#and fellas he looks more like roadkill every day

[shittyutmv]

hey quick question to all our lovely askers out there: are we Trying to kill him?

[muggycuphead]

weird flex but ok i guess pt.8

7

War… Hold up, do we really need a warning for this one? Dunno, but however, watch out for slightly disturbing and kinda…disgusting imagery, trypophobic patterns, as well as ‘necrotic’ designs I made while having funky fever bc o h m y g o d do I get a little crazier every new quarantine day (and at this point it’s coming to be an usual thing for me, big sad). However, most are made no other than for the sole sake of satire, so y’know, no need to get your underwear in a twist

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – Missing Sketchdumps (VII-IX) [written: 02-08-2022]

Oh no forgot to write down about these ones

Oh well, gotta do it now here I guess (I’ll be as condensed as I can…unlike above)

PD: I don’t have any ‘digitalized’ versions of these either (I feel kinda silly for making the other ones, but oh well), so we gonna stick with the trad sketches

EDIT 26/10/2023: Updated the drawings with rescanned, more clean versions

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VII]

1.-Rocky Bal-BF

Funny wrestling man

Not gonna lie, he looks kinda cute in that outfit I made for him

2.-Rocky Bal-BF but his balls dieded

>All males left the server

This be a case of Herodias’(? Law

You die, you get blueballed

You get through the first round, you get your jimmies turned into scrambled eggs

Goodbye

My penis

In

A

Nutshell

3.-Egypcian staff

Haha funny snake stick go zzzzz

4.-Egypcian…mic?

Custom mic designs FTW

5.-Hypnotized!Mummy BF

Free will? Not happening lololol

6.-BF’s bike

Yes please

Did this with references I had in my PC, but most the work was homemade so shush

7.-Rocky Bal-BF icongrid

He’s in a lot of pain right there, but can you really blame him?

No one told him that rocky bitch was gonna go torpedo mode with her fist…on his crotch :/

8.- Hypnotized!Mummy BF’s icon

You’re chicken now

9.- Helmet Pico

I was gonna say this is the part I didn’t want to reach…but time managed to kill off the shame I used to feel over this

Compared to what other people had done to Pico in the fandom, this is just vanilla

His design does look kinda different from this though (talking about the idea, I don’t have a sketch yet)

Still, if V’s somehow seeing this- I’m sorry

10.- The helmet, now

Watch it with those ginger peaks, fella

The zombeeps are already having it tough to keep some of his sanity with the blackout shit going on, you bring in your flame looking ass haircut in here, and you’ll lead us to real pain out there

11.- Helmet Pico

Stfu

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VIII]

1.- BoneOilers Leader

Originally written to be a bad guy – now he’s just as confused as most of the human homies over what’s just happening in the hood

Proud of his design though, he be lookin’ badass

2.-Rockonna’s Coach

I love this fucker, he’s like the bastardization of an elf; plus, he’s pretty chill

3.- Terresa

She looks like a medical Carol Roll wot-

God bless her soul tho, she’s a sweetheart

I ship her platonically with BF, don’t ask why

4.- BF Roadkill icon

Drive with caution, kids, especially if you go on bikes

5.- Terresa icon

Scratch’d faez

6.- Freakystein Idle

Zombeeps go wee-woo, freaky bois go beep-bup-bap

7.- Heart

Probably BF’s, he got the undead sickie soooo…y’know

8.- BF’s phone

Wonder where those cheeky bastards took that photo at

Tip: comfy place where you go zZZZz

9.- Whisky

GF got stolen by who knows, time to go drown the sadness in a cup of alcohol

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [IX]

1.- Generator BF

Man, this didn’t age that well considering BF is supposed to not have any sensical fears…besides lighting

…Unless the feeling of getting electrocuted and posteriorly turned into a human energy tower could be somehow associated with it, then maybe

…Wait, BF’sH BF isn’t directly the main FNF canon BF…

Nevermind

2.- Crowbar BF

The way he posin there is like “Yo, when we droppin’ for the next robbery?”

3.- Sick BF

The zombie sickness’ finally kicking in, say your prayers

…or maybe not, who cares

4.- Roadkill BF

RIP

…nah

5.- Sick BF 2

Fuck, it finally got into his bloodstream

6.- Loose GF

Yeah, this was a thing in the main concept

Basically GirlFriend’s outbreak from her captors, the fact she looks like her mother was a sneaky bonus

Sadly it won’t stick fancanonically, so RIP

7.- Loose GF’s icon

Crazy bitch

8.- BF about to snap

Next line: b R  A I N S

Nah just kidding

He just gonna growl-beep for the rest of the song

9.- Differences between Demon and Zombie glitters

Self-explanatory

10.- BF’s crowbar

Wait are the black tones the blo- oh no wait they’re the metal part

My bad

11.- PICO NO

Pico no

Please, no

He had one repair shop lost before by a madman’s fire, he doesn’t wish to go through that again, thank you

12.- Diagonal mechanic arrow holder revamped + Invert and Auto/Action arrow

Invert arrows do be looking disgusting af

Great

13.- Note+Action and Pico!Auto Arrow revamped + Zombie keyholder

Bloodbone and Stitches

…???

The zombie keys are also disgusting

And the effect when they’re pressed doesn’t make them any better

To put it in a single word:

**CHWICK**

14.- Health bar against a zombie

Lineal health bars? Nah, we do the flicky here, baby

9

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Rings

Title: Rings

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1957

Square Filled: Fake Marriage

Summary: “What happens when the right guy comes along, see’s that ring, and high tails it out here?” – “I never thought about that. I guess, if he’s the right one, he’d stick around long enough to find out that the ring is a fake.”

Warnings: Fluff, Dash of Angst, Douche Bags, Rifle, Threats, Drunk Guys, Gross Guys, Some Explicit Language, and Lying…

Written for @spndeanbingo​

Disclaimer: Not my gif.

A/N: I am really proud of this fic. I feel like it’s not exactly what you’d expect from the Fake Marriage trope. At least, that’s what I think. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! This last fic concludes my SPN Dean Bingo 2019 Card! I made it just in time!! Happy Reading!! xx

The day had been a total shit show, and all you wanted to do was to have a seat at a bar, have someone else make your drinks, and get hammered! Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. You’d only been in the, over twenty-one, establishment for merely ten minutes and there had already been one guy that had the nerve to interrupt your “me time,” and now thirty minutes in, another dumbass was trying to talk you up.

“Hey there good lookin’. You seem a little stressed. Can I buy you another drink?”

“Sorry pal, I just want to be alone,” you told him, not bothering to give him a second glance (not that you gave him a first one.)

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be shy, let me just one drink?” He persisted.

“Seriously, I’m good right now,” you tried to remain calm.

“Alright, but if you change your mind, my friends and I are sitting by the juke box. Feel free to join us at any time,” he whispered, as if he thought he was being seductive. It was quite the opposite. His breath was rancid, and the stench coming off of him was just as criminal. You wondered how he could live with himself smelling like roadkill!

“Thanks,” was your only reply, letting out a heavy sigh when he left.

“Some guys just can’t take a hint,” the bartender tsked, her hands placed on the bar top in front of you. You looked up to meet the older lady looking past you, most likely at the group of guys that pig was hanging around with. “Mmm,” she hummed, a look of disgust in her face, “those fellas are one repulsive bunch aren’t they?”

A small smile cracked on your lips, glad that someone was on your side, not that anyone was against you to begin with, but still… this woman just made you feel a little better and you appreciated it.

“You didn’t smell him…” you murmured, slightly shaking your head side to side with trauma.

The older woman laughed. “The name is Ellen. I’m the owner of this bar.”

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come in hear before,” the older woman stated. “And if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like the type to come into dive bars. What happened?”

Letting out a defeated sigh, you met her chocolate brown eyes. “Figured going to a bar was a thing to do when shit hits the fan and you just want to drink it all away. I mean, I see it happen all the time in the movies, so I thought… why not? There’s a first time for everything. The only thing that’s different is that the main character in the movies don’t have to deal with drunk gross guys. The girl usually meets that cool mysterious strangers in a suit or leather jacket.”

Ellen laughed at your perception on bars. “Sweetheart, real life ain’t like the movies. Real life actually sucks. So… I have to asked,” she started, “why are you here instead of with your man?”

You looked up at her confused. “Man?”

“The ring. Your husband,” Ellen clarified.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Oh… that.”

“Yeah, that. What’s the deal? You don’t seem very happy.”

“Honestly, I don’t have a husband. I got out of a nasty relationship a while back and have sworn off men for the time being,” you confessed. “This is fake ring I bought off of Amazon. I wear it to ward off guys, which apparently doesn’t work on idiots.”

“What happens when the right guy comes along, see’s that ring, and high tails it out here?” Ellen question, the notion not once crossing your mind.

“I never thought about that. I guess, if he’s the right one, he’d stick around long enough to find out that the ring is a fake,” you shrugged, hoping your answer made enough sense to her, and you.

“Well, I wish you good luck kiddo,” Ellen smiled before having to help another customer.

Through the night, you got to know more about Ellen and the bar. The bar had been her late husband’s dream, but he unfortunately passed before he could even begin to see it’s possibility. In tribute and remembrance of the love of her life, she bought the bar, fixed it up, threw their name in front of it, “Harvelle’s”,  in blinking lights, and eventually it also became her dream. She and her daughter ran the joint, along with a few employees.

You were working on your third drink of the night, trading in your whiskey for a fruity cocktail drink this time – a strawberry daiquiri. Honestly. You were a little surprised that a small town dive bar had it on the menu, but you didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. You just wanted to enjoy the slight buzz you were feeling.

As you sipped your cocktail, a large figure planted themselves beside your left, but you didn’t bother to acknowledge their presence. All you hoped was that whoever it was, would leave you alone. The only company worthy of your attention was Ellen, your new found friend.

“Hi, what’s your name?”

You rolled your eyes at the interruption. “Sorry, I’m married,” you lifted your hand, exposing the evident ring on your finger.

“I don’t mind,” his hand closed over yours.

At that moment, you snapped, snatching your hand from his grasp and shooting him a death glare. “What kind of woman do you take me for?” You asked with offense. The man next to you was burly, with a beard like a homeless man, shirt wrinkled and most likely unwashed, and his hair was greasy. Why did you always attract the uncivilized ones?

“The kind of woman that likes to have fun,” he wiggled his eyebrows, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Please, just leave me alone,” you told him, bringing your attention back to your drink.

“Oh, c’mon. Let me show you a good time. You might be surprised at how much you’ll like it… and I know you’ll really like it,” he cooed, his tone over suggestive.

“Seriously, back—”

Before you could finish, another man showed up. “Didn’t you hear the woman say she’s married?” The new stranger hissed, slamming his left hand down on the bar top, a gold band around his ring finger. “Now, I suggest you back off of my wife before you get yourself hurt.”

You were shocked to say the least. This stranger was different than all the men you’ve come across the whole day. From your pig of a boss, to the scumbags littering the bar, this man was something else. He was dangerously handsome, scruff littering his jaw, emerald eyes hard and demanding, and god… he smelled good… and looked good. His expansive chest and shoulders clad in red plaid, which was definitely his color.

Wow.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” The disgusting man barked, standing to his full height. He was much larger than the handsome stranger, who didn’t seem to be scared at all. “You think a small fella like you can take me?”

It was true. The guy was much bigger than Mr. Smell’s so Delicious. He towered him several inches.

“I’ve taken down bigger,” Mr. Gorgeous Green Eyes scoffed unfazed.

The gross guy took a step forward and Sex God in Plaid didn’t flinch one bit. If you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself getting a little turned on.

“Alright, cut the crap,” Ellen came barreling in, a rifle in hand. “This is my bar and I will not condone to any sort of rough housing.” The asshole took a step back, but your Knight in Shining Armor didn’t seem at all worried. “You…” Ellen’s spoke to the creep, “… you and your buddies has harassed this poor girl long enough. Pay your bill and get out, before I shoot every single one of you between the legs. Her husband is here and she no longer needs your company.”

The beautiful stranger draped his arm over your shoulder protectively, staring down the creeper. “You heard the nice the lady, get out!” He growled.

The man didn’t hesitate to hightail it back to his group of friends. You watched as they quickly pulled out several bills before rushing out of the establishment. Your jaw dropped in surprise, thoroughly impressed at how both Ellen and Mysterious Perfection handled the situation.

“You alright?” the deepness of his voice vibrated through your body, causing heat to crawl up your cheeks.

“Uh.. y-yeah. I mean, yes. Thank you,” you offered a small smile. God, he was so handsome it almost made it hard to even look at him.

“Y/N, this is my nephew Dean. Dean this is my new friend Y/N. Take care of her for the night would’ya? She thinks life is supposed to be like those romantic comedy movies,” she teased, sending you a wink.

The action did nothing to settle your nerves or alleviate the tension raking over your body. In fact, she made it worse.

“A rom-com chick? Oh, no,” he laughed. “Should I be worried?”

The playful tone in his voice surprisingly put you at ease. “What’s wrong with rom-coms?” You scoffed, nudging his arm off your shoulder. “Don’t you have a wife you should be attending to?”

“A wife? Nah. I’m a free man, Y/N,” Dean gloated, taking a seat beside you. If he didn’t just save you from that douche, you would think he was an arrogant ass, but something about him told you that he was a genuinely good guy. Plus, if Ellen was entrusting him to take care of you, he must be a good man.

“Then what’s with the ring?”

Dean chuckled. “It belonged to my father. He passed away to cancer a few years back,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you suddenly became timid.

“He wasn’t the greatest father, but he did his best you know? Besides, if it wasn’t for him, me and my brother wouldn’t be the people we are today. Little brother is a lawyer and I’ve got my own chain of auto shops around the country.”

“Wow. Impressive.”

“I guess. All that matters is that I’m pretty happy, you know? Anyways, what’s your story? Where’s your husband?”

This time, it was your turn to laugh. “Not married either. I swore of men a couple of years ago after I was humiliatingly dumped from my ex-fiancé. He cheated on me with his boss. When I called our relationship off, he took the ring and everything else. All he left me was my car and what ever was left of my dignity… which let me tell you, isn’t much.”

“Fuck. That’s harsh. What a douche bag!”

“Tell me about it,” you puffed out in defeat.

“Ah, screw him. You deserve better anyway. A tough girl like you don’t need a weak man like him.”

“Oh yeah? And what kind of man do I deserve?” you taunted, giving him your full attention.

A sly smirk stretched across his face. “Let me take you out tomorrow and I’ll show you.”

“Smooth,” you giggled, and Dean was laughing too.

“I’m serious. Let me take you out. You won’t regret it.”

You looked up at him with a wide smile on your face. “I have the utmost confidence that I won’t.”

Dean grinned. “Looks like we got ourselves a hot date!”

Again, you couldn’t control the laughter bubbling inside of you. He was a dork and you found it being far more attractive than you expected. You were looking forwards to that date.

Looks like it was time for the ring to come off.

--

A/N: My SPN Dean Bingo 2019 Card is officially complete! YAY! I hope you all liked the fics, and I hope you liked this last installment! If you did, please like and reblog! Leave some feedback! I would really appreciate it! Stay beautiful everyone! xx

[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."

[othersportsnews-blog]

For Jeff Bagwell, prolonged wait and deep wounds close in Corridor of Fame

New Post has been published on https://othersportsnews.com/for-jeff-bagwell-prolonged-wait-and-deep-wounds-close-in-corridor-of-fame/

For Jeff Bagwell, prolonged wait and deep wounds close in Corridor of Fame

As Jeff Bagwell exhales from the rigors of a 7-calendar year wait and wraps his intellect all around his newfound Corridor of Fame position, it can be only all-natural for historians and lovers to reflect upon the contributions that created him this sort of a drive in his primary. Bagwell’s 449 house runs and .540 slugging proportion are testament to his worth as a hitter. But he was also a fantastic baserunner, competent defender and instinctive participant who could enable his staff earn video games in a wide range of ways.

Among the previous Houston Astros who took the field with Bagwell each individual working day, a a lot less adorned chapter of his job gives perception into what created him tick. In his waning seasons with the Astros, Bagwell soldiered on by way of an arthritic right shoulder that brought about him excruciating agony. During Houston’s run to the 2004 postseason, Bagwell clenched his teeth and strike 27 homers and drove in 89 runs whilst showing up in 156 video games. Whoever coined the term “gamer” could have experienced specifically this situation in intellect.

“When I inform you he couldn’t raise his hand previously mentioned his shoulder, that’s no joke,” explained previous Astros outfielder Lance Berkman. “He was in all probability the very best a person-armed participant in the heritage of the video game.”

Finally, the numerous signposts in Bagwell’s job, from his rookie calendar year by way of his grand finale at age 37, heralded his arrival in Cooperstown. He broke in with the Houston corporation as a shell-stunned New England transplant, struck up a bond with his fellow “Killer B,” Craig Biggio, and attained the admiration of Astros lovers who treasured every conversation and two-out RBI solitary to right.

Then came the unsettling postscript: From his first appearance on the Corridor of Fame ballot in 2010, Bagwell was waistline deep in PED allegations. He has regularly denied any use of PEDs, but he used years underneath the same cloud of suspicion that adopted Mike Piazza before his induction past summertime.

But that torturous stint in limbo at last ended when the voters gave him his golden ticket to Cooperstown on Wednesday.

Jeff Bagwell’s batting stance is a person that was not repeated by a lot of. Getty Illustrations or photos

A type all his individual

In an alternate universe, Bagwell could just as quickly have been wearing a Boston Red Sox cap on his plaque. In the summertime of 1990, Bagwell strike .333 with a .422 OBP for Boston’s Double-A affiliate in New Britain, Connecticut. He was born in Boston and elevated in Middletown, Connecticut, and the total Bagwell clan embraced the concept of him participating in a corner infield location for the Sox a person working day.

When Houston common supervisor Invoice Wood swung a deal to obtain Bagwell from Boston for Larry Andersen in August 1990, Bagwell and his then-eighty one-calendar year-old grandmother, Alice Hare, have been the two knocked off-kilter emotionally. “I was a person of the saddest fellas you will at any time see,” Bagwell explained in a 1993 job interview with Sports activities Illustrated’s Leigh Montville.

Lou Gorman, then Boston’s common supervisor, punted on prolonged-phrase wondering for pennant race expediency. The Red Sox have been pushing for a postseason berth, and Gorman necessary to fortify a bullpen that was in determined have to have of enable when closer Jeff Reardon went down with a back damage.

Statistical expert Invoice James speedily observed that the trade might arrive back to haunt Gorman and the Red Sox in an Ernie Broglio-for-Lou Brock form of way. “You never know how superior a youthful participant will be,” James wrote at the time, “but, with some luck, Lou Gorman will listen to about the Jeff Bagwell trade until finally the working day he dies.”

Even James might have been astonished over the location-on accuracy of his assessment. Andersen threw 22 innings of aid for Boston before signing with the San Diego Padres as a totally free agent. Bagwell, in the meantime, went on to make four All-Star Video games, earn an MVP award through the strike-shortened 1994 time and come to be Houston’s franchise leader in homers, RBIs, WAR and a number of other categories. From the working day he broke camp with the Astros in April 1991, he confirmed a maturity and self-recognition further than his years.

“He was straight out of central casting. He just came and performed and never popped off,” explained Jim Deshaies, Bagwell’s previous Houston teammate and the Astros’ Tv coloration guy from 1997 by way of 2012. “A person issue I remembered him stating was, ‘I would not strike a ton of house runs, but every now and then I will get into a person, and it will go a prolonged way.’ He strike an higher-tank house run in Pittsburgh his rookie calendar year, and we have been like, ‘Wow, in which did that arrive from?’ You form of realized it was in there.”

When the excellent Atlanta Braves teams of the 1990s and early 2000s have been awash in foreseeable future Corridor of Famers, Houston served as a pit prevent for a number of gamers who both arrived at the promised land or are portion of the Cooperstown debate. Randy Johnson, Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte all handed by way of the Astros’ rotation at some level. Jeff Kent and Carlos Beltran have been central figures on a 92-earn playoff staff in 2004, and Billy Wagner used his first 9 large league seasons throwing heat out of the Houston bullpen.

The Astrodome, a pitcher’s haven, could be dying on a hitter’s self-esteem, but Bagwell speedily learned to coexist with the spot. By way of prolonged several hours in the cage with hitting instructor Rudy Jaramillo, he turned adept at creating backspin and clearing fences. He also located a ton of gaps alongside the way Bagwell led the majors with forty eight doubles in 1996 and created the most of his middling velocity with his excellent anticipation and deft hook slides.

Bagwell attracted distinctive focus with his novel stance and approach at the plate. He strike from an exaggerated crouch with his feet set 4 ½ feet aside, and his bottom went alongside for the ride. “It appears like he is sitting down on the John,” the late Ken Caminiti explained in a Sports activities Illustrated job interview in 1999. “He’s the a person guy who can work on his stance in the bathroom.”

About time, Bagwell’s oddball stance and Popeye forearms turned synonymous with his affect in the Houston batting buy.

“I generally felt sorry for the youth league coaches all around the Houston location,” Deshaies explained. “Children generally like to mimic their preferred gamers. So you could form of imagine all these 10-eleven calendar year olds in Little League, squatting like Bagwell and striving to strike and the coach stating, ‘No, that’s not likely to work for you, son.'”

Tim Raines and Jeff Bagwell cruised in on our ballot. Who else would be becoming a member of them in the Course of 2017 if our voters experienced the closing say?

Jim Palmer, Tom Glavine and Craig Biggio are just a several of the enshrined gamers with robust views on how PEDs, sabermetrics and closers need to be treated on present day ballot.

one Relevant

Center- and back-of-the rotation starters have been roadkill for Bagwell, and elite pitchers were not immune from his wrath. Bagwell strike .415 in 41 at-bats towards 1990 World Series hero Jose Rijo and .442 in sixty four plate appearances towards previous 20-video game winner John Burkett. He also posed a important problem to Atlanta’s Large A few. Bagwell strike .301 in 103 job at-bats towards John Smoltz and .293 in 102 Stomach muscles vs. Greg Maddux, whilst logging a job .333/.506/.545 slash line towards Tom Glavine.

“You seem at that stance, and you never in a million years would instruct it,” Glavine explained. “If you experienced a kid striving to do it, you’d alter every little thing about it. But for Jeff, it worked. When press came to shove, he acquired himself in a hitting position and a speak to position as properly as anybody. That’s why he experienced the achievement he experienced.”

Bagwell’s mixture of energy and plate willpower created him an especially complicated problem for pitchers. From 1996 by way of 2002, his 834 walks ranked 2nd in the majors to Barry Bonds. His .408 job OBP is 39th-very best in baseball heritage.

“Jeff was form of a Moneyball guy before a ton of men and women have been conversing about Moneyball,” Deshaies explained.

Bagwell’s in-video game proficiency was even a lot more remarkable provided the hilarity that preceded it. During batting exercise, he was renowned for hitting pop flies off the prime of the monitor or topping weak grounders to the right facet. The issue turned even a lot more noticeable late in his job simply because of his shoulder troubles. Bagwell would grumble about his five p.m. ineptitude, and Berkman at times jumped in the batting cage and imitated him for the benefit of the other Astros.

“It never unsuccessful to elicit a chuckle from the fellas,” Berkman explained, laughing.

Berkman, whose .406 job on-foundation proportion and 366 homers as a switch-hitter might get paid him a several Corridor votes when he seems on the ballot in 2018, expects to make the journey to Cooperstown and be in attendance when Bagwell joins Biggio as portion of the fraternity July 30.

“I appreciate Jeff,” Berkman explained. “It did me a excellent provider as a youthful participant to look at how he executed his small business in the clubhouse and on the field. I believe a ton of fellas who performed with him will make the energy to get up there and see him go in. We are all thrilled to dying.”

Craig Biggio, left, and Jeff Bagwell performed two,029 video games together. Brian Bahr/Getty Illustrations or photos

They came to play

Bagwell and Biggio, endlessly connected, have been notable for their geographic synergy and disparate demeanors.

Biggio, a Prolonged Island, New York, native and Seton Corridor University products, was sort A all the way. He was methodical about video game planning and created guaranteed his uniform and spikes have been just so, even as he wore a batting helmet caked in pine tar. Bagwell, in distinction, experienced a a lot more wry and approachable facet. When Biggio might test to motivate a teammate by finding in his confront, Bagwell was a lot more inclined to toss his arm all around the teammate’s shoulder and quietly present a pep chat or some tips.

“It was form of like a superior cop and a negative cop, if you want to say it that way,” Biggio explained. “You realized a person issue: When you came by way of those people clubhouse doors, it was time to fall your moi and prepare your self to play baseball the right way. If you didn’t, you have been likely to listen to about it from me or Jeff.”

Houston’s marquee gamers walked the walk whilst setting a workmanlike tone. From 1991 by way of 2004, Bagwell ranked 2nd in the majors with two,111 video games performed, and Biggio was third with two,075. Only Rafael Palmeiro, with two,153 video games, was a lot more tough through that fourteen-calendar year span.

The message that Bagwell and Biggio conveyed to their teammates: If it can be strictly a issue of participating in by way of agony or irritation and not jeopardizing further more damage, everyone was envisioned to suck it up and just take their four at-bats.

Berkman produced an appreciation for the organizational credo when he confirmed up at the Astrodome to just take batting exercise as a first-round draft pick out of Rice University in 1997. He arrived the same working day the staff experienced a plastic baseball giveaway, and the promotions office positioned the souvenirs in the players’ lockers so they could give them to their youngsters or the neighbor’s youngsters. Berkman was taken aback when he observed Biggio angrily hurling the whiffle balls in the course of supervisor Larry Dierker’s place of work.

“I was like, ‘What in the earth is likely on?'” Berkman explained. “I located out that Dierk experienced provided him a working day off, and he was pissed simply because he required to play. I observed him and Baggy the two play when they have been sore or sick as puppies. They performed in a hundred and sixty-one thing video games, and they envisioned you to do the same issue.”

According to the Elias Sports activities Bureau, Bagwell and Biggio have been together for an MLB document two,029 video games — a lot more than Ron Santo and Billy Williams (two,015), Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker (one,918) and George Brett and Frank White (one,915). By way of all those people spring instruction video games, homestands and street excursions, they produced a synergy like that of John Stockton and Karl Malone with the NBA’s Utah Jazz.

In twelve seasons as Houston’s 2nd baseman, Biggio realized he could rely on Bagwell turning the right facet of the infield into a bunt-totally free zone. At the plate, Bagwell routinely eyeballed close pitches and ran deep counts to give Biggio the possibility to steal bases and get into scoring position. And late in their careers, when Bagwell’s right shoulder was in tatters, the Astros improvised and created Biggio take care of relay throws normally assigned to the first baseman.

“We realized each individual other as properly as two teammates could know each individual other,” Biggio explained.

The two Astros waited for a longer time for the phone from the Corridor than they might have preferred. Despite three,060 job hits, 7 All-Star appearances and 5 Silver Slugger Awards, Biggio lingered on the ballot for three years. More than enough voters attributed his achievement to longevity to exam his persistence and make him sweat the process.

Bagwell’s wait came underneath a lot more shadowy and controversial situation. “So much has absent on in the past 8 or 9 years, it can be form of taken some of the valor off it for me,” Bagwell explained in a 2010 job interview with ESPN.com. “If I at any time do get to the Corridor of Fame and there are 40 fellas sitting down powering me wondering, ‘He took steroids,’ then it can be not even worth it to me. I will not know if that seems stupid. But it can be how I truly feel in a nutshell.”

Corridor of Fame voting is a messy process, and heritage reveals that time can soften perceptions, alter minds and recover wounds. Bagwell’s journey has at last taken him to the doors of Cooperstown. And when he walks by way of up coming summertime, no person will ask or care how prolonged it took him to arrive.

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