of the guest room, and then spread out his map on the kitchen table to show to Dipper.

"If our micro-rip theory is correct, there are four potential places where I suspect they'll be most densely concentrated: the place where the interdimensional rift formed; where it was unleashed; where it was suspended for the majority of Weirdmageddon; and where it was sealed."

"And you've already checked the portal where it formed," Dipper said. "What about the place it was suspended? It was floating in the sky over town. There's no way we can get up there until gravity's completely gone, and by then it'll be too late."

"I've considered that. The closest we can get is Gravity Peak, but from there we should be able to get the sensor close enough to tell if there's an unusual amount of rips." Ford circled three spots on the map, and drew a dotted line connecting them. "We're heading out late, but we should be able to hit the locations where Weirdmageddon began and ended today. We can cross the lake to camp in the cavern behind Trembley Falls, get an early start, and take the hidden cave tunnel up to Gravity Peak."

"Not the best time for a hiking trip," Bill said.

Ford shot him an exasperated look. Bill was leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, smirking condescendingly. "Or maybe it is, if you're trying to avoid as much effort as possible," he says. "But I still wouldn't go if I were you. You don't want to be outdoors during an eclipse—and you don't want to be on a mountain when gravity comes back."

"Nobody asked you," Ford said, turning his back on Bill. "Now—cooking will be difficult as gravity decreases, but not to worry—" he unzipped his backpack, "—I've already prepared everything we'll need." Grinning, he pulled out what looked like a toothpaste tube with a "beef and vegetables" label. "Astronaut food!"

Dipper grimaced. "Great."

"You should have asked me," Bill said, a bit louder. "Considering that Specs is sending you on a wild goose chase. But hey, if you're that determined to waste your time, just don't say I didn't tell you so."

"You haven't even told us what an 'eclipse' is," Dipper said. "If it's not important enough to explain, I don't see why it's important enough for us to listen to you."

"Well said," Ford muttered.

"It's too important to explain," Bill retorted. "I've told you everything you need to know!"

Ford said, "Ha," and started folding his map to pack.

There were a few seconds of blessed silence; and then Bill walked into the room, leaned on the fridge, and glowered at Ford. "Listen. As far as you're concerned, the eclipse is probably harmless. It should peak in three days—"

"Fiddleford said at its current rate of decrease, it should be the day after tomorrow."

Ford expected Bill to argue; but instead, he frowned uneasily. "I—Sure, fine, whatever, he's probably done the math, I've just been eyeballing it. Did he say what time?"

Surprised, Ford said, "early afternoon, by his measurements."

Bill nodded vaguely, glancing again toward the ceiling. "Whatever time it happens—gravity will gradually decrease until totality, and then it'll come back very quickly, so—if you want to help your town so much, tell them that they don't want to be climbing trees in zero G. Otherwise, the best thing you can do is stay inside, wait for it to pass, keep your eyes shutduring totality—and do not look up."

"Why can't we look up?" Dipper asked.

Bill laughed derisively. "Would you stare at the sun during a solar eclipse? It's like I'm talking to babies!"

The last fraying thread of Ford's patience snapped. He seized Bill's hoodie by the strings and dragged him closer. "Enough!"

Bill flailed, kicking the table as he tried to back out of Ford's grip, and ended up losing his footing and landing on the floor. It was too easy to drag him around—he was so light. Ford leaned down to glare straight in his eye. "If you're so worried about how we're handling this eclipse of yours, maybe you should come with us!"

Horror bloomed in Bill's eye. "What? No no no, that's—that's fine, I told you everything you need, I'd just slow you down, I'd really be much happier in here—"

"I bet you would be," Ford snarled. "As far as I'm concerned, the fact that you want to stay inside so much is reason enough to bring you along! Either something out there scares you, or there's something in here you want to be close to during totality! Maybe something will happen at the portal! Whatever it is you want, I don't want you to get it."

"Grunkle Ford?" Dipper had gotten out of his seat and was looking uncertainly between Bill and Ford. "I'm not sure about..."

Bill's gaze snapped from Ford's face to Dipper's, and Ford could almost see the gears shifting in his head as he latched on to a more vulnerable target. "Kid. Remember when I told you there are things out there you don't want to meet? Stay inside—let me stay inside—find a good book to distract you the next couple of days, and don't worry about things you don't want to know too much about. As far as you should be concerned, this is a weather phenomenon. You don't want to dig any deeper than that. Stay. Home."

The corners of Dipper's mouth turned down. He grabbed Ford's coat sleeve and said, voice low, "Great Uncle Ford, I... I'm not sure he's lying. I've never seen Bill scared like this before. And when he told me about things in other dimensions, this gravity thing hadn't even started, so he couldn't have..."

"Unless Bill was expecting this to happen, and everything he told you yesterday was the groundwork to make us believe whatever he wants us to believe." Bill had wormed deeper into Dipper's head than Ford had realized, if it was enough to make him consider Bill's nonsensical claims. Ford should have asked more about what Bill told him yesterday. The monster could have been filling his gnephew's head with all sorts of nightmares. "Doesn't it seem a little lucky that he told you all that one day before this?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean..."

Ford glared at Bill again. "I'm not buying it. And the more you make up ridiculous explanations like 'gravitational eclipses' and 'things from other dimensions,' the more you insist that this is somehow both no big deal and incredibly dangerous just to witness, the less I believe this is anything but a patently ridiculous attempt to keep us from interfering with whatever is about to happen! And frankly, that makes me want to interfere even more!"

Bill let out a strangled laugh. "You've gotta be... If you think I'm that suspicious, how do you know this isn't reverse psychology?! Maybe I want you to take me outside!"

"Maybe you do. That's the awful thing about you, Bill: I can second-, third-, and fourth-guess everything you say, and I'll never be sure I've figured out the truth! At some point I just have to make an educated guess."

There was a knock at the doorway. "Hey, Dr. Pines?" Soos leaned into the kitchen. "I heard furniture and anger. Is everything... uh..." He trailed off, taking in the scene—Bill on the floor backed up against the fridge, Ford crouched over him, Dipper watching anxiously. "Everything cool here?"

Ford got to his feet. "Dipper and I are going on an expedition—and unfortunately, he has to come along. Soos, do you have a spare backpack we can use for his supplies?"

"Uh, I think so—"

"Great," Dipper snapped. "This is just perfect. I've been waiting a month and a half for us to do something cool together, and when we're finally about to go on an expedition, it's ruined by him?" He gestured angrily at Bill. "He's already ruined the rest of summer!"

Bill said, "Hey, I didn't consent to this plan either."

"You shut up," Dipper snapped. "This is all your fault! You could have just left us alone, but...!" He let out a frustrated noise. He pushed past Soos out of the room and ran up the stairs.

Ah. Ford's shoulders slumped. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure where he'd misstepped in a conversation, but this time it was pretty obvious. Between this and the nearly-disastrous trip to Portland, Ford was well in the lead for Worst Grunkle of the Summer.

"Wow. You broke that kid's heart," Bill said. "Not too late to make it up to him by going back to the original plan."

Ford shot him a dirty look.

Bill shrugged. "I'm trying anything I can think of at this point!"

Ford sighed harshly, and left to follow Dipper upstairs.

Bill sat up and waited until Ford's footsteps had receded. Voice low, he said, "Questiony, listen, I need your help. Stanford's gone completely insane. You didn't see how he was ranting and raving before you got in here. Who knows what he'll do to me if he gets me alone outside the shack with only his junior sycophant as a witness—?"

Soos looked deeply uncomfortable, but he shook his head. "Not buying it, dawg."

Bill groaned.

####

Ford knocked, and gently pushed the kids' damaged door open a crack. "Dipper?"

Dipper grunted. He was sitting on his bed, chin in his hands, glaring down at his journal in his lap.

"Can I come in?"

Dipper grunted again. Ford wasn't being ignored, so he took that as permission to enter. He delicately sat next to Dipper and tried to figure out what to say next. (He was surprised at how firm the mattress was—and then realized the real reason he wasn't sinking as far into it as he expected.) "Dipper..."

"You don't need to say anything," he sighed. "You're right—Bill probably is up to something. If he wants to be in the shack so much, and won't give us a straight answer why, then... it's probably safer to keep him out of it." But he sounded so terribly resigned.

"All the same, I understand your disappointment," Ford said. "I'd far rather go hiking with you than with him."

Dipper nodded. "Yeah. It's just..." He trailed off.

"I know. I wanted this summer to be different, too." Ford sighed. "As soon as he's gone, I owe you another hiking trip."

Dipper nodded again. He mumbled, "I've never gone hiking before."

This was some way to experience it for the first time. "We could treat this like a practice round? A warm-up with lower gravity to make it easier. Next time will be a real trip—without any crises to worry about, and without Bill."

"I don't mind the crises," Dipper said. "I'm kind of used to them, actually. They're almost fun now."

In his mind, Ford knew that this was probably another thing that should earn him a Worst Grunkle award. But in his heart, he was proud of Dipper. That was an adventurer's attitude.

"It's just... I haven't been able to get away from him all summer," Dipper said. "And even when I'm avoiding him, Mabel's spending all her free time either with her friends or trying to reform him, and you're spending all your time trying to figure out how to kill him, so I barely see you two..."

And that wasn't even something Ford could blame on Bill, was it? He hadn't been spending his time trying to figure out how to kill Bill since he'd handed over the Quantum Destabilizer design to Fiddleford. He'd simply been... obsessing. Hiding and obsessing. Ford stared down at his hands guiltily. "Tell you what. As soon as this is over, we can go do—something. I don't know what yet, but we've got a couple of days to think it up. I've spent too much time underground the last few weeks, anyway. We may not be able to go on that big adventure until Bill's gone—but it's something, for now."

"Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks, Grunkle Ford." 

Ford nudged him. "And as long as you do have to put up with Bill for this trip... look on the bright side. Haven't you been wanting to get a crack at him without your sister around? See if you can pry out any more alien wisdom before his execution?"

Dipper huffed—but one corner of his mouth reluctantly quirked up. "Thanks, but I'm starting to think that's a bad idea. Every time I try, he just says stuff that gives me nightmares."

"Well—consider it an intellectually broadening experience."

Dipper gave him a weak smile.

"Anyway, with a little luck, it won't be long before you'll never need to deal with him again."

####

Soos had an old Monster-Mon backpack with cracked vinyl around the straps that he hadn't used since he outgrew it in fifth grade. "Lucky I didn't throw it out when we moved. You never know when you're gonna need old stuff!"

Bill had no idea what he was supposed to take on a forced camping trip. He knew what humans took, but humans craved all kinds of material comforts that meant nothing to him. After a couple minutes staring at the bag forlornly, he stuck in a spare shirt and leggings—he doubted he'd need extra underwear or socks, right?—and the Pony Heist bedsheet he'd been using as his sole blanket the last month, his toothbrush and toothpaste, a cider six-pack, two boxes of cereal, a kazoo, and the TV remote.

"I need some first-aid supplies. In case of emergency," Bill told Soos.

"Sure, whaddaya need?"

"Bandages, painkillers, matches, and a knife."

"You got—" Soos paused, then pursed his lips at Bill disapprovingly.

Bill sighed. "Bandages and painkillers. And cold medicine. Woods get chilly."

He glanced up as he heard footsteps upstairs. Not much longer until he was dragged outside. He grimaced. "One more thing, Jesús. This is important."

"Whoa. Full-first-name important?" He stuck a bottle of cold syrup in the backpack, hit something hard, and peered in confusion at the six-pack.

"Stanford's being petty and refusing to believe anything I say, but I know you're not that stupid," Bill lied. "So listen: this thing will peak in a couple of days and then go back to normal. It's mostly harmless to humans—but once the peak has passed, gravity's coming back like that." Bill snapped his fingers. "So anyone you want to come out of this intact needs to do two things. One, the moment gravity completely disappears, they need to anchor themselves, as close to the ground as possible, before it comes back. And two, do not look at the sky. Got it?"

Soos hesitated; but then nodded. "Y-yeah, got it."

"Understand?"

"Understood."

"Good."

"So are you like... trying to protect the town now?"

Bill laughed bitterly. "I'm trying to cover my base. When this is all over, even if all my warnings were ignored, at least nobody will be able to say I didn't try. I could have sat on everything I know! But I didn't! And I'm going to rub. It. In. Ford's. Face." He punctuated each word with a jab to Soos's chest.

Soos endured the jabbing with a patience Bill didn't deserve. "Byyy protecting the town?"

Bill opened his mouth, reconsidered, and said, "Sure! Of course I'm protecting the town! Why would I want any harm to befall the citizens of my once and future capital?"

"I mean, no offense, but you befelled a lot of harm on us last year—"

"I did not," Bill snapped. "Everyone was perfectly comfortable in my throne of frozen human agony." He yanked the backpack's zipper shut, pulled it on, and pushed Soos aside to leave the kitchen.

Stan had stopped Ford at the foot of the stairs. "But if this is some nightmare dimension thing, isn't that just another reason not to take Bill outside? What if one of those wormholes opens up and he dives through? Maybe escaping back to his dimension will give him his power back, we don't know."

"I've considered that—but if that is what he's planning, all the more reason why he should stay with Dipper and me, so we can stop him if he tries anything."

"Are you nuts? It'll be two of you in the woods versus four of us here in the shack! We outnumber him more than you do! Plus walls and doors!"

"We have the hexed bracelets, he won't be able to escape us," Ford said.

"Aww, I get to share matching friendship bracelets with someone?" Bill gave Dipper and Ford what he hoped was his most obnoxious smile. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Scowling, Dipper raised his hand.

Bill's smile dimmed. "You are the lesser evil," he admitted grudgingly. "But I'm surprised ol' Six-Fingers doesn't want to keep as tight a grip on me as possible."

"We decided that if you try to kill your bracelet partner and escape, Grunkle Ford would have a better chance of avenging me than I would have avenging him."

Bill's brows shot up. "Ruthlessly utilitarian. Was that Stanford's idea?"

Ford ignored the question, pushing on with his conversation with Stan: "And anyway, there might be more people in the shack, but none of them would be me. I know him better than anyone else."

Bill laughed hard enough that his feet momentarily lifted off the floor. "Oh do you!"

Ford's gaze shot to Bill's face, eyes blazing with fury. "You know I do. I've spent thirty years learning every trick, every lie, every betrayal that's made you who you—"

"What's my favorite food."

Ford's mouth worked uselessly. "That—doesn't matter—"

"You think you know my innermost soul when you don't even know my favorite food?"

"Favorite... human food, or...?"

"Oh, sure, I'll give you a fighting chance. Human."

Ford chewed on the inside of his mouth for several seconds. Finally, he said, "Jalapeños."

Bill crossed the entryway, leaned into the hallway, and took a deep breath. "HEY, MABEL!"

From the far end of the house (where Mabel was seeing how high she could jump in the floor room), she shouted, "YEAH?"

"WHAT'S MY FAVORITE FOOD?"

"NACHOS WITH CHOCOLATE SAUCE AND SUMMER-SHAPED SPRINKLES!"

Bill gestured down the hall, ta-da. "THANK YOU!"

"I was close," Ford grumbled. "Nachos have jalapeños."

Stan said, "You're not even out of the house and he's getting under your skin. Are you sure you wanna—?"

"I am not," Ford said, "leaving him in the house. And if you'd heard how he was fighting to stay under this roof, you wouldn't trust him in here either."

Stan looked at Bill.

Bill looked Stan dead in the eyes and said, "I don't know what he's talking about. I agreed to go as soon as he asked."

"Oh, shut your—" Ford snatched the bracelets off the coat rack, flung one end at Bill, and handed Dipper the other. "Put these on. We're leaving."

Bill scowled, but considered his odds of successfully resisting, reluctantly put his end of the bracelet on, and yelled down the hall, "BYE, MABEL! I'M BEING KIDNAPPED BY YOUR UNCLE AGAINST MY WILL! I MAY NEVER RETURN!"

"I'LL MISS YOU FOREVER!"

Ford opened the door and gestured impatiently. Bill took a couple reluctant steps closer, but stopped to look at Soos and say, "Remember what I said. Do not let Mabel be in the air when gravity comes back, you know if someone doesn't watch her she'll launch herself as high as she can—"

Ford snapped, "Either you walk or I drag you, Cipher."

"I'm coming." He stepped outside, paused, and cast a worried look at the sky; then squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his head, and walked into the sunlight.

####

(That's this week's chapter! I'd love to hear your comments and thoughts. Next week: I'm gonna do my level best to shatter your hearts. Look forward to it!)

[copperbadge]

Behold, a slightly longer video of the cheese conveyor belt!

This is at Culture & Co. in Nashville, which is incredibly and delightfully the second charcuterie conveyor belt restaurant I've eaten at in the last two years, the other being Pick & Cheese in London.

As with Pick & Cheese I do know myself, so I set out the rule ahead of time that I could only take three plates, and thus I chose with care. First course: "Bruleed Brie" with passion fruit caramel cultured butter. This is a brie-style cheese from Pennsylvania (where my yinzers at) which has had one open side dipped in sugar and then presumably melted with a culinary torch; it looks like jam, but as you can see in the second image, when you tap the brulee it cracks like toffee.

Both the brulee brie and the butter were fantastic; the acid of the passion fruit cuts the sugar and the fattiness a little, but it also really emerges as its own flavor. I think this is the most imaginative way to upgrade brie I've seen in a minute. I kinda wanna try it at home.

Second plate was a Cumblerland "tomme-style" natural rind cheese from Tennessee (specifically Sequatchie Cove) with house made potato chive crackers and rosemary. The real highlight of this cheese is, honestly, the rind -- it has a flavor unique from the rest of the slice, which is much milder and reminded me of a young gouda, almost. The crackers don't look like much but however they make them they were really packed with this nice earthy salty flavor.

For "dessert" I almost went with a vegan cashew-based "Gouda" with shiitake bacon, mainly for the bacon I'll be honest, and you can actually see that plate go by, it's the first one you see in the video up top. Instead I decided to go with...I'm not sure even what kind of cheese this is because it's called GOAT RODEO BAMBOOZLE. I mean, the menu said it was a semi-soft washed rind goat's milk cheese, so there's that.

Normally I avoid goat cheese because I find it very dry texturally, but this was nice, it had that kind of gamey goaty taste but was much more buttery. It came with two pecan shortbread cookies (sandies) and a little cup of root beer caramel, which you can see dripping down a bite of the cheese in the second image. I don't know how you make root beer caramel (sasparilla in the milk?) but it had a nice peppery note to it. I wanted to down it like a shot but resisted.

Anyway, all three were fantastic, not a loser in the bunch, and the wait staff were super pleasant and knowledgeable, so it was a pretty great meal, especially for $30 (including tip).

I don't know who's setting these cheese conveyor belts up across the world but whoever you are, if you bring one to Chicago I will be grateful and I will eat there and bring visiting friends there. Some of my friends even drink wine, so we won't be cheap dates, I promise. We're so close to Wisconsin! Think what you could do with the curds, man, the curds!

[taotaoirl]

toji malewife headcanons

this is my take on the malewife headcanons (written months ago)

tags: fluff, gender neutral reader, you guys are living together/married

i like to think that toji is the #1 malewife (even though it is likely just my delusions speaking!)

first and foremost, he is a great cook

just imagine toji in a white apron (tied around his slutty waist ofc)

he would wake up super early every morning just to make the both of you (and the kids) breakfast, which would likely be a traditional japanese breakfast (consisting of fish, rice, miso soup, and pickled vegetables)

on sundays, he would make you guys an english breakfast (consisting of eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms, toast and no baked beans bcs fuck baked beans)

reiterating the toji would-do-anything-for-you fushiguro agenda because he would even *attempt to make you all kinds of baked goods even though he always overbakes everything. and ofc you gotta gobble that burnt shit up telling him it was the best thing you've ever had

once again reiterating the toji would-do-anything-for-you fushiguro agenda: when he's not running from his responsibilities, he likes to cook you an elaborate meal at the end of the day and yes he does the dishes as well

after a long day of work, there is nothing better than coming home to a table set for two and a three-course meal prepared by toji fushiguro.

the set up is nothing too fancy, no decorations whatsoever, but the food is top notch

toji likes to sit at the end of the table, head slightly tilted on his hand, watching you eat the food he has carefully prepared for you. he doesn't say much, but you notice the way his eyes soften the moment you pick up your chopsticks and start eating

if you compliment his cooking, he will likely get flustered (though he doesn't show it). he will simply raise his eyebrows, look away and say that the kids helped too (the kids, in fact, did not help)

it is well-established that toji probably has pretty nasty hygiene, but it is also common knowledge that megumi's mom helped him get his shit together. so i like to think that as long as he has someone to depend on, he starts taking care of himself too. especially when he is handed the responsibility of taking care of his family- he will do everything he can to avoid falling back into his old habits (of ass hygiene)

if you are away for long hours/working/too tired, toji will step up and do all the cleaning for you- vacuuming, dusting, deep cleaning every room- whatever it is, you name it, he'll do it

he'll do it but it's gonna be a mediocre job at best. it's better than nothing though!

needless to say he's also quite good at fixing household items (basically a staple repairman husband)

once he's done will allat (he will speedrun that shit) he'll get back on the couch/bed, put an arm around your shoulder and enjoy his silence with you

[seat-safety-switch]

One of my favourite things in life is to find a new use for an old thing. Dirty keyboard keys? Put them in a cup of hot water with some denture tablets, and they'll come out good as new. Dog won't respect your authority as master of the house? Feed him bacon if he agrees to stop eating your azaleas.

The reason why this feels good to us is twofold. One, we like applying our life knowledge to a new domain or problem. For instance, if the top of your stove is dirty, you know that you need some kind of abrasive to clean it off. Baking soda is abrasive, you learned that one weekend making Drano bombs with Uncle Tom, let's mix up some of that with water. Boom, works great, and now when the feds kick down your door you're sure to get your security deposit back for keeping the kitchen clean.

The second, and probably more important, reason, is that we like getting one over on the secret authorities who rule our life imperiously from afar. How dare they force me to buy their sunscreen, when this TikTok video reveals the truth about how to make my own out of expired mayonnaise and house paint. As you can imagine, this second rationalization can often get those of us without critical thinking skills of any kind in trouble.

It is important, and I'm talking to everyone in the back row who is currently trying to push their fingers into the wall-mounted pencil sharpener, to always listen to that little voice inside your head. If it sounds too good to be true, it's probably bullshit made up by malevolent algorithms beaming nightmares directly into our skulls while circling the globe. Only by purchasing my new book, and accompanying nine-part video seminar, can we hope to get back to the world where mixing together random chemicals in your house helps solve problems.

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

I like Strange New Worlds but boy is their Spock behavior strange.

"taking out" the Vulcan in Spock should make his body feel off but ffs he's still Spock. I don't think they intended it this way but the way they wrote this whole scenario is like having an AfroLatina character "lose" their Latina side and suddenly not be able to make a tortilla or speak their native spanish. I mean. What?

Their whole narrative on him being human and Vulcan and showing "human" as like the fun/passionate side he's denying himself is starting to feel very anti-Vulcan, which in its own way feels super white centrist. We can go all in on the bacon scene but I'm not Jewish so more knowledgable Jewish people about the cultural *disaster* that choice was can cover the mess that is but... Yikes.

They've even done mixed race struggles better with other characters. B'Elanna in Voyager has a great arc reconciling her Klingon and human sides throughout multiple episodes and none of them imply weird shit like this. They all encourage her to accept herself where's she's at, no matter how much Klingon or human "percentage" that means. It just means both.

And in all fairness, B'Elanna's portrayal is in no way perfect but its better than *this*.

Someone on Twitter said this would've been a much more impactful episode if Spock spent all of it fearing he'd lose all connection to his Vulcan side, only to realize that (like his human adopted sister!!) He is still a child of Vulcan regardless of his geneology/biological makeup. But nah. This. *Bacon*.

After such a strong story about hope, augments, refugees, and prejudice a few episodes ago we get this? Shenanigans.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Some comments on episode 3 / episode 10 - SPOILERS * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Daniel not wanting to eat the living fish…. yeah I can empathize

Raglan James - Is that a real name???? (LOL)

Love the banter

Daniel doubting how many Rashid’s there are… indeed

I like that they’re echoing Louis being away in last season this one as well

The underlying threat of Armand being able to kill them all if he so chose

That audio visualization will become important still I bet

How do you hide from the cloud indeed

Louis being asleep during the day?! Why this time? He was awake during the day before?

“Lestat’s prophetic vision”

Yes, be snarky Daniel :)

Flashback!!!!

Ugh incineration by fire gift

Oh Armand watching Lestat as harlequin - he has it baaaaad

Armand hinting that Lestat has powers he has not touched, and them talking to each other in their minds….

Viens a moi! Come to me!!! There it is! Armand said it to Lestat, yes baby!

And Armand admitting to stalking and then kidnapping.

And I love that they’re doing it all in French - I cannot quite judge but hope it’s well done

mhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh YES I CANNOT LIE I APPRECIATE IT AND I LOVE IT

the time freezing was so well done

Gosh Nicki. Gosh that feeding

to summarize: Liar, liar, pants on fire (LOL), but I love it. Ah yes, great fanfic, I like

Great now I will imagine Lestat and Armand beeeeeeeep in that box for ETERNITY lol

And Daniel… not buying it lol

“He abandoned xyz”… ohhhh there we have it. There we have it (not). The crux of the whole matter.

Louis knows what’s up. Deep down he knows. But them matching the stories is almost cute.

Claudia humbling herself like this to be part of it all breaks my heart

The sneezing made me cry with laughter

Ahhhh the wet room. And the rats. And the tombs. The tombs. Ohhhhh they’re so gonna lock Louis up there later. Oh boy.

“That’s a bit german” re the incinerator !!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Holy shit?!)

God Lestat interrupting that moment. And Armand sensing “Bruce”. Daaaamn.

Daniel getting distracted but the Talamasca. Who have access to his computer. (!!!)

“Where is Claudia at this point” 😔 (and no answer)

Santiago’s maker being down in the tombs is IMMENSELY interesting. WHO THE FUCK IS HE

Also him telling Claudia that her lies are almost convincing….

The “come to me” scene. Even better in total. Oh Louis. Armand calling him out on it.

And the philosophical discussion there. The admission despite the warning. Something Louis ALMOST remembers…

“that’s debatable” - “she did”. Oh MAN LOUIS

“I told you I loved you” - “And you said nothing.” Holy hell.

THAT KISS. the music.

It’s RAW.

God they’re on another level

AND THE PHOTO: Lestat being there… and then vanishing!!!!

Louis knows. He knows. Also that little story Claudia makes up there… oof.

The Bacon triptych - that is so weird. WHO wants to buy it. I BET that’s important.

And Daniel using the time to go through the material and find the proof of the theater burning.

The coven pressuring Armand. I LOVED that. The trepidation. Ugh.

And them throwing Louis out when she is initiated. Does he know of the five laws??????

And Claudia’s expression at the laws. Oh maaaannnnnn.

And I KNEW it!! Armand is playing with the fire there “threatening” Louis. I mean, he ultimately doesn’t, but he ALMOST does. The discussion in the sewers. The foreshadowing once more. Louis calling on what Armand promised, and Armand throwing the lies into his face. DAMN.

And Armand stating that Claudia won’t be there for long.

God I knew the coven would go and humiliate Claudia with that role. I knew it. Damn. Her face.

“The Savage Garden”. The roaring of the fire behind Louis. More foreshadowing.

“Did he break you? Or did you break him?” 😭😭

A century ago. Yesterday. So much pain.

That kiss. And Louis inviting Armand in on the premise that he won’t kill him!!!!!!!!!! Holy shit.

NO PAIN.

AAAAALLLLLLL THE PAIN.

Argh, loved it, maybe a favorite so far. There is so much going on. So much foreshadowing. So much knowledge suppressed, or endured. So much bitter realization. So many things hinted at and introduced.

Also, as clear as it is (and was said in the episode insider) that this is Armand’s little fanfic version… (as Assad how much of it is used to "paint Armand in a good light"?!) :))) . It was a LOT of fun. :)

And that banquet scene will be in the next episode already!! Whoop whoop, cannot wait!

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 4: ANIMALS/OBJECTS

Okay, the thing is: Zam goes to the Kings SMP, spends several weeks in a bloody meat grinder, fights back to back with Minute and Mapicc and Jepexx against the world and somewhere in the process realizes herself to be a girl.

It's not bad: she swaps her crown for an elegant tiara, and her pretty kitty princess blade hits exactly on target and holds in her hand like a glove, and the dress turns out to be much more comfortable than an almost formal suit.

She spends the rest of the season so at ease with herself – even after losing her magic blade, she does not return to her former self, but rushes around the server, ready to destroy anything, and, in the end, reunited with the blade, counts it as her happy ending.

And then it's time to return to the Lifesteal, and she lowkey expects that her dress, like in the Cinderella, will turn into rags, but she, Minute, Mapicc and Jepexx activate the teleport, and Minute holds her gloved hand, making sure of a safe landing, and they appear on a flying an island in the center of the spawn, and... Nothing changes. Even her pretty blade, despite everything, remains hanging on her belt.

For a moment, while everyone is still recovering and looking around, she just stares into the sky, and then, experimentally, lightly stabs Minute into the side. He curses and lets go of her hand, and a cat falls at their feet with a long meeeeeow. She looks at it, running around and scratching Minute's feet, with mild amusement.

Oh. Oooh. Okay!

In the end, it is kinda nice: everyone, as it happens usually on the Lifesteal, just roll with it and she changes her dress for the black one with purple accents, and cats help her push players into the void, and in return she makes them a corner in the skull base and feeds them with fish washed up by the waves. Pangi is being heavily liked by one of them for some reason. He names him Cheeseburger.

(For some reason, cats don't like Jumper. She wonders if it's because of their experience on Kings)

Cat ears make her much more sensitive and observant, allowing her to detect enemies and hide from them just as successfully, and also – to lie at night on an icy bedrock and listen to the measured whisper of the Abyss. Sometimes Mapicc joins her, but he doesn't quite hear it, and she describes it to him.

It simultaneously changes everything significantly and really does not. Her dress is elegant but shorter than she would like, and she doesn't wear heels, and her scar – her pride – is not going anywhere, and she still kills people and herself, but everything seems to be half a tone better than it was.

Mapicc grumbles about the need to retrain for her movements changed under the new center of gravity, and also about her too–long hair getting in the way, and she eventually ties it into a high ponytail and it instantly shuts him up. They fit her blade into their normal formations – backstabs do great damage, and cats push and interfere with enemies, and they are forcing opponents to always think about one more thing.

One day she makes a mistake and falls into the void and dies, and it's hard, but she accepts it because she knows that one day it was bound happen. The Abyss demands all kinds of sacrifices, she tells herself, and I must always be ready to give her everything, including myself. Bacon gifts her an elegant rapier crowned with stars, and she continues to live because it was not the blade that defined her.

But one day, in the dead of night, walking through the void, with bare feet on the great nothingness, listening to the eternal whisper of absolute knowledge and dancing under the new moon, the Abyss speaks to her. And it's not like She's never talked to her before, but this is the first time she's been alone.

My child, the Abyss whispers, overwhelming her with an invisible pressure, I have something that belongs to you by the right.

As if enchanted, she pulls her hand forward, and intently, and slowly, as if with effort, squeezes her fingers until she feels the icy metal of the handle, and nothingness separates the blade from the ink.

This is her blade, absolutely it is, but it is darker, almost completely black, and only rare gaps in the folds reveal the familiar deep blue.

She smiles.

"Thank you, lady," she says from the bottom of her heart, and the tension around her evaporates with a dry click.

[marigold-hills]

june 2: oyster | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 502

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“Alright there, Moony? Looking a bit pale,” Sirius asks in between inhaling his breakfast and reviewing what sparse notes he made for the Potions NEWT.

Remus looks up from his mug of tea (gripped between large hands like a lifeline). There are shadows under his eyes: another late night, then. Exams are upon them, and the way Remus studies has become obsessive.

“You need food too, mate,” James piles bacon onto Remus’ plate, ignoring his grumbles – almost growls, since it’s only a week until the full moon and the lines blur a bit in those days. “Yes, you’re very big and very scary. Now eat your breakfast.”

I should have done that, Sirius thinks because something in him believes the job is his. He’s never been good at caring for anything, hanging onto James even for his own needs, but it’s different, somehow, with Remus. There is a duality: being thankful for James’ care and resentful of it.

The owls come as they do every day, a flurry of wings and feathers. It’s a bright, clear day and they disturb the sun rays as they swoop through the Great Hall.

Remus gets the newspaper (something obscure about literature) and a beautiful, haughty looking owl lands in front of Sirius, raising a dignified foot with a small parcel for him to unwrap.

“What did you get?” James asks as the owl takes off, scoffing at Sirius’ offering of a sausage.

It’s an oyster shell, gold encrusted with an artisan's precision. Inside of it a marble eye, a shade of green which reminds him of autumn and of something else. He finds comfort in the colour - it’s why he chose it – a memory of warm fires and long cozy nights, of the happiness he feels when, as Padfoot, he’s surrounded by pack.

Sirius clips the silver chain the oyster is attached to around his neck “It’s an oisrí feiceálaí,” he hopes he doesn’t butcher the pronunciation, glances at Remus to make sure, “I’ve come across them when researching for my dissertation.”

“What does an oyster have to do with ancient runes?” Remus finds his voice at the bottom of the tea mug.

“Well… nothing. I just thought it was neat. It’s the symbol of fifth dimensional vision.”

“Sure you didn’t accidentally study Divination?”

“Hilarious, Prongs.”

Something catches James’ eye across the Great Hall – more likely someone – and he shoots up with a harried I have to go, see you at the exam!

Remus leans across the table, with a careful hand reaches for the necklace. Studies it, turning it around in his fingers. They oyster looks small in his grasp, the silver more pronounced against the golden skin.

“Very pretty, Sirius,” he says, and Sirius feels the sentence like it means something else, “Will you tell me more about it, after the exam?”

Remus looks up from the oyster, straight into Sirius’ face, eyes reddened and shiny from the lack of sleep and –

- well, Sirius knows what the green reminded him of.

NOTES:

this is part two of a 30-part series of shorts: I’m aiming for them all to be readable as standalone but are a part of a bigger story (better read together and in order, in my opinion)

oisrí feiceálaí, to the best of my knowledge, means seer oyster in Gaelic. It’s not actually a thing but I came across this and thought it was pretty and ostentatious enough for Sirius to wear ALCHEMICAL OYSTER PEARL

Remus is always autumn to me - by that logic Sirius in Winter, James is Summer (self explanatory, really). Peter is Spring I suppose. But I don’t ever write him into my fics so who’s to say

speaking of Peter - let’s say he’s already at the venue for the potions exam, absolutely shaking from stress and desperately cramming last minute revision

@lightningmonarchda3 @bowielover420 @tealeavesandtrash @digital-kam

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[ms--lobotomy]

Been discussing domestic Ferrus with @angronsjewelbeetle and I have brain worms. Here you all go! (Could be seen as a bit of a sequel to this fic.)

Summary: Ferrus Manus makes you breakfast in bed after a rough night.

Content Warnings: You eat in bed, there might be crumbs.

Image Credit: @squishyowl

He had to put in a great deal of effort not to rouse you. Most of the night you slept soundly next to him, but sometimes you would stir in your sleep slightly, grabbing onto him for support. He'd run his hand through your hair, wordlessly holding onto you before you'd calm down and go limp in his arms again. But the sun was beginning to shine through the curtains, illuminating your tiny body next to him.

What should he do for someone who's had such a rough night?

Right as he left your side, he planted a kiss to the crown of your head and rubbed your shoulder. "I'll be back soon," he rumbled. He'd left an indent in the bed that slowly filled in; even beds sized for normal Primarchs were not enough to hold him. He had little apothecary knowledge, and even less for matters of the mind. But by the Throne, you were going to get something in your stomach.

He'd barely used the kitchen near his quarters, and it was sized for someone half his size at the most. Serfs were supposed to come here and make food, but he knew that the action at least had to be genuine. He frowned. Last time he tried to make food, he had set a boxed meal on fire. His sons, monstrous and augmented, had to put it out.

He opened the fridge to see what he had to work with. Ingredients, ingredients... eggs, more ingredients... bacon. A tea bag off to the side. Perfect. Eggs and bacon, and a little bit of tea. He pulled them out of the fridge, careful not to break anything. He put the tea bag in some warm water, grabbed a tiny pan, and set to work.

The bacon went first, sizzling against the pan. His expression softened slightly. He turned the heat on the pan up. This would make it cook faster, right? It started to become brittle on the pan, and he knew he was finished. He took the bacon off, found a plate, and set it on there. The plate was an ornate thing that his brother Fulgrim had gotten him years ago, violet with gold trim. He didn't see a use for the ornate decorations, but you might.

The eggs came second. He cracked 2 of them into the pan, almost immediately breaking the yolk of one. His expression hardened again. Didn't humans dislike when the yolk was broken? He'd already put the eggs in, though, so he continued. They stuck to the sides of the pan, and he had to scrape copious amounts of egg off, but eventually they were done too.

When he came back to the room, you were still asleep. He stopped to admire you, your form far too small for the bed. You were gripping the sheets a little tightly, but other than that, you looked to be sleeping soundly. He almost didn't want to wake you up, but he sat next to you on the bed, putting a metallic hand on your shoulder.

He said your name, soft on his lips. You rolled over to face him, your eyes fluttering open.

"Ferrus?" you asked, a shiver running down your spine.

A soft smile came to his lips. "I..." he started, shifting the plate towards you. "I just thought you might want some breakfast."

"Oh!" you exclaimed, your voice still groggy. You smiled at the food, and then your face fell. "Won't I be getting crumbs in your bed?"

He slid his free arm around you. "We can always wash the sheets."

You leaned into him, feeling the cool metal of his lower arm meeting with the warm skin of the rest of it. You closed your eyes, your breath evening out. "Thank you," you said in barely more than a whisper.

He slid the plate in front of you as you propped yourself up, grabbing the tea from the nightstand. "Oh, the tea is so good," you said, looking up at him. "What flavor is it?"

"Uhh..." he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his newly freed hand. "I don't remember, honestly. The package was pink?"

You chuckled. "That's okay," you said. You devoured the meal like nobody's business, not even noticing the few black spots on the bacon or the broken egg yolk. His eyes hovered on you, watching you relax in his arm. Soon enough you were finished, not even leaving a crumb to soil the sheets.

"May I take this?" he asked, grabbing at the plate.

"Sure thing," you said. He put it on the dresser before he snaked his way on top of you, pressing his head to your chest. He could feel the beat of your singular heart, slowing down since you'd woken up. You ran your hands through his chopped hair and wrapped your legs around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Just let me know when to get up," he said, feeling blood pool in his face. He was not made for this, but by the Throne, did it feel nice.

"Stay. Please," you croaked, your eyes closing again.

[mraprilfools]

Summary: After Alastor's broadcast gets major recognition on the daily Newspaper and Vox wants to celebrate the achievement! However, Alastor doesn't think it's such a big deal. This doesn't dissuade Vox from trying however!

Pairing: Alastor/Vox

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Alastor being Alastor, Repressed Feelings, Vox & Alastor are in an unannounced QPR kinda. They didn't know what that was in the 60's, Pre-Canon Radiostatic

Length: 3.4k

Alastor’s Noon Broadcasts are the best way to stay informed for the busy Hellish citizen! Boasting a lively personality, wit, and a sharp tongue the man never fails to entertain! Alastor’s choice of classics and contemporary music never fails to disappoint, and his knowledge of the greats is a refreshing breath of air! If you’re at your Hellish occupation, the man’s voice will make the tortures of Modern-day capitalism ALMOST bearable! Tune in today at 66.6!

A particular review stuck out that morning while Vox drank his coffee. The sizzling of eggs and bacon melded with the jazz playing from the record in the living room. The smell of spices from the peppers snuck into this morning's omelets tickled his senses. There were few places Alastor was happier in than the kitchen.

His presence was so normal that it was not unusual to hear his voice while it accompanied Armstrong’s. Alastor’s figure donned in a bright red apron was becoming an increasingly familiar sight these days. A guest bedroom only in name, like a capricious cat he came in and out like it was his home too. Vox was far too fond of the company to make a fuss about it.

When Alastor made breakfast in the morning, it made the arrangement all the more attractive. Loathe as Vox was to admit it, his hand-crafted coffee with the pour-over was far better than the lukewarm slosh the drip ever made. Though to be fair, pawn shop junk was hardly quality.

But the best part? It was the company. Vox would never admit it, but over the years he had come to find that the feelings he had taken to be lust had transformed slowly into something...more? What started as a desire to sleep with him had become embarrassingly chaste. A former playboy turned into a lovesick moron. But he was happy... The sight of the demon’s smile whenever he turned his head, meeting Vox’s eyes even when he had nothing to say at all? It always made the morning light a little brighter.

Sometimes Vox swore he could see something reflected in Alastor’s eyes that was almost gentle. Though if that was his rose-colored goggles? Vox wanted to keep believing that delusion. All he could have was the dream after all. The sixties wasn’t a time when a man could love a man. At least, out in the open.

“You’ve made the news Alastor! They’re calling your Radio broadcast a hit right on the front page! It’s… in tiny print but that’s AMAZING!” Vox turned over the reading rag, snapping his claw against the column written in small print.

Alastor hummed, far more occupied with flipping the omelets than looking.

“That so?”

One by one he slipped the omelets on top of a bed of rice in perfect shape. With a plate in either hand, he strode over and set them on the table. The smell alone was enough to whet the appetite. Vox’s stomach growled in impatient protest.

Alastor pinched his monocle between two fingers, holding it over his right eye to get a better look. But the small print made that a challenge. With a click of his tongue, Alastor circled the table and leaned over Vox’s shoulder. One palm was flat against the surface while the other held his shoulder.

Vox felt an intense warmth from the place Alastor’s hands rested. A floral smell from the shampoo he used the other night cut through the sharp scent of capsaicin. Everything about him so close caused a rancor in Vox’s chest, forcing him into silence while he let Alastor read the news. The pleasant mood broke when laughter spilled freely as the Radio Demon. His finger jabbed at a section of the main story.

“Look at that Vox! A MEAT grinder! Why haven’t I ever thought to use one of those before?! Head first though? They’d stay alive much longer if they did feet first. Well- We can learn from others' mistakes no?” There was a sing-song tone to his voice, with a genuine sparkling in his crimson eyes when they matched the monochrome gaze of the man beside him.

Vox forced a weak laugh. “I was talking about this part, Al. Where they talk about your broadcast.” Vox tried again to guide Alastor’s attention to the small print, only for Alastor to shrug indifferently.

“It’s hardly newsworthy that my broadcast is the best in hell. Why! That’s simply common sense and not worth fretting over! But the bloody tales, now there’s something worth writing about!”

All the excitement in Vox sputtered out. If his TV broadcast had been mentioned there he would be over the moon. Alastor didn’t even care. But, Vox didn’t allow himself to be dissuaded! “Well- If you won’t be proud of your accomplishments I’ll be proud for you!”

Alastor tilted his head to the side, resting it on top of the boxy frame of Vox’s head. The radio signals became intense as they brushed against Vox’s antennae. The rang pleasantly, sending a thrill through his whole body in a way only Alastor could affect him. Like tactile music that made his artificial heart flutter with excitement.

“Then you’ll find me a meat grinder, my dear?” Alastor asked.

“That’s… alright. Sure, that should be easy. We can throw the killer in there and have him the right way in if that bit of irony tickles you.”

The happy buzzes intensified, with the deer’s head nuzzling against the warm box pleased with his answer. Fuzzy ears smacking against the top that shot a heat up to the TV overlord’s face.

“That sounds DELIGHTFUL my dear! So deviously clever, this is why we are such good friends! Do they know the killer?” Alastor asked.

“No-- but I bet I can figure it out. I’ll have my usual contacts look into it.”

Alastor pulled the newspaper out of Vox’s hands, tossing it right into the trash. Alastor plucked the between his fingers and pressed it into one of Vox’s now-empty claws. “Perfect! Now eat up while it’s still hot! We have a busy day today don’t you know! And we don’t want to eat cold eggs do we?”

What Alastor wanted was usually easy for Vox to guess. Rye, blood, or Jazz records. Though Vox suspected it was more the attention and fawning than the actual gifts. Retreading the same old ground would mean Vox stopped trying. He needed something special for this special occasion.

What Alastor wanted was to put a man feet first into a meat grinder to celebrate his great achievement. He’d get that! But a man deserves flowers too! Some years ago Vox happened to learn through a bit of drunken banter that Alastor was fond of daisies. He mentally tucked away that information in case he ever needed it. Today was that day!

Vox got a dozen! Wrapped up in a beautiful red ribbon.

The man held his head high as he walked home with his gift. He’d never had a good excuse to give Alastor flowers before. Vox had searched for every way to say the words that reverberated in the heart. He’s done all but say it out loud at this point. A flickering of hope in his chest hoped that even a fragment of his true feelings could be conveyed through this gesture as well.

Alastor wasn’t home. So Vox checked what should have been his first guess, his radio tower. The building was detached from his studio, up high so he could best transmit the signals out over Pentagram city. You needed to climb a ladder to even reach the station, which made bringing him lunch a pain sometimes.

When Alastor was currently airing, there would be a blinking red sign that said, ‘ON AIR’ to inform guests the door was sealed tight. Going in was to risk their own skin. Luckily, It was off right now. Vox found Alastor bent over a desk. Currently pouring over his notes, headphones hung around his neck. A beautiful quill pen was pinched between his fingers.

The large ears swiveled, but Alastor never raised his head. He was far too invested in whatever he was working on. “Vox! How nice to see you. Isn’t it a little late for lunch? Give me just a minute.”

While Alastor wasn’t looking at him, Vox crossed the distance. Vox had expected a list of music, a speech, or whatever Alastor would feel was important to tell the rest of Pentagram City. What he found instead was a doodle of the two of them sticking some man in a meat grinder. Vox had underestimated how enchanted he was by the idea. The childish drawings with the exaggerated smiley faces were cute if you ignored the otherwise macabre content.

It was a good thing Vox had become extremely desensitized to violence in the past decade. The old Vox would be having nightmares after watching something like that. These days? He only heard the screams in his nightmares, sometimes. A disturbing contrast to Alastor on the other hand who was kicking his feet like a teenage girl.

When Alastor was done with his latest masterpiece, he deposited the quill into the inkwell and spun around. His eyes immediately widened at the sight of the daisies, though he didn’t reach out to take them. His eyes drew up to meet Vox’s screen instead.

“Daisies! I can’t believe you remembered they were my favorite after all this time! What’s the occasion, My dear?”

Vox thrust out the bouquet, his monochrome box filling with a bright gray color that masked his freckles. “I told you! I’d be proud for you! I don’t know when I’ll dig up information on the killer or the meat grinder but I wanted to do something to celebrate today. And I thought they’d be nice on the kitchen table.” Cyan fingertips danced along the paper that crinkled in his hands. For a moment, Vox worried he may have remembered falsely or crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

Alastor plucked the bouquet from Vox’s hands, red fingertips meeting blue for the briefest of moments.

The anxiety became overwritten with an intense blooming joy that put the daisies to shame! Followed by a sinking terror.

Before Vox’s very eyes, the once vibrant beautiful blooms wilted between Alastor’s fingers. Petals scattered and fell. The stems wilted, twisted into a sad display of death. Alastor remained unperturbed, tracing the withered petals affectionately with a single finger.

“They’re lovely Vox, thank you! I think you’re right, they would look perfect on the kitchen table.”

Vox couldn’t believe his eyes. All the excitement he would have felt for having his gift received sputtered out into hopeless confusion. Why wasn’t Alastor bothered at all?

“I’m glad you like them...”

The same bouquet of wilted daisies greeted Vox at the breakfast table the very next morning. The water was already murky and cloudy pale green. Stems hung limp around the vase unable. It was the ugliest-looking bouquet he’d ever seen in his life, and Alastor continued as if it was normal.

Vox refused to let a symbol of his affection be represented by rotten blooms! So he bought a brand new bouquet when he got off work that day. When he got home that night he replaced them before Alastor could get a chance to see them.

That night he went to sleep pleased knowing Alastor would surely comment on his efforts to go above and beyond. Yet the very next morning they were as dead as the previous days. Alastor continued as if none the wiser they’d ever been replaced.

Vox couldn’t even taste his coffee. Utterly flabbergasted by the unfolding situation. After that, he reasoned it must be the florist who sold shitty flowers! So he went to a florist that was further out of town. They didn’t have enough white daisies so he had yellow mixed in.

Those died the next morning too.

So he decided to try roses.

Dead the next morning.

A mixed bouquet also wilted. Finally, Alastor’s constant silence had gotten to Vox. Tulips, sunflowers, daisies, roses, they all died overnight.

“Al! Do you know why the flowers keep dying?”

Alastor whipped his head around, blinking owlishly. The spatula in his hand continued to whisk today’s breakfast as he answered. “Oh, that’s because flowers wither whenever I touch them, dear. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Exasperation fell over Vox. Staring with his mouth wide open at the damned dead bouquet slumped against the vase now. It made the sight with the first set of daisies make more sense. The belated realization had Vox smacking his head against the table in disbelief. “Ugh-- I didn’t know that!”

Alastor set the spatula down, half expecting some anger or exasperation from the fellow Overlord. But beyond all expectations, he shot up; nearly sending his chair flying back.

“Don’t worry! I’ll get you flowers that won’t wilt! Just wait here!”

Before Alastor could answer him, the man had rushed out the door, only slowing down long enough to yank his jacket off the coat rack. A very unhappy deer shot a look at his poor meal that wouldn’t be eaten fresh and hot! But hidden to the rest of the world, the edges of his mouth curled.

–

Alastor was in a bad mood when Vox finally walked through the door. Although Alastor normally waited until noon to broadcast, he still valued his time. A book and some jazz kept his temper even. A spot of rye would have been preferable, but he had enough sense to not imbibe while the sun was still high.

Duke Ellington was the name of Vox’s savior today, soothing the Radio Demon’s would-be temper. Alastor didn’t bother to look up from his book when he heard Vox come in. His sour mood had him decide to give him the silent treatment. Petty, but who would Alastor be if he wasn’t a petty little prick?

This time, Vox felt confident of the bouquet he’d picked out. They weren’t nearly as beautiful as the previous batch. Stiff, inflexible, and blasted with a floral perfume as they were incapable of producing their own. The spurious item came embedded within the soil that looked just as fake.

“Behold! Flowers that won’t wilt when you touch them! Try it!”

Reluctantly Alastor raised his head to see what Vox had to go through all the trouble to find. Even from this distance, he could tell what they were. Silk flowers. He laid the book on his lap and took it from Vox’s hand. As expected, they didn’t wilt. But you cannot kill something that isn’t alive in the first place. He lifted one daisy to peer at its filthy ugly underbelly and… laughed.

All the pettiness inside him evaporated all at once. Replaced instead by harsh guffaws that left Alastor cross-eyed. Tears crested in the corners of his eyes until he had expended everything in him.

“My dear! You are far too cute! I can’t believe you’ve gone through all this effort to please me!”

Vox shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his boxy head. The blush on his screen had nearly dwarfed the entire screen. “You don’t… like them?”

“On the contrary! I love them!” Alastor set them on the table beside his reading chair. A new permanent fixture of the home… or until he tired of their appearance. The blasted perfume was offensive, but he gave Vox credit for the effort. He’d keep away any offending bottles that dared to from this day.

“I admit I was enjoying watching you shower me in flowers but… all good things must come to an end. There’s a limit to how much one can tease before it becomes mean-spirited.” Alastor lamented. His elbow settled on top of his book, using the back of his hand as a support for his chin. Half-lidded eyes stared back at the nervous gentleman in front of him. “But, why did you think I needed fresh flowers so desperately?”

Vox was boggled. His mouth hung open, half expecting this to be another joke. But Alastor was dead serious. Vox looked at the lively bouquet that survived his touch on the table and then the wilted mess on the kitchen table.

“They’re… dead. You don’t keep dead things around. You bury them, throw them in the trash, or use them as fertilizer. They’re not a thing of beauty to be admired.”

“That so?” Alastor questioned. He set the book down on the table beside him, rising from his reading chair. With two long strides, he closed the distance between them. He immediately reached for one of Vox’s unguarded hands. Slipping his cherry-tipped fingers to weave among his delightful claws. The other was guided upon his shoulder. Alastor pulled Vox into an impromptu waltz with the Radio serenading them as soon as they two found their footing.

“My dear! Beauty is everywhere! In the dead, the wicked, in the filthy alleyways of hell as long as you have the eyes to see it!” The world around Vox spun, but his eyes were focused only on the face in front of him. Far too aware of everywhere their bodies touched. The Radio Demon eschewed physical touch from most but in their dances? The feel of his hand running down his back or holding his claws felt more passionate than quite a few of his nights under more amorous terms. The unflinching eyes of the predator within the right light could even be mistaken for a lover.

Compared to the elegant strides of The Radio Demons, Vox’s was awkward and bumbling. Normally he could keep up. But the sudden nature of ALastors actions and the mind-numbing heat burning through his clothes left the half-mechanical man’s mind still buffering. A sort of power that Alastor loved having over the besotted gentleman.

“You like wilted flowers?” Vox’s voice broke the silence.

“I love them! I loathe to quote the aphorism but it is far too appropriate here. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder! Decay, rot, and wickedness to me are more striking to me than even the most immaculate stone woman.”

The fingertips that still gripped Vox’s claw hand unfurled. They wrapped themselves around one shining claw, squeezing until they drew blood. Vox an immediate panic, left frozen in place as he’d become a weapon against his will.

As for Alastor? He was enraptured! The bleeding fingertips were brought to his lips where he licked the blood clean with his long pink tongue. Something Vox did not even knew lie dormant within him, awakened with that delightfully wicked sight.

“Do you understand now, Vox?”

Alastor’s voice sounded as if it were underwater, that was how far under the spell the deal-maker put him under. Lines of static flashed over his screen as he came to, with his receivers blinking red in panic.

“Oh! Yes! But your hand…!” With the same offending limb he reached out for Alastor’s, but he had simply rewoven their fingers before he could worry. Fresh crimson rivulets streamed from the crevices of their palms running down their wrists in unison.

“Do not worry about such things. It’s nothing but a scratch! The sooner you stop trying to see my world through your prejudices the sooner you will realize that I don’t need all the dead flowers in the world. They’re adorable, but you know what I am truly fond of don’t you Vox?” Alastor drew to the side of Vox’s head, whispering to him as his cheek brushed against the frame.

Like it was fate, it was as if he’d been pulled into Alastor’s web. Enchanted by the beautiful and elegant flower of death. Disarmed by his whimsical and petty nature. Emboldened by his quiet but constant support. Vox was starting to believe that these feelings that were once sinful and depraved, might also be beautiful too. If he only looked at it a little differently. And like that, a chain that once wound around his heart shattered. With newfound eyes, those artificial dark gray eyes saw the devil before him in a new light.

“Of course. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve already found your meat grinder. There’s only one problem.” Vox answered.

Alastor cocked his head, the affectionate lilt in his voice still present. “And what’s that, my dear?”

“Your killer is a woman.”

Alastor weighed those words in his head. Now there was a conundrum. The irony wouldn’t be even half as great if the woman had a good reason to put the man in there.

“Well...” Alastor spun his companion, pulling his hand free from his waist at last. Their time locked so closely could only last so long after all! The thrill was in the hunt and to bite prematurely would soil things for both of them. “We will simply have to find us a new victim. There is no shortage of sacrifices equally ironic. Now! I made us breakfast and you ran off before you could eat. I hope you weren’t thinking of getting out of it.”

Realization hit Vox like a truck. “Oh! Shit, I forgot all about breakfast! I’m so sorry Al! Can it still be reheated? I mean, I’ll eat it cold I don’t care! It slipped my mind.” The fretting picture box pulled free, already racing toward the kitchen. The spell that Alastor had begun to weave around the dear broke like the morning mist. Well, he was cute enough to get away with it.

Before Alastor would join him he made a stop to visit the silk flowers one last time. His fingertips brushed beneath a silken bloom, tracing the seams beneath that hid what made it beautiful. He continued to trace the line until he revealed the ugly pale color beneath. Where the artist had neglected to give its underside equal love. He bent and curled each petal until they had creased back. The shame of the artist was put on grand display, revealing all that proved it for the imitation it was. Then he pulled his hand away, looking upon it with a newfound appreciation for his gift.

There was beauty in the dead and the grotesque. Why couldn’t he find beauty in the artificial creations made to imitate life?

Like his dear Picture Box.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 3

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"Materialism is the natural-born son of Great Britain. Already the British schoolman, Duns Scotus, asked, 'whether it was impossible for the matter to think?'

"In order to effect this miracle, he took refuge in God's omnipotence — i.e., he made theology preach materialism. Moreover, he was a nominalist. the first form of materialism, is chiefly found among the English schoolmen. "The real progenitor of English materialism is Bacon. To him, natural philosophy is the only true philosophy, and physics based upon the experience of the senses is the chiefest part of natural philosophy. Anaxagoras and his homoiomeriae, Democritus and his atoms, he often quotes as his authorities. According to him, the senses are infallible and the source of all knowledge. All science is based on experience, and consists in subjecting the data furnished by the senses to a rational method of investigation. Induction, analysis, comparison, observation, experiment, are the principal forms of such a rational method. Among the qualities inherent in matter, motion is the first and foremost, not only in the form of mechanical and mathematical motion, but chiefly in the form of an impulse, a vital spirit, a tension — or a 'qual', to use a term of Jakob Böhme's [2] — of matter.

[2] "Qual" is a philosophical play upon words. Qual literally means torture, a pain which drives to action of some kind; at the same time, the mystic Bohme puts into the German word something of the meaning of the Latin qualitas; his "qual" was the activating principle arising from, and promoting in its turn, the spontaneous development of the thing, relation, or person subject to it, in contradistinction to a pain inflicted from without. [Note by Engels to the English Edition]

"In Bacon, its first creator, materialism still occludes within itself the germs of a many-sided development. On the one hand, matter, surrounded by a sensuous, poetic glamor, seems to attract man's whole entity by winning smiles. On the other, the aphoristically formulated doctrine pullulates with inconsistencies imported from theology. "In its further evolution, materialism becomes one-sided. Hobbes is the man who systematizes Baconian materialism. Knowledge based upon the senses loses its poetic blossom, it passes into the abstract experience of the mathematician; geometry is proclaimed as the queen of sciences. Materialism takes to misanthropy. If it is to overcome its opponent, misanthropic, flashless spiritualism, and that on the latter's own ground, materialism has to chastise its own flesh and turn ascetic. Thus, from a sensual, it passes into an intellectual, entity; but thus, too, it evolves all the consistency, regardless of consequences, characteristic of the intellect. "Hobbes, as Bacon's continuator, argues thus: if all human knowledge is furnished by the senses, then our concepts and ideas are but the phantoms, divested of their sensual forms, of the real world. Philosophy can but give names to these phantoms. One name may be applied to more than one of them. There may even be names of names. It would imply a contradiction if, on the one hand, we maintained that all ideas had their origin in the world of sensation, and, on the other, that a word was more than a word; that, besides the beings known to us by our senses, beings which are one and all individuals, there existed also beings of a general, not individual, nature. An unbodily substance is the same absurdity as an unbodily body. Body, being, substance, are but different terms for the same reality. It is impossible to separate thought from matter that thinks. This matter is the substratum of all changes going on in the world. The word infinite is meaningless, unless it states that our mind is capable of performing an endless process of addition. Only material things being perceptible to us, we cannot know anything about the existence of God. My own existence alone is certain. Every human passion is a mechanical movement, which has a beginning and an end. The objects of impulse are what we call good. Man is subject to the same laws as nature. Power and freedom are identical. "Hobbes had systematized Bacon, without, however, furnishing a proof for Bacon's fundamental principle, the origin of all human knowledge from the world of sensation. It was Locke who, in his Essay on the Human Understanding, supplied this proof. "Hobbes had shattered the theistic prejudices of Baconian materialism; Collins, Dodwell, Coward, Hartley, Priestley, similarly shattered the last theological bars that still hemmed in Locke's sensationalism. At all events, for practical materialists, Deism is but an easy-going way of getting rid of religion."

Karl Marx The Holy Family p. 201 - 204

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[sleeplesssmoll]

Reverse 1999 HCs: The Kitchen

I mentioned these in passing, but I finally added them in post with more detail. Feel free to add your HCs to the buffet! Word count is 960ish so you know what you're getting into if you continue down this path of madness.

Apple tends to stay out of the kitchen unless he's looking for wine. He doesn't want to be mistaken for a tasty snack.

Regulus is banned from the kitchen but barges in anyway as the "official taste tester". She also steals from people's plates if they're left unguarded, unless it's Sotheby's. She is an exception. Vertin gets the worst of it where Regulus might lean over her shoulder and chomp down on her spoonful of food. This is the tax for sharing her premium snacks with Vertin.

As for the snack sharing, one time Regulus caught Vertin eating uncooked noodles with the seasoning packet sprinkled on top like chips as a snack. Ever since then, she gave Vertin free access to the stash of snacks in her room. There's always potato chips and Dr. Papper available to her friend.

Vertin stills occasionally eats noodles like chips because Madam Z used to do it when they were traveling together. When Smoltin caught her red-handed, Madam Z advised her not to be like her and to eat her celery sticks instead. They both knew that wasn't going to happen.

Sotheby is allowed use the kitchen with supervision. There needs to be someone there to give their opinion on her creative choices (stop her from accidentally poisoning someone).

Druvis is the head chef and Sonetto is her apprentice that does everything by the book due to her upbringing in the Foundation. For example, if they don't have the right ingredients, Sonetto believes they can't make the dish anymore. However, Druvis will teach her how to substitute things and improvise.

Sonetto is a great cook, but she operates like a robot that needs to be updated with new ideas from a programmer. All the knowledge is there, but she struggle to make her own conclusions. (This is something we see her struggle with in game but I applied it to cooking lol)

The Horror Trio have no interest in cooking, only eating. Although, Jessica and her Critter friends harvest things from the garden so Druvis can supervise/mentor in the kitchen.

Vertin can't cook per say, but she can throw together very basic meals a child could do (eggs, bacon, toast, grilled cheese, simple stuff). However, her specialty is eggs. She can cook an egg in every way possible thanks to Madam Z. The scientist told her if she learns to cook anything, let it be an egg. They're easy to cook, versatile, and a good source of protein. This is an HC but I can hear her explaining egg supremacy to Vertin. Fun fact: Eggs are a staple food in China and many Asian countries. Eat an egg for Madam Z everyone.

Vertin's also handy with a knife since it's all about technique and she's good with her hands. Before her crew, she probably ate a lot of sandwiches, Foundation MREs, and instant food (with eggs on the side).

However, one day Druvis witnessed hot bacon grease pitch onto Vertin's arm. Vertin flinched at first but continued flipping her bacon, saying, "It happens sometimes." Druvis damn near threw Vertin in the sink in her rush to run cold water over it. They didn't notice how serious Vertin's disregard for injuries were due to the lack of scars and reactions from her. Vertin doesn’t understand since it'll go away with a healing potion. This breaks Druvis's heart because even if it's healed, Vertin's putting herself through unnecessary pain since she's used to getting hurt.

That was the last time Vertin was allowed to touch a frying pan (rip her beloved eggs as collateral), but they still let her use the knife since she's adept with it. Also Vertin wants to help them because it's a way for her to spend more time with them. They couldn't chase her away after she admitted that.

There is another advantage to letting the Timekeeper help sometimes; Vertin's the only one who doesn't cry rivers when she cuts an onion. Sonetto and Sotheby are a mess when they try. Pupnetto has a sensitive nose and Sotheby is baby. Druvis keeps her deadpan face but tears will prick at her eyes.

Vertin didn't always eat her veggies as a kid and Madam Z wasn't sure how to make her eat them. It's actually Tooth Fairy who found a way to make fruits and veggies fun. Vertin now does the same for her Suitcase Family.

Imagine an elegant, celebratory dinner set up by Druvis, Sonetto, and Sotheby after a particularly tough mission. What did Vertin contribute with her knife? Sandwiches? Salads? Nope. It's this:

Fruits and veggies decorated as little critters! It's how Tooth Fairy advised Madam Z to prepare them so Smoltin would eat them. As a kid she loved it. Vertin is creative so there are many variations (she's the opposite of Sonetto who's highly skilled but lacks creativity).

They're a hit with her crew too. Even Blonney, who normally acts like a moody teenager when it comes to her true feelings, finds them adorable. After seeing the way Jessica's eyes lit up from the little display, she was inspired to try and learn too. In secret, of course.

Horropedia said they were neat, but listed a terrifying bunch of ideas for Vertin's next fruit/veggie display: monsters, eyeball, tentacles, severed fingers, a dipping sauce that looks like slime or blood...

Bonus:

Regulus: Vertin! What are you doing?

Vertin: I'm making cheese toasties (grilled cheese). Don't worry, there's no way I can burn myself.

Regulus: You're dealing with hot melted cheese. On a scale of 1 to 10, how angry do you think Sonetto and Druvis would be if I called them right now?

Vertin: ...Would you like one too?

Regulus: Cut diagonally, no crust. Thanks ❤️

[otori0]

Second chances: A Kijima Matako + Kiheitai Analysis

This will be messy and include spoilers.

Kijima Matako, just like all Gintama characters, isn’t reduced to a single aspect to her character. What makes Gintama women special to me is that they aren’t just shonen women that are used when convenient or left to the side: they all break some kind of stereotype and have life of their own. They all have a soul. (If interested in this topic, there’s this analysis on Gintama women that really stood out to me)

When it comes to Matako, I don’t think this is different, even though her screen time is limited as she’s a side character. Despite her being introduced as a girl who loves Takasugi and shows extreme loyalty to her, this isn’t all there is to her. Not only is she a great fighter and indispensable to the Kiheitai, but her backstory in Silver Soul also shows us more sides of her. In particular, I’ll be discussing episodes 354 and Matako’s last scene in Gintama The Final, as they are the scenes that made me want to write this. Please don’t proceed if you haven’t finished the series. You’ve been warned!

We learn in episode 354 that Matako’s parents both died because of war, trying to protect the country. Because of this, she seeks revenge and asks Takasugi to join him in his goal of destroying the country.

At this moment, Matako is using her parents’ deaths to give herself a purpose. It seems like she’s lost, even though there is certainly disdain and hate for the country inside her, it’s definitely not a decision a person her age would be making in normal circumstances. In the words of Francis Bacon, “A man that studieth revenge, keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal, and do well.” (This also equates to Takasugi saying that the hardest part comes after war, when you’re reduced to just a man and forced to live that way, and Takasugi knows this better than anyone. Seeking revenge and keeping the wounds fresh is a way to run away from this. It also gives a mindless purpose so they don’t have to actually think about what comes after)

Just like Takasugi, losing something gave her a meaning and a goal. This should make them similar, but Takasugi knows it’s not the case, because his revenge isn’t simple revenge— it’s revenge against himself. Matako might not find what she's seeking if she goes with him, and she might just be throwing her life away. Going with Takasugi is the same thing as killing herself, her soul and her goals.

There’s a poetic sadness in the fact that Takasugi eventually died not in the way he’d thought he’d go. He was unable to kill Gintoki, which was the ultimate form of self-harm for him, and he lived an immortal but weakened life for a moment before he died against Gintoki himself. One could say that Takasugi did kill himself as well since he assisted Gintoki in killing Utsuro, but it’s still a death that’s very different from what one would imagine, especially in relation to this scene and Takasugi’s goals.

In the end, however, Gintoki fulfilled his promise and protected Takasugi's soul this way. This is the antagonic nature of Gintoki and Takasugi's characters and how Takasugi's goal was always doomed to fail.

Going back to Matako, because Takasugi gave Matako a second chance, this actually gives her even more motivation to follow his steps. He provided her a motivation aside from revenge.

A lot of Matako's loyalty to the Kiheitai comes from her devotion to Takasugi, but there's also the knowledge she has that the Kiheitai is more noble than it might seem. It saves nobodies, it has the power to protect— she has known Takasugi's kindness from the moment she met him, because he saved her even though they were nearly strangers.

However, ultimately Matako loses Takasugi as well. I've seen some people feel sympathy for her as she has 'lost everything' (at first her parents, then bansai & takasugi), but is this truly the case? I believe The Final proves otherwise.

The end of the movie, through Takasugi, makes the Kiheitai appear more human and follows the parent-child pattern that Gintama has used again and again to show vulnerability and human soul.

There's a lot of debate on what the baby Takasugi actually is, but from my point of view, if it's purposefully left ambiguous it should be ambiguous. That's part of the point of it. It could be reincarnation, it could be a different person, it could be Takasugi's second chance— we will never know, and that's okay.

Still, the topic of second chances is presented thorough the series and this movie is no exception. It's not a coincidence that Matako is the one to do this for Takasugi, to find him.

In this scene, there's a Sakamoto monologue in which he says that ''it's not a miracle for a teacher to save his students, it's just what they do''. I'm not confident in comparing what Takasugi did for Matako to what Shoyo did for his students because obviously it's not the same, but there is a meaning in this shot being shown during this monologue, because the cicle of second chances Matako and Takasugi (especially in regards of baby!Takasugi, since it's the most fantasy-esque aspect of this) is not 'a miracle', but something that had to happen.

Going back to the topic of revenge, Francis Bacon, who has already been mentioned here, made an experiment that actually proved that the people who had the chance of acting on their revenge had a harder time moving on from things and suffered more, because it prolongs that experience (more on this here). In this way, Gintoki who moved on the best he could from the past is a happier person than Takasugi. In the same way, I believe that Takasugi giving the Kiheitai a new goal to fight for in Soul Silver arc did this for Matako (although she wasn’t as deep into revenge as other characters, and it had already become something secondary for her). Especially when taking into consideration that Takasugi knew he’d die, or at the very least that his goals weren't leading him to anywhere good, it’s not unthinkable to believe that he was trying to give the Kiheitai something else for when he was gone. In a sense, Takasugi gave them what he learned from Gintoki but was too far gone to apply to himself. (Just like he gave the Kiheitai a place to belong) It's very much like Takasugi to take in all the pain to himself but never impose his own mentality into others.

After Takasugi died, it wouldn't be strange for the rest of the Kiheitai to grow apart from each other, to abandon that role and go on living normal lives, pursuing new goals. However, because of this new goal Takasugi has given them through the act of dying, Henpeita and Matako can redeem themselves, 'atone for their sins' as Henpeita words it. In a sense, had Takasugi survived, this might have been impossible.

Because Takasugi gave Matako a second chance and new reasons to fight, Matako could develop and grow into a person who in return gave Takasugi a second chance, enveloping him (physically) and I assume taking care of that baby in the future. Matako’s kindness is reflective of Takasugi’s own. In this way, although she believes herself to have been unable to save Takasugi during his life and bring back his smile, Matako also took an important part in preserving his soul.

At the end of Takasugi's road he found Gintoki, who had given him a part of his soul, and at the end of Matako's road she found Takasugi, who had given her a part of his (shown in their last scenes respectively). This becomes Matako's soul, turning her into a compassionate person who cares about Takasugi from the bottom of her heart, which gives her a chance to take action and abandon the revenge she initially sought.

Feel free to add anything to this, I have finished Gintama pretty recently so I'm sure there's people who have a better grasp and wording than myself. I might also edit this someday.

I hope this was an interesting read!

EDIT: In a sense, Bansai being the one to die first (not counting Nizou since he didn't have the same attachment to Takasugi and the others as the rest of the Kiheitai), in a sense, is a way to show that he has already found a purpose back then, while the other two still need a new purpose, which Takasugi gives them in SS. Bansai already knew Takasugi's soul and decided to die for him. The rest, however, had to live on to atone and carry that soul.

[ifearzombies]

Midnight To Morning

A Beel X MC one-shot that eventually includes everyone.

     You can’t sleep. You’re not sure why since you had been running ragged the day before, but it doesn’t mater now. You can’t sleep and that’s that. You groan and get out of bed and head to the kitchen with the knowledge Beel will be there shortly to join you.

     You grab a tub of yogurt and some fruit and some M&Ms and begin mixing them for a sweet treat when you hear your beloved ginger trundle in shortly after. You smile as he makes a noise of surprise and face him.

     “Hey babe.”

     “MC. You’re up really late. Are you okay?” He goes over and smooches your head, ignoring the food for a moment. You can’t help but find it so cute how he makes sure you know you’re more important.

     “Just couldn’t sleep. I made a big bowl of, well... I’d call it a parfait, but it’s not layered. I just think it tastes nice,” you say as you scoop a small amount into a bowl for yourself and offer him the mixing bowl.

     His eyes light up happily as he takes the bowl. “Thank you,” he mumbles between bites, “Mm... Almost as sweet as you.”

     “Aw. Beel. You don’t have to flatter me. I already love you.”

     Beel blushes at that and keeps eating. “But you are OK though, right?”

     “Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep.” You look at the fridge as Beel opens it to grab a custard- he’s already finished the mixing bowl. “Fridge is kinda bare. Hey... Wanna go get stuff to make breakfast for everyone? I know the Wail-mart is open.”

     “That’d be great! What should we make? I love pancakes. We could do pancakes!”

     “Pancakes is good. How about also eggs and bacon? We can get harpy eggs since they’re nice and big. And horrorhog meat always makes great bacon! And I’ll make French Toast too. A nice big breakfast for the family.”

     “Can we invite the others,” Beel asks, “I know it’s late. But Luke and Simeon always make nice breakfast stuff they share. And Solomon can’t cook. Oh! And Barbatos might like a morning off!”

     “I’ll text Barbatos and Solomon. Knowing those two, they’re still up as well,” you say as you grab your D.D.D. and shoot them a text. The two instantly respond it’s a spectacular idea. “They’re in. I’ll go get dressed while you eat and we’ll head out together.”

     It doesn’t take you long to get ready and soon the two of you are out the door. With a small bag of snacks for Beel. Wail-mart is already aware of Beel’s appetite and warn him to only eat things that can be rung up later and you both accept.

     “Hey MC,” Beel calls as you’re looking over some more fruit. You go over and he holds out a bag of Ruri-chan marshmallows. “We should get these for Levi. If he has coco, he’d love that. And it’s limited edition.”

     “Get two,” you say, “One for him to collect and one for him to enjoy.”

     “Oooh perfect!” Beel puts in two bags. You look at him lovingly as you pick out a small bag of chocolates for Beel.

     “I’ll get these so you can eat them on the way home.”

     “Thanks, MC. Ooh! Asmo’s favourite tea is on sale!”

     “Wanna get a little something for everyone,” you ask, Beel looking a bit ashamed for a moment.

     “Yeah. I mean. It’s a special breakfast from us to everyone. We should put a little surprise for everyone.”

     “Hrm... Okay. How about the chocolate gold coins for Mammon? That little wooden chest it comes in is super cute.”

     “It has a slot on top. So he can put Grimm in it later,” Beel says excitedly as he adds it to the basket.

     Tea for Asmo, marshmallows for Levi, gold coin chocolates in a treasure chest for Mammon, cat shaped cookie cutters for Satan, a picture frame for Lucifer to have a family photo in (you have the perfect one at home too), a small roll up blanket for Belphie, a fidget spinner for Diavolo, macarons for Barbatos, a cookie kit for Luke that comes with a small skillet, a journal and pen for Simeon, and a cookbook for Solomon. You watch Beel get more and more excited for each item you add before you finally get all the groceries you need. You grab an extra bag of chips for Beel and he kissed you when you presented it to him with the chocolates you grabbed earlier.

     The moment you’re home, Lucifer greets you at the door with a raised eyebrow. “Where have you two been?”

     “Sorry. We went shopping,” Beel explains, “We’re going to make breakfast. Purgatory Hall and Lord Diavolo and Barbatos are coming too. It’s a special breakfast from us to everyone.”

     Lucifer looks beyond happy. Whatever he was going to say to scold you is gone and he nods. “I see. Very well. Get to it. I’ll let everyone know.”

     Beel grabs your hand and you both get to work in the kitchen preparing omelets, bacon, French toast, pancakes, a proper pan of a fruit and yogurt parfait with granola over it. Beel ‘taste tests’ everything to help keep him from eating everyone’s breakfast and you give him smooches every now and then to reward him for controlling himself so well.

     You’re about to work on coffee and tea when Simeon enters with Luke. Luke runs up and hugs your legs as you greet them both. “Hey guys.”

     “Hello. We made some crepes,” Simeon says happily, “To go with the special breakfast!” He holds up two boxes, one large and one small. “The smaller one is for Beel from Luke.”

     “He needs to taste them to know that they’re good,” Luke rebuffs while he blushes, trying to pretend he isn’t Beel’s friend.

     Beel takes the small box and inhales the crepes. “Mmm! Delicious! Thank you!”

     “You ate them in one breath! Could you taste them,” Luke asks.

     “Yeah. Very good.”

     Simeon grabs Luke. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Plus I think Barbatos is coming in.”

     “I am. I thought I could make the drinks,” Barbatos cuts in, “Since you two are doing the cooking.”

     “That’d be great. I’m nowhere near as good as you at making tea and coffee,” you admit, “Plus Beel and I still gotta plate up everything.”

     “Leave it to me.”

     It’s not long before the table is set- another table pushed up with more chairs added to accommodate everyone. Beel sets out everyone’s gifts at their setting before the two of you bring out the platters of food with Barbatos bringing in a tray of hot drinks.

     “Oh wow,” Asmo coos as he comes downstairs with Solomon, “Did you and MC make all this?”

     “Simeon and Luke brought crepes. But otherwise yes,” you reply as you go and give both of them a smooch.

     “I wanted to bring something too, but Simeon and Luke rushed us out,” Solomon says sadly, “I’ll have to cook for you all another day.”

     You push down the horror you feel at Solomon in a kitchen and just smile. “Well. Today Beel and I wanted to treat you guys. I mean. We’re all family, right?”

     Solomon instantly cheers up and gives you a kiss. “Indeed.”

     “Aaaaaa!!! ARE THOSE THE LIMITED EDITION RURI-CHAN MARSHMALLOWS?!” Levi vaults over everyone and rushes to his place at the table. “OH MY LORD DIAVOLO I THOUGHT THEY WERE OUT!! Why two bags?!”

     “So you can eat one,” Beel explains, “MC said you would want one to keep and one to eat.”

     Levi starts ugly crying in joy as Satan carries Belphie down the stairs. “It’s too early,” Satan states as he slumps Belphie into his chair, “Eh? Are those... Kitty cookie cutters? Also... Thank you for breakfast. Sorry. Levi’s just loud.”

     “No worries,” you reply, “And yes. Kitty cookie cutters.” You give Satan a kiss before giving one to Belphie; who has unrolled his blanket with a smile and already wrapped himself in it.

     “Mm... Smells like Beel,” Belphie mumbles.

     “He carried it.”

     “Eh? What’s this? Chocolate? Not real Grimm,” Mammon says, pretending badly to not love it, “I guess this is good enough for the Great Mammon.”

     You and Beel chuckle as everyone else settles down and loves their gifts and you went around and gave everyone a hug and a kiss before you and Beel eat yourselves.

     Breakfast was like a holiday. Everyone was talking about classes at RAD, their little family gifts you and Beel picked out, and generally enjoy being a family. Once it was done, Lucifer made the other brothers start cleaning as you and Beel finally started feeling tired from everything. You fell asleep on the living room couch, curled up with Beel with everyone sitting around you (or busy cleaning).

     Lucifer looks at the two of you and covers you with a blanket and rubs both your heads, letting the two of you sleep before he looks again at the picture you put in the photo. It was a picture that a Little D. took with everyone doing a ‘group hug’ that you’d called for. Faces ranged from laughing to irritation, but it was one with every member of the family from the House of Lamentation, Purgatory Hall, and the castle. He places the photo on the mantle before using his D.D.D. to take a picture of you and Beel and then sends that to you and Beel’s D.D.D.