#the curse of having two characters with the same name. augh

[new-eyes-extra-colors]

Is Shaun Nora's child? If so, does she view X6 as family due to his closeness to Father, or just as a friend?

shaun is nora's biological child, yep, and post-institute when asked she says she has two sons (referring to shaun and synth!shaun--but a minor plot point in my fic is that she doesn't tell anyone about synth!shaun being a synth. if pressed for details, she just says her eldest passed away recently and that typically shuts down any further questions).

oh, edited to add bc i don't think i was clear: she treats synth!shaun as a son too. she takes to him straightaway. he's still a child who views her as his mother, and she still wants to be a parent. they have a good relationship.

she does view x6 as family, but in a found-family sort of way that doesn't have anything to do with them sharing dna. she thinks shaun calling himself "father" is extremely--i think paternalistic is the right word, and she emphatically does not approve. she feels family is a lot more than genetic material, and so is parenthood, which relates back to her family situation mentioned here.

she and x6 grow close as they work together and kind of outside the bounds of father's knowledge. x6 is a smart guy and figures out nora's still working for the railroad, and for his own reasons keeps it to himself, and nora's aware that if she actually reported how snarky and independent x6 is, he'd be sent to reconditioning. so their relationship is tense for a while, but eventually grows genuine and very close.

i think outside of nick, x6 is the companion she's closest with by the end of things.

[callmehere-iwillappear]

rec list part 2! (last updated: 10/22/23)

this time it's one shots! here's the link to the multi chapter rec list

and again, if you know the tumblr url of anyone i missed, let me know!

One shots

awake to eyes like your eyes (to hands that fit in your hands)

Leo has a tough time after a nightmare, but Raph will always be there for him.

starting off with a good one! god i care them so much. raph and leo hours post movie it is EVERYTHING i needed

Chiquitita (Or, The Complicated Art Of Forgiving Yourself)

Future Leo and Leo have a conversation about repentance.

oooohhhh my god this is like. so satisfying somehow. self forgiveness is a bitch but sometimes you look at the version of you who fucked everything up and realize just how small he is and it's. yeah. yeah

entangled, inseparable (the dark and the light; the sun and the night)

The twins get cursed by a body-swap spell.

i mean. yeah. yeah. body swap is one of my all time fave things and this one is REAL good. they are So Twins my god the BULLYING. AND there's mind meld which is another big time fave of mine it Does Not get better than this

Fibonacci (me again)

Leo is six when he (and his brothers) finally get their birthdays.

yeah yeah another one of my own fics But Anyway more twin hours (surprising absolutely no one) it's literally just fluff

I bend the definition of faith (@siliconforbrains)

In which Michelangelo refuses to leave his brother to die, and Leonardo somehow ends up in the body of his 16-year-old self. This changes everything and nothing at the same time.

god. god. this fic is incredible. wailing on the floor. super interesting take on the 'future leo goes back in time' idea too tbh

in my hour of weakness, you were there to see my courage fail (@stardustcoral)

Leo has a certified Bad Time™. His brothers help.

mostly focused on leo and raph but the others are there too at the end and Good God my heart. i can't explain why it's just so like . cathartic?? augh. legit made me cry which, let me tell you, does Not happen that often with fics

the carol that you sing (right within your heart) (@stardustcoral)

Donnie gives Leo quite the shocking gift: emotional vulnerability! Oh, and a battle-shell. Amongst other things.

disaster twins fluff my BELOVED. absolutely adorable post movie christmas fic i love them so much

The Kindness of Collision

One by one, in the timeline that ended the world, the Hamato family dies--and wakes up, somewhere kinder. One by one, in a timeline that saved the world, the Hamato family wakes up and remembers exactly how much they could have lost.

augh. UAGHH. i am SUCH a sucker for 'present turtles get memories from future turtles' in ANY form good god. them. the them

The 'KYS' Incident

Raph doesn't know how to use acronyms. This causes issues.

SORRY THIS ONE IS JUST. SO FUNNY. literally just what it says on the tin. if you know you know

Though the Truth May Vary (@kattythingz)

April is a big sister first and foremost, and copes with the End of the World™ accordingly. Leo is a little brother two-point-five-fourths of sometimes, and copes with his sister's coping accordingly.

THE RARE AND ELUSIVE APRIL + LEO DUO MY BELOVED... this bitch has it all - sibling bonding! post movie healing! april kicking ass and taking names! leo being his usual incredibly stubborn self until he gets through to her about how amazing she is! magical girl transformation! other spoilery things! what more could you want?

Trinkets

“Thanks, Donnie!” He said brightly, his other brothers chiming in with their own thanks after him. Donnie flapped his hands and giggled, making Leo clutch his new present tighter. Donnie did love them, and this was the proof.

YESSSS DONNIE GIFT GIVING LOVE LANGUAGE REAL!!! super sweet and in character i love it so much

Twins Don't Need to Have Logic

Leo stopped calling them 'twins' years ago and thought Donnie would've been grateful for that... Little does he know how his brother actually feels.

look i know i KNOW a lot of these are disaster twins focused but i'm just. so soft for them. anyway donnie secretly referring to leo as his twin my beloved

Worth it for the Laughter

Leo is absolutely certain that Donnie stole his teeth to use for science. Or maybe that's just the post-surgery painkillers talking.

leo gets his wisdom teeth out and says absolutely nothing embarrassing or incriminating whatsoever i prommy <3

your fears are all true (@remedyturtles)

'Donnie bring me toast.' A long pause. Leo felt an impression of confusion, then comprehension. Donnie sent back, 'Did you seriously just mind meld with me to request breakfast in bed?'

this fic has EVERYTHING. disaster twins? check. mind melding? check. existential dread? check. i love it here

[madamegemknight]

WHO is your favorite muppet. tell me. if you can't decide then top 3?

AUGH this is so difficult. thank you for the top 3 option but even then this was like the greatest challenge of my career there are so many good muppets...this list is definitely subject to change in the future

uhhh one of them definitely has to be Kermit! I know Kermit is kind of the default answer, but he's the default answer for a reason - he's such a versatile character while still retaining such a clear personality, and you can really put Kermit into any situation and it'll work! He's such an interesting character to look at evolution-wise, too, considering he's one of the earliest muppets; Sam and Friends-era Kermit is still recognizable as Kermit, but he's so distinct at the same time. Also this is going to be so cheesy but Kermit is genuinely such a comforting figure to me, that frog is my dad for real <3 sometimes if I'm having a rough day I'll put on a playlist of Kermit Sesame Street moments and just watch him talk to kids or draw the letter J in the air lol

Another is Red Fraggle! Red is SUCH a good character oh my gosh, the Fraggle Rock writers struck gold with her. Fraggle Rock does such a good job at making its characters flawed, if that makes sense, and Red is no exception; she's mean, she's self-obsessed, she refuses to admit when she's wrong, and I LOVE her for it ^-^ but at the same time too she isn't JUST the mean self-obsessed one! She's also the silly one, and the one who Gets Cotterpin when nobody else does and starts a massive domino chain that leads to harmony between the Doozers and the Fraggles, and a great singer, and the star athlete, and Mokey's Totally Platonic Gal Pal, and UGHH I could gush about Red all day she's so well-rounded. It certainly helps that Karen Prell (her puppeteer) is tied for my Favorite Muppet Performer alongside Richard Hunt :)

SPEAKING OF RICHARD HUNT I LOVE FORGETFUL JONES SO MUCH!! probably not the most well-known character, but I was suffering with some memory issues in late 2023 (which thankfully seem to be gone), and as silly as it sounds Forgetful made it somewhat tolerable :) he definitely started out as a joke character, but Richard Hunt was SUCH a good puppeteer and really elevated him to a whole other level. He's so caring and kind and the fact that canonically the two things he'll always remember are his girlfriend's name (Clementine) and that he loves her is just 🥺 oughhh I love Forgetful and Clementine so much, I wish they had appeared more often (and I wish I could actually find the episodes where they do CURSE YOU HBO MAX FOR GETTING RID OF ALL OF YOUR SESAME STREET STUFF)

augh there are still so many muppets I wanna mention. uhhh honorable mentions to: gobo fraggle. boober fraggle. mokey fraggle. wembley fraggle. zondra jim henson hour. digit jim henson hour. cotterpin doozer. emmet otter. alice otter. every single dude from the inner tube pilot. TAMINELLA GRINDERFALL WITCHIEST WITCH OF THEM ALL. melora is not a muppet but she was in a muppet production so I'm counting her. yorick sam and friends. bernice sam and friends. sprocket. miss piggy obviously I love her and her dubiously canon traumatic past. scooter and skeeter. jojo jim henson hour. rowlf. robin. denise muppets 2015 who was done so dirty. sidebottom fraggle. LIMBO HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN LIMBO. uhhh okay cutting it off here because if I don't this honorable mention will just be me listing off every muppet ever. actually wait tug boo and molly. there now I'm done. thank you for this ask I very much appreciated it :D

[ohveda]

The Terror - season 1 review

I have paused in my frantic gif reblogging to finally write out my thoughts on the Terror and why I enjoyed it so much.

The first season of The Terror tells the story of the tragic Franklin expedition. This was a British arctic expedition in the late 1840s, led by Sir John Franklin, which had the aim of finding the North West Passage. The expedition was comprised of two ships, Erebus and Terror, hence the name of the show. It was tragic because everyone died (this is not a spoiler). The circumstances as to how everyone died are still mysterious to this day and there is lots of speculation (although a cursory glance at wikipedia suggests that people are building up some theories).

So, this is a TV show where you know from the outset that it is going to end tragically: everyone you get to know is going to die, and the only question is exactly how. And this is why, despite how much I enjoyed it, I wouldn't recommend the show to everyone. It is not so much scary as it is harrowing: there is gore, there is a monster, and there are disturbing scenes. I finished watching it a day and a half ago and I do not yet feel like I have recovered mentally from what I have seen (give me a few more days and I will be fine). You guys out there will know your tv-watching habits; if you don't like stories that are scary, depressing or dark, this show is not for you. However, if you don't mind watching those themes then I absolutely recommend this show whole-heartedly. It is incredibly incredibly good.

Here is the trailer: https://youtu.be/3WLz6wxEabc

The rest of my review might contain mild spoilers, so I'm going to put it under a cut.

There are several things I love about the show. From the first glance it looks fantastic; you can tell that there was money behind the production. The sets and the setting are lush with atmosphere and historic detail; it really feels like care has been taken (not that I know enough about naval history to assess accuracy, but the little bits I do know felt very right). And those coats! If you know me you will know that I go crazy for well-fitted double-breasted coats with bright buttons. I WAS IN MY ELEMENT HERE.

The acting! You can't fault it. Everyone does a superb job and I think one of the reasons the story works so well is just how compelling everyone is.

But my absolute absolute favourite thing about the show is the writing. I am in ecstasies over how well it was written. It's the best period drama I have seen since 2014. The show is based on a book of the same name, so doubtless many good things from the show come from the book, but I have heard some not-entirely-great things about the book too, so I get the feeling that while the good characters and interesting plot may come from the book, the technical skill that makes the show truly rewarding and compelling comes from the show's writers.

The main thing that they get so right is exposition. It's tricky to do well in any piece of fiction, but it is particularly hard in historical fiction when there is always so much to explain. It seems that often the urge with historical fiction is to explain too much and too frequently, to the point where every line loses its poignancy because it's immediately followed by an explanation of why that line is poignant (Poldark, I am looking at you). The Terror does not fall into that trap at all. Things are not explained; the audience's hand is not held; and the viewer is treated like an intelligent person who can come to their own conclusions. This does, admittedly, lead to some parts where I didn't actually know exactly what happened until I read up about them after I finished the show, but this haziness in certain areas does not detract from the watching experience in any way. The writing is good enough that the viewer always knows the key points of what is happening and what that means for the plot (there is never a feeling of being lost and confused), and the fact that you can get an extra level of detail and interest the more you look into it is an additional joy.

When it comes to how good the exposition is, let us take scurvy as an example. Scurvy is mentioned a lot in the first episode, but not anywhere in that episode is it described. In a lesser show, as soon as scurvy is mentioned the first time, someone would say "oh, you mean the disease where your gums bleed and your old wounds open up?" In The Terror this information is not given in the first episode because it's not needed in the first episode. The information is not actually given until after the first symptoms start to show, and even then it's given in an offhand and believable comment that doesn't feel intrusive at all. This means that for viewers who already knew the symptoms of scurvy, it's not jarring in any way, while viewers who don't know the symptoms of scurvy get a wonderful reveal of what has been happening and are now prepared for what is yet to come.

Augh! It's just done so well! I absolutely can't stand it when TV shows talk down to me, whereas I love it when they treat me as a capable adult who is able to put the clues together by myself.

And then we come to the plot. Going from the trailer, and seeing how high the production values were, I had assumed that the plot would have a level of, what to call it, sensationalism? Hollywood-ness? I was expecting it to be more spectacle and less substance. I was ready for jump-scares and plot-twists and set-pieces, and they didn't come, not really, not in the way I was expecting. There was only one part in the final episode where things veered towards melodrama that was too ridiculous to believe. The rest of the plot is not ridiculous nor is it fluffy nor empty; it feels solid: the pacing works and each plot point follows on from one to another. This is not a show where an unsubstantiated plot twist is thrown into the mix for surprise value (looking at you, BBC 2020 Dracula); this is a show where the hard graft of writing is done, to make sure that the plot is built from the ground up so that the audience can follow it and believe in its progression, regardless of how unbelievable the actual events may seem to be.

One of the main reasons for why this plot progression works so well is that it is almost entirely character-driven. Oh yes, there are events from outside that affect the characters and what happens to them, but the bulk of the plot is driven by the characters and their choices. What is it about character-driven fiction that makes it so satisfying? Certainly stories can and do work without being character-driven, but there's something so good about having a character you can get your teeth into: a character who is a person, with likes and dislikes, and good parts and foibles; a character you get to know and care about. The characters in this story are not mere window-dressing; they drive the plot, and you both love them and hate them for it.

Now, take that well-written, rounded, satisfying character, and multiply them by thirty. This is an ensemble cast and boy does it feel like it! I'm frankly astounded by how many fully-thought-out characters there were. It's not like there are five main characters and the rest are all cannon-fodder. Each character we meet has their own story to tell. There are characters in the first episode who feel like extras, but who come to have important and complex parts as the story moves on. Even as we come to the final episodes there are characters whose significance only then begins to show.

This multitude of characters is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it makes for a story that is rich, rewarding and realistic. But a curse because it is impossible to learn all those names and tell all those people apart. They all look the same! Is that character A in the navy blue coat with the big mutton chops? Or is that character B? I've watched the entire series and for a lot of the characters I still don't know! But this confusion doesn't detract from the enjoyment of the show. Just like the exposition, learning more about certain characters (which is where I think a rewatch would help) will add another layer of interest, but without that it is still easy to follow the main parts of the plot. There are certain main characters who you do come to recognise and to know, and this is enough; the other characters, each with their own richness, even if you don't know it yet, are an extra treat for those viewers who want to watch again and dig into the story a little more.

I won't say that the story is without its faults. I would like to ask the show-makers why apparently all British sailors in Victorian times were white??? And why did the cgi monster have to look like that??? But there aren't enough faults to truly detract from how enjoyable the show is.

Look at me here, trying to be all serious, making points with words, instead of just howling like I want to. What I haven't mentioned yet is how this show consumed me. I ate it up! I watched an episode per day (the short length of the show, being only ten episodes, is another reason why the plot is so tight and satisfying) and I couldn't stop thinking about it! My days were filled with thoughts of boats and mutton chops and my dreams were filled with them too. Even now that I have finished the show, and I have felt just how harrowing it is to watch a show where they all die, horribly, I long for it. I have withdrawal symptoms from it. I'm not yet mentally strong enough to watch it again, but my God I yearn for the time when I will be. It's that good! Whenever, over the past week, someone has asked me how I am, my answer has been "I'm watching The Terror!" as if I felt that from that response alone they could glean exactly how excited and happy I was to be watching it; as if it was my everything at that moment! My God!

And I'm not even mentioning just how much I came to enjoy the character of Goodsir. I was told "there's a character in this who's a bit like Segundus from 'Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell'; you'll like him." I did not know how accurate that was going to be. I want to slam my fist on the table! Do you know what it is like, in a show like this, to develop a favourite character and to know, to know, from the outset that every single character is going to die? It is heart-wrenching and it hurts, and I am still not over it (not by a long shot) but at the same time the pathos is so satisfying you want to eat it all up. This is 2021. We're not here for good times. Make it hurt. Make it cathartic. Take my mind off of the world of today with a pain that I can control with my TV.

So. Wow. tl;dr The Terror is an excellent show that I highly recommend for people who like this kind of stuff. (And I'm still sparkly-eyed over Goodsir and can't do anything about it.) The End.

[morathor]

Ladies of Darkness 7/?

Interlude session between arcs!  Exposition and kool-aid for everyone!

New episode of Ladies of Darkness, @ladiesofdarkness, check that out, and by "new" I mean "Ahhhh I'm like way late on this episode, the next episode after it is already out, curse you Youtube notifications you have failed me."  Anyway.  I've really missed that opening song?  Felt good hearing that again, mm.  Rocked out to that pretty good.

So appaaaaaaarently.  Apparently.  Haniel, the lady who put together the team and sends them on missions.  Apparently she wants to take these angels/demons who have been possessing objects and causing trouble.  And have them possess humans and that's... that doesn't strike me as less trouble?  I'm not sure how much is gained from that, although I mean I did get the impression from the start her concern was not so much public welfare.  She has a larger objective here, I got that.

So we learn more about the phone and how that was built, and also about the earthbound they caught.  And apparently it shouldn't be possible to have two demons inhabiting the same object, and there's some sort of patron who gave them the power to cohabit like that.

And then the matter of... where do they live.  Because.  They all sort of uprooted their lives to be here?  And look like they're gonna be in this for a while?  Although I think Arakiel and Charlie were homeless anyway.  (This bothered Charlie more than Arakiel tho.  Arakiel's all "Yeah I have a place to stay but maybe you wanted something more.  Indoors.")  Dorian's gonna cover their rent, though, so that's nice.  I kind of feel like that should be Haniel's responsibility, but I mean if she handles that responsibility by shoving the money stuff off on the rich boy that... works I guess...?

I got pretty lost in the leveling up sequence but it does sound pretty interesting.  So I guess this is largely a point-buy system.  And they each got twenty points because they managed to not let anyone die.  And then upgrading various stats and abilities costs varying amounts.

So Doris, who is an NPC I might not have mentioned, she lives with archmage Nina, so Doris just like... kidnapped Arakiel?  To go to a cocaine party?  Arakiel just completely accepts their fate.  "Well I thought she was going to kill me but this is very different" oh my god.  But Arakiel has a nice conversation with a stoner about how vacuums are scary!  And learns things about mirrors.  Just.  I mean.  Everything Arakiel does, at this party, is priiiiiiiceleeeeeeeess.  I feel super bad for them.  And then they go to a gas station and Arakiel learns, you don't have to behave like a human at the gas station weird people come here all the time!  "Is he okay?" "He's really really high right now."

Meanwhile Charlie and Nina got to chill, got to talk.  Got to have a bonding moment, only not because I sure didn't see any cradling in any arms.  Charlie's response to finding out Nina's from New Jersey is just this little... "Augh" that so perfectly layered like.  Pity and distaste?  Amazing.  Amazingly acted.  Charlie's player is a pretty boss roleplayer.  Anyway.  Nina just has so much exposition.  Soooooo much exposition.  Which is good because I don't know this stuff, and conveniently, Charlie also doesn't know this stuff!  Have I mentioned how super convenient it is, for me as a listener who does not know this setting, to have a character who also does not know the setting?  Only like a billion times right?  It's great.  Good call on the character creation there.  Anyway Charlie made the mistake of asking Nina about Dorian's old TV show and Charlie you have no idea what door you have opened here.

Valoel goes to see the boss, sucks up a bit, and gets an odd request to keep an eye on Dorian?  I guess Haniel got a tip that he's not to be trusted.  I dunno, he seems fine to me.  But we'll see.  Also domestic intervention!  Haniel wants to keep some teens away from the Horrors Of The Occult!  (Smut is fine.  You kids run along and ogle your Playboys.)  Apparently Haniel has erased the kid's memory a few times, also hypnotized the husband repeatedly, I guess he's a shitty parent.  Haniel thinks her host was also a shitty parent and is trying to be less shitty?  Good on ya Haniel I guess, I still don't trust you regarding your plans for the demons you captured, also trying to make this fifties sitcom vibe out of real people is ehhhhhhhhhhhhh.  So it's a whole awkward thing but Valoel bonds with the neighbor kid over music, it's very nice.

And we wrap things up with, drumroll please, Phone Calls Through Time!  Sounds like there's crises in three time periods and the mage who made the phone sent messages to, idk probably the nineties or later?  To be relayed back to the seventies where the story is taking place?  And it sounds like the phone.  Was made by the writer of The Clever Detective.  Based on what Nina said, and what Rose (the person calling from the future) said, the first names match, the timelines line up, and I strongly strongly suspect that The Clever Detective has clues about what's going on and I loooooove iiiiiit.  (To be honest I started to suspect that was relevant when the DM had synopses of the full first season just on hand.  Like oh this is gonna be some kind of foreshadowing.)  Anyway I am super excited for the next arc woo!  Which has already started!  Gotta catch up gotta catch up...

[egodari]

well… I’ve finally gotten to the third chapter. amazing. welp hope y’all enjoy my writing lmao

Words: 3,251

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Characters: Fiddleford McGucket, Stanford Pines, some OCs

[First] [Previous] [Ao3]

Stanford awakens with a start. Struggling for air, his eyes dart wildly around the room. It slowly dawns on him that his room is actually a cave transformed into a makeshift shelter. The gory nightmare he had been experiencing was just a nightmare after all. He checks his hands, none of his friend’s blood staining the peach of his skin. “Rough night?” Fiddleford’s calming voice ripples through the silence. Stanford looks to find his friend kneeling by the pot of bubbling liquid over a burning fire. He nods meekly in response, shuffling his feet and glowering at the ground. “Figures, you were shaking an’ jerking ‘round in yer sleep,” Fiddleford dismisses, gently stirring the boiling alien liquid around the pot. Stanford fiddles with his fingers, blushing with embarrassment. He never learned how to control his dreams, and it didn’t help that they were staggeringly realistic. He shivers at the blindingly strong memory of Bill using his body to hack his only friend and twin brother to pieces. It’s funny how the human mind chooses to remember…

“You okay?” Fiddleford asks him cautiously. “I…” the words die in Stanford’s mouth. Fiddleford pours the liquid he had been brewing for the last half an hour into small glass bottles, “S’ okay, ya don’t have to talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna.” Stanford forces a weak smile to show his gratitude, but they both know that the gesture doesn’t have the same shine like it used to. He remembers the day Fiddleford brought up his greatest invention, the memory ray up to him after the Gremloblin accident. His arm was in bandages, and his head hurt with agonizing pain. Fiddleford had babbled gleefully about how Stanford was now able to forget the terror he saw within the creature’s eyes. But he had refused, deeming the machine dangerous. He felt it would’ve been better to remember why he stays away from the terrible creature. The truth was the he couldn’t swallow his pride to give himself a night’s sleep (not like he liked sleep anyway).

He really wants that memory ray at the moment. And all he wants to do is sleep, sleep forever. Or, at least, until he’s certain he’ll wake up in his comfy queen-sized bed. Next to Fiddleford…wait, no, that isn’t right… Stanford debates again in his head whether he should just tell him, it’s not like he’s got any sense of pride or dignity left in him. “Fiddleford,” Stanford pathetically croaks out after meekly clearing his throat. Fiddleford smoothly turns his head and looks at him, expectantly.

You insolent fool! He’s expecting something now!

“I…” beads of sweat trickle from his brow. Come on, just say it! It’s three words you smartass, three words! You were able to spell ichthyology in year two, you can say I love you to him. “I… I…” Stanford throws in the metaphorical towel, “I… think we should try to find a civilization… or something like that.” “O-of course,” Fiddleford answers dismissively. There’s a twang of disappointment in his voice, as if he wanted to hear something else. He grabs a knapsack and fills it with miscellaneous items, from weapons to food. Stanford turns away, getting out of the measly excuse for a bed and packs away his blanket-scarf, gripping it tightly.

My fault.

He remembers the call. The call that came out of the blue. It was a rare occasion, and every time Stanford received a call from that specific number, he treasured it like it were diamonds. But this call, from Fiddleford saying that he was getting married, was different. Stanford said he was happy for him, but the soured and disappointed expression painted on his face said otherwise. Despite the pain merely originating from emotion, the pain, the physical pain, in his gut felt so real. But he wasn’t surprised. He had chickened out on telling him in college, so wasn’t really that much of a surprise that he’d found a girl.

My fault.

He remembers coming home to find Fiddleford sobbing by the phone, the communication device dangling from his fingers. Reluctantly, he explained to Stanford that his wife separated from him, that she filed a divorce. And he had comforted his friend (and tried. And failed to persuade him to not build a homicidal pterodactyl robot), he really did. But it was a spectacular victory for Stanford. It meant he had a chance…

It’s my fault.

No chance. Stanford has no chance of winning Fiddleford’s affections, not now, not ever. It is shameful to believe he can ask anything from anyone anymore. He wonders, if the theory that multiple timelines exist is true, that if other versions of himself are going through the exact same thing. “Ford,” Fiddleford calls sheepishly, “Are you ready to go?” He nods meekly in response, forcing a decrepit smile.

“The ice looks like stained glass,” Stanford denotes, capturing every single grain of detail that makes the breathtaking picture his eyes record. The shards of frozen water, gradient with shades from cyan to indigo, chime harmoniously as they dance with the wind. “Hey, look at that one,” Fiddleford delightfully remarks, pointing at a perfectly shaped shard of ice that resembles a crudely shaped six fingered hand. Stanford forces an anemic smile, but he notices his own hands trembling in his pockets. Maybe it’s just cold… He notices a handful of more ice shards, that are shaped similar to the six-fingered one, but appear as if they’d been… shattered.

It’s as if it resembles all the versions of Stanford that have, in a sense, fallen. It’s as if there is a mysterious force destroying them.

Stanford blinks, once, twice, then eleven times rapidly. “Stanford, do ya ever think you’d fall in love with someone?” Fiddleford asks him suddenly. “I…” Stanford mumbles, averting his eyes, besides you? “I-I haven’t really thought about it…” That’s a lie. Fiddleford brushes the hair out of his eyes, clearing his throat, “I mean, I-I could imagine you with someone maybe an inch or two taller than you… someone who’s good at engineering… someone who's…”

Me.

Fiddleford pretends to cough loudly, claiming that he choked on some water, despite the absence of a canteen. Stanford either didn’t hear him or just decided to ignore him, continuing to trudge through the snow. Fiddleford sighs quietly, the water in his breath condensing in the low temperature. In his head, he has many things he wants to say, but he bites his lip, not daring to utter a word. They walk, and they walk, without sharing a sound. They’ve been walking for a while, but they don’t bother to keep track of the time.

BANG!

Stanford freezes, his eyes widening in terror, “W-what was that?” Fiddleford takes out the shotgun he had been hiding in his knapsack, cocking it. He can feel the temperature drop lower down the scale. They don’t dare to move.

BANG!

Stanford flinches as he feels a burning hot stab to his left hand. He clasps it with his other hand and hisses a curse word through his teeth. He can feel warm, sticky blood start to ooze from his hand. Fiddleford’s face goes pale when he notices the blood drip, drip, drip. He turns to the trees, yelling obscenities into the void of the forest.

Hushed muttering answers him back, one voice sounding frustrated. Two middle-aged humanoid women step onto the scene. “See, Sinali! I told you it wasn’t a moordenaar,” one of the strangely human like (aside from the extra pair of arms and pastel magenta skin) being scolds her companion. She wears a brown, thin, unbuttoned leather vest over light yellow shirt, paired with brown trekking pants rolled up three quarters up her legs. Her short and butcherly cut, bronze hair shimmers in the winter light. Sinali, the other, rolls her eyes elegantly, clenching her gun in her second left hand. Every action she makes is orderly and professional, like herself. Her colour-treated bronze hair is tied neatly in a bun, with not a single hair out of place. She wears a black, tightly worn, perfectly buttoned vest over the whitest shirt to ever exist. Her sterling silver business skirt reaches down to the ground. She wears long, perfectly cut diamond blue diamond earrings that dance like wind chimes in the winter breeze. They chillingly wear the same face, but their attire splits them completely apart. If Stanford wasn’t so observant, he wouldn’t have noticed that they appear to be twins.

“De groeten! Name’s Salunu!!” The bubbly and outgoing humanoid greets the two humans warmly, shaking their reluctant hands. Salunu wipes Stanford’s blood off her hand on her pant leg, “We’re zesvoors, and I’m assuming you're… what’s the word… mensen!” Two floating eyeballs appear from behind her stare the humans down, which spooks Stanford, especially. “Augh! Floating eyes!! What happened your eyes!!” He shrieks, cowering behind Fiddleford. Salunu laughs loud and hard, almost, too hard. As if it is forced…

“Sister…” Sinali rumbles in a dangerously low tone, “I hope you have noticed that one of them is injured…” Salunu pulls on her shirt collar, “Ah, yes… Sinali, go heal him or something and we’ll meet at the library, yes?” Sinali rolls her eyes again, grabbing Stanford’s arm and drags him away with an iron grip, despite his audible protests. Fiddleford watches worriedly, until he is gone. “Come menselijk!” Salunu beckons, playfully bouncing through the snow. “I have a name, ya know. It’s Fiddleford,” he begrudgingly follows, muttering curses under his breath.

“Look, Fidelford.” Salunu utters for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Fiddleford,” he hisses bitterly. “Yes, that,” Salunu dismisses blatantly, not seemingly caring at all. Her voice drops into a serious tone, “I think it was mistake leaving your friend with Sinali…” Fiddleford cocks his head in bewilderment, “Where’s this goin’?” She takes a big breath, “My dear ali Sinali, she has a history for killing.” Worst-possible-scenarios start to play in Fiddleford’s head. He gulps, reaching for some water from his knapsack. “B-but she won’t hurt your friend,” Salunu adds hopefully. It doesn’t change Fiddleford’s mood.

Titans. Giant humanoid creatures that tower over five-storey buildings. They prey on the blood of human-class lifeforms, but do not possess the intelligence of such beings. There is little information on how or when these monstrous beasts began to exist. They inhabit very few realities, but be wary, for if one catches the scent of your blood, you are most certainly doomed…

“Annnnd I think I’ve lost my lunch,” Fiddleford remarks glumly, gagging at the wretched images of the strange creatures. He slams the book shut and grimaces, “Who goes out of their way to research this shit.” He looks up when he hears the bell by the library entrance ring again, hoping for it to be Stanford who walks through the door. He sighs and rests his head on the table when he sees that it is indeed, not Stanford. “Please do not fret, Fiddlefrog,” Salunu carps, putting back unwanted books in their place. I’m gonna fucking punt your arse into the nightmare realm if you get my name wrong one more time, Fiddleford angrily yells in his mind. She better get my goddamn fucking name right or so heLP ME GOD!! The doorbell chimes again, catching Fiddleford’s attention. His face lightens when he sees Stanford standing by the door.

“So this is your library,” Stanford mutters as he watches Sinali check in. He only starts to notice Fiddleford running towards him out of the corner of his eye, and doesn’t get enough time to react before his friend tackle-hugs him to the ground. Who would’ve thought he had that much strength in him. “Ooh, sorry!” Fiddleford meekly apologizes, pulling him back up. “S’ okay,” Stanford grins, giving him a proper hug. He chuckles heartily for the first time since they got sucked into the portal, “I’ve only been gone for an hour, what caused you to miss me that much?” Fiddleford’s smile falters. He stares into the ground so hard that he bores holes into the floorboards, “Somethin’ smells fishy about them.” Stanford glances over his friend’s shoulder to witness the hunter twins conversing with each other. He watches them with narrowed eyes, documenting every single move. “What makes you think that?” he asks, still watching the hunter twins. “I dunno, it’s somethin’ in the way they act,” Fiddleford answers quietly, stepping closer to his friend. He clenches his fist, “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but one acts like a sociopath, and the other acts like a trigger-happy lunatic.”

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Stanford asseverates, looking back at Fiddleford, “My feelings about them are mixed too. Plus, based on recent evidence, your guess is probably better than mine.” Fiddleford chortles, noogying Stanford affectionately, “Ass-kisser you.”

“Annnnd that’s about it! Town square, the palace, everything!” Salunu gleams, radiating smiles and happiness from her figure, “What do you think?” Stanford shrugs, his actions filled with reluctance. “Frogfrog?” “Fiddleford,” he gibes, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms. “Yeah, that’s what I said!” Salunu dismisses with a jolly remark. “Oh my stars!” she shrieks, her voice hanging at frequencies only dogs should hear, “I nearly forgot Mom’s royal ball!!” Sinali looks to the side and leans against the brick wall of the suburban store, “Mother’s fancy party… I was only starting to forget about it.” Salunu gasps dramatically, shaking her twin sister violently. “How could you!! It’s the most important event of the year!! And they,” she gestures towards the humans, “Are most definitely going to come!! They must meet Mom!!” Stanford turns away and curses under his breath. He never had an enthusiasm for parties, and that isn’t going to change tonight. “Come darlings!!” Salunu joyfully squeaks, dragging the two men down the street.

Boy, she is really getting on Fiddleford’s nerves.

She was able to drag two young, healthy men in their thirties from a suburban street back to her home at the royal palace without breaking a sweat. If she hasn’t already been pissing off Fiddleford, maybe he would’ve marvelled at such a talent. But, man, they hate being pushed around. “Hokay! Back home again!” Salunu says with delight, extending her four arms majestically.

Fiddleford has had enough of this overly enthusiastic and jolly humanoid woman. He tightly grabs Stanford’s wrist and pushes himself inside, brushing past various palace staff and into the spare room Sinali had given them a key for. He plunges the golden key into the lock, and pushes his way through he door, slamming it behind him. Stanford gingerly caresses his wrist, subtlety blushing. “How can you get someone’s name wrong that many times!” Fiddleford huffs, flopping face first onto the bed up against the wall on the left. He slightly sinks into the covers. Stanford wanders around, finding a basket full of alien fruit, “At least they left us some food.” Fiddleford longingly looks at the food, ravenous. “I―I’m still mad!” he resentfully answers back. A grin appears on Stanford’s face, as he gently places the the basket on the beside table. He swiftly opens the curtains that block the window at the far side of the room, opposite the door, granting themselves a view of the busy alien city. He turns back around looking for the second bed that doesn’t exist. “Uh… why is there only one bed?” he asks with trepidation. Fiddleford’s eyes dart between the bed he’s sitting on and the open space next to him, “I thought she-OH MY FUCKING GOD!” Stanford winces at his sudden outburst, feeling that the fault lies with him. Fiddleford forces himself up from the bed, stomping his way towards the phoneset. Stanford slyly retires the the bed, throwing his over coat onto the ground and wrapping himself in the covers. “Wha―! Busy my ass!” Fiddleford angrily curses at the phone. He storms his way towards the door, only stopping at a sudden objection from Stanford. He turns around, his anger temporarily dissipating, “What?”

“I… could you―could you stay with me? P-please?” Stanford replies nervously, almost immediately regretting it. Fiddleford completely calms down, sitting himself on the edge of the bed next to Stanford. He smiles lovingly, brushing his hand through his chocolate-brown hair. “Thank you,” Stanford whispers. It is only now that they realise how tired they are, despite only being the afternoon. The power of fatigue drowns them in drowsiness. Stanford is the first to fall asleep, with Fiddleford following not long after.

Later that evening, a couple of hours before the grand royal party being held tonight, Sinali creeps into the room, leaving clean clothes and a beautifully carved glass bottle filled with a strange, orange glowing liquid. She is careful not to wake the sleeping visitors, quickly scribbling a note for them. She smiles as she watches the two sleep in peace, quietly snoring away. She then pulls her eyes away from them, reminding herself to stay focused at the task at hand. Sinali finishes writing the note, then silently creeps out the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Click, the door cannot help but say after being closed. Fiddleford’s eyes snap open, and he cautiously looks around the room, half expecting one of the hunter sisters to jump out from the bathroom or something. He dismisses that thought, as he figures out how to ease himself off the bed without waking Stanford. “Poor baby,” Fiddleford whispers to himself, gently stroking his hair, “For all the bullshit I get from you… and yet I’m still here. Why am I still here? With you?”

He knows exactly why he’s still here. With him. He knows why he can’t stop coming back, after all this time. He doesn’t know whether he’s ready to admit it to himself.

After successfully getting up without waking Stanford, he notices the items left atop the huge dresser opposite the bed. Before checking out the mysteriously left items, he gently kisses Stanford’s lips, quintriple-checking beforehand that he’s one-hundred-percent asleep. The first thing his hands snatch from the dresser is a handwritten note, neatly composed on a small pastel purple note. Please come to the party. ―Sinali, it reads. “Vague,” Fiddleford remarks, shoving the delicate note in his pocket as if it were nothing. He notices the clean dress clothes, folded orderly. He checks the clothes, giving a point to Sinali for getting their sizes and fashion tastes correct. The last thing he inspects is the strange bottle with the even stranger glowing liquid. All-cure! Counteragent for any poison! He slides the vial away in the brown, tattered knapsack hanging from the door hook. He might need it later.

Fiddleford sits back down onto the bed, forgetting to quiet his actions. Stanford stirs from his peaceful sleep, “Fidds? What time is it?” Gingerly skimming his hand through Stanford’s hair again, he looks at the clock on the wall, “Ten to seven.” Stanford closes his eyes, altering his position slightly into a more comfortable one, “That royal party’s in fourty minutes. Are we going?” “Do you want to?” “No… not really…” A pause. A pause before Stanford adds, “But maybe… what if they have a spacecraft or something to get home with?” Fiddleford ponders the idea. He glances at the folded clothes on the dresser, and he remembers the note in his pocket, “So we’re going?”

“Y―yes.”