#also never give me an open floor to talk about my hyperfixations someone needs to put limits and its not gonna be myself

[seariii]

My take on Kotoko as a morally gray person, about a morally gray character who thinks in black and white

first of all, i absolutely love this woman, so all of this comes from a kotoko enjoyer, but when talking about canon i can not turn the blind eye to the wrongs she has done. i will talk about my perception of her murder, of her as a character and about her beating up the guilty prisoners (i will put this emoji 🐺 when i jump subjects just to keep it organized)

this next phrase is my personal take, i know some will disagree with me and thats okay, which also works as a tl;dr:

Kotoko didnt do anything wrong outside the prison, but she did wrong inside of it

i know beating up people isnt actually good, but she did research upon research to get to the bottom of the cases she was investigating and found the culprits this way. "but she could've brought them upon justice" and you arent wrong about that, but the victim she actually murdered, even when his identity was revealed to the public, the law didnt bring justice upon him.

screenshots & translations from @/maristelina (i didnt put everything in here, if you wanna check all the articles, please go check on their post!)

her victim was a child murderer, he had already killed 10 girls in 2 years, but even then, he was still free because of his father’s position of power. 

then we have her other victim, the man she beat up and sent to the hospital

there are a couple articles dedicated to this one. but a quick run down: the man, Mikio Oshii, was wanted for theft and assault, having tricked at least 2 or 3 elderly people, pretending to be a bank employee, and convincing them to hand over cash, he pushed one of his victims, fracturing her ankle. 

then we have the article about Kotoko’s assault. again a quick run down: someone heard screaming and found a man lying on the ground, who had lost consciousness after being beaten up, and was taken to the hospital. the police suspects a man (kotoko was wearing men’s sneakers and covering herself up). the victim was wanted for theft and assault charges and was Mikio Oshii.

further proving that she was aiming at people who prayed on the weak, she had good intentions (at least at first), and we also have the facts that she was trying to go through the lawful(?) path at first 

she was studying law, showing us that she genuinely believed her cause, bringing justice to the world and protecting the innocent, or “weaklings” as she calls them, more on that later.  that she was gonna try and go for the morally correct route, but what changed? what is that thing she “wants to do”? i hope we get to see her reasoning on the next trial. for now i agree with the theory that says that her or her family was victim of someone like the guy that was above law for having money and a father with a position of power. showing her the flaws of the law/justice system and thus taking matters into her own hands.

🐺 i personally believe that there are some people who dont deserve second chances, like pedos and rapists, and like the man kotoko murdered, between others. so this is why i forgive her from her crimes. she did proper research, she is passionate about it, she wants to protect the weak, or thats what she tries to convince herself of, because this brings me to my next point

she does have those violent tendencies, and she enjoys them

“this feels so good”

this is from the t1 trailer, people suspect this were phrases they said after their murders. so i think there is a possibility that while she was trying to convince herself that her actions were for justice, to try and protect the weak, and i dont doubt that that was where it came from at first, she ended up doing it out of personal enjoyment.

i once read that “if you do a good deed because you want to do it, it means that you arent a good person. to be a good person you need to do good deeds without wanting something in return” meaning that you should be uninterested on even the satisfaccion of said deed. this is a phrase that i absolutely hate and dont agree with, but i think it applies in here. kotoko was trying to do something “good” (morality is on the bearer’s eyes) by bringing to justice people who kept escaping it, by taking revenge for those weaklings she so desperately wants to protect, and while thats her main motivation, she also does it because she wants to.

i believe my girl has a thirst for power. she is self righteous, the way she refers to the people she wants to protect as “weaklings” its like shes putting them down in some way, the way on her VD she just wants to keep rambling about her theories, the way she inserted herself on Mikoto’s interrogation, the way she just assumes Es’ intentions and doesnt seem to accept when they call her out on it. she doesnt listen to others at all and once her mind is set on something, there is nothing that can move her from there. she isnt a good person…. but also, she isnt a bad person, and i feel that the fandom forgets those two statements can coexist. even if she sees herself as a saint, and firmly believes that she did nothing wrong, thats because

🐺 her world view is black and white. and this is why while i condone her actions on her murder, i do not condone her actions of beating up the guilty prisoners.

a lot of the prisoners have a black and white morality, heck, milgram itself as a system IS black and white. and from what i’ve read, a lot of the fandom also thinks in black and white. all of which i find extremely… interesting…. tbf its the nd majority vote game about nd murderers on the nd website, so makes sense (im half joking, sorry)

kotoko attacked the guilty prisoners because thats what she had been doing, and thats what she got voted innocent for on t1 (i wasnt around). but no one told her to do that, she acted on her own, she misinterpreted her judgment and forced her opinions and methods on others, claiming it were Es’, without their knowledge and without ours.

as a side note, when i first got into the fandom, i found surprising to see that kotoko was inno and fuuta was guilty on t1, since from my perspective their crimes are basically the same, they both exposed and harrowed “bad” people.

i make a lot of emphasis on black and white thinking, since its something im familiarized with, for example lets talk Amane since its her trial is still going

she is the type of girl who will correct other’s mistakes, who will call them out and try to fix them so that the others can be right, like her. her truth is absolute and even when it flails, she stands her ground and proceeds to believe in herself and her views of the world. in what i said, you could re read that and it would also apply to kotoko, and just like her, Amane also convinced herself of doing something she wanted to do by telling herself it was the right thing to do. kotoko’s “protecting the weaklings” directly translates to amane’s “punishing her mother for her sins (hurting the cat)”. so while in both cases there were hidden feelings, something tells me neither of the girls knew about their own ulterior motives, thats how well they convinced themselves.

people who think in black and white just see it as it is, right or wrong, left or right, green or blue, there is no other choice but those two. and from my personal experiences with myself and with others, its something you end up applying in almost every aspect of your life and its really difficult to change up this way of thinking. beginning to see the grays of the world and its other options its not an easy task without some proper help

overall, i dont believe she was right for hurting the guilty prisoners, and fuuta losing his eye because of her gives me a horrible gut feeling. overall, it also ties on her need for power, since she firmly believes shes Es’ “fang”, thus reducing herself a weapon for justice, not implementing her own judgment anymore, but someone else’s, ours, which my problem with her actions in this scenario. i firmly believe that if outside the prison she had came across mahiru or fuuta, she wouldn’t have attacked them, but  after her t1 inno, and getting her ideals supported, her beliefs became radical, and now shes going based on our ideals, our judgments, our right or wrong, our black and white morality, MILGRAM’s black and white morality.

🐺 im still a kotoko inno truther, and i love her, shes my favorite character. but i dont expect her to get innocent this trial, as she did wrong. i dont want to say it was our fault that she harmed the other prisoners, since we had no way of knowing this would happen. in retrospect we can say whatever we want, but none of us can read the future. 

i dont even have a real argument on why you should vote her innocent “shes pretty” is not good enough lmao… but who knows, maybe we will see something that makes her worthy of an inno vote on her second trial a few months from now (not counting on it, probably wont be enough)

in the end i wrote this because im really passionate about this character and her black and white views on the world (shes so intense). and because this beautiful person @archivalofsins told me to "keep talking about kotoko" and i have zero self control regarding this fictional woman.

🐺 i believe with the help of a third party, someone who could act as a moral compass to her and could teach her that the world has more colors, more choices, and if she actually learns about this, she would end up being an amazing thing. 

also, if the theory about her being an accomplice of the serial killer turns out to be true, i will puke and cry :) 

[nightsoulsworld]

Supity! A matchup please if you don’t mind!

5’3, she/they, Pan, long brown curly hair that apparently has red and gold in it according to my friends and family, dark brown eyes, white as hell, chubby (like tummy, medium tatas, thicccccccccc thighs/butt, big ass calves), really small hands (like I’ve never met someone with smaller hands or even hands as small as mine), kinda small shoe size. Blushes easily, thinner lips, button nose.

Always have bracelets and 2 necklaces and a ring on. Feel naked and insecure without em. Either wearing doc Martin combat boots, converse, platforms, flip flops, or Nothin. I either dress comfy (hoodie and shorts, a hoodie and sweats, sweats and spaghetti strap top) or alternative (particular goth and punk). Either no makeup or a bunch of makeup (particularly eyeliner and blush)

I have adhd and autism, so I get overstimulated by fabrics and touch. I stim a lot (mostly by hand shaking and Scratching or random movements. I chew on a lot of things I shouldn’t. I hyperfixate very easily and have a ton of comfort characters. Also pretty childish. Still have stuffed animals and toys.

I’m Wiccan/pagan, I’m obsessed with Gorillaz (Russel supremacy btw), and Tmnt and Mha and unfortunately Creepypasta (I can’t escape. Help me) I really like horror and Disney. My favorite movie is Robin Hood (the Disney version) and my favorite actual video game is probably Undertale, but my favorite like mobile game or whatever is Doodle Jump cause memories. Speaking of memories I’m a very sentimental person who hoards a lot of stuff because I get attached easily and can’t let go. Also I have like no filter, so I’ll just say what comes to mind and pay for it later, or just do something cause I felt like it. I sit on the floor a lot, willingly. It’s comfortable. Im really good at lying. Also a bottom🤷 but I act all tough and aggressive and like a top (ig) because walls and not letting anyone in and all that. I don’t open up easily unless it’s for a joke. I joke a lot about my trauma. Mommy and Daddy issues check ✌️✨

And that was a lot. Sorry. Guess not having a word limit gives me way too much power lol

Sup! Of course I don't mind doing match up, dear friend

Thanks for asking

Here we go

I match you with...

Raph

He loves you

He was surprised how tough you were

When you first met him, you almost always blushed

He couldn't help but smirk at it

He really likes your hair with a touch of red and gold

He loves to hold your little hands in his

He likes your company and likes to talk to you about anything

He always give you a little kisses on your nose 😘😘😘

He likes horrors and horror stories etc. and he likes to read some good creepypasts with ya

Especially at night

He loves to do a movie night with you in lair with a good horror movie you both have chills

When you're scared, he pulled you closer to him

When you have issues or have hard days, he is always here and happy to listen to you

You don't need any make-up for him

He likes your natural beauty ♥️

Your loud laughter at his forum ripped him out

You are an amazing person to him

He is glad he can have you

He can't imagine being with anyone other than you ♥️♥️♥️♥️

I hope you like your match 💜

[zappho]

Some Meta on Murdock and mental illness

Generally speakig, The A-Team is a dumbass, light-hearted comedy with action on the same level as youtube poop videos. Obviously there isn’t alot of depth to be found here. The show had tons of different writers, all with their own take on Murdock and none of them offer any clear info or a proper backstory for the character. It’s basically up to the audience to fill in the blanks and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do by overanalyzing the mess that is the show’s canon.

The question of whether Murdock is ‘‘‘really crazy or just faking’‘’ has been around for over 30 years, but I’m gonna argue that he’s both.

When Kelly visits Murdock in the psychiatric hospital and confronts him about why he’s living there in the first place he gets instantly uncomfortable.

He really didn’t want her to ask, it’s why he’s been avoiding her. Joking about how you’re hashtag crazy™ is easy; having to admit that you’ve been institutionalized for over 10 years because you have legitimate problems is much harder. (Sure, the VA also gives him a convenient cover from the military police, but if that was the only reason for him to stay he wouldn’t react to Kelly’s question in this way). “It’s a long story”, is all he says. There are clearly some painful memories here that he’d rather not delve into.

He’d have to explain how he got committed in the first place. We know that after the gang was arrested for war crimes in ‘71, Murdock was still serving as a pilot in ‘72. They never clarified when and how Murdock was sent home, but i’m guessing without his only friends around and it being, you know...war, his mental health eventually deteriorated until he received a medical discharge straight into the VA hospital.

After Murdock gets wrongly released in season 1, instead of his friends being worried about his supposed cover getting blown they just shrug it off and go ‘Oh well!’ (This could all be due to the show’s inconsistent writing, but you know)

No longer being an inpatient would finally allow Murdock to be employed as a pilot again (his #1 passion), and yet he seems really disheartened about the situation. Even though the hospital gives him no privacy, the staff barely respects him and he spends most of his time there by himself, he still prefers to stay.

For a character who’s allegedly cheery comic relief, he sure gets his feelings hurt alot, mainly when dealing with other people’s ableism towards him. B.A. and Face are obviously just palling around, just guys bein’ dudes, they don’t want to hurt Murdock for real, they probably don’t realize how sensitive Murdock is about the subject. Usually he plays along or shrugs it off, but sometimes he gets genuinely upset. In the first half of In Plane Sight he’s so fed up with it he tries to ‘‘act normal’‘ until #Woke #Queen Hannibal reassures him that they love him the way he is.

PTSD was barely starting to become a diagnosis when the show first aired, but I think it’s fair to say he suffers from it. The pilot episode states that he has anxiety, paranoia and memory loss, so that checks out.

With PTSD you don’t just have to deal with flashbacks and nightmares, but also intrusive thoughts, images and memories about your trauma. Murdock copes with it by getting hyperfixated on a new activity or pretending he’s someone else. This is were alot of people will go ‘‘haha wow look how wacky and insane he is! He’s talking to his sock 😂’‘. But Murdock knows it’s all made up nonsense, he just needs his mind to focus on something else. What’s important here is that he never lets his coping mechanisms distract him when he’s flying, first of all he’s already focused and also he doesn’t wanna crash (lol). There’s a believability to his actions that’s missing in the 2010 reboot.

In the episode where the gang helps out the vietnamese cook from the POW camp where they’ve been tortured, Murdock tries to distract himself with some golfballs. He soon starts projecting his trauma on them however.

I think this is the only time in the show where Hannibal tears up, so this scene is kinda significant. As the leader, he probably blames himself for getting his team captured and tortured, and seeing that Murdock is still so strongly affected by it gotta hurt. 

Compared to the rest of the gang, Murdock’s alot more fucked up over the war. There are subtle changes in his voice whenever he talks about it. In the ep about their old war buddy Ray, Face was reminiscing about how cool of a guy Ray was for borrowing him his helmet, Murdock’s memories meanwhile are much less upbeat. ‘My bird was the only one left in the sky’ he remembers while we see an image of a field filled with shot down helicopters. His experiences are bound to be different from the other three as a huey medevac pilot. Murdock did have one off-screen breakdown in the present timeline, after collecting every newspaper article about the upcoming execution of the team in Firing Line. Apparently it was bad enough that he had to be restrained. It’s been 10 years, so he’s recovering and getting better, but he’s still not all there yet.

Everyone knows Murdock’s just messing around when he’s being interrogated by the military about his connections to the team, but like what about when the military isn’t there; or NO ONE is. He often talks to himself or just puts weird shit in his mouth for no reason while nobody’s paying attention to him (eating leaves, paint, an entire raw egg, a frozen sandwich). Sometimes he’s just unhinged like that.

Another thing that’s brought up a few times in the show is his anxiety. Murdock’s often seen being generally tense, sweaty, uncomfortable or reflective in the background of a scene. (I have no idea if this was a deliberate acting choice but Dwight does have anxiety irl so who knows if that had anything to do with it, I mean who knowsssssss, i’m just observing)

He’s got a habit of fidgeting with his hands or touching his neck when he’s stressed out. Murdock also does it when he’s telling his psychiatrist Dr. Richter about his dreams “If you were me, wouldn’t you be terrified to put your head down?” he asks him.

Richter isn’t really paying attention though, because he’s so used to Murdock’s non-stop clownery, he can’t exactly tell when his patient decides to be honest about his feelings for once. He just replies ‘Well only if it was a bad dream’. Which really irritates Murdock because what other dreams besides bad would he have? So he derails the session by rambling some made up bullshit on purpose.

Richter knows that Murdock uses humor and fantasy to cope, but he’s obviously tired of Murdock’s cringe antics, he just wants to help him. But Murdock doesn’t like to open up and be confronted with his traumas again, he just wants to avoid talking about it all together. There are still parts of reality that Murdock’s not ready to deal with, or he wouldn’t always retreat into his fantasies.

Before he can continue messing around a helicopter passes by and Murdock freezes for a second. Richter assures him that the helicopter is real; Murdock nods and starts fidgeting with his hands again, seemingly in deep thought. We know from the season 4 finale that he hears the sound of rotor blades when he dissociates. He was definitely being sincere here.

After getting drugged by some military goons he has a few brief flashbacks (feat. cheesy 80′s neon filters): seeing the chopper fly away, getting stuck in a potted plant as if he was walking through the jungle, being surrounded by heavy smoke and sparks from the burning carpet).

Despite being the 2nd highest ranked team member, Murdock dislikes being in charge and gets severly distressed when anything goes wrong that he might even be slightly responsible for. Most notably is the episode where the owners of the diner get kidnapped after Murdock got knocked out by evil cowboys or hill billies or whatever they were. Instead of telling anyone what happened, he’s just lying on the floor, repeatedly calling himself a failure until the others show up.

Seems like Murdock gets startled more easily than the rest of the crew as well. We often see him flinch when guns go off; one time he literally wore fluffy ear muffs to a backalley shootout.

This short moment from Family Reunion always stood out to me. Face opens the van door a little too quickly and it takes Murdock so off-guard he has to take deep breaths to calm down.

Murdock sounds exhausted when he has to remind Face not to sneak up on him. Face also realizes he messed up, he just wanted to check up on Murdock and not trigger him on accident.

When it comes to portrayals of mental illness in fiction there’s obviously better representation out there than Murdock. But sometimes you just wanna see a mentally ill character have a good time instead of being miserable 24/7. And Murdock’s already got the worst behind him, he’s had therapy for years and friends who love him. I just think that’s refreshing to see, especially with a character who’s so kind and openly affectionate.

[annnoel]

Previous part: Wraiths CONTENT WARNING: This story contains murder, decapitation, alcohol and heavy language. Read at your own risk.

Muddy footprints were left in Rhippos wake as he stumbled into a small village, rain bathing the place in a thick mist. Despite the rain some were still wandering about the square, some getting supplies to help them weather the storm until it let up. Rhippo had no care for supplies or a place to stay, he just wanted to drown his sorrows and forget his friend. He stumbled onto a building and placed his hand against the wall, somewhat losing his grip from his rain soaked hands. Regaining his grip he leaned his back against the wall and fell to the floor, taking a swig from a wine bottled he had been carrying with him. Footsteps could be heard coming near him, eventually stopping beside him. "My, you're soaked head to toe! What happened to you?" Rhippo glanced to the side and saw a xweetok holding a lace umbrella leaning down to get a better look at him. Her body fur was a lilac purple while her hair and mane shimmered a dark violet, her eyes a vibrant pink that almost seemed to glow in the shadows. She wore a black dress with purple floral patters coming up from the bottom as if it was winding across her dress. Rhippo paid no mind to her and let out a heavy huff before turning away from her. "Are you doing alright? Do you need any sort of help with shelter or such?" She asked as she leaned down closer to Rhippo. "Go fuck yourself, I don't need any help." Rhippo let out before taking another swig from his wine bottle. "By Gods, such language! You shouldn't talk to someone who offered you help in such a way!" She stood herself back up and placed her hand on her breast, letting out a scoff. "I can talk to you however the fuck I want, like I give two shits about what people think about me." Rhippo peered into the bottle before tilting it, a single drop falling from the brim into his lap. Rhippo flung the bottle to the side, the sound of glass clanging as it ran over rocks and dirt. The xweetok furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, contemplating on how she could get him to talk about his situation. "Sounds like someone you knew betrayed your trust in a way."  She said softly as she scratched at her face, implying how Rhippo had gotten the scar across his face. "Nobody betrayed my trust, I betrayed someone elses trust thanks to my desperation. I tried to help her, and now she wants nothing to do with me." Rhippo let our a heavy sigh before dropping his head into his legs. "How did you betray her trust?" Rhippo clenched his fists onto his knees and slowly raised his head up, glaring back at the xweetok. "You of all people should know why." Rhippo hissed. "I beg your pardon?" She asked as she backed up, clenching her umbrellas handle. "I know it's you wraith, your act is as unpolished as your looks." In a flash all her clothes fell to the floor, the umbrella splashing onto some wet rocks. The black mass manifested next to Rhippo, turning into the xweetok he met before. She held her face in her hands, the lower half of her legs raised in the air crossed. "Guess I'm a bit of an open book now aren't I?" Rhippo snarled at her. "What the fuck do you want with me?" "Oh, I always check back up on my clients to see how they're doing! I see in your case it didn't end too well." "Like HELL it did-" Rhippo slammed his hand down where her head was, but she wisped away before he could grab her. She manifested behind him and wrapped her arm around his neck. "You really thought you could get me like that? Oh that's so very cute." She rested her other arm on top of his head, pressing her cheek onto his. Rhippo clawed at her arm, but his claws just phased through her arm. "Also, I can tell you got yourself a wraith as well, I can feel them. Gave you a bit of a struggle now, didn't they?" She ran a finger on top of the scar covering his face. Rhippo yelled and stood up, getting the wraith to finally manifest off of him. "You need to just- get the hell away from me. You ruined my life enough, and I don't want you near me ever again!" Rhippos words slurred as they came out, barely just forming a coherent sentence in his anger. "Alright, I'll leave! I was just checking up on you," She winked as she backed herself up, "Maybe you can take this opportunity to restart your life, create a fresh start, make a new you! I feel it would do you some good." He lunged at her but she disappeared into the air before he could grab her, the last of the black wisps faded into the air as Rhippo looked down at his hands. He clenched his fists and yelled into the air before falling to his knees, wrapping his arms onto his head and letting out another desperate scream. He pushed his hair back as he stood himself back up, leaning against the wall as he regained his footing. He staggered back to the entrance of the forest, kicking the wine bottle away as he entered. Rhippo wandered through the woods, barely able to keep himself upright as he would catch himself on nearby trees. He stopped and leaned himself against a tree, his breath forming small clouds of mist in the rain while he panted. As he was about to get back up, he heard a voice in the distance. Listening in he could tell it was elderly, the tone shaky and struggling to get louder as it called for help. A krawk green in tone like Rhippo walked through the frame, holding a makeshift cane as he propped himself on the nearby trees, struggling to keep himself up. Maybe you can take this opportunity to restart your life, create a fresh start, make a new you! I feel it would do you some good. Make a new me Rhippo thought. Create a fresh start, start new. Restart your life, restart your life, restart your life... The voices of reason were drowned out as he wandered towards the elderly krawk, the thought of restarting his life repeating over and over in his mind. His chest and face started to burn intensely, his hands trembling as he wandered closer to the krawk. Rhippo placed his hand against a tree trunk and leaned against it, the krawk hearing him and turning back to Rhippo. "Oh, thank the Gods! C-can you show me where the nearest village is? I got a bit lost in these woods." The krawk trembled, clutching his cane to keep his balance. Rhippo just stared down the krawk, the way he looked reminding him so much of himself. Maybe this was another trick from the wraith? Maybe he's finally gone insane from his sadness? Or possibly drunken hallucinations manifesting in the foggy rain? It didn't matter to him, he wanted him gone. "Make a new me." Black snake like tendrils manifested from Rhippos back, pointed straight down onto the elderly krawk. The krawk gasped as he backed up, dropping his cane and leaning against a tree. "Make a new me!" Rhippo repeated, cackling madly as the snaky tendrils inched closer to the krawk. He tried to run, but all four tendrils shot down at him in a split second. A pained scream rang into the evening rain, birds flying off as it echoed through the forest. *~* Tendrils reached down and grabbed the top of the deceased krawks head, twisting it off as the sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing rang through his head. He removed anything inside the head he didn't want before sitting himself down, dropping the skull into his lap. He used his claws to rip off any skin and hair until nothing but the bone was left. As he brushed off any leftover blood, he placed the skull on top of his head. It was a bit big on him, but that didn't bother him. He sat as he felt the weight of the skull rest on his head, glancing back at the body as the tendrils came into frame. Black and pink wisps ran up the wraithy tendrils as pink spots scattered the top, forming where the rain came down onto them. Rhippo stared back down and played with his fingers, letting out a low cackle and slowly raising his voice until it rang out through the forest. "Make a new me!" Rhippo trembled out. He leaned forward and slammed his hands into the mud, cackling as streams of tears trickled down his face. "Make a new me!" He yelled out as his cackles rang through the misty rain. His cackling shifted to pained sobs as he folded into himself, wailing as he continually repeated the phrase over and over again. Make a new me. ---------------- DID Y'ALL WANNA KNOW HOW RHIPPO GOT HIS SKULL?? No??? WELL NOW YOU DO! I had been wanting to make a sequel to his last piece for a while now, but never knew how to approach it. I always knew it'd be him having some major depressimos and drunk but thats kinda all i knew i got some inspiration recently though from the most recent episode of primal (Plague of Madness) + In This Moments newest album. The two combined just gave me major creepy vibes and made me wanna write something creepy and unsettling, which resulted in this! Hopefully I get the idea i wanted across. Characters losing touch with reality for one reason or another can be hard to write because it can be hard making sense of their actions if not written properly. I MEAAANN TECHNICALLY if the character is losing touch with reality and going insane it doesn't need to make sense, but in this case where he isn't really going insane and is just very drunk and cant really form reasonable thoughts it was a bit harder. But again, hopefully i get what i wanted across!! I had to rewrite this a bunch and might still rewrite it again since some parts I felt weren't that well structured and feel very jarring. Either way, I still had SO much fun with this and i love the whole idea of the story. I already have some sequel stories i wanna make up for this. I never thought i'd hyperfixate on rhippo of all characters fjkghdkjfg

[avelera]

*emerges from their grace* a chubby Newt that stress eats???? Also hi it's been a while :v

aaaah, babe it’s been too long!! Thank you for the prompt!

This one’s gonna combine a few Anon prompts too including: 

Chubby Newt never manages to lose his lovehandles even in the middle of the war, his eating habits aren’t always the best and there’s always junk food wrappers in his room but he’s always comfortable and soft and friend-shaped.

&Newton’s one of those kids that stacked on the puppy fat as a teenager but assumed he’d grow more and even out but he just… didn’t? Like, he’s taller than he was which is nice but he’s also still got chipmunk cheeks and a few stretch marks on his thighs and for all his talk of being a “rock star” he can actually be quite sensitive about these things, especially when it comes to being intimate with someone (he’s had a few bad experiences). But he’s still got a rockin bod! 

And mostly:

sickfic type thing with (a lil chubby) newt who ate too much and hermann taking care of him—

On the Risks (and Benefits) of Stress Eating

Also available on Ao3

Words: 2,682 (I knooow)

Ship:Newt/Hermann

Timeline: Shatterdome era

Man I just remembered I was thinking of tying my SFW Shatterdome era prompt combo one into the tattoo prompt but then sickfic took over. OH WELL. I’ll get to that one soon cuz it’s amazing.

This ficlet is proooobably gonna lead into my NSFW prompt combo, just FYI ;3

—-

“Newton, maybe you should slow down?”

Newt grunted in acknowledgement of Hermann’s point, whatever it was, and went back to summarily ignoring it. The LiDAR mapping of the latest Kaiju attack had just come in and he needed to square them with the video as well since there was almost zero chance he’d get any live samples from this one. He’d have to make do without. He crunched on another potato chip without tasting it and when the bag was empty tossed it on the ground with the pile of others. His brain hummed, streamlined and focused from taking his medication twice today and if he stayed focused he could ride this wave to getting a week’s worth of work done in an evening. And if he could manage just a few, oh, thousand more nights like that then maybe they’d have a shot at winning this war.

“…Newton, that’s your fifth bag of junk food, this is getting obscene. At least let me fetch you a meal from the cafeteria before it closes? Perhaps something with a vitamin buried in it somewhere?”

“No thanks,” Newt muttered. Could the guy not see he was busy? Cafeteria food meant knife and fork which meant freeing up his hands which meant breaking his concentration and he was on a roll. Achieving this level of focus was a once in a blue moon thing for him, usually he needed to bounce between three projects to finish any and sure, that meant three projects got done in the time it took most people to do one, but he wasn’t going to stop now when hyperfixation was helping him out for once. Just to make the point he blindly reached over and grabbed another bag of snacks, tearing it open with his teeth and burying his hand inside to stuff his mouth full before returning his hands to the keyboard.

“… Newton, I…”

Newt snarled and spun in his chair. “What is it, Hermann? Can’t you see I’m working, or at least I’m trying to if you wouldn’t interrupt every five minutes?!”

Hermann recoiled, his hand snatching back from where it had presumably hovered at Newt’s shoulder. He drew himself up, expression growing pinched and severe. His suit jacket was tossed over one arm and he gripped his cane hard in the other hand. “It’s been three hours since I last interrupted you and before that it was another two. I only interrupted this time to tell you I’m retiring for the evening, so do remember to switch the lights off this time,” he said stiffly.

Newt blinked then his eyes drifted to the clock blinking military time on the wall. 2300 hours. Oh. His vision swam now that it broke from the screen and he realized he didn’t feel so great. Like, not great at all, maaaybe more than a little nauseous.

Then he spotted the pile of junk food bags and wrappers in a halo around his chair. His lap was encrusted with crumbs and his keyboard wasn’t much better. He prided himself in his total lack of squeamishness but this was…kinda more than a little disgusting.

About as disgusting as he felt right now.

Hermann’s wide lips thinned to a line. “I did try to warn you.”

Newt groaned and flopped back in his chair, which was a big mistake because the accidental stretch sent a pang through his belly and he doubled over, heaving shallow breaths and trying to swallow back the nausea.

“And don’t throw up on my shoes, if you would be so kind.”

“No promises,” Newt wheezed. Hermann took a careful step back out of the “blast radius.” Newt swallowed a few more times, fumbled for water bottle on his desk and took a swig. His medication left him dry-mouthed so he always had one handy. After a tense moment, the wave of nausea passed which only reminded him of the other gross part of his hyperfixation bouts.

Stress eating. His whole body felt bloated and gross and his stomach distended to just this side of pain. The buttons on his shirt were tight and if Hermann would just take off already so he could unbutton his pants and breathe he’d feel much better. His stupid, tight pants were only a fashion statement when he wasn’t spilling out of them like an over-ambitious muffin in front of the guy he’d been hopelessly dreaming about boning since he were twenty-fucking-three, and right now he couldn’t imagine feeling any less sexy. Newt buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“You can go. Don’t worry, I’ll get the damn lights,” Newt muttered into his hands, then scraped them back through his hair as he sat up. Hermann was still standing there looking, if anything, kinda… worried.

“Are you certain you don’t need help returning to your quarters?” Hermann said. “I know how it can be with your… your mind the way it is, and it does you no favors when you lose track of your surroundings, and worse, your own wellbeing like this.”

“You say “lose track” like it was something I had control over,” Newt said dryly.

“My apologies, I know it’s not as simple as that, I merely meant…”

Newt waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Thanks for trying earlier, sorry I was a dick about it.”

“Well, I won’t contradict you on that point.”

Newt snorted. On any other night it would be way too embarrassing to let Hermann walk him back, people might get ideas. They might get the exact idea that Newt was really hoping someone would get, and that someone was Hermann, when Newt went through waves of getting handsy with the guy when the crush got too bad and then scrambling away again when another fight flared. Usually because Hermann had a stupid opinion about Newt’s research, or Newt had an opinion about Hermann’s stupid research. It was just how they were, and fighting was almost as good as fucking when it came to breaking up the very one-sided sexual tension.

Ugh, sexual tension. No fucking chance of breaking that tonight. Maybe it was for the best.

“Actually, y’know what? I think I could use that hand,” Newt winced.

He wasn’t sure if he should expect another exasperated retort or jibe for that one, but Hermann said nothing, only offered his arm to Newt the way he’d done countless times in return.

Hermann must have deemed this episode to be on the no-insults side of the line that existed between them, where dwelled the topics Never To Be Discussed, mostly stuff they had no control over. Newt never brought up the leg unless it was logistically necessary and Hermann never brought up Newt’s weird brain except for similar reasons (one time Newt heard that Hermann tripped a J-tech with his cane for calling Newt that spastic freak in the dungeon but try as he might Newt couldn’t get anyone to verify that crowning moment of awesome). Their insults always stayed in the realm of the other’s stupid research, or stupid clothes, or stupid hair/tattoos, stuff that they had control over (and god if only Hermann would take control of that wardrobe). For whatever reason, Newt stuffing himself with junk food on a work binge counted as “stuff they couldn’t control” and for that he was endlessly grateful.

The floor swayed beneath Newt’s feet and he had to swallow back another wave of nausea as he stood. He leaned on Hermann’s arm more than he’d really meant to when he’d accepted, he didn’t want to hurt the guy, but while their progress was slow out the lab (Newt got the lights on the way) and down the hall to their rooms. Hermann hesitated outside Newt’s door.

“Would you like me to come in…?” Hermann said hesitantly.

God, yes, Newt thought, not that he could ever say it.

“God, yes.”

Crap.

“… and see you settled?” Hermann finished.

Double-crap. Just play it cool, Newtster.

“Sure, I feel like total shit. Maybe you could rub my tummy or something?” he winked.

That wasn’t cool at all.

Newt grimaced. It’s not like he cared what Hermann-stick-up-his-arse-Gottlieb thought about him (ok he did care, a lot, way too much) but even his not caring was more about hoping that attitude came across in a reckless, devil-may-care, sexy bad boy kind of way. Not because he was too nauseous and bloated to give a shit that he was covered in crumbs instead of engine oil or alien guts, and just generally gross.

Instead of waiting for Hermann’s inevitable exasperated huff and retort about Newt’s talking nonsense, he opted for spinning the industrial-grade lock on his door and going inside. He stumbled through the doorway and only then turned to see Hermann still standing there, his cheeks lit up like Christmas.

“Is it something I said?” Newt hazarded.

Hermann shook himself. “Your… stomach, is it really hurting that much? All jests aside, Newton, the medical bay is closed but I’d be happy to help however I may. Your health is a serious matter.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed. Since when was Hermann helpful about anything? “You want to rub my stomach?”

Hermann’s face turned crimson and for once it was definitely not with anger.

“I…” Hermann said in a strangled tone.

“Look, I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Newt said and jabbed his thumb back over his shoulder at his rumpled pile of comforters. Godzilla sheets poked out at the corners, it wasn’t exactly a love nest. “You can do whatever you want.”

Newt turned and back to unbutton his shirt. The iron door clanged shut behind him and he sighed, exhaling to allow his gut to hang over his pants and sighing with deeper pleasure when his fingers reached the top button of his pants. He’d have to file that blush away for later, because for now if he was going to take another stab at seducing the human personification of a sweater-vest (why did he crush on that guy so hard, why?) it would have to wait until he felt human again at all.

There was a polite cough from behind him.

Newt shrieked and whipped around, his hands flying to cover himself since the pants had slid halfway down his thighs. Hermann stared, his fist covered his mouth until he slowly lowered it. “I… you said whatever I… I’d feel better if I knew you were…” Hermann cleared his throat. “I’ll just see myself out, then.”

“Wait,” Newt blurted. Seriously, Hermann was still here? Newt had said he could do whatever he wanted and he’d stayed? “Was that offer serious?”

Hermann turned back and the blush was there again, heating up to his ears. “I… I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” he said stiffly.

“I, well… sure? Hell, why not? It’s not like I was going to get any sleep without it,” Newt said. Right, they were just pals here. Pals who were mostly rivals, pals who definitely didn’t have crackling sexual tension filling the room like a Tesla coil gone haywire. That was only in Newt’s head. He tentatively finished unbuttoning his shirt and tossed it over the back of his desk chair before bending to shuck his trousers. “Thanks, man, I guess that means I owe you.”

“What are you doing?” Hermann squawked.

“Getting ready for bed?” Newt said with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, you stayed, sorry if that means you get the whole package because I am not wearing anything except boxers to bed.” He paused, and it couldn’t get much worse anyway so he added with a wink, “And even that’s a concession.”

He snickered under his breath as Hermann sputtered but then, the guy had volunteered and there was something going on with that blush that had the wheels in Newt’s brain turning. It’s not like he could do anything more to sabotage his future chances with Hermann anyway, so might as well not worry about it. He flopped down on the bed, then winced and curled in on himself as the pangs returned with a vengeance. Yeah, it hadn’t been a total joke about the not being able to sleep. The first time he’d had a night like this was when he started undergrad as a teen and back then he’d averaged at least one night like this a month.

“Here, just let me,” Hermann huffed as he sat down beside Newt on the bed. He was still wearing the shirt and sweater-vest, which made Newt feel a little underdressed for the occasion until he reminded himself that Hermann was overdressed which instantly made him feel better. Hermann’s fingers were cold but it was nice, kinda soothing as they began to massage slow circles around his belly. His soft, protruding belly with its gaping Kaiju maw and airbrushed flame abs that definitely weren’t fooling anyone at this point.

It was only a few minutes before the pain began to ease and even with a double dose of meds, Newt found relaxation taking the place of the manic energy that had powered him through the night and probably would have gotten him to the morning just in time for a spectacular crash if he’d kept riding it.

“Dude, you’re really good at this,” Newt murmured and let his eyes slide shut.

“I…ermm, I’ve watched some videos on the matter,” Hermann coughed.

Newt’s brow furrowed and he cracked an eye open. The blush was back. Interesting. Hypothesis time. “Sorry I’m so gross right now,” he said. “I know this is more up-close-and-personal you wanted to get with me, especially with the whole swollen tummy and over-eating thing.” Hermann’s blush spread. “It’s not like I plan it or anything, I just lose track of time. It’s been like this for ages, I was never a skinny kid or anything, but the freshmen fifteen hit pretty hard especially when my dads weren’t around to keep healthy food out and, uh, I grew out of a few wardrobes…”

Hermann gave a muffled squeak and his fingers dug a little too hard into Newt’s stomach so that he winced. “That’s… interesting,” Hermann said faintly. “Hrm. That is… you should be more careful in the future. I’d be happy to keep you well stocked in food of some nutritional value if it will spare you another night like this.”

“You’d feed me? That’s sweet of you, Herms,” Newt said. Jackpot. Hermann looked like he was going to start sweating if he blushed any harder, he might have already. “I’d eat from your fingers if it meant not feeling this cruddy again any time soon.”

Hermann released a deep, slow breath that shivered at the end. “D-Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not.”

Hermann jerked to stare down at him and Newt looked back up frankly. Forget gross, he was starting to think he’d stumbled upon being quite the opposite.

He yawned hugely. “…But not tonight. I’m wiped and I need to let a little of this to go down before I think of eating anything more,” he said and patted his stomach, rubbing it once for good measure. Hermann’s eyes widened. Yup. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Why would I stay here when my quarters are next door?” Hermann said and sounded like he was trying to be offended but the words came out breathless.

Newt shrugged. “Why not? I don’t mind,” he said and curled over on his side and shut his eyes. “It’s up to you.”

He didn’t open them, just waited to hear the heavy iron door open and shut.

It didn’t.

—

[fceriestcrdst]

On your tumblr alone, I’d assume you’re someone with a whole lotta love for the fandoms you’re in. You’re unashamed about what you post and about what and when. You take good care of the people you’re friends with and you’re someone who is approachable, warm and gentle.

So in summary, Kit, your tumblr is a reflection of you and I’m love both muchly🥺❤️

EEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAA

(can i call you eri? i keep forgetting to ask because the hamster in my brain keeps feeding me jaskier thoughts and nothing REMOTELY coherent)

BUT AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

i swear to the gods every time someone pops up in here like "you're gentle and ily" i lose all my marbles and they go skittering on the floor. lemme just----*collects marbles, returns them to the hamster in my brain (i probably shouldn't be giving figurative hamster marble but eh--what the hell)* but just A H

i have witcher brainrot real bad GRANTED i had the brainrot the majority of 2020 and it like came back fighting for its life BUT STILL. like i have never felt more at home in a fandom and i EXCITEDLY show that because goddammit i need to just BE and hyperfixate as much as i want!!! if anyone doesn't like it they can leave my happy lil greenhouse because i will be DAMNED if i hide my personality ever again!

*fixes train tracks* right yes--*fixes shirt* i'm supposed to be responding better to this but i talk ENDLESSLY (in text but also in person, rip)-

i take good care of people even though it took a long time for people to take care of me, yanno? it took an even longer time for me to take care of myself but for once i feel like i'm not a burden and i just exist regardless of what anyone else thinks. i take care of my own and even those who are not my own because everyone is deserving of care and love.

i used to always worry that people would find me too harsh, too blunt, standoffish, etc until i finally started making actual friends. can you believe that i, the ray of sunshine, took nearly 22 years to make ACTUAL friends who care about me? i fucked it all up solely because i blamed myself for things i literally have no control over (a lot of it pertaining to me being autistic and needing to get it in my head that i am wonderful and deserving). now here i am 2 days from 24 and i am DELIGHTED and i have genuine friends here and at home, i talk openly about my feelings and my likes and i'm better at telling people when I've had enough etc.

for the first time, in a long time, i actually agree when people say i'm kind, gentle, approachable, soft, etc. because for once i am those things because fuck it. i'm allowed to think of myself as something---someone---soft because i am and gods i'm proud of me and i'm also RAMBLING.

but, yes, your assumptions are correct and you opened a little can of 'kit doesn't shut the fuck up' but yknow it's FINE, i'm cute so it doesn't matter <3

MAKE ASSUMPTIONS OF ME BASED ON MY TUMBLR ALONE

[novantinuum]

the time we lost, the time we mended (Chapter 4)

AO3

Rating: T

Words: ~ 3600 

Story Summary: Before the summer of 2012, Ford and Fiddleford never thought they’d get the opportunity to see each other again. Now… they have a second chance. A chance to rekindle the love they once shared, reconnect a family once lost, and to mend old wounds. But as they’ll quickly discover, fixing the mistakes of the past doesn’t always come easy. Nor is it always possible. RP to fic.

A Fiddauthor reunion story written by @the-ill-doctor​ and I! This chapter features Stan and Fidds bonding over cooking, the ol’ McGucket family gravy recipe, and scrapbook-ortunities. Also, Ford can’t deny it any longer- he definitely still has a crush...

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Fiddleford crept across the hardwood floor at a sloth’s tempo, gently testing the corners of each board for extreme creaks and whines before pressing his full weight upon them. The little alarm clock resting on the dresser in the parlor Stanford let him sleep in read eight o’ four when he left. Since he didn’t know how late or early anyone in this here Shack slept in normally, he figured he should stay as quiet as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was give any of the fellas living here an unexpected spook.

He yawned deeply, quickly slamming his hands over his mouth when he realized how unintentionally loud he was being. Dagnabbit, he wanted his surprise breakfast to be a surprise to the family, not announced to the whole world before he could cook it! Muttering to himself, he hurried his pace, luckily managing to avoid the brunt of the squeaky boards as he entered the kitchen. He then set about rummaging through the shelves and drawers to see if they had all the right ingredients for omelets, or maybe biscuits and gravy. Definitely biscuits and gravy, he decided, since Stan didn’t seem to have any veggies he could toss in an omelet.

Hopefully he could remember his ma’s recipe in full this time...

Fidds heard heavy footsteps approaching, and a brash yawn. He turned and froze like a spooked deer intercepted by headlights on the backroads, standing on a chair in mid-reach for a baking sheet on the top of the shelf. Stanley stood in the doorway of the kitchen in his underwear and a tank top.

“Oh,” he said flatly, drinking in the scene before him. “Good mornin’, possum breath. Need help cooking anything?”

“M-mornin’, Stanley,” he said, and nervously tugged at his beard. He climbed down from the counter. Honestly, he still wasn’t sure how to act around Ford’s brother, considering how stand-offish he’d acted towards him in the past. “I- I’m fine, I just wanted to surprise y’all with some grub to thank you for lettin’ me stay here!”

“Well, no need to thank me,” Stan mumbled almost imperceptibly. “It’s Ford’s house, after all. But... eh, you’re welcome I guess.”

Fiddleford could practically sense the cool metallic intensity of that man’s eyes boring through the back of his head as he continued searching about the kitchen, trawling for ingredients. He scratched at his arm. Constant surveillance made him feel kinda itchy.

“Uh, hey? If you’re making biscuits, then how ‘bout I make some bacon?” Stan spoke up then.

He grinned wide, flashing what teeth he had left. “Sure! Can’t have biscuits and gravy without ‘em! Now let's see, after flour I need... uh-" His brows sank, growing pensive as he desperately tried to sort through recently recalled memory. "Come on, Fiddleford, you should know this..."

Wordlessly, Stan pulled the correct ingredients off the shelves and placed them on the counter for him. He then got out a frying pan for himself, for bacon duty.

"Oh, thank ya’," he said, walking over to the counter to observe the ingredients. "Although-" He placed his hand on his mouth and leered at the food Stan set up for him. "There's somethin' missin', I just know it! Mcgucket, Mcgucket... The Mcgucket Family Secret Gravy Recipe!" He opened the fridge, and found a half used can of brown meat. "I can't believe I almost forgot this! My ma would have my hide if I messed up her gravy!"

“You’re rememberin’ more and more every day, aren’tcha?” Stan asked suddenly, glancing towards him as he watched the bacon beginning to sizzle. “After all that mind wiping cult stuff got taken down…”

Fiddleford nodded amicably, amid measuring flour and baking powder into his bowl. "Some days I get a ton o' them back and other days it's very slow." He looked up at the other man, smiling sincerely. "It's tricky piecin' a lot of them back, especially the ones about your brother. But I'm just happy I finally remember who I am!”

"That's, uh... that's real great," he said with a weak laugh, attention drifting away to the bacon again.

His smile faltered. Part of him wondered what was going on in Stanley’s mind right now, but the other part of him feared gathering the nerve to ask. It probably ain’t his business anyways.

Within a few minutes, he’d mixed everything together and formed the biscuits between his hands on the baking sheet. As he waited for the oven to heat up, he began to hum an old silly song he recalled his pa used to sing while strummin’ on the guitar... Oh, grandma’s in the cellar, and boy don’t you smell her cookin’ biscuits on that darn ol’ dirty stove? In her eye there’s a matter that keeps drippin’ in the batter, and she whistles as a- *SNIFF*- runs down her nose! His ma despised it, if he remembered correctly. He carefully edged the sheet into the oven, and pretty soon the sweet aroma of his cooking began to waft throughout the shack.

"Ya know, I used ta’ make this all the time for your brother,” he mentioned offhand.

"Is that so?" Stan said, raising a brow. "Well, good on ya'. Some days I think Ford would've starved to death if there weren’t someone there ta' feed him. I swear, it’s like he’s too distracted to eat half the time."

"You’re tellin’ me!" Fiddleford laughed. "I literally had to wrangle him into a chair and tie him down to get him to eat whenever finals came around!"

The other man’s face lit up, and he let out a loud bark of laughter- genuine, this time. "Yeah, that sounds like 'im, that nerd," he said, laying the cooked bacon on a plate. "Hey... it, uh- sounds like your memory's returning better then you thought. You said you had trouble remembering stuff about Ford, but... that's two memories right after another."

Fiddleford's amused chuckling died down as he stopped to think for a moment. "You’re right,” he murmured, eyes widening into saucers. He stared up at Stanley with probably the calmest expression he's ever given him. "Thank ya’!"

"For what? You're the one remembering everything, all I did was talk to ya'..."

"Well, talking to ya’ really helped." Fiddleford replied, still smiling. "It's hard rememberin’ on your own."

At that moment, the two heard footsteps approaching from around the corner, and muffled voices. It sounded like Ford and Dipper, cheerily talking about some supernatural creature they’d both encountered in the woods. Stan froze at the sound, and Fidds was sure that man was mentally hyperfixating on every last detail of his last not-so-friendly interaction with his brother the night before.

Ford poked his head into the kitchen first, drinking in the sight of the home cooking occurring. He inhaled deeply, likely having followed his nose to the kitchen. "Good morning, Fiddleford. Stanley." Can I talk with you outside? he mouthed at his brother.

Stan nodded nervously, ducking out of the kitchen with him.

"Mornin', Dipper!" Fiddleford said.

"Morning, McGucket." Dipper shuffled toward the breakfast table. “I, uh- I see you're making breakfast?”

"Yep, biscuits and gravy!" Fiddleford scooped up a heaping spoonful and offered it to Dipper. "Wanna taste? I promise it’ll be the best dang gravy you’ve ever tasted!" he said with a wink.

Dipper seemed hesitant, which he didn’t blame him for— the kid saw him cooking roadkill on a spit a few days ago, after all!— but it seemed the smell was too alluring. Walking over, he took the offered sample and gave it a shot. The moment his lips closed around the spoon, his eyes widened, and he promptly licked the utensil clean. Fidds beamed.

"Heh heh, guess that means I made it right!"

The boy stayed at the counter next to him after that, watching him finish cooking the gravy. "So Mr. McGucket, you and Great Uncle Ford were roommates in college, right?"

"Yes, siree we were!" Fiddleford replied.

"What was he like?"

Fiddleford paused from his cooking, considering the question seriously. "Honestly? I love that man, but he was an absolute pain in the tush to bunk with!"  

Stanley tensed as he walked into the hall with his brother, already getting flashbacks of the first argument they had here. As with every other interaction with Ford lately, nothing good could come out of this. He crossed his arms pensively. "Whatdy'a want?"

Ford sighed, pressing fingers to his temple. He seemed to almost deflate in his presence, oddly enough. "Stanley? Let me be frank with you."

Nevertheless, Uh-oh was all that could run through Stan's mind.

"I was-" Ford continued, forcing himself to look Stan in the eye. "I might have acted a little harsh towards you last night, and..."

"You think??" Stan burst out suddenly, residual anger from last night's encounter boiling over. "You were 'bout ta’ kick me out before the summer ended! Before my time, before I was ready, and exactly like what Dad did all those years ago!"

Ford stiffened at the comparison to their father, and continued. "I'm aware of that. Or at least, I was helped to become aware of that, and..." Another weary sigh. Where was he going with this? "There's no reason for me to treat you this way,” he said finally. “I'm- I'm not kicking you out. Obviously, you're free to leave if you ever wish to, but it would be unfair of me to uproot you from this place."

Stan stopped, and blinked. Dumbfounded. Did he just-? Did those words seriously come out of Ford's mouth? It wasn’t exactly an apology, but...

"So you're... you're letting me stay?" he said, mouth agape. "I don't have to leave after the summer?"

"No, you don't have to leave," Ford confirmed, a gentle smile crossing his face. "This has been your home for far longer than it's been mine, after all. I'd still like to talk about your Mystery Shack at a later date, and determine what compromises if any we could come to on that front, , but-"

Without any warning, Stan rushed forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his brother. Ford nearly stumbled back in surprise, at first not sure how to respond to this at all. But eventually, his hands stopped awkwardly floating midair and settled on Stan's back, tightly returning his embrace. They might still have a lot more to hash out- issues from their past to unpack- but for the moment they were simply happy to share in the kind of sibling affection neither had experienced in over forty years.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford continued to share embarrassing stories about his college years with Stanford, Dipper seeming wholly engrossed with each tale.

"Wow, so you two really didn't get expelled for setting the lab on fire?" he asked.

"Nope!" Fiddleford replied as he started to set the food on the table. "And luckily, too, the last thing we needed was to get kicked out of school. But boy howdy, were they not easy on us with the community service!"

“Are you giving me up, Fiddleford?” Ford asked suddenly, peaking around the corner of the doorway with a wry smile on his lips.

Fiddleford let out a surprised yelp. "H-howdy, Ford!" he said, grinning sheepishly. "Just sharin' some of our tamer days."

"Really? That's tame?" Dipper asked.

"My boy, setting a university laboratory on fire is child's play. Just wait until you hear about the time we almost accidentally released an alien superbug into all of greater Gravity Falls!" He walked over to his old friend, grinning mercilessly. "Fiddleford and I had all sorts of misadventures, back in the day..."

Fiddleford leaned his cheek against his arm, giggling at the memory. "Most of them were ‘coz someone liked to poke his nose into other critters’ business," he said, playfully nudging him in the stomach. "Yer’ just lucky we were able to synthesize that antidote, or else the town wouldn't be here anymore!"

Ford could feel the blood rushing to the capillaries near the surface of his face at the sudden physical affection, and while it left him with a sort of light, jittery sensation in his core he couldn’t necessarily attach a bad connotation to, he also felt a tinge of embarrassment that Dipper was there to see his reaction. He hadn’t gotten the chance to properly explore and catalogue his increasingly muddled thoughts on the matter yet. He’d far prefer to do that in private than in front of family, yes...

"Yeah, I fear we nearly destroyed the town on a number of occasions in those days," he replied to Fidds.

"Don't stop fearing yet," Stan butt in suddenly, returning to the kitchen. "Now that you're back in this dimension again, you've got plenty more years of potential destruction to cause!"

Ford frowned, picking at the stray threads on his jacket. Something about the way Stan phrased this brought the rift to mind, the rift he'd securely enclosed just this morning.

Mabel sleepily shuffled behind Stan, clutching onto a stuffed unicorn. "Mornin'," she yawned before climbing into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Mornin', pumpkin," Stan said, and gave her hair a nice big ruffle. He turned to the rest of the group, all loitering in the kitchen and surrounded by food. "Hey, we gonna eat, or what? This all smells delicious! Whoever cooked it must be a culinary genius... especially the fella who cooked that bacon!" He laughed boisterously at his own not-that-funny joke, and Ford promptly rolled his eyes.

"Do you need help taking any of these plates to the table, Fiddleford?" he asked, grateful for the change of topic from before.

"If y’all don't mind givin' me a hand. I'm hoping y’all like the food! Been a while since I've properly cooked anything."

"Tasted amazing to me!" Dipper smiled while helping a sleepy Mabel up to migrate.

Stan and Ford each grabbed a dish and carried them to the table in the living room. Ford carefully placed his at the center, and promptly returned to the kitchen to find some plates. Stan on the other hand, sat directly down, strategically positioning himself in the chair right in front of the bacon. "Hey, uh, kids," he began. "Just so ya' know, the Shack won't be open today. Maybe not for the next few days, who knows. But anyways, until this pigsty is fixed up, you two little gremlins are off the hook, okay? Go play with your friends, or in the woods, or whatever it is ya' do when I'm not lookin'."

"Really?" Mabel asked with a sleepy smile as she climbed into the seat beside him.

"Yeah, what's the catch?" Dipper asked, skeptical of his intentions as always.

Stan frowned deeply, more for show and dramatics than any true expression of disgruntlement. “The catch is, do it before I take advantage of Gravity Falls’ lax child labor laws and put you two to work on somethin’ else! Now, who wants bacon?”

“I’d like a strip or two,” Ford said eagerly, just returning to the table with plates and silverware for the five of them. He set the plates down and let the kids pass them out. “I don’t think I’ve eaten bacon for over thirty years. There’s not anything quite like it, out there in the midst of the multiverse...”

"I'll have a slice!" Dipper replied.

"Me too!" Mabel added.

Fiddleford walked in and set his gravy pot on the table. "It's been a long time since I've seen any bacon smellin’ this good,” he commented as he took his seat. "I wanna thank you again for helping me out with the cookin', Stanley."

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, or whatever,” he said, brushing off his thanks with a flourish of his hand. Ford shot him one of those looks, but said nothing. Stan dished out the bacon to everyone, grabbing four slices for himself, and soon everyone began digging in.

Fiddleford noisily gobbled down his share of biscuits. To him, this was the most luxurious meal he'd eaten in months. After polishing off his first, he realized he’d spilled crumbs all over his beard, but he was so caught up in enjoying his food that he couldn’t bring himself to truly care. Meanwhile, Dipper practically drowned his poor biscuits in the gravy, and with food in her stomach Mabel was finally beginning to wake up.

Stanley worked away at his own plate quietly for a moment, too hungry to provide much in the way of conversation. As he ate, he glanced from Dipper, to Mabel… to Fiddleford, and sitting next to him— after all these years— his brother.

“Heh,” he muttered suddenly. “Y’know, now that I think of it, it’s funny…”

The four of them paused, Fiddleford mid-chew, when Stan spoke up.

"What is, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked.

“This… well, it’s dumb, but once I got ta’ thinkin’ about it, this is the first real meal I’ve shared with Ford in over forty years,” Stan said breathlessly, staring off into the distance, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.

Ford dropped his fork against his plate, brows furrowing as he counted the years, calculated and double checked his claim. “You- my word, you’re right,” he said, eyes widening as he contemplated the truth behind this statement. Even yesterday— his first evening back— they hadn’t crossed paths much, since he’d dedicated nearly all of that time to constructing a containment field for the rift in the basement.

Mabel let out a loud and dramatic gasp at Stan's realization. "And it's the first time Grunkle Ford has eaten with me and Dipper period, meaning-" She shot up from her seat, all the vim and vigor Ford remembered from early this morning returning in a flash. "Be right back!" With no explanation, she rushed out of the living room, excitedly stomping up the stairs. Before anyone could truly comment on her outburst she returned with her polaroid camera.

"SCRAPBOOK-ORTUNITY!" she announced, holding the camera with lens facing her, the entire family in the frame behind her. When the camera flashed Stan was in the middle of picking his nose, and Ford was eighty percent certain he blinked. The greyed scientist began to laugh heartily at Mabel’s happy antics.

“You remind me of my Ma,” he said through laughter. “She was always taking pictures of Stanley and I, and mostly when we weren’t prepared for them.” He took another bite of his biscuit. A stray bit of gravy dribbled from his lip.

Mabel giggled and shook the polaroid when it came out of the camera. "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity!"

“Mabel,” Dipper whined, “I was chewing when you took that picture!”

“It’s candid photography, that’s kinda the point, duh!”

Fiddleford gave his finger a lick, and reached towards Ford’s face. "Ford, ya’ got a little somethin' on yer chin..."

Ford blushed a deep scarlet as Fiddleford dabbed the gravy off his chin and the corner of his lips, his eyes blowing wide. He suddenly felt clammy, almost itchy as he felt the rest of the room stare at him… He knew for a fact they all saw the way his ears and cheeks flushed like some lovesick fool at Fidds’ touch, and his heart pounded at the thought of having to explain this to his own family when he hadn’t even taken time to fully consider these feelings himself. Not for the first time, he felt achingly like an alien— perhaps even an imposter— in his home, that is, if he could even claim it as such.

Mabel slammed her hands over her mouth and excitedly wiggled in her seat. She began to repeatedly nudge her brother's side, much to his annoyance.

When Fiddleford finished, he gave Ford a shy smile and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, old habit from the old days," he said, blushing as well.

“Sheesh, if you two want to leave the room for a sec or somethin,’” Stan said snarkily, “then don’t let me stop ya’.”

Ford roughly set his cup down on the table. ”Stanley. That’s enough,” he hissed. “We will not be discussing this at the breakfast table.”

The kids flinched from Ford's sudden outburst.

“Wow, okay, okay,” Stan muttered, recoiling a little. “Hit a nerve there...”

"Stanford, there's no reason to get so upset, he was only teasin'." Fiddleford said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I-I…”

Ford looked back and forth, from the kids— who were staring at him with slight apprehension— to Stan— who looked much like a kicked puppy— and finally to Fidds. Fiddleford. The man he knew deep down he’d never gotten over, never stopped loving, not even after thirty plus years, and the man who was currently gazing at him with such a gentleness in his eyes even despite his rough outburst. His palms sweat as he clasped them together, nervously threading his fingers between each other. Before his mind could catch up with his body, he found himself bolting through the door between the house and the gift shop.

Stan stared at the chair he left empty for a moment, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He was only teasing. Surely Ford didn’t think he would judge him if he did have an old crush on Fiddleford, if his prediction was in fact accurate? “You, uh,” he began lamely, glancing towards Fiddleford. “You might wanna go after him before he locks himself away in the basement for the rest of the day.”

"Yeah, uh..." Fiddleford stood up. "E-Excuse me fellas."