#Angie McGucket

[thelastspeecher]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 4: Transitions, Part 1

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 AO3

You may have noticed this is a "part one". Well, @elishevart and I were working on Chapter 4, and then realized partway through we'd have to split it into two. And by the time we finished, we realized we'd have to split it into three. So keep an eye out for the next two chapters!

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              “You’re making pancakes wrong,” Stan said to Angie.  Angie pointed the spatula at him.

              “You don’t get to have an opinion on this.  You ain’t cooked a single meal since ya moved in.”

              “Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know how to cook anything except for breakfast!”

              “The pancakes ‘re perfectly fine!” Angie snapped, gesturing to the stack cooling on a plate on the counter.  Stan picked up the mason jar full of dried crickets Angie kept by the stove.

              “You put bugs in them!”

              “Only in Stanford’s!”

              Ford tuned out Stan and Angie’s bickering as he chewed his final bite of cricket chip pancakes.  He idly played with the new blue streak in his hair and sighed. 

              Now that Stan had officially moved in and wanted input on how things were run in the house, he was constantly butting heads with Angie. It seemed like the only time they weren’t arguing was when they were sleeping. Though Ford walked past Angie’s room the night before. She talked in her sleep almost every night, but last night, her sleeptalking had been a rehashing of an argument she’d had with Stan earlier that day.

              The phone rang.  Ford swallowed the last of his breakfast and stood up.

              “I’ll answer that,” he said to Stan and Angie.  Whether they heard him or not was up in the air.  He sighed and walked into the living room.  He picked up the phone.  “This is Stanford Pines.”

              “Oh, hello, Mr. Pines,” said a voice Ford recognized.  “This is Dr. Roberts from the Gravity Falls Pet Clinic.  Is Angie there?  We got the last of the results for Tubbs.”  Ford closed his eyes.

              Fantastic.  He leaned against the wall.

              “Angie and I share ownership of Tubbs,” he said.  “You can tell me the results and I’ll pass it on to her.”

              “Really?  Let me check here…”  There was some rustling.  “Yes, your name is on the paperwork as well.  All right, I can tell you.  Everything on his bloodwork seemed normal, other than a strange high amount of silver, which could cause some neurological issues.  When we drew some more blood during the appointment to remove his cast, however, the silver was gone.”

              “I see…” Ford mumbled.

              Silver, huh?  Perhaps that could be related to why I took so long to return to human form.

              “The x-ray looked fine other than his broken leg.  On the ultrasound, though, we found something interesting,” the vet continued.  Ford straightened, suddenly curious.  “Tubbs was sexed as male, and he does have testes.  However, he also has ovaries.”  Ford’s jaw dropped.

              “What?!” he shouted.  The bickering from the kitchen stopped.

              “Don’t worry, he’s fine.  It’s surprisingly common for amphibians to have both male and female reproductive organs.”

              “Will- is- can he-” Ford stammered.  He was too terrified of the answer for the question to fully leave his mouth.  However, the vet understood what he was unintentionally dancing around.

              “I suspect that he could both fertilize eggs and lay fertilized eggs himself,” the vet said.  Ford slumped against the wall.  “I won’t know for sure without running some more tests.”

              “There’s no need for that,” Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Though…can I come by to pick up some printouts of the test results?”

              “Of course!  Bring some ID so that we can verify your identity.”

              The security at the vet is higher than some doctor’s offices I’ve been to.

              “Understood,” Ford said.

              “Great!  We’ll see you in a bit when you come to get the results, then!”

              “Yes.”  Ford hung up the phone.  Someone cleared their throat.  Ford looked over.  Angie and Stan stood in the entryway that led to the kitchen, watching him curiously.

              “What was that about?” Stan asked.

              “Oh, uh, the doctor called with the results of my medical tests.”

              “You mean the vet called,” Stan said.  Angie elbowed him roughly.  Stan winced.  He looked down at her with a scowl.  “You’re so bony it’s like you fucking stabbed me!”

              “Oh, hush,” Angie snapped.  She turned to Ford.  “Did they have some concerns?  The way ya shouted, it sounded like ya were spooked by somethin’.”

              “No, not really,” Ford said quickly.  Judging by the expressions on Stan and Angie’s faces, they didn’t buy it.  “Apparently my bloodwork showed significant levels of silver.  That was what took me by surprise.  I suspect that may be the reason I was unable to return to human form for so long.”  Stan still didn’t look convinced, but the doubt on Angie’s face faded somewhat.  “I’m going to go to the office to pick up the test results to look them over myself.”

              “You might be able to find somethin’ related to bein’ stuck fer days as a salamander,” Angie said.  Ford nodded, seizing the lie.  “Be polite to the folks at the vet, okay?  They don’t know any of what yer goin’ through, so lashin’ out at ‘em would be completely pointless.”

              “Of course,” Ford said firmly.  “I understand that.”

              “Good.”

              “Hey, uh, while you’re out and about,” Stan said cheerfully, “maybe pick up some chocolate chips?  That way Angie can make some decent pancakes?”  Angie elbowed him again.  “Oof!”  Ford grabbed the keys to the pickup.

              “I’ll see what I can do,” he said dryly.

-----

              The clock on the oven declared that it was past midnight.  Ford rifled through the pages of Tubbs’s medical results under the soft yellow glow of the kitchen light.  When he arrived at the vet, they had happily handed everything over to him, even taking the time to annotate the results, labeling structures on the x-ray and ultrasound, pointing out what levels were healthy for the various analytes in his bloodwork.

              I didn’t expect to need their notes, but I clearly overestimated my ability to read medical results.  Ford frowned at one of the ultrasound images.  I would have no idea what I was looking at if they hadn’t labeled it.

              “Yer up late,” a soft voice said.  Ford jerked in surprise, one of the ultrasound pictures falling to the floor.  The speaker, Angie, walked over and picked it up.  Ford’s heart began to race.

              “Well, uh, I could say the same about you,” he managed weakly.  “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

              “I did. I got up to get a glass of water.”

              “Ah.”  Ford held out a hand.  “Don’t let my late night studying delay you.”  His heart sank.  Angie wasn’t giving him the page.  She was looking down at it with a small frown.  “Angie, that is my private medical information.”

              “Is this why ya got so worked up durin’ the phone call earlier?” she asked quietly.  “And why you were actin’ a bit off the rest of the day?”

              “I- I don’t know what you’re-” Ford stammered.  Angie placed the page on the table, image up.  Painfully visible red marker circled and labeled “Ovaries” and “Testes” on the picture.

              “It ain’t uncommon fer this sort of thing to happen in what we call ‘lower vertebrates’,” Angie said.  “Amphibians are included in that group.  Though I mostly hear ‘bout it in frogs, rather than salamanders.”

              “By ‘this sort of thing’, you mean…”

              “Havin’ both ovaries and testes,” Angie said flatly.  Ford closed his eyes.  “This ain’t somethin’ to be ashamed of!”

              “How?” Ford snapped.  “How could I not be ashamed?”

              “Look.”  Angie sat at the table across from Ford.  “This happens!  In humans!  Non-cursed humans!  I learned ‘bout it in school.  Durin’ egg production, sperm production, fertilization, gestation, sometimes development goes left when it was s’pposed to go right.  Folks wind up with reproductive systems or- or sex hormones outside the norm.”  Angie smiled.  “It’s just another way of bein’.”

              “I suppose you would have a less negative viewpoint of this, given where you’re from,” Ford muttered.  Angie’s smile faded.

              “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

              “Abnormalities and disorders are common in isolated rural communities.”  A shadow crossed Angie’s face.

              “That was uncalled for,” she said in a low tone.  “All’s I’m doin’ is tryin’ to comfort ya!”

              “Maybe I don’t want comfort!”

              “You want to wallow?”

              “Perhaps,” Ford said tartly, fully aware that he was purposefully being contrary at this point.

              “Lord above.”  Angie rubbed her eyes wearily.  “This don’t change anything.  It ain’t like ya were plannin’ on reproducin’ in yer cute salamander form anyways.”

              “What about my human form?” Ford asked.  Angie frowned at him.  “The axolotl I spoke to at the pet store told me even when I appear human, I’m still an amphibian.  Does that mean I-”  Ford swallowed.  He hugged his sides, choking out the words with difficulty. “Does that mean I have ovaries right now?” he croaked weakly.  Angie stared at him.  After a moment, she sighed.

              “I don’t know.”  She leaned back in her chair.  “And…I know ya don’t want to hear this, but it’s a possibility, so I have to get it out there.  You never had an ultrasound ‘fore ya got cursed.  It’s possible you’ve always been like this and didn’t know.”

              “Yes,” Ford said quietly.  “That is a very real possibility.  Polydactyly sometimes is tied to genetic disorders, after all.  My doctor tested me for everything he could think of when I was a child.  But it’s possible something was missed.”

              “That- I weren’t tryin’ to tie it to yer polydactyly,” Angie said, sounding impatient.  “I told ya, folks what have no symptoms can discover their reproductive systems developed in a weird way durin’ a routine exam or puberty or when they’re strugglin’ to have children.”  Ford nodded.  “The way I see this sit’ation is that we ain’t quite reached the bridge we need to cross yet.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “Like I said, this don’t change anything,” Angie said.  Her tone had eased from irritated to gentle.  “If ya start, I don’t know, developin’ breasts or experiencin’ weird hormonal swings, we’ll deal with it then.  If ya want to have a child with someone and are strugglin’ to conceive, we’ll deal with it then.  Those are the bridges we’ll cross.  But we ain’t reached ‘em.”  Ford let Angie’s words sink in for a few moments.  He nodded slowly.

              “You are correct.  We have new data, but nothing it can be used for yet.” He slumped on the table, resting his head on his arm as he idly picked up another note. 

              “Exactly.”  Angie yawned, politely covering her mouth while it was open.  “And I know how ya work, so please don’t try to sneak somewhere with an ultrasound to get yourself checked out in human form.  Ya won’t be able to operate the dang thing right and I’ll just have to bail ya out of jail.”  Ford managed a small smile.

              “Noted.”  Angie yawned again.  “Angie, you look exhausted.”

              “It’s the middle of the night.”

              “Yes, but you’ve been looking tired in the middle of the day as well,” Ford pushed.  Angie shrugged.  “I think you may be slipping into bad habits and pushing yourself too hard.”  Angie rolled her eyes as he closed his own.  “I recognize it is slightly hypocritical of me.”

              “It is,” Angie said.  She shifted in her seat and looked away.  “But…I have been feelin’ a bit like a cub scout den mother tryin’ to manage both you and Stan.”

              “I’m sorry.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

              “Since yer back to yer normal self, I’d appreciate ya doin’ more stuff ‘round the house.  Maybe wrangle Stan every now and then.”  Angie yawned for a third time.  “All right.  I’ve got to get back to bed.  I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’.”  She got up from the table.  She clumsily exited the kitchen, bumping into the doorjamb on her way out.  Guilt formed a painful pit in Ford’s stomach.

              She really has been acting as our manager for far too long.  A yawn escaped from him.  I should go to bed as well.  Ford began to gather up the paperwork.  I’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to Angie for all her help.  Perhaps I can purchase a gift of some sort for her.

-----

              “I can’t believe he brought us here.”

              “I can’t believe he suggested it.” 

              Ford cleared his throat, drawing Stan and Angie’s attention.

              “Well, we have been cooped up in the house and more importantly I was stuck in my tank for most of last week, so an outing seemed appropriate. Besides...” He turned to Angie. “I thought we all could use the distraction.”

              Angie nodded knowingly. To Ford’s relief, the bags under her eyes weren’t as prominent as they had been a few days ago. After their discussion in the kitchen, he had decided to seek out an activity to improve her mood and energy. Thankfully, he stumbled across this activity the three of them could enjoy, a town over.

              “Yeah, but why a zoo?” asked Stan as they stepped toward the archway entrance.

              “It’s actually a sanctuary for unwanted animals,” Ford explained. “The animals here are generally exotic pets that the owner couldn’t take care of, old circus or zoo animals, and rescued wild animals that couldn’t be released after being healed.”

              “Why not an amusement park? Or a fair? Or even, I don’t know, the lake?”

              “Are ya serious?” sighed Angie. 

              “What? It could- oh right. Yeah, after you got nabbed there, the lake might not be a great idea.” Stan looked away, scratching the back of his neck. Ford walked up to him and patted his shoulder.

              “It doesn’t matter. I admit that I might, ah, not yet be ready for the lake, but what happened is in the past.”  He offered a reassuring smile. Stan returned the expression.  Angie stood on her tiptoes to swing her arms across the twins’ shoulders, a grin of her own spread across her face.

              “Then let’s get going, boys!” she exclaimed as she gently pushed them toward the entrance. 

-----

              The start of the sanctuary visit went smoothly. They began with the big outdoor animals. The place was clean and had undergone a recent makeover, as a volunteer explained to them. The enclosures holding the animals they oohed and ahhed at were now bigger and offered more stimulation and enrichment. 

              There was a bit of everything. Raccoons and skunks that people thought would make great pets. A bobcat that had been caught in a trap and lost a leg. An old retired elephant. A trio of young brown bears whose mother had sadly perished a few months prior. A pond with crocodiles that made a voice in Ford’s head tell him to stay clear. They were even given the opportunity to feed some of the giraffes and birds. 

              Ford couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Angie this happy and excited. He smiled at his friend, then glanced at his twin. Stan too had a broad smile and a spark in his eye.  A spark that Ford recalled well from when they were younger. He smiled back and kept walking with them. 

              Everything was going great.  The trio was headed to the final stop of the tour: the reptile room. Angie’s smile got twice as big as she rushed for the door. Both twins were right behind her. 

              As soon as Ford crossed the double doors, he was assaulted by an onslaught of tiny voices talking all at the same time. 

              “Food! Dislike strangers. Want water. Too cold. Too hot. Sleepy. Bored. Like strangers. Strangers fun! Look at me! Don’t look! Look! Look! Sad. Happy!”

              Stanford looked for the crowd of people that clearly had to be in the reptile room.  But he, Stan, and Angie were the only ones there.  All he could see were the many aquariums housing reptiles and amphibians. His ears started to ring. A muffled voice came from his left.

              “Ford, are you all right?”

              He spun around to see his companions watching him with worried expressions on their faces.

              “How are you so calm?” he asked.  “Can you not hear it?” His own voice felt distant and overshadowed by everything around him. 

              “Hear what?” asked Stan. Ford opened his mouth to respond, but the voices were increasing in volume, overwhelming him.  He covered his ears in vain. His breath came in and out faster, on the brink of hyperventilating. He closed his eyes, trying to reduce some of the stimulus overtaking him.

              “Oh my gosh! Stanley, help me get him out of here now!” Angie shouted. 

              Soon, Ford felt two hands on his arms guiding him somewhere. He was too overcome to fight as he was led away. Fresh air hit his face.  Ford opened his eyes.  They were outside.  The cacophony of voices was slowly starting to die down. Stan lowered him to the ground, his back leaning against a wall. 

              “All right, Sixer, deep breaths, take it easy,” said his twin as Ford gasped for air.  Stan rubbed slow circles on Ford’s back, but despite their close proximity, he still sounded distant. “What happened back there?”  Ford shook his head, unable to say anything.  Thankfully, Angie spoke up.

              “A few weeks ago when we went to a pet store, he talked with an axolotl there,” she said.  “I’m guessin’ he heard all those critters in there.  All at once.  Which would be a lot.  Am I right, Stanford?”

              “I believe so,” Ford croaked. He could feel bile rising in his throat and swallowed to keep it down. 

              Another “fantastic perk” of my…condition.  After a few minutes of breathing in the fresh outdoor air, Ford had calmed enough to regain control.

              “How are ya feelin’?” asked Angie. Ford glanced up to see his friend looking at him, her blue eyes filled with worry. 

              “Drained and exhausted.” Stanford sighed. “It feels like my head is about to explode.”

              “All right, I think we’re gonna cut our trip short,” declared Stan. He lifted Ford’s arm, helping him back to his feet. “Come on, Ford, let’s get you home.”

              “And get ya somethin’ to drink when we get there,” Angie added.  Stan looked at her with interest.  Angie rolled her eyes. “I was referrin’ to water, not alcohol.”  Stan rolled his eyes right back at her. 

              Ford grumbled, upset to be leaving so soon, but obeyed, even as his legs threatened to buckle at any moment. Stan supported him as they slowly trekked back to the car. When they got to the car, Ford leaned heavily against it until Stan unlocked the doors, then crawled into the back seat.

              “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

              “About what?” Angie asked as she sat next to him. 

              “I ruined our outing because of my…episode.”

              “Don’t worry, Sixer,” Stan said with a shrug. “It could have happened to anyone.” He turned the engine on and slowly drove them away. 

              No, it couldn’t. Ford leaned his head on his hand and watched the scenery pass by. Only my curse could have ruined such a perfect outing. 

-----

              The light of the first full moon since Stan had come to stay lit a path for Ford to follow home.  There was a bounce in his step as he walked.  He had heard about the legendary underground black market for magical creatures in Gravity Falls, called the Crawlspace.  In fact, it was one of the first things he learned about the magical creature culture when he started his research.  But humans were not allowed, and the ban was strictly enforced.  Now, however?  He had been able to locate the market and walk in without a problem.

              And I finally got Angie that gift she deserves. It, along with something Ford had purchased for himself, was nestled snugly in a crossbody bag Angie had given him before he left for the Crawlspace.  Ford was nervous about trying the potion he’d got for himself.  Though part of me is excited to see what it will do.  Ford arrived at the house.  He opened the front door.

              “Hello?” he called tentatively.  The Stanmobile wasn’t in the driveway, so Stan was presumably out.  But Angie was more of a homebody, so she wasn’t likely to have left with Stan.

              “I’m in the living room!” Angie’s voice called.  He walked into the house and made his way to the living room.  Angie was sitting on the couch reading a book.  As Ford approached, he could make out the title: Journey to the Center of the Earth.

              “Why are you up late reading Jules Verne?” Ford asked.  Angie chuckled.  She patted the couch cushion next to her.  Ford climbed up.

              “I’m actually quite the fan of science fiction,” she said, sounding almost shy.

              “I had no idea.  I always see you reading field guides or other informative literature.”

              “That’s fer research.  Lately, I’ve been too busy to read fer reg’lar enjoyment.  I decided to get some fun readin’ done while Stan was out of the house.”  Angie slid a bookmark into the novel and set it aside.  “Did ya find the watchacallit?”

              “The Crawlspace?” Ford asked, amused.  Angie nodded.  “Yes, I did!”

              “Oh, excellent!”  Angie clapped her hands.  “Did ya enjoy yourself?”

              “Yes, it was most informative,” Ford gushed.  Angie beamed at him.  “I’m glad to have finally found a silver lining for the thundercloud that is my curse.”  Angie stroked the top of Ford’s head.

              “I knew you’d find a benefit somewhere.”  A twinkle entered Angie’s eye.  “Since it’s a market, did ya do some shoppin’?”

              “Yes.”  Ford smiled at Angie.  “And yes, the bag you gave me came in handy.  Thank you.”

              “I’m glad.”  Angie leaned in.  “What did ya buy?”

              “I’ll show you!”  Ford opened the bag and took out the two potions.  They were in nearly identical dark green bottles, as Ford had procured them from the same seller.  But Ford knew which one was which.  He handed over the one he had purchased for Angie.  “This is for you.”

              “Aw, you didn’t need to get me anything!”

              “Yes, I did,” Ford said firmly.  “You have been a rock as of late.  This is the least I can do.”  Angie smiled.

              “Thank you.”  Angie looked down at the label, written in the language of the magical creatures.  “Uh, what is it?”

              “It relieves muscle aches and cramps,” Ford said.

              “Oh, that’s perfect, I been strugglin’ with that,” Angie said softly.

              “It’s also apparently a sleeping elixir.  It should give you peaceful, dreamless sleep,” Ford continued.  Angie set the potion by her book and wrapped her arms around Ford.

              “Honey, that’s exactly what I need right now, thank you!”

              “It’s no problem,” Ford said, returning the hug.  Angie squeezed him, then let go.  “You should get some rest.”

              “I don’t know.”  Angie looked over in the direction of the front door.  “Stan ain’t back yet.”

              “I’ll stay up for him.”  Ford patted Angie’s hand.  “Go to bed.”  Angie chuckled softly.

              “All right, all right.”  Angie kissed the top of Ford’s head.  “I’m goin’ to try this here potion out and get some shut-eye.”

              “Good night.”

              “Good night.”  Angie got up from the couch and departed for her room, leaving her book behind.  Ford pulled his potion out of the bag.  He stared at it.

              No.  I should wait.  After a moment, he shrugged and picked up Angie’s book, opening it to the first page.  The font was maddeningly blurry with his poor amphibious eyesight.  …Never mind.  Ford looked around, spotted the TV remote on the back of the couch, and grabbed it.  Television it is.

-----

              “Is the coffee done yet?” Stan asked tiredly.  He yawned.  “I really need a cuppa.”

              “It should be ready soon,” Ford replied, stifling a yawn of his own.  He was feeling the effects of his late night.  “Is Angie still asleep?”

              “Dunno.”  Stan stretched.  The motion pulled the edge of his T-shirt up past his belly button.  “If she is, that’s weird.  She’s usually up at the ass crack of dawn.”

              “Yes, well, she comes from a farming family,” Ford mumbled.  Stan grunted wordlessly.  There was a shout from upstairs.  Stan and Ford locked eyes.  “That came from Angie’s room.”

              “But that wasn’t Angie,” Stan said.  “That was a guy.”  A second passed.  The twins abruptly bolted from the kitchen, coffee forgotten.  They sprinted up the stairs to the attic.  A strange man stood in front of Angie’s mirror and dresser, staring at his reflection.  He looked at the two.  Ford came to a stop.  The man looked eerily familiar.

              “Fiddleford?” Ford asked.  The man, panic in his eyes, looked over at the mirror again as though not familiar with his reflection.

              “I- I reckon I look awful sim’lar to him,” the man said in a quavering, heavily accented voice.  “But I-”  Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Stan slamming him against the wall.  “What in the sam hill-”

              “Who are you?” Stan snarled.

              “I’m-”

              “What did you do with Angie?”

              “What?” the man asked, sounding both perplexed and terrified.  Ford glanced over at the dresser.  A dark green bottle sat next to Angie’s moisturizer and sunscreen.  Ford frowned.  He picked it up.

              “I’ll ask a second time, but I won’t ask a third,” Stan ground out.  “Where.  Is.  Angie?”

              “I’d tell ya if ya let me get a word in edgewise!” the man snapped.  Ford read the label on the bottle, his mouth silently forming the words.  He felt the blood drain from his face.

              “Talk faster, then!” Stan shouted.

              “Stan,” Ford croaked.  Stan looked over.  “Stan, leave him alone.”       

              “But-”

              “Come here.  You need to read this,” Ford said firmly.  Stan shot a glare at the man, but let him go.  He stalked over to Ford.  Ford held out the bottle.  Stan squinted at the label.

              “What the hell does this say and what does it have to do with some guy in Angie’s room?” Stan asked.

              “I forgot you couldn’t read the language of magical creatures,” Ford mumbled.  He adjusted his glasses.  “This is a potion I purchased in the Crawlspace last night.  One of two, actually.  I bought one for Angie as a pain and cramp reliever.  I bought the second one to, ah, study at home.”

              “Which one is this one?” Stan asked.

              “Not the one I intended to give Angie.”

              “So it’s not to help with pain,” Stan said.  Ford shook his head.  “What does it do?”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “Stanford,” Stan said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice, “what potion did you give her?”

              “It- it purports to be a, ah, transformative elixir,” Ford stammered.  “It can transform men into women.”  He winced.  “And it can also do the reverse.”  Stan and Ford looked at the strange man.  The man blushed, his entire face beet red.  He was wearing Angie’s typical choice of pajamas: an old T-shirt and athletic shorts.  Though he was holding up the athletic shorts, as they were loose on his narrow hips.

              “…Angie?” Stan asked.  The man somehow turned even redder.

              “Y-yes,” he squeaked out.  Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

              “Holy Moses, Sixer.  You turned her into a guy!”

              “I know, I-” Ford started.  He took a deep breath.  “I must have mixed up the bottles.  My vision in my other form is too poor to make out small lettering.”  He looked at Angie.  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”  Angie nodded.  “Get dressed, then you can meet us downstairs.”  Angie glanced over at his closet doubtfully.  “Ah, get dressed as well as you can.”

              “We’ll get you something to fit you better later,” Stan added.  He shot Ford a look.  “Ford’s paying.”  Ford resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

              “S-sounds good,” Angie mumbled.  He cleared his throat.  “K-kindly leave so’s I can, uh, get- get ready ‘n whatnot.”

              “Yes, of course,” Ford said with a nod.  He grabbed Stan and pulled his twin downstairs.  When they got to the ground floor, Stan looked back up the stairs, a pensive expression on his face.  “What?”

              “Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?” Stan asked softly.  Ford thought back to the brief glimpses he’d gotten earlier.  His ears grew warm.

              No, it’s not just him.

-----

              “I still can’t believe you turned Angie into a guy,” Stan muttered as he flipped a pancake on the stove.  Ford sighed.

              “It was an accident and I’m incredibly distressed this happened as well.”  There was a polite cough.  Stan and Ford looked over.  Angie stood in the doorway.  While his shirt was the appropriate size, if fitting oddly, the jeans he wore were a few inches too short and loose around the hips, needing a belt.  “We need to get you some new clothes.”  Angie’s face fell.

              “I’m guessin’ that means ya won’t be able to get me back to normal any time soon,” he said softly.  While lower than before, his voice was still higher than average for a man, and had a melodic lilt to it, likely due to his accent.

              “Unfortunately, no,” Ford confirmed.  Angie sighed and sat next to him at the table.  Ford silently noted, to his amusement, that despite Angie’s visible distress, he had made sure to follow his regular morning hygiene routine, with his face clean and his hair carefully styled.  “I looked more closely at the label and instructions.  You drank enough of the potion to keep you in this form for three days.”  Angie stared at him.

              “Three days?!”

              “Don’t worry,” Ford said quickly, holding up his hands.  “I’ll return to the Crawlspace tonight and speak to the seller.  He may have something to reverse the effects of the potion early.”

              “I’m comin’ with.”

              “Humans aren’t allowed.”

              “I can wear some of those Star Trek ears ya got in yer closet and pretend to be an elf,” Angie scoffed.  “Maybe throw some pixie dust over me to get that supernatural sparkle.”  Stan snorted.  Ford frowned.

              “I suppose that could work.  But why do you want to come?”

              “Ya mixed stuff up from yer bad axolotl vision.  I don’t want to risk another mixup.”

              “Ah.”  Ford shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “…Fair.”  Angie sighed.

              “I weren’t tryin’ to hurt yer feelin’s…”

              “No, I’m- I’m fine,” Ford said quickly.  Angie gave him a look that suggested he didn’t buy it.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “By the way,” he drawled, “I heard the toilet flush.”  Angie covered his face with his hands.  “Whattaya think of the new…equipment?”

              “You don’t need to answer that,” Ford said quickly.

              “Oh, I weren’t plannin’ on it,” Angie said, his voice muffled by his hands.  “Stanley, ya can’t just ask someone that!”

              “Aw, come on.  We’re all guys here!”

              “Stan…” Ford said in a warning tone.

              “Fine, fine.  I’ll shut up.”  Stan placed a plate of pancakes in front of Angie.  “Eat up, Angie,” he said.  He frowned.  “Uh.  Should we call you something else until you’re back to normal?”

              “That sounds like a good idea,” Angie said.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “It- it feels awful odd to be referred to as Angie when I’m, um, this.”

              “Banjo, perhaps?” Ford suggested.  Angie nodded slowly.

              “I like it.”  Angie- Banjo looked at Stan with a frown.  “Somethin’ wrong?”  Stan was watching with a frown of his own.

              “Why the hell did Ford suggest Banjo and why the fuck did you agree to it?”

              “Oh, that’s right, I ain’t told ya what Angie is short fer yet,” Banjo said.

              “I thought it was short for Angela.”

              “No.  It’s short fer Banjolina,” Banjo said, beginning to cut up one of his pancakes.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “What the hell kinda name is Banjolina?”

              “A McGucket one,” Ford and Banjo said together.  Banjo shot a grin at Ford.  Ford felt butterflies in his stomach.

              Oh, no.  Please don’t let this be a pattern.

-----

              Banjo laughed goodnaturedly.

              “No, I ain’t wearin’ the hat!” he said, playfully shoving Stan.

              “C’mon!” Stan wheedled.  “I paid for it with my own money!  You’ve gotta wear it!”

              “I believe I was the one to pay for it,” Ford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “You pay me, so I paid for it.”

              “That’s not how it-”  Ford cut himself off, shaking his head.  “Stop bothering Banjo.”

              “He’s laughing, he’s having a good time.”

              “I ain’t annoyed, Stanford,” Banjo said.  “I’ll let Stanley know if I reach that point.”

              “Hmph.  Very well,” Ford muttered.  After breakfast, they went shopping for clothes for Banjo.  At first, Banjo insisted that they spend as little time as possible out and about while he was in his current form.  But once he was wearing clothes that fit him, he calmed down significantly, even allowing Stan to talk him into going out for lunch and walking around Main Street after.  Now, Stan was desperately trying to convince Banjo to wear the cowboy hat he had Ford purchase a few minutes ago.

              I didn’t even realize there was a western store in town.  But they had passed it while walking down Main Street, and when Banjo slowed down to admire the clothing in the display window, Ford insisted they go inside and find something for him.  I feel like I need to make up for what happened.  Though he seems remarkably unperturbed by this experience.  A tendril of frustration began to uncurl in Ford’s gut.  Why is he so blasé? 

              “You already got me to wear the cowboy boots,” Banjo said.

              “But your jeans completely cover them up!” Stan protested.

              “You should’ve considered that when ya told me to wear ‘em now,” Banjo retorted with a grin.  Stan huffed.  Banjo tossed his head, laughing.  His caramel-colored hair bounced from the movement, drawing Ford’s eye.  It was agonizing how much Banjo resembled Fiddleford.

              I didn’t realize how much I missed F until I was reminded of him every time Banjo did something.  Hopefully, the painful reminders would slow, now that Banjo was dressed.  His fashion sense was different from Fiddleford’s, other than the same predilection for flared jeans.  At the moment, Banjo was wearing a green flannel shirt with a simple orange undershirt.  A far cry from F’s flamboyant tops.

              “I reckon we should head back soon,” Banjo drawled.  He tucked his hands into his back pockets.  “The full moon will be risin’ ‘fore we know it.”

              “Please, we’ve got plenty of time,” Stan said dismissively.  “I think we should go get a drink.”

              “Hmm.”  Banjo titled his head and smiled at Stan.  “I don’t know ‘bout that.  I ain’t in the mood to deal with two drunk fellers on my own.”

              “You don’t drink?”

              “No, I do.”  Banjo’s smile broadened.  “I do it very well.”

              “Oh, I get it.  You think you could outdrink me.”

              “Wrong.”  Banjo leaned in.  Thanks to his new height - which he seemed very pleased with - his face was mere inches away from Stan’s.  “I know I can outdrink ya.”  A goofy grin spread across Stan’s face, accompanied by a faint flush.  Ford recognized the expression.  It was the same one Stan made every time Carla McCorkle ran her hands through his hair or kissed him on the cheek.  Ford thought back to what Stan had said earlier that day.

              “Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?”

              Oh, no.  No.  Please tell me Stan isn’t developing a crush on Banjo!  Sweet Moses, this could turn messy fast.  For one thing, he won’t stay Banjo, he’ll return to being Angie!  Ford cleared his throat.  Banjo and Stan looked at him.

              “I believe we have enough time to make one more stop before returning home,” he said.  Stan punched the air.

              “Yes!  We can get wasted.”

              “No, we cannot,” Ford said firmly.  Stan blew a raspberry at him.

              “Killjoy.  What are we gonna do, then?”

              “There’s a bakery a few blocks from here,” Banjo suggested.  Stan perked up.

              “Bakery?  Hell yes!”  Stan sped up his pace eagerly.  Banjo chuckled.  He and Ford fell into step alongside each other.

              “That brother of yours is quite the character,” he said with a smile.  “Luckily, he’s the kind of character I tend to be fond of.”

              “Really,” Ford said flatly.  With the continuation of Banjo’s casual attitude, the frustration Ford felt earlier was beginning to fester.  Banjo looked at him, bemused.

              “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “I’m just-”  Ford took a steadying breath.  “I’m just perplexed at how easy going you are being about- about-”

              “About bein’ Banjo?” Banjo asked.  He frowned.  “Look, I ain’t happy ‘bout it.”

              “Could have fooled me,” Ford said under his breath.  Banjo ignored his comment.

              “I just reckon it’d be a waste of my time ‘n energy to be overly upset,” he continued.  “I can’t do anything ‘bout it right now, so why get all worked up?  At least, now that I’ve had some time to adjust.”  Banjo put his hands on his hips.  “And what’s with that lil remark ‘bout me not seemin’ unhappy?  Didn’t ya hear me shout this mornin’?  Didn’t ya see how distraught I was?”

              “And yet you don’t appear upset at all,” Ford said snidely.  Banjo clenched his hands into fists.

              “It’s called actin’, Stanford!  Actin’ like I’m fine to make sure the boat don’t get rocked!  It’s a skill I’ve developed while I take care of you ‘n Stanley!”

              Ford scowled at him. “We don’t need babysitting,” he said shortly.  Banjo stopped walking to face Stanford squarely.

              “Really? Might I remind ya of the argument you and Stanley had not a month ago?” he retorted.  Ford’s brow furrowed further.

              “I was stuck as an axolotl for a week at that point! I had been to the vet on two separate occasions and was completely useless at home! I was getting frustrated and needed to vent!”  As he spoke, his voice rose without his noticing it. 

              “So what’s frustratin’ ya now?! Yer not an axolotl and ya won’t be for another hour, so what’s eatin’ at ya?”  Banjo’s voice was beginning to rise as well. The few passersby slowed down to stare, bewildered by the odd conversation.

              “YOU are INFURIATING me!” shouted Ford. “For Pete’s sake! You’ve been a man for less then a day and are already comfortable in your new skin! You’ll be back to normal in a few days while I’ll still be cursed to be an amphibian for the rest of my damn life!”

              An eerie silence circled them. 

              “Son of a-  I’ve been cursed for half a year and I’m still uncomfortable in my second skin! I have to eat bugs! I have to sleep in water! My skin itches! I hate it! And here you are in the middle of town having the time of your life!”  Ford was panting by the time he was done, looming over Banjo.  Waves of heat washed inside of him, crashing against rising shame.

              “Stanford?” came Stan’s voice behind him.  He must have come back after he realized Ford and Banjo weren’t following him anymore.

              “What?”  Ford turned around to face his twin.  He didn’t want to look at Banjo, not with the mist in the other man’s eyes.  Stan gestured to the sides of his head.

              “Um, your, uh, your gills are- are out.”

              Panic washed over Ford as he raised his hands to the side of his face.  He could feel the gills, six in total with three on each side, squirming.  His ears were already gone. He then heard it before he could feel it. There was a pop and rip followed by a burning sensation at the base of his spine when his tail, big, round, and pink erupted.  Ford fell to his hands and knees.  The entirety of his body was aching and tingling.

              What’s going on?  The full moon hasn’t risen yet!  A new worry filled Ford with horror.  We’re in public!  People could be watching!  He looked around, but already his vision was worsening. Soon he felt his glasses slipping as his nose disappeared.  From what he could make out, it appeared that only Stan and Banjo were currently present.  But they were on Main Street.  At any moment, someone could stumble across them.

              “Banjo, what should we do?” Stan asked.  Banjo stayed silent.  “Banjo?”

              “The two of ya can figure it out,” Banjo said, his voice thick.  “I’ll meet ya back at the car.”  Ford watched Banjo’s blurry figure walk away.

              “...Great,” Stan sighed.  He looked down at Ford on the ground.  “I’m gonna, uh, move you out of the way, okay?”  Ford nodded weakly.  Judging by how loose his clothes had gotten, he had already shrunk to half his size.  This conclusion was proven accurate when Stan picked him up and carried him into a nearby alleyway, both of them ducking behind a large dumpster. As soon as Stan dropped him to the ground, Ford fell on his side, his body continuing to morph into a new form. He struggled to his shifting feet.

              “How are we going to get back to the car?” Ford asked, his voice breaking into a higher pitch. He hugged his sides and hissed through his teeth as waves of heat washed over his body. His tail curled around him, grazing his calf.

              “Uh.”  Stan looked around.  “There’s a big box here.  It looks clean enough.  Once you’re done, you can climb inside and I’ll cover you with your clothes.”

              “Okay.”  Ford grunted as he felt his bones shift.  “I really wish I wasn’t transforming in a dirty alleyway.”

              “Eh, I’ve seen worse places to turn into a giant salamander,” Stan said with a shrug.  He scratched his chin.  “You- you really tore Banjo a new one back there.  What was that about?”

              Despite the pain, Stanford felt his whole body freeze in place. 

              “How much of the argument did you hear?”

              “Only the end of it, really.  Something about him having the time of his life?”

              “I…”  Ford sighed.  “I let my temper get the better of me.”

              “No shit.  I figured out that much on my own,” Stan scoffed.  “Why were you angry at him?”

              “I’m just…frustrated.  He’s doing perfectly fine right now, and I- I’m not.”

              “What are you talking about?” Stan asked quietly.  “You think he’s doing fine?”

              “He’s joking and laughing with you.” Ford hissed as a particularly painful shift rearranged his jaw. 

              “Yeah, but it’s mostly anxious laughter.  He’s had that scared deer look in his eyes all day.  And he starts shaking if we stand still for too long.  My guess, Banjo’s roughly one dropped ice cream cone away from having a nervous breakdown.”  Stan looked over at Ford.  “You really didn’t notice?”

              “No!  I- I thought he was taking his current circumstance in stride.”  Ford winced, both from the pain of his transformation and the sting of just how poorly he had read Banjo’s body language.  “I should have consulted you earlier.  You were always better with people.”

              “Eh.  Neither of us have ever been good at the whole communicating thing,” Stan said.  Ford sighed.

              “Correct.”

              “So, uh, are you done?” Stan asked.  Ford moved his body tentatively.  His legs, arms, head, and tail responded.  The prickling that accompanied the end of his transformation had faded.  And he could barely see a few inches in front of him.

              “It appears that I am.” His voice was completely changed. 

              “Good.  Step outta your clothes while I get the box.”  Ford did as instructed and shimmed out of his now oversized sweater.  When Stan came back with the box, he climbed inside.  Stan covered him with his clothes.  “Eugh, they got all slimy!”

              “I produce a mucosal secretion from my skin during times of high stress,” Ford mumbled automatically.  It was one of the things Angie had noted during her time studying Ford’s amphibious form before Stan joined them.

              “It’s gross,” Stan said firmly.  Ford felt the box rise off the ground.  He curled up, his stomach churning from distress as he was carried back to the car.  After a few minutes of Ford bouncing and sliding around in the box, Stan came to a stop.  “Hey, Banj.”

              “Banj?” Banjo’s voice said.  Ford covered his eyes with his paws, overcome by guilt.  Banjo’s voice was weak, as though he had just been crying.

              “Short for Banjo.”

              “Banjo’s already short fer my proper name.”

              “Someone can have two nicknames.”

              “Hmm.  Fair enough,” Banjo said.  Ford mustered some courage and poked his head up through the clothes.  Banjo, blurry, stood a few feet away, leaning against the Stanmobile.  “Hello.”

              “Banjo, I-”

              “I’m goin’ to act as though the last fifteen or so minutes didn’t happen,” Banjo interrupted.  “At least, fer now.  We’ve got to head back to the Crawlspace to see if anyone can get me back to rights.”  Though Ford couldn’t see Banjo’s blue eyes, he could still feel them boring into him.  “Will you agree to act that way as well?”

              “Yes,” Ford squeaked pathetically.  Banjo nodded.  Stan unlocked the car and slid the box holding Ford into the back seat.  Ford waited for Banjo to sit next to him.  His heart sank as Banjo opened the passenger’s side door and sat up front with Stan instead.  Even without saying a word, his change in behavior spoke volumes. Ford curled up tighter, a soft whimper escaping from him.

              He’s furious. With me.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

Ngl I kinda had an idea at one point

Where Angie was just around preportal incident helping the portal get build. XD

Fiddleford was wondering who this person was helping them out

And stanford just slipped out and said "oh uh Angie is my daughter"

He didn't question it

💀Im wheezing remembering that old idea

lol yes Ford just says it so bluntly. Angie

Fiddleford

[scurvyboy]

Thabk god you remember old man mcgucket is bald! Everyone gives him hair and it drives me up the wall (especially since the art is still really good it's just this one detail making me angy)

for real. i really don't know why people have trouble drawing bald/old people, but it's a pet peeve of mine as well. i think a lot of people who do that just don't draw from real life as much, which isn't an entirely bad thing, but i do think it impairs ones knowledge of how hair loss works. i drew mostly older models for figure studies and draw from a lot of live action media, so it comes easier to me; but i have noticed that people with a style that's less rooted in that have less confidence in making character bald. i think all artists who draw mcgucket should be made to draw pictures of naked old men for a month like me.

[ao3feed-twiyor]

Omniscient Academy

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/fKbnGov by PlanetaryProblem, Rant_Aro “ Nakime has gathered all of the staff in her office. “Okay. What should we name this academy?” “Howza ‘bout we name it Tomfoolery Academy?” Stan sipped some cola. “Eh, sounds boring.” Tengen crossed his arms. “What about ‘The Academy of Flamboyance?’” “Absolutely not.” Fiddleford shook his head. “We should name it somethin’ meanin’-ful.” “Oh! So Meaningful Academy it is!” Kyojuro laughed, completely serious. Kaigaku facepalmed. “We’re stuck with a bunch of idiots, Gyomei-nii.” “That’s not what I—…” Fiddleford facepalmed. “I suggest we name it something that means knowledgeable.” Ratio said. Gyomei hummed. “I see. What about ‘Omniscient’, all-knowing? Omniscient Academy has a nice ring to it.” Shinobu sighed in relief. “Finally, a good school name.” “That sounds nice.” Stanford nodded. “Let’s keep it that way.” “ OR WELCOME TO OMNISCIENT ACADEMY! Full of the weird, angst, and the crack (most definitely the angst and crack)! Rated T for Teens due to uncensored swearing and violence Words: 3525, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Brain Rot School/Mafia Au Fandoms: Gravity Falls, 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Manga), 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Anime), 約束のネバーランド | Yakusoku no Neverland | The Promised Neverland (Manga), OMORI (Video Game), 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game), 崩坏：星穹铁道 | Honkai: Star Rail (Video Game), SPY x FAMILY (Anime), A Hat in Time (Video Game), Dangan Ronpa Series, Original Work Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: Multi Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Loid Forger | Twilight, Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Sunny (OMORI), Kel (OMORI), Basil (OMORI), Aubrey (OMORI), Hero (OMORI), Mari (OMORI), Snatcher (A Hat in Time), Queen Vanessa (A Hat In Time), Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez, Uzui Tengen, Yonaga Angie, Douma (Kimetsu no Yaiba), Himejima Gyoumei, Kaigaku (Kimetsu no Yaiba), Kochou Kanae, Kochou Shinobu, Tamayo (Kimetsu no Yaiba), Rengoku Kyoujurou, Kamado Tanjirou, Agatsuma Zenitsu, Kanroji Mitsuri, Kanzaki Aoi (Kimetsu no Yaiba), Dr. Ratio (Honkai: Star Rail), March 7th (Honkai: Star Rail), Emma (The Promised Neverland), Lucas (The Promised Neverland), Ray (The Promised Neverland), Gilda (The Promised Neverland), Fujisaki Chihiro, Candy Chiu, Grenda (Gravity Falls), Tokitou Yuichirou, Sabito (Kimetsu no Yaiba), Tojo Kirumi, Hashibira Inosuke, Anya Forger, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Kamado Nezuko, Dori (Genshin Impact), Kibutsuji Muzan, Bill Cipher, Minor Original Character(s) - Character, Nakime (Kimetsu no Yaiba) Relationships: Everyone & Everyone, Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Sunny/Zenitsu, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Snatcher/Queen Vanessa (A Hat in Time), Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Stan Pines Additional Tags: Way too many character tags help us, How Do I Tag, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crack Treated Seriously read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/fKbnGov

[haberdashing]

An Unlikely Reunion

In an Anastasia AU, Angie and Lute McGucket reunite.

on AO3

Lute was not in the best of moods this afternoon. He had been rushed away from the royal residence-in-exile to go meet some woman who was claiming to be his little sister, and just as he had been about to arrive, had been told that the meeting was abruptly cancelled. It wasn’t the meeting’s cancellation that bothered him–he’d had enough imposters of his little sister come by to last a lifetime–but how what had been a promising day for relaxation was now ruined, and for nothing.

Still, bad mood or not, a prince doesn’t easily forget his manners, and when a young woman with honey-blonde hair approached him while sobbing ungracefully, Lute didn’t hesitate to help the poor woman out.

“Are you alright, madame?”

“I… I don’t know…” The woman shook her head before adding, clearly trying to suppress her sobs as she spoke. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘alright.’”

“...care for a handkerchief and a stranger to listen to your woes, then?”

The woman snorted in amusement, which made a bubble of snot land on the ground. She was dressed nicely enough, but just the same, elegance didn’t seem to be her strong suit. “Sure, I might as well. Thank you.”

“Any time.” Lute offered the woman a handkerchief, which she accepted and began using to clean her face immediately, and the two walked together to a nearby bench and sat down there side by side.

“So, what’s wrong?”

“I just… I’ve been trying to find my family for so long, and now I’ve gotten close, and… and nothing. Not unless I want to wander all of Paris looking for them, anyway. If they’re even in Paris.”

Lute hummed to himself in quiet agreement. “I know the feeling. My family’s been split apart, too. It seems like that’s gotten all too common these days, with all the unrest that’s been happening in the world lately…”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. And I’m sorry to hear that you’re in the same boat. I mean, I always kind of figured it was a lost cause in my case, but… well…”

“That doesn’t make it any easier, does it? You’ll always have that last little bit of hope.”

The woman let out a noise that was somewhere in between a sob and a laugh. “God, ain’t that the truth. I’ll always wonder what happened back then, even when my dreams of finding out the truth are getting crushed by the real world. Maybe it was naive of me to think that I could find out what happened, find one family in a city as big as Paris, and things would work out perfectly just like they do in storybooks…”

The woman stopped dabbing at her face with the handkerchief and instead crushed it in between her hands. She shook her head for a moment before looking up at Lute…

…and of all the imposters Lute had seen in the decade since losing his kid sister, he’d never seen anyone who looked quite as much as his lost Banji as this woman did.

“No.” Lute breathed. “No, I don’t think that was naive of you at all.”

“You’re too kind.” She patted at her face once more, hard enough that Lute was pretty sure her nose was real and not just a cheap prosthesis–apparently the McGucket nose was something that all the frauds hoping to claim the reward money knew to imitate one way or another, which was more than a little insulting, really. “Really, a girl like me shouldn’t be laying all her troubles on someone as nice-looking as you. Though I can probably trust you more than the last guy I thought I could trust… not that that’s saying much.” The noise she made was definitely meant to be a laugh this time, though it fell a little short of the mark.

“You’re fine. Honestly, I’m enjoying hearing what you have to say. You said you came to Paris to find your family–where are you from originally?”

“What, you want more peasant girl gossip?” The girl laughed a little at her own joke, and this one sounded almost genuine. “Well, alright. I’m originally from a little town in Russia–don’t even ask the name, trust me, everybody butchers it and nobody’s heard of the place. But I came here from St. Petersburg–going there might’ve been my first mistake, really–and so did Daisy here.”

Lute honestly hadn’t noticed the little dog that was following the woman around until she gestured towards the pet. “Daisy?”

“Yeah. She’s a stray–like myself, I suppose. I named her after my favorite flower. Daisies are so bright and sunny… I’d like to think I’m the same way, but I’m not even sure who I really am anymore.”

Banji had always liked daisies, too. She kept picking them out of the palace gardens and pressing them into her books. Maybe the similar face really was more than a coincidence…

“How did you get here? Boat, plane, train…?”

“A mix, really. It’s funny, I almost fell off the boat I was on, and yet I still hate trains more than boats. Something about trains just gives me the willies, always has since I was a little girl.”

Sally had always said that Banji fell off of the train, that she just barely hadn’t caught her daughter’s hand in time…

This time, Lute offered up something that he knew was a trap, though he wouldn’t be heartbroken if the offer was taken to be genuine, either. “Do you want to come have tea with me? I know you said you’re just a peasant girl–perhaps you’d want to try your first bite of caviar? It would be my pleasure.”

The woman–Lute tried not to think of her as Banji–wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That’s very nice of you to offer, but I’ve never cared for caviar. It’s funny, I’m fine with steak or chicken, but when it’s fish, frogs, lizards… I’d rather watch critters like that squirm around in the wild than eat them.”

Lute had known that Banji didn’t like caviar–she’d spit them out when she’d first tried them, and later attempts at getting her to eat them were only marginally more successful–but with the mention of critters, Lute remembered the one time a frog had gotten into the palace, how Banji had beamed with delight and followed the amphibian around while many other residents were doing everything in their power to avoid the creature.

“Besides, though you’ve been very sweet to this stranger in need, I don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours, either.” Lute retorted before he could stop himself.

“Oh, it’s Angela–Angie for short. Last name’s… more complicated, I always dreamed I’d get my real one when I found my family, or at least remember what my family name used to be, or else I’d get adopted and take my new family’s name, but no dice there. There’s something listed for it on my paperwork, but I’ve never liked it much anyway.”

Angie sounded a lot like Banji, enough that the similarity had come up even in the royal household, and Angela was a common enough name to be gotten from Angie. Had Banji forgotten everything–including, apparently, not only being royalty, but even her family name–after falling from the train, and been given a new name by whoever found her? And if so, then she’d been raised as a peasant girl, hoping fruitlessly to get adopted over the years… if that were true, it was a sad story indeed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angie. My name is Lute.”

“Luke, you said?”

Lute grimaced slightly, but didn’t correct her. Her genuine reaction to hearing his name mattered more right now than his frustration at having his name get confused with a more commonplace one once again.

“I’ve always liked the name Luke… come to think of it…” Angie closed her eyes, humming softly to herself and rubbing one hand against Daisy’s fur. “I think I used to play hide-and-seek with somebody named Luke.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he… he kept trying to hide behind the curtains, but he wasn’t quite skinny enough for it. The curtains would always bulge out when he was hiding behind them. I… I think Luke was his name, but it’s hard to remember...”

…that had been Lute’s hiding place as a child, when he’d played hide-and-seek with his sister.

“And you? Where did you hide?”

Angie opened her eyes, which were the same color as Banji’s had been. “Oh, under big furniture, mostly. Under beds, tables, desks… anywhere I could squeeze myself under that most kids wouldn’t even think to try. I was small back then, too; it has its advantages.”

…and that had been Banji’s modus operandi when playing.

“But you can’t really want to hear me blather on about my childhood like this, right? Thank you for helping calm me down some, but I’m sure we’d both better get going.”

Lute nodded dumbly; he wanted to stay and talk to this mysterious Angie more, but he knew his manners well enough, knew when he was being told that it was time to leave.

“If you insist. But really, miss Angie, it has been a pleasure getting to know you.”

As Lute stood up, Angie shot him a sad, sweet smile. “Right back atcha.”

[vulpixen]

I know I have been mostly quiet due to life stuff, but I’m still around and have been taking care of things. In between I have written drabbles inspired by @thelastspeecher and @darfichihrenhundstreicheln ‘s aus. Including the ones we and @haberdashing @bluestuffeh and @nour386 have had lots of talks about in discord. 

I have written drabbles about my interpretation of Wendy’s mom and Dan’s late wife Bethany Hickok-Corduroy that I’ll be glad to share with everyone. 

The first drabble takes place in an au of an au called Angiewolf AU, but in this version called Dimensional Wolves, Stan and Angie disappear due to a mishap with the portal they’ve been trying to repair for six years after Ford was pushed into the portal. Now, it’s up to Dan and his wife to look after their kids Molly (of whom belongs to @agent-jaselin ) Danny, Daisy, Emmett, Emily, Caleb and Cadenza. Including young Tate as well for the next ten years until the parents and Ford return home. And in this, Mrs. Corduroy is a werewolf but not Dan. This drabble takes place not long after Stan and Angie disappeared and inspired from the song ‘Somewhere Out There’. Hope you all enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

It was almost quiet in the wooden home where eight young children were asleep in their respective beds in their shared room. Except for one of the triplet girls, age eight, with brown hair named Molly. She knew it was the perfect time to make her escape from the house as she carefully placed enough plastic play boxes right under the window that lead outside. Doing her best to be quiet, Molly climbs up the boxes, and opens the window on her own. Molly smiles as she smells the night air, closing the window behind her, leaving behind her triplet sisters, Danny, Daisy and the younger quadruplets, Cadenza, Emmett, Emory, and Caleb, along with her cousin Tate.

Molly was on a mission: to find her missing parents when she feels she could not rely on her caregivers to do it. She changes into a wolf and scurries into the night of the forest.

In the master bedroom, the young adults at age twenty, Dan Corduroy and his wife Bethany Hickok-Corduroy were doing their best to get what sleep they can after patrolling the territory that Angie once did a few months ago, before her and her husband Stan seemed to vanish without a trace and left behind all their children and everything else.

Dan loudly snores, but Bethany was sound asleep. That is until a stray goose feather sticking out of the pillow tickles the young woman’s nose, causing her to rise and sneeze so loud, it woke up Dan as he yelps.

“AHHH!” Dan lets out a tired sigh. “Oh, it’s only you, Sunflower. Real big sneeze there.” He lightly pats Bethany’s dark red head, her long hair reaching down to her lower back.

“These pokey goose feather pillows aren’t doing it for me.” Bethany lets out a big yawn.

“Here, I’ll switch with you, hun,” offers Dan, switching his cotton stuffed pillow for her goose feather one.

Bethany shows a content smile as she goes back to resting her head, mumbling, “You’re the best, my Manly Man…”

Their moment of quiet was disturbed when a small but audible pounding was heard at the door. Two small voices crying out.

“Dan! Bethany! You gotta help!” Those voices being Danny and Daisy panicking.

Dan and Bethany immediately leave the bed and open the door to see the worried kids in front of them.

“Girls, what happened?” asks Dan as he knelt to their height.

“It’s Molly!” starts Daisy.

“She’s gone!” finishes Danny.

The couple’s eyes widen, afraid of what could have happened to Molly while running through many worse case scenarios within seconds. They knew the little girl was acting out, not having adjusted well since Stan and Angie disappeared and been defensive and snappy towards Dan and Bethany. Molly needing time to adjust to the sudden change like all of them are.

“Wait, what?” Bethany then asking. “Girls, what happened?”

“We saw the blocks and… I think she opened the window and left,” frowns Daisy as she and Danny lead their caregivers to their room with the rest of the younger kids. “I think I know why…”

“To find your parents,” mutters Bethany, briefly looking to the unlocked window and the moonlight shining through the glass, her expression crestfallen thinking back to Molly’s outburst from earlier she screamed she hated her and Dan for not having looked hard enough. Bethany knew she was just upset for how long her parents have been gone, but it still stung her heart. Her and Dan have been doing the best they can for the kids.

The quadruplets were now awake and upset to having been woken late at night. Tate whimpering in his own bed. Dan immediately scoops up the boy and the toddlers in his big arms and sits with them on one of the small beds to console them.

“Shh, shh… All ya get back to sleep. Bethany is gonna find Molly and bring her home.” Dan speaks in a much softer voice than normal. “How ‘bout I tell you all a story?” This got the toddlers and Tate smiling, even a little. Dan gives a nod to his wife, able to handle the younger kids while Bethany, Danny and Daisy ran out the front door.

Bethany did not protest Danny and Daisy coming with her, figuring they want to help find their triplet sister before something or someone were to find Molly before they do. She does not blame them one bit.

Bethany shifts into her tall, dark red furred wolf form as she bounds into the forest, catching Molly’s scent as Danny and Daisy changed into their own brown wolf forms in following their caregiver, but with their short legs, they couldn’t keep up with the grown wolf. Seeing this, Bethany allows the two girls onto her back to ride.

Meanwhile, Molly was having no luck in sniffing out for her parents in the known places in the forest she remembers taking her and her sisters to. In her wolf form, she scratches at the ground, leaving deep marks within the grass and leaves in frustration and screams at the sky.

“HOW IS IT THIS HARD TO FIND THEM?!” Molly lets out an audible howl that makes the birds in the nearby trees fly off in fright. “MOM! DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?! … Why did you leave us… why did you leave me?”  

Molly keeps digging at the ground for no reason but to vent the grief, inner pain, and anger at herself in believing she failed her parents and those around her failed them too. At this moment, despite having been taught not to make too much noise at night alone, she paid not heed as she wails and sheds streams of tears from her eyes and the mucus from her nose dripping. She gets dirt on her face while lying her head in the patch she made in the ground, choking up.

Molly hears the rustling of bushes nearby; she hiccups and becomes alert to the new presence and scent. She was not alone. From within the bushes she can see in the dark was a tall, rogue grey werewolf approaching her, showing his fangs and fur raised at the young pup before him. Molly’s eyes widened in fear, immediately changing into her wolf form, hoping it would make the rogue least likely to attack her now.

The grey werewolf pauses, seeing Molly was a werewolf, but it did not fully stop him from going after her, smelling she is one of the Mother Wolf’s pups he can tell. Him having been persistent for over a year in claiming the territory for himself and his own pack he aims to have. Starting with driving off the pup.

Molly mentally screams at herself to run away and does so while the older werewolf gives chase. The pup zigzagging, running through the woods and into a small hollow tree where the werewolf was biting and clawing away wood to reach her. When the rogue manages to stick his head through the trunk to snap at Molly, she musters up the courage and bites at his snout, causing him to yelp and back away, drawing blood.

Before the rogue could think about going after the pup, he was in for a world of hurt when he feels sharp teeth of a tall red wolf grip around his neck, not piercing through, but it still stung.

“GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU BITCH!” Bethany’s inner thoughts roared in her head as she was about to make the rogue regret ever stepping foot into Angie’s territory.

Bethany hits the wolf hard against a nearby tree several times until the tree snapped in half and flung the hapless werewolf out into the deeper woods through the air. She lets out a victorious howl, letting all know who the new alpha of Angie’s territory is until her return one day. She sniffs the area to find Molly coming up to her and her sisters who ran up to them when it was safe again.

Bethany reverts to her human self as she knelt to hug Molly in a tight embrace as did Danny and Daisy to their sister, having been scared for her safety.

“Molly!” cheer Daisy and Danny.

Molly breaks down into tears again, choking up. “I’m… I’m sorry! I’m sorry I ran off and almost got hurt… I wanted to find Mom and Dad and… I can’t find them. I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you and Dan… Are you mad at me?”

“I’m only glad you’re not hurt. I was so scared you’d end up harmed or worse by that rogue, Molly.” Bethany’s tone was soft, not angry for what Molly did. She knows she is hurting like everyone else has been since Stan and Angie have been gone. “We know you’re just upset, kiddo. Me and Dan are sorry we can’t find them.”

“It was still pretty mean to say,” acknowledges Danny about what Molly said from earlier, shuffling her feet in place. “I miss our parents too, but if we can’t find them here, then they must be somewhere else.” “Maybe they’re lost, too,” adds in Daisy.

Bethany lets out a short breath, taking a brief pause to look towards the sky before focusing back on the girls. “Me and Dan may or may not have an idea of where they could be.” The triplet girls face Bethany with their full attention. “There’s something me and Dan will tell you in the morning, and about what we’re going to do for all you kids, but you girls need your sleep.”

The triplets let out a collected “Ah, man…” before they comply with Bethany, returning home with hours to spare before the sunrise. On the way, Molly eyes up the starry night sky, wondering if her parents are looking at the same stars like in a song she heard recently.

Somewhere out in the multiverse, Angie and Stan look at the stars in silent contemplation, wondering when and if they will ever get home and hug each one of their children again.

[brightdrawings]

Stanford McGucket (3/?)  Fitting in

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Stanford messed up his brother’s chances of getting a scholarship and is now living out of the local library. Surviving with little to no plan Until a kind Southern couple offer him a chance to start over.

(an au of @thelastspeecher‘s Stanely McGucket au)

 Also on ao3!

“And after Bessie comes Buttercup, Bertha, Bob, Billy, Bethany, and Bella.” Angie said.  She pointed out each cow as she spoke. She had an arm draped on Bessie’s neck, the other held the fence of the pasture. Her legs kicked as she sat from her perch on top of the fence.

“I feel like there’s a story behind those names,” Stanford yawned. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and leaned against the fence.

“It’s nothing too amazing,” Angie said. “Ma just named her first heifer Bluebell and the first-er- darn it.”

“What’s the matter?” Stanford asked. He looked away from the grazing cows to face Angie.

“I forgot the word for like a boy cow, but like Brandon wasn’t a bull, ‘cause he was castrated, there’s a word for a cow when they’re like that,” Angie said. She snapped her fingers as she thought. “It’s like-the only thing that’s comin’ to my mind is that it’s close to the word for like guiding something.”

“Er-lead?” Stanford offered.

“Nah-they weren’t dogs,” she said. Her fingers lightly drummed on Bessie’s neck.

“Um-hmm herd-no that doesn’t sound right.”

“No it like starts with-oh that’s it!” Angie said excitedly. “It was Steer! Brandon was her first steer! The first two cows were named Brandon and Bluebell.”

“Brandon and Bluebell?” Stanford asked, “and ever since then your family signed a secret pact to name every cow you come to own from then to the end of time a name beginning with ‘B’?”

“Wouldn’t call it a pact, but we do find it funny,” Angie replied. She lightly patted Bessie’s snout. “You could say it’s an inside joke.”

“Yes that would be a more reasonable description,” Stanford agreed.

“So as I was saying, when you get used to waking up earlier. We’ll start getting you to help with milking the beautiful dames of this pasture.” Angie said. “Now let’s go see the horses.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll get used to waking up early soon enough.” Stanford assured. He tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “If I’m going to be a farm hand worth his salt I’ll need to get used to early mornings in any case.”

“Worth your salt?” Angie asked. She hopped off her perch and stood next to Stanford.

“In the days before currency was measured in metal and paper, it was often measured in spices. And salt was considered very-uh-pricey? No um-it was considered to have a lot of worth. So soldiers that were paid in salt had to work very hard so that they could be considered ‘worth their salt.’” Stanford explained.

“Wow really? I didn’t know that. I thought money was always a thing that people used, just changing like. Shiny rocks for us, less shiny rocks for the people before us, and so on.” Angie said. She led the way to the barn.

“You aren’t wrong, it’s just that-well you know how when someone does a job they’re paid in money?” Stanford said, rolling his hands as he spoke.

“Yes. That’s how jobs normally work.” Angie replied.

“And how you can exchange the money you earn for good and services?” Stanford asked.

“Services?” Angie asked.

“Getting your hair cut and visiting the carnival,” Ford explained. “Well sometimes people skip the middleman of the money and give their employees the food and services directly.”

“Like when Ma and Pa let me and my sibs have as many apples as we want after we help with harvest?” Angie asked.

“Yes exactly.” Stanford said happily. “And other times, with that salt example I gave earlier, they add another step to collecting the money. A more modern equivalent would be paying someone with a cheque.”

“’Cause those have to be traded in at the bank?”

“You catch on fast.” Stanford said.

“I wouldn’t be in junior year if I couldn’t.” Angie grinned back.

“Juni-but you’re two years younger than Lute. That wouldn’t make sense unless-you skipped a grade?”  

“Yep!” Angie said grinning proudly.

“That’s impressive” Stanford said. He ignored the twist in his stomach. “You must have done a lot of studying.”

“It wasn’t too much trouble, the fact that I had had so many siblings that went through the same curriculum before me is what gave me the boost to get so far ahead.” Angie said. “I’d sometimes sit with Fidds and Lute to help them their work.”

“Really?” Stanford said. He could feel his jaw loosen, ready to slam into his toes.

“More like be a wall for them to bounce ideas off of,” Angie admitted. She skipped to the barn door. “You shoulda seen the way their eyes light up when they figure out the solution to whatever math problem had been holding them back.”

“Oh-still, that’s a rather useful thing to do. I’d imagine having someone to talk to about a problem would help straighten out one’s thoughts.” Stanford followed her to the barn door.

“Yeah ‘cause they’d have to explain what the problem was in the first place, so I’d be getting tutoring for things I was going to learn later down the road real early. And by the time they explained the whole thing they’d either have already figured out a solution or would be halfway there.”

“Sounds like you’re a natural helper. Which brother would chase you out of the room for annoying him?” Stanford said. His mouth quirked up into a mischievous grin.

“Stanford how could you possibly imply such a thing?” Angie gasped in mock offence. “I’m renowned as the family angel, why would I do such a thing to my beloved brothers?”

“Laying it on a little thick aren’t you?”

“The skit’s still a work-in-progress. And to answer your question, both. Fidds more than Lute, but that was because he gets stressed real easy like. Anyway-”Angie said. She stood straight and deepened her voice like a showman presenting a prize on a quiz show and pointed her arm towards the horse stables. “Allow me to introduce you to the most beautiful gals on the farm.”

Stanford followed her hand and caught sight of a couple of long brown faces standing in the stalls that lined the wall of the barn. “Horses?”

“Not just any horses! Top of the line equines bred on this here farm.” Angie grinned walking along the stalls, five long heads poked out as she spoke. “First we have our one and only stallion, Jesse. He and Tuesday over here are our chestnuts.” she pointed her hand in a presenting manner towards a pair of horses with reddish brown coats and manes.

“Nexgz-bleh wait-lemme start over.” she said quickly, clearing her throat, “Next we have Carla and her little foal Cinnamon.” The smaller horse neighed at the mention of her name, trying her best the reach over the stall door. The effort earned her a pet along her short black mane from

Angie.

“Isn’t she adorable?” Angie asked before walking along. “And last, and most certainly not least, we have the award winning Daisy!” Angie said, shaking her hands in the direction of the cream coated horse. Cocking her head to the side, Daisy whinnied while shaking her head, showing off her light coloured man and spotless coat. “Ma an’ Pa got her for me for my birthday when I was real small. I’ve been taking her to shows and winning ever since I could ride,” Angie added proudly.

“She does have a rather well kept coat.” Stanford said, adjusting his glasses to get a better look. He noticed several different coloured ribbons that adorned Daisy’s stall. Blue first place ribbons were displayed proudly near the top of the stall, with the lower ranked ribbons placed beneath them, making an interestingly pair of colour trails that lead down the stall front. The ribbon trails met together at one ribbon that Stanford didn’t recognize. It had cream as its main colour, with white, blue and red highlights. Like the other ribbons, it had a circle of reflective fabric as its centrepiece, with the actual ribbon being woven around it like a flower, ending in two tails beneath. Taking a closer look, Stanford noticed that the central fabric had ‘Best little sister’ stitched in rather crudely; as though the sewer was still learning the ways of using a needle and thread.

“Lute an’ Fidds made that one for me” Angie said, following Ford’s line of sight. “I came home feelin’ a bit sour after my first horse riding comp. I didn’t win, obviously. “She said, now leaning against the side of Daisy’s stall. “Hard to come out on top for something you’re doing for the first time. My family were supportive, but I still took it kind of badly.”

“It’s an understandable reaction,” Stanford said. “You were rather young at the time, if this ribbon’s appearance is any indication.”

“I’m still young!” Angie shot back.

“I meant younger,” Stanford replied. “I wear glasses but I’m not blind.”

“They’d be kinda pointless if you were,” Angie said. “Anyway, where was I? Right, I ended up bawling my eyes out into my pillow that night. But then I heard a knock at my door. But no one was there when I went to answer it,” Angie said. “Instead I found two of that ribbon on the floor. Turned my mood right on its head right then, believe you me. I wore that ribbon for a week straight before finally hanging it from my bed frame.”

“That makes it match with Daisy’s,” Stanford observed.

“Yep!” Angie said happily.

“Your brothers really do love you don’t that?” he said, looking to the tattered ribbon.

“It’s what family does best.” Angie replied.

In that moment, Stanford could have sworn he had heard the sound of someone squealing in pain, ever so faintly. But before he could address his observation he felt something furry rub against his leg. Stanford let go of what he heard ‘probably one of the horses’ he thought as he looked down to his new companion. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“That’s Salmon.” Angie said. She bent down to pet the orange tabby. “Aren’t you a little darling?” she cooed. “We have another cat, Tuna, he shouldn’t be too far away, and I think I saw him earlier.”

Standing up, Angie walked around the barn calling out for the other cat. It took a few minutes before the grey cat trotted into the barn, the fur around his mouth red and slightly damp. “There you are. Back fresh from the hunt?” Angie asked, walking up to the cat. Tuna lightly head butted her leg before rubbing the side of his head and eventually the rest of his body against her.

“Hunt?” Ford asked.

“Yes, these little beasts help keep the mice from getting into our crops,” Angie replied, giving Tuna a scratch behind the ears.

“I-” Stanford stared at Salmon, who had flopped onto his foot as though it were a bed. “Don’t get me wrong, I know the whole cat and mouse tale. But I find it hard to believe that Er-Salmon?”- Angie nodded- “Salmon is the type to strike fear into the hearts of mice.”

“He’s just trying to act all cutesy to ya so that he can weasel treats outta you later on.” Angie grinned, walking over. “You want to hold him?”

“I-is it alright if I did? Wouldn’t I get my clothes dir-” Stanford blushed, realising himself.

“We keep ‘em clean, don’t worry. The worst you’ll get is some fur on your shirt.” Angie said, scooping up the orange puddle that was Salmon, “unless you’re allergic to cats or fur, you’ll be fine,” she smiled.

“I-I don’t remember having any allergies, feline, fur based or otherwise,” Stanford said. He watched as Angie picked up Salmon from below its front legs. The cat’s body hanged lazily; his tail curling up between his hind legs.

“Perfect.”  Angie grinned, offering the cat to Ford.

Hesitating for a moment, Stanford recalled the way his aunts had taught him how to hold his infant cousins. With a careful hand, he reached forward and placed a hand under the cat’s behind and the other behind its shoulders. Interested at his technique, Angie let go of that cat, allowing Stanford to hold that cat against his chest as though it were a baby. Salmon stared up at him, taking in his features, before blinking slowly.

“Aw he likes you,” Angie cooed.

“You think so?” He asked, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

“He hasn’t tried to run from you or scratch you,” Angie said. “So I’d say that that’s strong evidence to him likin’ you.”

Stanford’s smile was cut short by Salmon batting at his nose as though it were a toy. “How dare you,” he said flatly, staring the cat down.

Angie laughed hysterically as the cat reached for Ford’s nose again.

“You know, it never occurred to me that they’d use a truck to get mail out here,” Stanford said. He watched the mail van drive down the road from the window above the kitchen sink. He was elbow deep in soapy dishwater, hands working away at cleaning off the syrupy remains on the dishes.

“Well they sure as shine ain’t gonna walk all the way out here,” Sally joked. She leafed through a thick set of letters. Her eyes scanned the envelopes and fingers cycling through them quickly. The set until she had read the entire pile in less than a minute. Stanford tried his hardest to not stare as she sorted through the letters. Sally placed the letters into several piles on the kitchen table. ‘Probably to the addressee,’ Stanford thought before turning back to the dishes.

“I mean, they could in theory, but they’d probably have to dedicate a specific mailman for your mail,” Ford said after a cough.

“As nice as that sounds, I’d hate to be the poor son of a gun who’d have to walk out here during the summer scorchers we have comin’ up,” Sally smiled.

“But that’d be their job wouldn’t it? They wouldn’t complain because that’s their lot in life right?” Ford asked. He put the last dish onto the drying rack.

“I doubt that’d be a reason for someone to not be happy with their lot in life,” Sally said. She handed Stanford a dish towel.  “Grumblin’ about things seldom got anyone anywhere in life, but that doesn’t mean you won’t want to. If I had to walk here from town every morning I know I’d be grumbling about my feet hurting until the next morning. But I wouldn’t waste my time grumbling, you gotta keep working hard.”

“So, complaining is okay as long as it’s used to motivate instead of procrastinate?” Stanford asked. He dried his hands on the towel in his pocket before taking the one Sally offered him.

“I’d say that sums it up about right,” Sally grinned. She reached out to ruffle the young man’s hair, but stopped herself. Instead she walked over to the table and picked up the mail, arranging the piles into a perpendicular stack to keep them separate. “When you finish come round to the sewing room would you Stanford?”

“Uh sure-wait wasn’t I supposed to be working in the garden today?” Stanford asked, pausing midway through scrubbing one of the larger dishes.

“I already told Angie to cover your gardening chores for today, you’ll be feeding the animals in her place,” Sally informed him.

“I see—then I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” He quickly finished drying up the plates and put them back in their proper cupboards. ‘Plates to the left, bowls to the right. Tall glasses up above for the tallings,’ he muttered, remembering the not-quite-rhyme that Fiddleford had taught him.

Placing the towel from his pocket on a chair as he walked past, Stanford made his way down the hall. He followed the gentle sounds of a motor and found himself in the sewing room. The room wasn’t very large, hardly any larger than the guest room if Stanford were to guess. It had a large desk against the wall nearest to the door, an assortment of fabrics and enough spools of thread of so many colours that a rainbow would be jealous. The middle of the table had a sewing machine as well as a rather comfortable looking chair. The rest of the room seemed to be used as storage, multiple closets and cardboard boxes lined the walls. Stanford could see the odd faded coat sleeve poking out from the closet door.

“You wanted to see me?” He asked as he stood by the door. He watched Sally carefully move something back and forth under the needle of the sewing machine.

“Ah, ya came a bit earlier than I thought,” Sally said. She didn’t look up from her work. “I’ll be done in a couple minutes, have yourself a seat,” she nodded towards a pile of boxes nearby.

Stanford parked himself on specified stack, noting how the boxes slightly gave way to his weight. As though he was not the first person to use them as a makeshift chair; and considering the lack of another chair in the room, he’d probably not be the last. Stanford played with the loose string on his shirt as he waited the few minutes for Sally to finish whatever she was working on.

“And finished,” Sally said happily. She raised her work into the air before turning to face Stanford. She beamed at him while offering her creation, a pair of custom made six-fingered gloves. “I made them from an old pair of Mearl’s, quickly try them on, I want to make sure I got the size right.”

Stanford stared at the gloves in his hands and felt breath hitch as he felt the slightly matted fabric in his hands. The first five fingers were grey with a pair of green pinkie fingers sewed on to the end. There was a large stitch across the palm. Stanford pulled the gloves on and flexed his fingers.

“How are they?” Sally asked.

“They’re a little tight here but apart from that they’re perfect,” Stanford said. He pointed along his knuckles to show where he was talking about. “The fabric kind of digs into my knuckles.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” Sally smiled. Stanford handed her the gloves and she got back to work. “This’ll take a while so you're probably best to get to feedin’ the critters.”

“Er— Right,” Stanford said. He walked over to the door before stopping. “Sa—Mrs. McGucket, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it Stanford,” Sally smiled.

A/N: this is a shorter and more bonding based chapter. Things will get a bit more plot heavy next chapter. Today was Angie’s turn in the spot light giving Stanford a more in-depth tour than the one he had last chapter. 

I hope you guys enjoyed reading!

[eregyrn-falls-art]

MerGucket AU! And a slightly-belated happy birthday to @thelastspeecher! (click to embiggen)

I really enjoy TheLastSpeecher’s AUs, and my favorite is probably the MerGucket AU and its various offshoots (see their work at the mergucket au tag here for an explanation).  I’ve been wanting to do art for it for a while (I did some portraits for it during Inktober), and this seemed like a good time to get off my butt and do it!  Thanks for all of the fun ideas and ficlets!

For all of the designs and details here, I’m completely indebted to @agent-jaselin‘s extensive work (see it at the mergucket au tag here).

[novantinuum]

@thelastspeecher I legit can’t stop thinking about that woofer au and making aus of your au hhrjfjfigo

but I waaaant to think of a way that perpetual full moon weirdmageddon could happen so we can have this badass werewolf family facing the apocalypse

so like what about,,,

an alternate version where ford- all paranoid and a wreck- goes through the portal same as in canon. Ford summoned Stan, who came alone. he and Angie have history already, i’m p sure... but she’s disappeared for the last few months.

a few weeks later, when Stan’s started working on fixing the portal, and just after the full moon... imagine his surprise when he finds Angie naked on the outskirts of Ford’s property, out in the middle of the forest. She shows Stan the bite, Stan shows her his burn, and by the next full moon they’ve figured out what’s happened with her. So werewolves exist, Stan marvels. Huh.

They live together from then on, and work together to try and get the portal operating again. With Angie’s help, it’s rebuilt in a fraction of the 30 years it took in canon- but they were still missing j3 until summer 2012. I definitely think Angie would find Fidds and help rehabilitate him, and help quick enough that his memory doesn’t entirely go kaput. (Still debating if Fidds helps with the portal or not. I’d lean towards not in a million years...) Stan and Angie ALSO have their kiddos (the first three a surprise) and eventually marry after the triplets.

Maybe in this AU it’s the werewolf thing that’s more secret than the portal thing...? Not quite sure haha, but I think the cat’s out of the bag for both on the same night. OH HECK idea- NWHS takes place on a full moon night. Just before the portal activates the moon goes full and in the chaos of the portal going off Stan can’t stop himself from turning so when Ford comes back he just sees this huge ass grey wolf next to the kids and,, knowing Ford, he almost shoots, and would have if it weren’t for Soos, who fully knows Stan and Angie and their family are werewolves.

And for the twin switch idea, is it at all possible that Stan, after turning Ford, would be able to- with extreme concentration- return to human form (and don Ford’s clothes) just long enough to do the handshake with Bill? That’s the sorta concept I was thinking of for that!

[thelastspeecher]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 6: Transitions, Part 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 AO3

Here's the final part of what was meant to be one chapter but turned into three! I would normally space it out a bit more from the previous one, but I'll be going on vacation soon, and I wanted to get this posted before then. Here's this year's final chapter of "Weird Little Critter" from @elishevart and me. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

                 Banjo reclined on the dock at Lake Gravity Falls, looking up at the clouds slowly lumbering across the bright blue sky.  His feet, freed of their shoes, dangled over the edge, dipping into the water, as did Stan’s.

                 “So, you bait a hook like this,” Stan said, drawing his attention.  Banjo looked over at him.  Stan was holding out a hook and a wriggling gray worm.

                 I know that kind of worm ain’t gray.  It’s pink.  Darn colorblindness.  Banjo tilted his head, a small smile playing around his lips as he watched Stan’s demonstration.  At least Stan’s charm ain’t affected by his color palette.  When Stan first came to stay with them, Angie had clashed with him constantly.  But there was something about him.  Stan just kept worming his way into Angie’s good graces with his cheesy sense of humor and random moments of kindness and warmth.  The budding emotions Angie had felt towards Stan weren’t changed now that she was Banjo.  If anything, they seemed to be stronger.  I ain’t sure what that could mean ‘bout me.  Banjo looked across the lake.  The dark blue water rippled lazily.  But I also ain’t sure if I want to open that door or leave it alone.

                 “Think you can do it yourself?” Stan asked.  Banjo rolled his eyes.  He sat up, grabbed the other fishing rod, and quickly baited the hook flawlessly, then cast it out into the lake.  Stan’s jaw dropped.

                 “I told ya I don’t like fishin’, not that I can’t do it,” Banjo drawled.  Stan grinned.  A faint blush spread across his cheeks.  Banjo felt his own face warm slightly in response.

                 “I thought you would be a bit squeamish about baiting the hook,” Stan said.  Banjo laughed.

                 “Stanley, I grew up on a farm.  I slaughtered my first chicken at five years old.”

                 “Oh.  Right.”  Stan laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I forgot you grew up on a farm.  I just thought- you were a girl and-”  Stan cut himself off.

                 Smart move, feller.  You were headin’ fer dangerous territory there.

                 “I shoulda figured you wouldn’t mind the worms and stuff.”  Stan cast his own line.  “Why don’t you like fishing?”

                 “I don’t got the patience fer it,” Banjo sighed.  “I’ve always been what my folks called ‘spirited’.  Which is code fer never sittin’ still.”

                 “I know exactly what that’s like,” Stan said.  He coughed.  “So, uh, hate to break it to you, but I’ve got an ulterior motive for asking you to go fishing with me.”

                 “Oh?”

                 “Yeah.  Uh.”  Stan sighed.  “I need to ask you some stuff about when Ford is normally in his lizard form.”

                 “Salamander.”

                 “Same difference.  Anyways, what do you guys do?”

                 “Hmm?”

                 “During full moons.  When Ford’s not human.  What do you guys do?”

                 “Well, I ain’t been ‘round fer many moons yet,” Banjo said hesitantly.  “But we mostly do research on him, either in his study or the livin’ room.”  Stan swatted away a fly that was buzzing around his head.

                 “And by research you mean…?”

                 “I write down observations ‘bout him.  Things to help figure out more ‘bout his condition, y’know.”

                 “So no fun,” Stan said flatly.  Banjo frowned at him.

                 “It might not be yer idea of fun, but remember, we’re scientists.  We find this sort of thing quite fun.  And it’s to better understand his condition, so’s it’s two birds with one stone.”

                 “Okay, hear me out.”  Stan seemed to be choosing his words carefully.  “I get the two of you nerding out being nerds and actually liking doing research.  But…would it still be fun if you were the one being researched?”

                 “I…”  Banjo swallowed.  The question was simple, yet ominous.  “I don’t rightly know.”  Stan nodded.

                 “I’m gonna tell you what I know,” he said.  “After we got home last night, when Ford was all gray, I gave him some food.  I expected him to just go to his tank or something.  But he stayed with me, curled up on my lap while I watched TV.”

                 “I walked by later to grab some water.  I didn’t see him on yer lap.”

                 “Yeah, ‘cause he scurried away when you went through the room,” Stan said.  Banjo’s blood ran cold.  He could feel the color draining from his face.

                 “He- he was scared of me?”  Banjo set aside the fishing rod.  He put his head in his hands.  “I- I-”  The idea was foreign to him.

                 My whole life, I ain’t never scared a single soul.  ‘Cept that one time I sleepwalked into Fidds’ bedroom.  How could I have scared Stanford?  Tears began to prick the corners of Banjo’s eyes.  I didn’t mean to!  He’s my friend!  A warm hand rested on his shoulder.  Banjo looked up.

                 “I don’t think you scared him,” Stan said softly.  “I think…”  Stan sighed.  “When we were kids, our parents took Ford to a million doctors because of his hands.  He got better about it when we got older, since he stopped being poked and prodded as much, but I don’t think he ever really got over his fear of doctors.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he still tries to put off appointments for as long as he can.”

                 “You think that my studyin’ him is bringin’ up bad memories?” Banjo asked.  Stan nodded.  “But- but he was the one what wanted me to study him!  He wanted to learn more ‘bout his condition!”

                 “He probably didn’t think it through,” Stan said.  “Everyone does stuff without thinking sometimes.”

                 “Fair enough,” Banjo mumbled.  Stan squeezed his shoulder.

                 “All I’m saying is that it might be a good idea for you guys to take a break from the research stuff.  I know you couldn’t see him gray, but it was- it wasn’t great.  I don’t wanna see him like that again.”

                 “Agreed.”

                 “And who knows, maybe he’ll stop being so down on his salamander self once he gets to experience it without being a test subject,” Stan said cheerfully.  Banjo managed a small smile.

                 “That would be nice.”  Banjo elbowed Stan.  “Hey, you called him the right kind of critter!”

                 “I listen, I just don’t care,” Stan said with a shrug.  Banjo laughed.  The bobber of Banjo’s fishing rod wiggled briefly, then began to move.  “Looks like you’ve got a bite!”  Without warning, Banjo’s fishing rod, resting on the deck beside him, shot off.  Banjo attempted to grab the rod rocketing away from him.  His eyes widened as he felt himself begin to topple forward.

                 Shoot!  My center of gravity ain’t what it usually is!  It was too late.  Banjo hit the cold water of the lake.  A split second later, he heard a faint splash.  A large arm wrapped around his torso, pulling him to the surface.

                 “You okay?” Stan asked.  Banjo stared at him.  Stan’s long, dark hair was soaked, sticking to his face and neck.

                 “Why’d ya jump in after me?” Banjo asked numbly.  Stan blinked.

                 “You didn’t grow up near the ocean like me.  I didn’t know if you knew how to swim.”

                 “Wh-”  Banjo covered his mouth, trying to muffle the laughter bubbling up from his chest.  “S-Stanley, I grew up swimmin’ in lakes just like this one!”

                 “Oh.”  Stan winced.  “Right.  I guess I didn’t think.”

                 “It’s okay.  I didn’t either.  I should’ve known better ‘n to try to grab somethin’ what was already off the dock.”

                 “I’ve never seen a fishing rod move like that.  Maybe it’s best that you didn’t catch it.  Who knows what was on the end of the line?”

                 “In Gravity Falls?  Just ‘bout anything you can imagine,” Banjo said.  He reached out for the dock and gripped it.  A few wooden splinters dug into his hands as he pulled himself up.  Beside him, Stan was doing the same thing.  They sat on the dock for a few moments before bursting into laughter.  “I can’t believe ya went in after me instead of just waitin’ fer me to surface!” Banjo chuckled.

                 “Sue me for not wanting you to drown,” Stan said, punching Banjo’s shoulder playfully.

                 “I’m a grown adult!”

                 “I don’t know your life!  How was I supposed to know they teach you how to swim in whatever podunk town you come from?” Stan retorted.  He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it to one side of his head.  Their laughter slowly died down.  “Guess we better go back to the house and dry off.”

                 “Yeah.”  Banjo slipped on his blessedly dry shoes.  “Bein’ in wet jeans is awful miserable.”

                 “Wanna come back to the lake to fish after we change?” Stan asked, putting on his own shoes and socks.  Banjo cocked his head.

                 “I don’t know ‘bout fishin’.  But we could come back and go fer a hike or somethin’.  Did ya know there’s a secret cave behind the waterfall?”

                 “Really?”  Stan’s eyes widened with interest.  He leaned in, ever so slightly.  Banjo’s breath caught in his throat.

                 No, no, don’t think ‘bout his wet T-shirt stickin’ to his chest, don’t think ‘bout his hair draped over one shoulder, don’t think ‘bout the sun shinin’ off the water droplets on his skin.  Banjo swallowed.  Welp.  Given I just explicitly thought out all of that, I ain’t doin’ a great job not thinkin’ ‘bout it.

                 “I’m not usually into hikes,” Stan said, not noticing Banjo’s reaction to his close proximity.  “But a secret cave?  That actually sounds interesting.”

                 “Oh, g-good,” Banjo stammered.  He could feel his face burning.  Stan stood up.  He held out a hand.  Banjo took it.  Stan pulled him to his feet.

                 “Let’s head to the car.  I’m already getting sick of being soaked.”  The two headed down the dock, water dripping from their drenched clothes.  “How much you wanna bet Ford’s still in his room when we get back?”

                 “Ugh.  I ain’t takin’ that bet.  From his tone earlier, I get the feelin’ he’s only goin’ to leave fer food.”  Banjo sighed.  “Which stinks, since I want to talk to him ‘bout what we talked ‘bout.”

                 “Maybe you should set up camp on the couch,” Stan suggested.  They got to the car.  Banjo frowned down at the ground while he waited for Stan to fish out his keys.

                 “I might just do that.  All I can do is hope he gets hungry enough to go to the kitchen ‘fore I fall asleep.”

—--

                 Ford’s vision was somehow better in the dark than in the light, he was discovering.  As he made his way to the kitchen on all fours, he was able to see furniture that he had struggled with the night before, when he was watching television with Stan while all the lights were on.

                 When he got to the living room, Ford slowed down to make his footsteps extra quiet, as, for some reason, Banjo was on the couch.  Luckily, he was facing away, sleeping deeply.  Ford got to the kitchen and quickly but silently rummaged through the fridge.  His stomach rumbled hungrily, the result of his skipped dinner.  But Ford hadn’t wanted to come across Stan or Banjo.

                 Thankfully, there were some leftover mealworm patties from a few days ago that could be eaten cold.  Ford grabbed the container in his mouth and closed the refrigerator door with his back legs.  He exited the kitchen.

                 As he walked past Banjo, the sleeping man stirred slightly.

                 “Mm…” Banjo said longingly.  Ford froze.  “Oh, yes,” Banjo moaned, still fast asleep.  “Yes, Stanley!  Yes…”  Ford’s face began to burn.

                 Shit.  Shit!  I really don’t need to hear my friend salivating over my twin brother!

                 Ford scurried to his study as fast as his stumpy legs would let him and half-closed the door behind him. Exhausted from the sprint, he dropped the tupperware on the floor to catch his breath. He held his head in his hands and tried to process what had happened. 

                 Okay, think, Stanford… 

                 He didn’t have to think much at all.  It was maddeningly clear, looking back.  His twin and Angie had been bickering from the start. Somewhere along the way, that bickering had turned into playful teasing, possibly even flirting.  And even now that Angie was temporarily Banjo, the sparks and chemistry between the two were still present.

                 Not to mention, it sounds like Stan has been preventing Banjo from having a mental breakdown over this whole situation, by keeping him distracted and happy.

                 The big axolotl sat on his hind legs to lean against the glass of his tank.  He  idly picked a patty to munch on. It wasn’t rocket science what was happening between his brother and friend, but it still made him wonder where he stood.  True, they were both adults, responsible for their own decisions.  And he would be glad to see them finding happiness with each other.  Though, frankly, it didn’t seem to be his business.

                 But something nagged at the back of his mind.  A worry about what would happen if it all went south.  If the worst came to fruition, and Banjo/Angie and Stan became antagonistic towards each other, would he have to choose one?  Could he?

                 A few bites later and Ford had finished all the patties in the box.  He yawned widely.  He squinted toward the clock on his wall, but couldn’t make out what time it was. Late enough that even he, a notorious night owl, could feel tired. He stretched his front legs and arched his back, making his tail curl over him. Likely, he resembled a cat at that moment. He shook his head thinking how Banjo would have probably found it adorable. Or would he?

                 Tiredness was creeping into his limbs and mind.  Ford abandoned those thoughts in favor of focusing on climbing the ramp they had put in his study for him to reach his tank. He dived lazily in the water and slowly drifted toward the bottom. 

                 Stanford immediately felt better in the water, almost wanting to swim a little, but his tank was sadly too small for him to move around much. Granted, the tank was a great update from the tub, but he couldn’t help but remember the brief giant tank he had been stuck in. It had been perfect.  It even had fish and small water currents…

                 Ford closed his eyes, thinking of that giant tank.  He soon drifted off to sleep.

——

                 Stanford had just pulled on his robe, his hair still damp with water from his tank and eyelids heavy from sleep when he heard someone clear their throat. He jumped and spun around to see a blurry figure in the doorway with caramel-colored hair. 

                  “Banjo?” he asked as he fumbled for his glasses. Once on his nose the figure came into focus to reveal his friend. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

                  “I needed to talk to ya. About everything,” the southerner said, still standing in the doorway. “I noticed how ya avoided me and figured I’d corner ya here ‘fore you could run.”

                 The knot in Ford’s stomach came back, along with the shame he had felt for the past few days. It was true. He had been so embarrassed that he had simply opted to ignore his friend, vainly hoping it would go away. He should have thought better since it hadn’t really worked with his twin. Would he have ignored Banjo, or, starting tomorrow, Angie for five years? He shook his head with a sigh and invited his friend to step into the room. Banjo did so, closing the door behind him.

                  “Yes, I have been distant for the past few days,” Ford started slowly. He hung his head low, bracing himself against his tank and avoiding eye contact. He couldn’t help but blink a couple of times as his vision became blurry again. He scowled, frustrated by the tears obscuring his vision despite his glasses. He kept staring at his hands to stay focused. “I- I apologize. I misread your feelings over your situation and thought you were just having the… time of your life. It was an illogical conclusion to come to, given my own emotions when I myself undergo a change each month.” His voice choked up, a shuddering breath caught in his throat.  “I should have thought before reacting. I truly, deeply apologize.”

                 He closed his eyes and waited. 

                 After a few minutes a long sigh came from the other side of the room. 

                  “It’s true that yer lil blow-up was uncalled fer,” Banjo said softly.  “Don’t worry, though, I accept yer apology.”  Ford’s shoulders slumped in relief.  Part of him had worried Banjo would hold a grudge.  “But…” Banjo paused.  “It’s come to my attention that there might be a dif’rent reason you lashed out.” 

                 Ford swallowed the lump of emotion stuck in his throat. 

                  “I have no idea what you could be talking about,” he whispered.

                  “I might have been startled and, quite frankly, scared by yer outburst, but I was listenin’.  When ya blew up at me, ya rattled off a long list of grievances,” Banjo said, his voice quiet and level.  “It’s quite clear that ya ain’t lost any of the frustration over yer sit’ation.” Ford’s head shot up.  He finally met Banjo’s eyes. 

                  “I was just-” he started. Banjo held up a hand. Ford fell silent.

                  “Stanford, yer brother explained to me that, due to yer polydactyly, you had an awful lot of exams ‘n tests ‘n whatnot done on you when you were just a lil one.  He told me those negative emotions ‘n memory ‘re prob’ly why ya don’t go to the doctor near as often as you should. Well, that ‘n yer good old-fashioned stubbornness ‘n procrastination.”  Ford felt himself blush at the incredibly accurate assessment.  He remained silent, staring at his hands, his twelve fingers intertwined with each other. “I think we went about your curse all wrong.”

                 “What do you mean?”

                 Banjo sighed. “Ever since I got here, we’ve been doin’ research on ya.  Every time ya turn, every night of the full moon, I’m examinin’ ya like yer my study subject.”  Ford glanced up long enough to see Banjo’s worried expression, then quickly downcast his eyes again.  “We turned yer time as an axolotl into a- a chore. Every time you turn, I’m right there takin’ notes, writin’ things down, pokin’ ‘n proddin’ ‘n photographin’ ya and…”  Banjo sighed again. “What I’m gettin’ at is that yer hate fer yer amphibious side might partly be rooted in that.”

                  “But I agreed to it!” Ford protested. “From the start, I have wanted, no, needed to know what is happening to me!  I want answers!”

                 “I know,” Banjo said gently.  His voice was almost maddeningly calm. “Don’t get me wrong, I want ‘em too.  But we went about this the wrong way.  We need to slow down.” Banjo took a pause. “Stan told me how the night we went to the Crawlspace you turned gray, acted all odd.” Ford’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “But once we got home, you loosened up, actually seemin’ happy with Stan.”

                 As he idly played with his annoyingly blue streaked hair, a few memories came back to Ford from that night. They were all a bit blurry, but had a feeling of being warm and happy.  A feeling he struggled to recall experiencing often in his amphibious form.  He looked at Banjo.

                  “I admit that some aspects of this curse are infuriating to me. All right,” he said.  Banjo smiled hesitantly.  “What do you suggest?”  Banjo’s smile strengthened.

                  “We take a pause from observin’ and analyzin’ ya. Give ya a break. I’ve got plenty of data to keep me occupied anyway.  Of course, I might still write down some observations here and there, but I won’t be askin’ or pokin’ ya anymore,” Banjo elaborated.  Ford nodded. 

                  “That sounds reasonable.” He walked to his desk and opened a drawer.  After taking a steadying breath, he pulled out a few pieces of paper to hand to Banjo. “You might need these. You’ll have more use of them than I do, anyways.”  Banjo carefully took the papers from him.  He looked down at them in awe.

                  “Is that…?”

                 “Yes, the test results from the vet. I trust you’ll use them well.”

                 Cradling the documents in his hands, the southerner nodded. “I will! Promise!”

                 Ford nodded in return and smiled.  It was the first one he’d shared with his friend for far too long. An easy silence settled between the two until Stanford broke it.

                 “If we are taking a break from studying, what should we do?” he asked.  Banjo laughed.  It still sounded eerily like Fiddleford.

                  “Whatever ya want, silly.”

                  “In that case…”  Ford decided to broach the topic that had been bothering him the night before. “I don’t feel comfortable going back to the lake anytime soon, but I was wondering if we could do something about my tank.”

                 Tilting his head, Banjo looked at the tank behind Ford. “What’s wrong with yer tank?”

                 “Nothing.”

                  “But?” Banjo prompted.

                  “It’s adequate to sleep in but too small for me to actually swim.  I quite enjoyed the freedom of the tank in the Northwest mansion,” Ford confessed.  Banjo nodded slowly.  “You’re the expert when it comes to animal enclosures, with your history working for a zoo.  What do you think we could do?”  Banjo beamed.

                  “I reckon there’s quite a few things we could do to make ya more comfortable!  Once I’m back to m’ proper self, I’ll make some calls.  I’ve already got somethin’ in mind.”

                  “Excellent.”  Ford paused.  Something Banjo had said earlier was bothering him.  “You said that Stan told you I turned gray,” he said after a moment.  “You didn’t notice?”

                 “Yeah, uh, turns out Banjo is colorblind,” Banjo said with a shrug.  Ford’s jaw dropped.  Banjo smiled.  “So, what do ya want fer breakfast?”

—--

                 “Hello there stranger,” gushed yet another of the bachelorettes of Gravity Falls.

                 “Oh, uh, howdy, miss,” Banjo said awkwardly.  He politely tipped his cowboy hat, which Stan had convinced him to wear, as it was his last night as Banjo.  The woman giggled.

                 “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked eagerly.

                 “Um.  I think I’m set.”  Banjo held up his glass of whiskey.  The woman pouted.  “Thank you fer offerin’, though.”  The woman walked away, visibly disappointed.  Banjo began to head back to the booth Stan and Ford were sitting at, only to be intercepted by yet another woman.

                 “Dammit, can’t he drop the whole ‘proper southern gentleman’ thing long enough to sit down?” Stan grumbled.  Ford chuckled.  “This is our last night as three guys!  And he’s spending half of it getting flirted with.”  After a relaxing day at home, Stan had finally convinced Banjo and Ford to go out to a bar.  However, the women of Gravity Falls were enthralled by Banjo’s “exotic” way of speaking, good looks even in the bar’s dim lighting, and southern manners.  As such, their advances kept interrupting the boys’ night out.

                 “Can you blame them?” Ford asked.  Stan’s face softened as he watched Banjo frantically trying to politely turn down the woman talking to him.

                 “No.  I can’t.”

                 “You, uh…”  Ford stirred his non-alcoholic drink.  He had offered to be the designated driver, as he hadn’t tried any alcohol since becoming afflicted with his curse and wasn’t sure if he’d have a strange reaction to it.  “You seem to be rather…fond of him.”

                 “He’s nice,” Stan said with a shrug.  Ford nodded.  “And he appreciates my sense of humor.  Not a lot of people do.”  Stan frowned.  His eyes flicked over to Ford.  “Wait.  You were saying that like…”

                 “I recall well how you acted when you first developed a crush on Carla McCorkle,” Ford remarked.  “I’ve been seeing the same behaviors popping up from you as of late.”  Stan’s face reddened.  The crappy song being played by the horrible cover band in the corner ended.  A new one started.  Ford waited patiently for Stan to say something.

                 I’ve got plenty of time before Banjo gets back.  He’s too polite to turn down any of these women quickly.  Ford stirred his drink and watched Stan’s face turn redder and redder.  Sweet Moses, is he ever going to crack?  After what felt like ages, Stan finally sighed.

                 “Fine,” he muttered.  His gaze dropped to the table.  “I- I’ve got a thing for Angie.  But I’m not- I- it started when he was Angie, so I’m not- I’m not into men or- or-”

                 “Stanley, you know full well my own, ah, romantic inclinations,” Ford said quietly.  “Do you really think I would judge you for being interested in both Angie and Banjo?”  Stan traced out a few letters in the condensation on the table from their drink glasses.

                 “I- I guess not.”

                 “Are you going to make a move?” Ford asked.  Stan looked up at him, aghast.

                 “Are you a fucking idiot?” he hissed.  “I’ve done a lotta stupid shit, that might be the stupidest thing I could ever do!”

                 “Why?” Ford pressed.  “Since when have you worried about shooting your shot?”

                 “Wh- because- he- she-” Stan stammered.  He paused and took a breath.  “We live together.  If he turns me down, that’ll fuck up the mood in the house.”  Stan turned his head to watch Banjo, who was now desperately attempting to escape the clutches of three women.  “I’ve been homeless before, Ford.  I’m not gonna risk losing a roof over my head just to hit on someone outta my league.”

                 “You think he’s out of your league?”

                 “He told me he’s got a doctorate,” Stan scoffed.  “I didn’t even graduate high school!”

                 “There’s more to compatibility than how much education one has,” Ford said gently.  Stan grunted wordlessly.  Ford looked down at the ice cubes melting in his drink.  “Don’t tell Banjo, but I overheard him last night and- I think you should take a chance.  Your feelings are more mutual than you think.”

                 “Are you sure?” Stan asked.  Ford met Stan’s eyes and nodded.  “If this all goes to shit, it’s your fault, okay?”  Ford quirked a half-smile.

                 “Understood.”

                 “Whew!”  Banjo slid into the booth, sitting right next to Stan.  His caramel-colored hair was getting sweaty in the warm bar and sticking to his face.  “I fin’ly got away from those ladies.”  He shook his head.  “I ain’t got the foggiest idea why they’re tryin’ so hard to get romantic with me.”

                 “Really?” Stan and Ford asked together.  Banjo blinked.

                 “Yes?  Should- should I know?”

                 “You’re nice and cute, man,” Stan said dismissively.  Banjo’s cheeks turned pink.  “And people in town only know Angie.  They don’t know Banjo.  So you’re exciting and new.”

                 “Ah.”  Banjo coughed politely.  “I- I see.”

                 “You were gone for so long I finished my drink,” Stan complained.  Banjo looked down at his own glass.

                 “I finished mine, too,” he said sadly.

                 “What were you drinking?” Ford asked.

                 “Whiskey, neat,” Banjo replied.  Ford nodded and got up.

                 “I’ll get the two of you some new drinks.  Stan, perhaps you could talk to Banjo like we discussed.”

                 “Sixer!” Stan hissed at Ford.  Banjo looked back and forth between the twins.

                 “The two of ya discussed somethin’?”

                 “Yes.”  Ford stared intensely at Stan, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  “And I fully expect him to take what I said to heart.”  Ford strode away from the table.  As he waited at the bar, he glanced back at Stan and Banjo.  Stan had leaned over to whisper something into Banjo’s ear.  It was difficult to tell in the bar’s horrible lighting and cigarette smoke-filled air, but Ford could have sworn he saw Banjo blush fiercely.

—--

                 The rays of the morning sun filtered through the window of Stan’s bedroom.  As the light fell upon his face, Stan opened his eyes.  His eyes widened.  He wasn’t alone in bed.  The events of the night before came rushing back to him.

                 Oh.  Oh, shit.  The person lying next to him rolled over.  Instead of handsome Banjo, it was Angie’s adorable face.  She’s back to normal.  Huh.  Stan reached out a hand to stroke her cheek.  Angie smiled at the gesture.  Are we still gonna-  Before Stan could finish  his thought, Angie opened her eyes.  Her smile broadened.

                 “Good mornin’,” she said softly.  Stan grinned at her.

                 “Morning.”

                 “I missed how ya looked with full color vision.”

                 “Yeah?”

                 “Yeah.”  Angie sat up, stretching.  The blanket covering her fell away, exposing her bare chest.  Stan inhaled sharply.

                 Damn, she’s gorgeous.  Stan sat up as well.  Angie looked at him, clearly expecting him to say something.  Stan cleared his throat.

                 “I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said.  Angie cocked her head.  Her caramel-colored locks bounced from the movement, falling into her face.  Stan tucked her hair behind her ear.  “I went to bed with a handsome guy and woke up with a beautiful girl.”  Angie beamed at him.

                 Yes!  It landed!

                 “Yer quite the charmer, Stanley Pines.”

                 “Not everyone thinks so.”

                 “Good thing I do,” Angie purred.  Stan’s smile broadened.  He leaned in, planting a kiss on her lips.  It was different from kissing Banjo, but somehow the same.  They pulled apart.

                 “So, uh, do you think we’re- uh, we’re gonna keep this thing going?” Stan asked.  Angie frowned thoughtfully.  “Ya know, doing…stuff together?”  Angie snickered.

                 “Not the most romantic way to ask me to try datin’ ya,” she said.  “That is, if that’s what yer sayin’.”  Stan nodded.  “Well, sure.  I was Banjo last night, but I was still me.  Just in a body built a bit dif’rent.  I don’t see why we can’t try out bein’ together.”

                 “Sounds good to me, sweet cheeks,” Stan said.  Angie giggled.  Stan leaned in to kiss her again.  The bedroom door slammed open.  Angie yelped, grabbing the blanket and covering herself with it.  Stan whipped his head around.  His twin stood in the doorway.

                 “Stanley, we have to-” Ford started.  He paused, taking in the scene before him.  “Ah.  I am glad to see you back to yourself, Angie.”

                 “It- uh, it’s good to be m’self again,” Angie squeaked.  Her face was beet red.  Stan was reminded of the embarrassment she’d displayed on the morning she woke up as Banjo.

                 “Come on, Sixer, learn how to knock,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

                 “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting this.”  A small smile appeared on Ford’s face.  “Though perhaps I should have.”  Stan felt his own cheeks burn.

                 “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

                 “The two of you are not very subtle.”

                 “Well I think you-” Stan started.

                 “Uh, boys, if ya don’t mind, I’d like to go get dressed,” Angie interrupted.  Longing shone on her face.  “I’m awful excited to wear my old clothes again.”

                 “Here, you can make yourself decent with this.”  Ford tossed one of Stan’s shirts, which had been on the floor, to Angie.  Angie caught it.  Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

                 “It smells.”

                 “That’s just the musk of a man, hot stuff,” Stan said.  He wagged his eyebrows at her.

                 “Hmm.  I think I disagree.”  Angie sighed.  “But beggars can’t be choosers.”  She slipped the shirt on, climbed out of the bed, and scurried away.  Stan watched her leave, wishing that his shirt wasn’t so long on her it covered her cute little tuchus.

                 “Would I be correct in assuming that the two of you will continue to be…together?” Ford asked once Angie was gone.  Stan shrugged.

                 “Seems to be the plan.  At least for now.”

                 “I see.”  Ford’s eyes narrowed.  “Don’t blow it,” he said, his voice serious.  Stan grinned.

                 “I wasn’t planning on it.”

                 “Genuinely, I don’t want things to sour between the two of you.  It would make living together…difficult.”

                 “Stanford.”  Stan lowered his voice, hoping to convey that he was being just as serious.  “I’m not gonna screw this up.”  Ford nodded.

                 “Good.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I don’t want to choose between you and Angie.”

                  “Sixer, we aren’t married.  And you aren’t our kid.”

                  “Still, my friendships with you and Angie are precious to me.”

                  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Get outta here so I can get dressed.”

—--

                 “C’mon, babe, you can’t be distracting me like this,” Stan complained.  “Breakfast is serious business!”

                 “Mm-hmm,” Angie purred.  She wrapped her arms around Stan’s torso from behind and leaned her head against his back.  “And how many times did ya bother me when I was doin’ the serious business of makin’ breakfast?”

                 “That was different, I was just telling you the right way to cook.”

                 “Ya didn’t mind my cookin’ yesterday mornin’.”  Angie stood on her tiptoes to kiss Stan on the cheek.  Stan grinned.  He set down his spatula and turned, pulling Angie into a deep kiss.  Ford stifled a groan.

                 I don’t know whether the constant bickering was worse or better than this constant flirting.  Now that Angie and Stan got along swimmingly, Ford had assumed that breakfast would be smoother.  He had been wrong.  If anything, Stan and Angie’s relationship made the first meal of the day more chaotic, as the two were all over each other to the point of forgetting whatever was cooking on the stove.

                 “You’re going to burn the bacon again,” Ford said loudly.  He finished his last bite of bug sausage, a new recipe that Angie and Stan had worked together on.  Stan pulled away from Angie.

                 “Huh?  Oh, shit!”  Stan spun around, quickly adjusting the heat of the stove.  “Ang, I told you not to distract me!”

                 “It’s fine,” Angie said.  “Nothin’ wound up burnin’.”  She fluttered her eyes at Stan coquettishly.  Stan grinned, his cheeks pink.

                 “You’re crazy hot when you’re sabotaging breakfast.”

                 “And yer quite the attractive feller when yer makin’ breakfast.”  Angie ran her fingers through Stan’s hair.  “And when yer not makin’ breakfast.”  Ford put his head in his hands.

                 I’m going to get a migraine.  Or, given how cloyingly sweet they’re being, a cavity.  The phone rang.  Ford sighed in relief.

                 “I’ll get it,” he said quickly.  Stan and Angie ignored him as he got up from the table and went into the living room.  He picked up the phone.  “This is Stanford Pines.”

                 “Stanford Pines!” a very familiar voice drawled.  A smile began to spread across Ford’s face.  “I was expectin’ my sister to pick up.  She and I have been discussin’ plans fer a project what has to do with some sort of critter.”

                 “A…project?”

                 “It’s all very hush-hush, apparently.  I was gettin’ the impression she wanted it to be a surprise fer you.”

                 “A surprise?” Ford murmured.  His eyes widened.  He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Banjo the week before.

                  “I reckon there’s quite a few things we could do to make ya more comfortable!  Once I’m back to m’ proper self, I’ll make some calls.  I’ve already got somethin’ in mind.”

                  “Is Angie busy?” prompted the man on the other end of the phone.  Ford glanced in the direction of the kitchen.  He could hear Stan and Angie continuing with their incessant flirtation.

                  “Yes, she is.”

                  “Well, it is yer house.  I might as well discuss when I’ll be comin’ up to see y’all.”

                  “That sounds like a splendid idea.”  Ford leaned against the wall, playing idly with the phone cord.

                  “Splendid!” laughed the other man.  “Oh, how I’ve missed ya.”  Ford smiled again.

                  “I… I’ve missed you as well, Fiddleford.”

[melodythebunny]

Ford: no way I'm going to be in-laws with bill tho

Silly idea tho but yeah he would say that bc it's much simpler than explaining how two demons are helping lol

Also

It fits the normal human adopting non-human/eldritch being that way older as a child nicheCough cough Nate and wally cough

Ngl I kinda had an idea at one point

Where Angie was just around preportal incident helping the portal get build. XD

Fiddleford was wondering who this person was helping them out

And stanford just slipped out and said "oh uh Angie is my daughter"

He didn't question it

💀Im wheezing remembering that old idea

lol yes Ford just says it so bluntly. Angie

Fiddleford

[thatabitcryptic]

How do you think fidds and fords relationship developed over the years? Like from college to marriage(May and Fidds) to portal partners to enemys to lovers etc. I have my own headcanons but I want to know what you think!

O o o o o o o ok I am a sap so uhh here we go

So during college I don’t really think they had an established romantic relationship,, I personally like to think it started out with ford disliking fidds with. A. Passion.

He’s stuck in the worst University, in the worst dormitory, with the worst roommate.

Fiddleford played banjo almost every night which distracted him from his study. He was loud and rowdy, trying to make conversation when ford was clearly busy and not interested. He was just a southern hick who didn’t take lessons seriously and in Ford’s opinion was wasting his time here.

Until... (please forgive me idk how American schooling works let alone college lmao) end of term exams (I feel like their called finals?? I haven’t a clue tbh) ford starts to push himself harder and harder in class because he can’t fail he can’t he has to prove he’s not just some freak no one wants but he can’t do it he can’t focus it’s all too much he’s going to fail. Everything’s all wrong. He’s missing Stan something.

Fidds sees him struggling to study. Ford’s restless in his chair, grumbling to himself, wiping his tears eyes and he’s standing up and pacing. So fidds, the kind soul that he is, asks what’s wrong to only be met with ford leaning in close and yelling at him about how it’s all his fault he’s failing with his ‘hick southern quirks’ keeping him from concentrating. I hc fidds to be very sensitive about his accent and upbringing when he was younger so this is a heavy blow. Ford sees his face shift from confusion to anger to anxiety and he feels terrible. Uh yeah next he breaks down into fidds’ chest soaking his shirt and just repeating how sorry he is.

Fiddleford comforts him and immediately forgives him bc he is clearly remorseful and tbh fidds just be like that. After ford calms down he starts freaking out again because he’s got exams coming up and he’s not going to do very well. So fiddy boy offers to help but ford is doubtful... and fidds can see it on his face. So he goes and grabs a little knickknack he had been working on (idk what it is but it’s very impressive to ford)

Fidds help him pass all his classes with flying colours. This is when ford realises that he’s gay. However my guy has some internalised homophobia.

Anyway now that they are on better terms they start to hang out and goof around as college buddy’s. If ford gets stressed fidds notices and rests a hand on his shoulder. Ford is very not straight. Also it’s canon that they stay up late and talk about the future which is sweet so that happens.

Okay so college kinda goes like that nothing explicit but lots of pining (hehe) from both sides - fidds is also a flustered mess but ford is blind to it bc there’s no way he would like me back but I’m not gay so it does matter ahaha (ford has lots of emotions)

So fidds’ marriage uhhhh I don’t really have anything positive to say here except for tate so idk

Emma-may. I don’t think she’s all too great considering she left fidds when he needed her most. Also I do think fidds was attracted too her at some point but I don’t think he was ever in love with her. He just got married and had Tate because that’s what you did back then, got married settled down and had kids.

(Oh to set it in the timeline this would be after college when ford was researching gravity falls alone - so the invitation to be the best man at the wedding was heart breaking for him bc he had no clue who this Emma-may was and he felt more alone than he ever had since Stan was kicked out.)

Next portal era!!

Ford doesn’t want to drag fidds away from his family but he needs his help. Ruh roh his feelings resurface and just a heck of a lot of pining.

Fidds and may are going through a rough patch (uhhhh she’s cheating oof) so he is super excited to see ford, to sort of get away for a bit - I like to think they filed for a divorce right before Ford’s call.

Again ford and fidds’ relationship doesn’t become offical but they are both yearning SO MUCH. Oh what Fidds is designing the bunker? oh what he can only fit one bed down there?? Welp Ford’s fine with that bc he’s not gay,, it’s not gay to blush when you homie puts his head on your hair. (Lots of ford waking up to being hugged and he’s fine with that bc ...they’re just friends)

Also fidds is like sad bc his marriage failed so ford is awkwardly trying to cheer him up while also seeing an opening but he represses that’s bc it’s insensitive and he’s totally straight .

Canon blah blah blah

(also may stinks bc even tho you are getting divorced you don't give up on someone who’s going through a huge storm,, especially if he’s the father of your son but idk that’s just my thoughts)

Now 30yrs later. Ford and fidds get together and finally get married :D I have too many ideas about how this could happen so idk but is very fluffy and soft

Okay ahahaha those are my thoughts and I have more small details about them during the portal era I didn’t put in because this is already VERY l o n g.

[amydiddle]

Since that Anon asked for both #15 and #25, and you chose #25, how about #15? Still a ship with Stan (cuz I love me some dad!Stan) but...a different ship than Fiddlestan, if you feel comfortable trying it out. c:

NUMBERS 15.   Baby’s first steps

So…my confidence in other people’s characters has dwindled a little but I am willing to try today, I giess? (At least babies don’t talk) So I am basing this off my sister who never once crawled and also what my mom did when I was a baby which was kind of set up a blanket in whatever room we were in so I could lay on it. 

Stanley hummed along with the radio as it played softly in the background of the kitchen. Behind him his twin daughters were giggling to each other on a blanket he had placed on the floor for them to rest on. Their toys had mostly been contained to the blanket today and he considered that a blessing. 

He fell into a sort of trance as he made dinner for that night. The calmness of the day lulling him into an odd sort of lull. The thing that broke that lull was the sudden silence that had filled the small room. The girls were never quiet even when they were sleeping. 

“Girls?”

Stan pulled himself away from the pot and stared in horror at the empty blanket that should have two tiny children. 

“Danny? Daisy?” Stan felt his hands begin to sweat. They had not even showed signs of crawling yet where could they have gone. Had something happened to them? Could his little girls have been taken when he was lost in thought?

“Girls!?!” Stanley hurried out of the room and stared down the hallway. Panic was fueling his steps and he looked into every room. 

Stan almost overlooked a very obvious detail in the master bedroom. A little giggle that barely reached his ears past the song of his beating heart. He was almost fully down the hall when his brain caught up to him and he backtracked. 

Daisy clung to the bed and stood up on her shaky little legs. Next to her was her sister, who shakily started to let go of the bedding. Neither of them seemed aware of their father. 

“Wait!” Stan moved fast to try and stop Danny from letting go or, at least, catch her before she fell. He froze at the sight he saw. 

The little girl wobbled on her legs but stayed standing. When she caught sight of his dad she made a happy little squee and took wobbly steps towards him. He laughed as she stumbled right into his open arms. 

Daisy seemed to take that as a chance to do the same and wobbled over to her dad and clung to his shirt once she got there. Both of the girl’s babbled excitedly to each other after that. 

Stan just stared at them both in shock. His little girls just walked over to him…and somehow escaped to the bedroom without him noticing. A soft laugh left his lips before it fell into a full on belly laugh. He hugged them both close and placed a kiss on their head. 

“You two are amazing,” he said through the laughter. Both of his daughters giggling with them, “Wait till I tell your Mama what you just pulled on me. She won’t believe it.” 

“I won’t believe what?” 

“Angie!” Stan looked back at the doorway with an excited smile on his face. “They’re walking!” 

[gosecretscribbles]

Restaurant AU with Stan and OC Angie

@thelastspeecher has many Gravity Falls AU and they made this one AU where Stan owns a restaurant and xier OC Angie (Fidd's sister) works there and it is SOFT and CUTE so I had to make fanart, link to full fic for this below the pics.

You like? That's rhetorical, yes you do, here be da fic! https://thelastspeecher.tumblr.com/post/643145146880425984/8-stangie-i-cant-pick-an-au-not-sure

[vulpixen]

Here’s my second drabble that is set in @thelastspeecher ‘s Pirate AU where their character Angie McGucket is a pirate captain who goes by the name Sully McGowan as their alias, pretending to be a man, and with Stan Pines as her first mate. This drabble is set where Angie still went by Sully before changing to Sally years later. Where Angie lets a new crewmember onto her ship in a most unexpected way, and Dan encountering someone from his past: ___________________________________________________________

When the smoke cleared and the rushing of the sea makes Sweet Viola rock, it was clear who won when the other pirate ship, Rash Rochelle, high tails away in defeat as they leave behind their dead onboard Captain Sully’s vessel.

On the deck, Sully spits to the side and in disgust of the cowards who left behind their own that were killed in self-defense; some by his own hand. Sully makes a gesture to his first mate, Stan, to beckon him wordlessly.

“Yeah, Captain?” voices Stan, saluting in his captain’s presence.

“Round up the bodies and count the heads of our own. Need to make sure there are those of us who are breathing.” Stan gives him a firm nod.

“Understood. Those bastards put up a fight they did. And ran like cowards to not even take their dead with them...” Stan turns his heel and announces the captain’s orders for the crew to hear. They obediently follow and get their wounds treated in the process.

It did not take long for the heads of Sully’s crew to be counted. Not one of them died this day. The same cannot be said for the men of the rival ship who fell by their blades and muskets with their bodies lined up and prepared to be thrown overboard. Almost. A cough came from a young man with dark lengthy red hair and tattered clothes with a dark green bandana around his head.

The doctor examining the bodies whistles for Dan. “This one still lives! Better let the captain know--”

“Wait…” Dan puts a hand on the man’s face and seeing those hazel eyes of his that spark a memory, moving locks of thick red hair from his face. The more he moves aside, the more he recognizes the face of someone from his youth he left behind a lifetime ago. That young man is in fact a woman with a face adorn with freckles, a long scar across her right cheek that trailed down to her neck and a notched right ear. Scars marred the young woman’s face, but Dan sees her as the woman he thought he would never see again after years of being apart, though not by choice. The woman he loved since their youth: Bethany Hickok.

Bethany growls and flails an arm to keep him and the doctor from touching her, but she clutches at her stab wound in her chest she sustained during the fight and dropped hard on the ground that knocked her out cold and left her bleeding.

“Beth…” Dan croaks before he booms. “BETHANY IT’S ME! Dan…” Bethany’s eyes widen, knowing that booming strong voice could only come from one man she remembers so clearly by looking at Dan’s features on his face. He certainly grew more of a beard since last she saw him as Boyish Dan in their youth and grew much taller as well. Though Bethany too grew much taller than most woman are at six foot in height to easily dwarf those by her.

“Dan..?” Bethany mumbles before she passes out, her body going limp.

Dan nudges the doctor next to him. “Get her to the medical QUARTER. I’ll go inform the captain RIGHT away!” The doctor will never get used to Dan’s booming voice right by his ear.

Inside Sully’s cabin, Dan sits in the seat across from Sully and his desk with Stan leaning against the beam of the living quarters and Daisy in the captain’s lap. Dan begins to share what him and the doctor discovered about one of the surviving pirates. As Sully listens, his expression grew firmer but his face ever so slightly softens when Dan shares more of his past he never told him before til now. Before, Dan only made some mentions of yearning to return home until that changed when him and Sully turned to piracy as their new life and left behind the former.

“Ya see… Bethany isn’t just a girl I knew in my youth. We were betrothed.” Dan’s eyes showing sorrow and regret at the mention. “And I left her and my family behind.”

“Betrothed?” Stan inquires, running ideas in his mind about how Bethany may or may not have gotten bitter over the years and jumping to the conclusion in his head that Dan ran away and left her at the altar when it was not the case. “Oof. Can’t blame her if she may be bitter about you having disappeared.”

“Won’t blame her if she is…” Dan mutters, eying back at Sully and Stan. “After getting casted away at sea by a storm, ending up doing odd jobs that eventually got me into piracy, I couldn’t bring myself to ever go back home. And I found purpose in being loyal to our captain and our crew.” Now Stan rethinks everything and frowns. It was tragedy that happened. Sully knew his former first mate’s story since their beginning days of their piracy together. Before Sully became captain of the ship he now stands and commands on.

Sully places a finger to his chin and hearing the purrs of his orange tabby in contemplation, he asks of Dan for his opinion of what they should do about the potential prisoner/crewmate. “What do you suppose we do about your former sweetheart?”

Dan blushes, rubbing his neck before giving his answer. His tone was less booming but more somber than usual, something Sully and Stan rarely see him be. “I think she would be a good member of the crew here. She knows me and I’ve known her for years she would be a fine addition if I can convince her. And… I never stopped loving her. Part of me hopes she still loves me too. I want to at least set things right with her.”

“Alright then.” Sully permits without hesitation. “If she accepts, she’ll be on the probation period. She needs to prove to me, the crew, and you she will not stab us in the back and do exactly as I command and be respectful to our fellow crewmates. I want to trust your word, Dan, but anything about her could have changed for the worse than you knew her. I need to know if she’s still loyal to her former captain also.”

“Of course, Captain.” Dan gives him an affirming nod.

“In fact, me and Stan will meet Bethany with you; I want to see her and give my judgement personally.” Sully shows a faint smile.

In the medical quarters, Dan, Sully and Stan enter inside where the doctor was patching the unconscious woman’s exposed chest, stitching up the wound and having strapped her wrists with leather belts from the bed in the event she were to wake and try something no one would like. The doctor always kept a revolver nearby, but he rarely ever needed it. But one cannot be too careful.

“Doctor.” The doctor faces the direction of Sully’s rough voice and permits him inside as he rose and unlocks the door for the captain.

“Yes, Captain.” The doctor opens the door and allows him, the first mate and crewmate inside. “About our captive, she still lives. I just finished stitching the stab wound. Any deeper and she would have died for sure.” He leads the three to see the patient.

Bethany groans, stirring awake and finds her wrists bound to the bed by leather straps she moves until Dan goes up to her.

“Hey, easy, Bethany. It’s alright. The doc was patchin’ ya up is all.” Dan’s assurance has Bethany’s breathing ease and getting a better look at her old love confirms she wasn’t dreaming.

“My gods… it’s really you, Dan,” Bethany mutters, trying to sit up, but was lightly kept down by the doctor while he unties the leather around her wrists, seeing she won’t be aiming to hurt anyone.

“I wouldn’t sit up for a while or the stiches will bleed.”

Bethany huffs and stays lying still on her back as Sully and Stan approaches her to get a better look.

“So, you’re the fiancé Dan talked about with us,” Stan says bluntly.

“Positive things?” Bethany faces Dan before Sully speaks. She was going through many, many emotions.

“Positive things. I am this ship’s captain, Sullivan McGowan, but you may address me as Captain Sully.”

Bethany grins, glancing up and down to get a good look at Sully’s rather short stature in comparison to the larger men he is standing with. She had an inkling why that could be since Sully is clearly not a child. Bethany chuckles while remarking snidely. “Aren’t you short for a captain?” Dan and Stan gulp as did the doctor, knowing Sully made it perfectly clear to never be mocked in any way shape or form; that includes his short height.

“And aren’t you tall for a woman?” Sully snorts, unamused. “Enough with the pointless blathering. The point I want to make is to make an offer with you. I’m extending an invitation for you to join my crew if you so choose.” Bethany gives an incredulous expression.

“You won’t drop me off to the next port?” inquires Bethany.

“I mean I could if you refuse.” Sully speaks before he makes his intentions clear with the young woman. “Let me make things clear with how I run my ship and crew: there are women among my crew and some of the finest shipmates I could ever have next to the men that here too. I aim to treat each member with dignity and respect along with equal share of the goods we procure. I want to give you a better opportunity than what you likely had before than with the other crew you were with since they were so eager to leave their dead behind. Almost.”

Bethany thinks back to the last person she fought, the one who stabbed her in the chest. She remembers flowing locks of brown hair and radiant fierceness from her features. “Yeah…. It was one of your ladies who stabbed and almost killed me. I’m impressed.”

“I like that attitude.” Sully bows his head. “Would you like to join my crew?” “Where do I start?” Bethany accepts.

“Start with resting up. You’ll be on a probation period and I need to speak with you later about the crew you were with before.”

Bethany salutes her with a confident grin. “Aye, aye, captain!”

[brightdrawings]

Stanford McGucket (2/?)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Stanford messed up his brother’s chances of getting a scholarship and is now living out of the local library. Surviving with little to no plan Until a kind Southern couple offer him a chance to start over.

(an au of @thelastspeecher‘s Stanely McGucket au)

ao3

THUD!

Stanford jolted awake, finding himself in an unfamiliar car in front of an unfamiliar house. “Where am I? What happened?” he slurred, searching his surroundings.

“Mearl ya startled him!” Sally chastised, “you okay Stanford?”

“‘M fine” he slurred again, calming down at the sound of Sally’s voice.

“That’s good, ‘cause we’re here.” She said getting out of the car. Her door closing more quietly than her husband’s.

“We’re here? Already? Was I asleep for that long?” Stanford thought, his eyes darting from the low hanging sun to the area outside.

“Are ya gettin’ out or what son?” Mearl asked, “It’s a great car but I can assure ya that our beds are way cozier.”

“Coming!” Stanford yelped, blushing as he stepped out of the car.

Before him stood a quaint looking two-story house; a short fence stood around it. To the side of the house Stanford could see a very sizeable vegetable garden. A little ways back behind the house, Stanford could make out a sprawling orchard. The nearest structure to Ford’s eye was a barn out to the side of the house. “This at least looks like a farm,” Stanford thought as he made his way to the front door. He clutched his duffle bag to his chest. “At least they were truthful on that front.”

A loud barking came from his left. Jumping back, Stanford caught sight of a young brown hair boy struggling with the leash of a large dog.

“JOEL HEEL!” the boy cried.

Stanford fell back in terror. “Oh God they’re going to kill me!” he thought. Stanford raised his arms to defend himself from a bite that never came.

“Son it’s okay,” Mearl said, placing a firm hand on Stanford’s shoulder. “Joel’s just a bit excitable ‘round strangers is all. No need to worry Lute’s got ‘im under control.”

Stanford opened his eyes to see a boy that mirrored Mearl at Ford’s age trying to calm the animal. Taking a deep breath Stanford picked himself up and followed the McGucket parents to their home. The front of the house had a small verandah with a couple of chairs along it as well a low table.  “Like the ones in cartoons.” stanford thought. Waiting for him with eager eyes were two children who were also not too far from his own age. The boy had sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that hid behind  a pair of reading glasses. Beside him stood a girl who was half a head shorter then the boy. Her long definitely belonging to her father, however if it weren’t for that Stanford would have guaranteed himself that she was some past-self of Sally brought to the present.

“These here are our littlest Guckings,” Mearl said, waving his hand at his children. Stanford held his hands behind his back. “Pa we ain’t little no more!” the younger girl whined, brushing a strand of sandy brown hair our of her eye.

“I know junebug I know,” Mearl replied, rubbing the top of her head. “This here’s my youngest Banjolina.”

“Please call me Angie, it’s what e’eryone else does.” she said in an almost pleading manner.

Stanford nodded as Mearl gestured to the older boy, “and Fiddleford o’er here is eldest one here.”

“Still technically counts as eldest,” Fiddleford said, offering his hand to Stanford. “Howdy, I also answer to Fidds an’ Ford.”

“That second one might be a bit of a problem,”Stanford said slowly, reaching out a slightly clenched hand to meet Fiddleford’s open one, “I’m Stanford Pines, but I-er also go by Ford.”

“Well I guess you can jus’ call me Fidds then” FIddleford said with a wink.

“And the one givin’ Joel a talk is Lute.” Mearl concluded, as the boy in question waved while holding Joel’s leesh.

“Were you three able to clean up a room for Stanford?” Sally asked.

“Harper said we could use his room, but we only got it half done,” Angie said, “but we got the spare room fixed up so he could use that fer now.”

“Good job Junebug.” Mearl said, ruffling Angie’s hair. “And I’m assuming ya’all got yer chores done?”

“‘Course Pa” Fiddleford said, puffing out his chest with pride.

“Is that so?” Sally said with a raised brow, “‘cause a little birdie told me you were sulkin’ on yer banjo for most of the day.”

“That don’t mean I didn’t get my chores done Ma.” Fiddleford said, casting a glare at his younger sister.

“Don’t know whatch yer talkin’ about” Angie replied, looking away.

“Alright alright, Stanford’s probably still tired from the long drive drive over. I know I am,” Sally said ushering her family, and Stanford through the front door, “I’m gonna get dinner ready, so take Stanford to his room so he can get comfortable.”

“Yes’m” Fiddleford and Angie said, heading through the front door.

Stanford followed suit, walking down the corridor, his eyes scanning the walls,  stopping at the picture frame half way down the hall. He noted a family portrait that had the McGucket parents proudly standing on either side of a gaggle of children. They all wore matching sweaters. “Are they a family or a small nation? Although considering their similar facial structure cloning can’t be left out of the question...” Stanford thought.

“Hey Stanford,” Fiddleford said, holding up his hand to stop the Jersey boy from entering any further. “You gotta take yer shoes off ‘fore enterin’ the house” he said, nodding to the small cupboard by the front door. Several pairs of shoes already lined up inside.

“Oh-er, do you mind my asking of why?” Stanford replied, walking back to cupboard. As he bent over to put his sneakers into the cupboard, he caught sight of how both the McGucket kids were barefoot.

“Well if ya were outside and stepped on a cow pat, ya wouldn’t want to spread that all over the carpet.” Fiddleford replied.

“Good point” Stanford nodded.

“The smell almost didn’t come out last time” Fiddleford shuddered.

The house was spacious, at least, Stanford assumed it was as one point. There were potted plants in every corner and books stashed into every nook and cranny between the old but obviously loved furniture. He followed Fiddleford and Angie as they pointed out the rooms of the house, half heartedly listening as he observed his surroundings. “This doesn’t look so bad, rather homey,”  he thought stopping to look at a picture that hung proudly from the wall.

He was met with nine smiling face that were different, yet all seemed to feel very McGucket. ‘Either there’s nasal structure can be a dominant gene or they have a secret cloning lab in the barn.’ Stanford thought. His eyes wandered over matching sweaters the family wore, his mind searched through archives of holidays and special occasions trying to find a point where his family did the same. The closest event he could remember was the hanukah his family spent at his grandmother, who had knitted sweaters for him and Stanley.

“This photo’s from when Angie graduated Middle school,” Fiddleford said,

“You sure have a large family” Stanford said.

“Yep!” Fiddleford said looking over the frame fondly.

“So-er I know you, Angie and Luke-” Stanford began.

“Lute” Fiddleford corrected, “like the instrument.” “Right-who are the others?” Stanford continued.

“First is Violynn, she’s the oldest. Then comes Harper, he’s second oldest,” Fiddleford said pointing to a young man who wore his caramel-coloured hair in a ponytail that barely reached his shoulder. “After him comes Sebasstion, alias Bastion.” his finger glided over to the tallest person in the picture, his chin wore the fuzzy beginnings of a beard. He also lacked his father’s large nose. “Then come Me, followed by Lute and Angie.”

“Violynn, Harper, Bastion, Fiddleford, Lute and Bajolina-” Stanford said, tapping his chin “-I guess I’ll fit in, since I’m feeling rather high strung myself.”

The noise that Fiddleford made in response could only be described as a wheezing laugh. The room echoed with the sound of his laughter as the skinny farm boy clutched his stomach while hunching over.

“Boo!” Angie cried, despite her grin. She headed back down the hall, leaving the pair of boys on their own.

“A-are you okay?” Stanford asked. grinning at his own joke.

Stanford watched gleefully as the boy before him tried and failed to speak multiple times. Each attempt at speaking only furthered the southerner into his laughing fit. Stanford joined in just as Fiddleford fell to his knees, fist slamming into the carpeted floor.

After what felt like half an hour, the laughter subsided with Fiddleford on his back gasping for air. Fiddleford refused Stanford’s offered hand as he picked himself up, finally collecting his breath.

“Oh Lord I needed that.” FIddleford grinned toothily.

“I definitely needed a laugh like that as well.” Stanford replied, sporting his own broad smile.

The pair continued to the spare room, walking past a few doors labeled with the names of the McGucket children. Through the open door,Stanford caught sight of a rather cluttered room.

“That’s Harper’s room.” Fiddleford said, standing next to Stanford at the doorway. “This time tomorrow you’ll be sleepin’ in here.” he said with a grin.

“That sure is some intersting equipment he’s got lying around.” stanford said, looking at the instruments that littered the floor of the room.

“Yeah, Harper got into special effects for films.” Fiddleford said, “but he took most of the better stuff with him when he moved out. Lute an’ I’ll be movin’ the rest of this to the attic tomorrow.”

“Er-thank you” Stanford said, following Fiddleford towards the spare room.

“Don’t mention it” Fiddleford smiled.

Fiddleford walked across the hall into the only other room with an open door. “So this is it. The magical spare room! Rumours say that anyone who sleeps in this room never return!” Fiddleford said, putting on a showman’s voice as he wiggled his fingers.

“Because they either leave after their stay or move to a different room?” Stanford asked, walking into the room. The walls were painted in a dull white, several framed landscapes hung from the walls as well. A queen sized bed was parked in the middle of the room, a cupboard stood in the wall opposite it. A sizable window stood in the far wall, the evening’s sunset shone through, a short bookshelf stood beneath the window. Stanford recognised several of the titles from his time at the library.

“Well aren’t you a buzz killer?” Fiddleford teased.

“If you were implying that your guests went missing or died in this room I’d have to point out that it’s too clean for that.” Stanford said looking at the empty picture frame that stood by an alarm clock on the night-stand.

“How do ya know we don’t clean the room up after the guests disappear?” Fiddleford shot back.

“Because for that to be true this room would have to smell like disinfectant or cleaning products, which would still make the room suspicious.” Stanford replied with a smirk.

“Did ya spend yer nights readin’ Dick Tracey or somethin’?” Fiddleford said defeated.

“Maybe,” Stanford said triumphantly, “Can’t say, a magician never reveals his secrets.”

“You’ve got some cheek to ya,” Fiddleford observed, tapping his foot on the ground. “It’ll be fun havin’ ya around. I’m tellin’ ya now Stanford.”

The last statement took Stanford by surprise. “I hope I don’t let your parents down then,” he said, “Farm hands are normally hired for hard work and not for sharp tongues right?”

“Ya are rather scrawny,” Fiddeford said, ignoring his own thin stature, “but I’d give ya a month ‘fore ya find the farm work a breeze.”

“You really think so?” Stanford asked, leaning against the window sill.

“We’re a fam’ly of 8. I know so Stanford” Fiddleford grinned.

Stanford smiled back, his hand aimlessly playing with the zipper to his duffle bag. The sounds of laughter from outside his window caught his and Fiddleford’s attention. Turning to see what was going on, Stanford was surprised to see Lute and Angie running barefoot after Joel.  “So much for keeping the carpet clean.” Stanford thought.

Stanford lay face up on his bed staring at the ceiling, rather he was squinting at the ceiling while his glasses lay on the bedside table. It had been a long time since he had something as comfortable as the mattress behind his back. It had taken him almost a week to get used to sleeping in the library seats. Stanford could feel tears pricking his eyes as he recalled his old bunkbed. Despite how heavy his eyelids felt at the McGucket dinner table, he couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Stanford shuffled around, trying to find a comfortable position. Sally had said that first thing tomorrow morning she’d dig out some clothes for him. But for now he’d have to settle for the same old clothes that he’d been wearing for longer than he’d like to admit. With a defeated sigh

Stanford rolled to his side, looking at the picture frame that stood behind his glasses. He could just make out it’s wooden border in the darkness.

It looked like the ones his mother would put on the mantelpiece. “You gotta keep the important memories lookin’ good, that’s how ya know they were worth it” she’d say. But he knew she was just covering up for something, she always was. Stan would always come up with off-the-wall theories as to the true intention behind the nicely framed pictures. “She’s hidin’ cash behind ‘em! In case she needs quick getaway.” Or, “she has amnesia that only happens at night when she’s a sleep! So in the morning she looks at the photos to remember who she is!” Stanford had never bothered to point out how it’d be impossible to hide any large sum of money in the photo frames. Nor did he point out how the photos didn’t seem too amazingly important to their mother, pictures of her sisters and a couple of pictures of himself and his twin, “Hardly identity defining.” Stanford would think.

But in actuality, Stanford was fairly certain that his mother just had some nice looking frames and didn’t want them going to waste. And as he looked at the empty frame that stared back at him from his night stand, Stanford decided to put this one to good use as well. “If I’m going to live here, I might as well make it look like home.” he thought sitting up.

Stanford reached over the side of the bed for the deflated duffle bag that held his few belongings. He blindly felt up the inside of the bag. Six fingers quickly passing over clothing that was in long need of a wash, as well as a few work books that had been filled doodles from between his shifts. Stanford stopped when he felt the torn corner of an old mathematics work book. In one smooth motion he pulled the book out of the bag and opened it on his lap. He quickly leafed through the gridded pages, ignoring the pencil sketches as he came to one of the later pages. It had a drawing of a crashed spaceship, with two young aliens standing on top of it triumphantly.

However, Ford’s eyes were too weak in the dark room to notice the drawing. Not that had been his target, rather he had been looking for what he was using as a bookmark. Carefully, Stanford brought the photograph to his face. He stared into the glossy page, willing his eyes to let him see the image.

Smiling fondly, Stanford reached for the frame; almost knocking his glasses off the night stand in the process. With careful hand, he placed the frame face-down on the mattress, in front of him. He removed the back cover and gently placed the photograph in the frame. His fingers gently flattened the photo against the glass. Almost as though he were afraid the picture would turn to dust if he mishandled it. Taking a deep breath, Stanford replaced the back of the frame and returned it to his night stand.

Laying back down, Stanford was met the image with of two similarly-faced young boys standing triumphantly on top of an old shipwreck. He smiled nostalgically at the memory as he finally drifted to sleep.

“Stanford?” a soft voice asked, followed by a gentle knock at his door. “It’s time to get up.”

Stanford moaned, he wasn’t much of a morning person, or at least he didn’t feel like one. The time he had spent in the library had made it hard for him to remember what it was like to sleep on a bed. And he wasn’t really in the mood to leave such a comforting haven just yet. However his stomach’s painful grumbles convinced him to venture out of his newly discovered comfort zone.

Stanford rubbed his eyes from behind glass as he walked into the kitchen. The smell of eggs and meat wafted to the hall as he neared. The sound of sizzling sausages on the pan filled his ears, making the young man’s mouth salivate. That he could hide, what he wasn’t able to hide was the earth-shaking grumbling that came from his stomach.

“Hungry ain’t ya?” lute asked, walking past.

“I was gon’ wake you up for dinner but Ma said to let you rest.” Angie said.

“I-er-thank you?” Stanford replied, staring at the buffet-like table before him.

There were several plates of eggs and pancakes, a pile of mash potatoes that dwarfed the already tall glasses of milk that seemed to line the table. A pair of large milk filled jugs sat at the centre of the table. A couple of plates sat empty, however the sizzling form the pan that Fiddleford was cooking informed Stanford that the sausages were on their way to being finished.

“C’mon an, take a seat Stanford” Sally said sweetly, setting some cutlery around the table.

Stanford nodded and took the seat opposite Lute. Angie sat to his left and quickly poured herself a glass of milk.

“You should try some of our milk.” She said to Stanford, “it tastes way better than anythin’ store bought.”

“Don’t forget to say Grace.” Fiddleford reminded her as he emptied his pan into a plate nearby.

“I won’t” Angie replied, before turning to Stanford, “do ya wanna say Grace with me?”

“I-er I don't’ say Grace.” Stanford replied, rubbing the back of his head.

“You don’t? But why?” Angie asked.

“I’m Jewish,” Stanford replied,

“What do you say before you eat then?” Angie asked.

“I don’t normally say anything” Ford said. “But we do give thanks after we eat.”

“Leave ‘im alone Angie,” Lute groaned, “Ya can interrogate ‘im later.”

“Fine” Angie pouted, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes.

“It’s no trouble really,” Ford said with a shaky smile.

“If you don’t stop her she’ll go on for hours” Lute said before copying his sister’s motion.

“Thank you?” Stanford replied, sitting in awkward silence as he watched the two youngest McGucket siblings finish their prayers. In the meantime Fiddleford had placed a plate that was loaded with sausages near the centre of the table, just to the left of the jugs of milk.

“Don’t be shy Stanford, dig in! You did miss dinner after all.”  Sally said.

“Oh-er- yes of course.” Stanford said, reaching for some pancakes.

The other three McGuckets at at the table soon after. Mearl sitting next to Lute, opposite Angie, Fiddleford sat on the far side of the table, opposite to his mother who sat at the head of the table between Angie and her husband. Stanford tried his hardest to not gorge himself and look like a slob while he ate. The meal progressed smoothly, the sound of dishes clinking filled the air as the McGuckets and one Pine ate. Stanford listened as Mearl listed off the chores that he’d be undertaking, mostly animal feeding.

“Go on ask him,” Sally said, nudging her daughter with her elbow.

Angie stared at her eggs, her face beet red as her mother nudged her a third time. She hadn’t exactly been subtle with her occasional glances at Stanford’s hands. With a heavy sigh, Stanford waited for the inevitable barrage of questions that followed him and his twelve digits.

“Do you really have six fingers or are you secretly shakin’ yer hands so fast that it looks like you’ve got six fingers?”

“Er-” Stanford was taken aback, it was the first time he’d been asked a question like that before. Definitely not what he was expecting. “No I do actually have six fingers on each hand. A rare birth defect.” he said. Stanford raised his hand and wriggled all six of his fingers individually to prove his point.

“Wow!” Angie said, stars lining her eyes. “Is it harder for you to put on shirts? Because of your extra knuckle?”

“Not really?” Stanford replied, waving his fork as he thought,“I mean the worst I’ve had was when I’d have to put a jacket over a shirt that was already kind of thick? But I think everyone struggles with that.”

“Yeah that can be annoyin’ sometimes” Angie agreed.

“Sometimes? You complain about it all the time” Fiddleford said.

“Not all the time!” Angie defended, “I only complain when my jacket pokes into my back weirdly.”

“Which is all the time,” Fiddleford shot back

“No it ain’t! You just happen to be around whenever I do complain.” Angie replied, looking away from her brother

“What about gloves?” Lute interjected, “did yer Ma hand make yer winter gloves fer ya?”

“Yes, gloves were a bit of a pain growing up. My mother ended up having to knit me my own mittens when I was younger.” Stanford said, recalling his younger years, “I’d always be crying about how uncomfortable regular mittens felt. And don’t get me started on lab in school. Every new year I’d have to go through the most insufferable administration process just to get permission to use the adult sized gloves.”

“Would ya fit yer two little fingers into the last finger of the glove?” Lute asked.

“Yes I did. Honestly I never understood why I’d have to go through administration every year,”  he complained, taking a bite of his potatoes. “I mean who else would be coming in to ask to use adult gloves? If I were a delinquent I would have just stolen them, not go through administration every year to get glove for my six fingered hands.”

“That does sound like a hassle,” Mearl said sympathetically, “But there are some pros to those cons right? I know Joel would be over the moon if he had an extra finger scratching him”

“I guess-”

“You could throw a lot more feed for the chickens at once!” Angie interrupted.

“Plus you’d probably find playin’ instruments easier.” Fiddleford added, taking a sip of his milk. “You wouldn’t need to move yer hand as much to get to the frets on a banjo or a guitar. Say, you ever play an instrument Stanford?”

“I never got the chance to try.” Stanford admitted.

“Wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot” FIddleford said, “I could give ya some pointers on how to play after our chores some time.”

“That sounds nice. Thank you” Stanford said, finishing his pancakes.

“And then you just throw it for ‘em like this” FIddleford said, throwing a shower of chicken feed in front of himself. Making a chorus of chickens cluck in chaotic joy as they started pecking at the ground.

Stanford stood in some of Basstian’s old loose fitting clothes, a brown flannel shirt, some denim overalls and a pair of well worn boots. He carefully watched Fiddleford demonstrate the correct throwing technique a few more times before trying his hand at it. Digging into the large hessian sack, Stanford took a moment to enjoy the sensation of grain running through his fingers.

“Feels good don’t it?” Fiddleford asked, walking over.

“It does feel pleasant yes.” Stanford said,throwing out a handful of feed for the chickens.

“Interestin’ way of puttin’ it. ‘pleasant’” Fiddleford repeated, grabbing an extra large handful.

“I-guess.” Stanford stuttered, hiding his hands behind his back, “There’s nothing wrong with that right?” he added

“No no, nothin’ wrong with that word, just interestin’ is all.” Fiddleford said, “you’re interestin’ Stanford.”

“Thank you?” Stanford replied, unsure on how he should reply.

“Don’t mention it.” Fiddleford grinned.

“Not to question your methods or anything, but don’t you have a more, efficient way of feeding your chickens?” Stanford asked, picking up another handful of feed.

“Yeah, we’ve got a feeder over there-” Fiddleford said, point with his thumb “-but i thought you’d have liked to have some fun with this for a bit.”

“But don’t we have to feed the other live stock too? And check on the vegetable garden and a bunch of other things?” Stanford asked, trying his best to recall what Mearl had told him at breakfast.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that” Fiddeford said “few minutes of lettin’ the chickens see you feed them is a great way to have them earn yer trust”

“Makes sense” Stanford nodded.

Fiddleford stood up and grabbed the feeder from beside the coop. He took extra care to point out how he unclipped it from it’s hook. Stanford nodded along as he watched him refill the feeder. He handed it to Stanford and let the farm hand replace it. It took a couple of attempts, but he eventually got the feeder to hang in place.  He turned to Fiddleford and smiled proudly at his work, who gave him a thumbs up. With the chickens busy Fiddleford led Stanford into the chicken coop.

The coop wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, in fact one could say that it was a tad cramped. However, considering that it’s intended occupants were not humans but rather knee tall birds, it only made sense that Stanford needed to hunch over to fit inside. There were rows of wooden boxes filled messy collections of twigs and straw. About a third of the left wall had what semed like a single racked shelf instead of the messy boxes. Below the shelf sat a tray filled with chicken droppings.

“The nests are over there, outside was the feeders an’ waterer and over there are the roosting poles. ” Fiddleford said, pointing out them out.

“Which doubles as their bathroom?” Stanford asked.

“And as compost fodder.” Fiddleford grinned.

“Quite.”

“Now help me take this tray to the compost barrel” Fiddleford said reaching for the tray.

As it turned out, Fiddeford only had Stanford pour the drippings into a bucket. After the pair finished with the tray, the let the chickens back into their coop. Fiddleford locked the gate after Ford, there was a spring in his step as he walked to the vegetable garden. “Wait up” Ford said. Walking slowly as to not spill the bucket of chicken droppings .

“It’s right over here” Fiddleford said stopping by the gate to the vegetable garden.

The garden sat on a lot of land that looked as big as the house. The tilled dirt was coloured green with the numerous sprouts that lined across the garden. Several wooden posts stuck out along the garden. Bright green shoots wrapped around the posts, like a child clinging to their mother on their first day at preschool. Lute sat on the far side of the garden, furiously pulling at weeds. He waved at the boys as they walked around the fence.

“Putting the stuff into the drum?” he called out, dusting his hands against his overalls.

“Thought I’d show Ford how we make compost” Fiddleford replied, pointing to a barrel further along the yard.

“Have fun with that” Lute replied, turning back to his weeding, “where did I leave my trowel?”

Stanford looked at the barrel that Fiddleford had pointed out. It was painted dark and stood between two chest high post. “Why does that look familiar?” he muttered, eyeing the barrel as he and Fiddleford neared.

When they reached the fertilizer barrel, Fiddleford gave it a quick tumble, rolling it on it’s axis. He stopped it when a small handle rolled pass, turning the barrel back so that a small hatch was facing him. “Okay now Stanford, all we gotta do is pour that there bucket in here” Fiddleford said, smiling sweetly.

“I’m suddenly very untrusting of this barrel.” Ford said, eyeing the hatch.

“What’s the matter?” FIddleford asked.

“You want me to pour out all this rather-er ill-smelling stuff into a barrel that you probably has a lot more ill-smelling stuff in it.”  Stanford accused, “A single glance at your garden is this big you obviously use the barrel often, hencing filling it often. How do I know that opening that hatch won’t cover me in yesterday’s leftovers?”

“Easy now Stanford,” FIddleford said, raising his hands in surrender, “I ain’t plannin’ any foul play.” He offered his hand to the new farm hand, “Why  don’t you let me show you how we make the compost in this drum?”

Stanford looked at Fiddleford’s hand, appraising the farmboy’s offer. Looking up Stanford’s eyes saw the soft smile on Fiddleford’s face, there was a gente look in his eye as he slowly took the bucket from Ford’s hand.

Stanford held his breath as he watched Fiddleford twist the knob and open the hatch. To his surprise, he wasn’t met with the smell of day old ham or the smell of cow manure so strong that it suffocated. Instead he was met with the smell of dirt. Odd smelling dirt to be sure, but dirt nonetheless. Fiddleford tilted the drum back and poured the bucket’s contents into the drum before closing the hatch and twisting the knob.

“You said that you use this ba-drum, you use this drum to make your fertilizer right? How exactly does that work?” Stanford asked, finding his tongue.

“Actually, what we’re making here is compost.” Fiddleford said, continuing to turn the drum.

“What’s the difference?” Stanford asked.

“Fertilizer feeds the plants nutrients, while compost feeds the soil.” Fiddleford said.

“That’s not that helpful.” Stanford replied.

Fiddleford hummed for a moment, looking upwards as he tried to find the right words. His hands mindlessly rolling the drum as he did. “Well, think of it like this, ya can’t really feed a little kid proper food until they can handle it right?”

“Right”

“So it’s kinda the same thing here, if we use fertilizer on the plants now they might not absorbed ‘em all and mess up the soil. Not to mention that compost is easier to make, it takes a while but it’s easier. You just throw in food scraps, garden clippings, add in sime soil for balance and Bob’s your uncle you’ve got yourself some compost. Give or take a few months.” Fiddleford added, chuckling a little. He stepped aside, beckoning Stanford over to try spinning the barrel.

“That makes sense, BUt I still have to ask, if that drumm has a couple of months worth of food and animal scraps in it, how doesn’t smell like a poorly cleaned public bathroom?” Stanford asked, following fiddleford prompt and pressing his hands against the metal drum.

“You just have to balance it out?” Fiddleford replied, “Pa said it had somethin’ to do with balancing the nitrogen and carbon amount within the compost, and that a bad smell comes from the abundance of one chemical over another and that that’s a sign that you gotta add more stuff like egg shells and animal waste if it’s too nitrogen concentrated and smell like old fish. Otherwise you’ve gotta add more green if it’s too carbon heavy.” Fiddleford recounted, as though he had heard this particular speech multiple times and had memorised it word for word.

“Your father seems rather well informed.” Stanford said, “I hadn’t known that there was such a science to gardening.”

“Yeah, my parents are enthusiastic ‘bout school and learning.” Fiddleford said with a fond smile.

“That’s good to hear.” Stanford said, wearing a sheepish smile of his own.

Ford sat snugly on the sofa in the living room, he felt as though he’d lost twenty pounds in the shower. ‘Probably from washing away all that oil off of my skin,’ he thought. The sound of Fiddleford and Lute rummaging through Harper’s room was partially drowned out by the sound of Sally singing cheerfully from the kitchen. Angie laid sprawled out on the floor, a pencil in hand as she wrote in her work book.

Ford turned to the novel in his hand, an interesting tale about a pair of brothers and their adventures in an enchanted forest. It wasn’t a difficult read by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a certain charm to it. The way the characters spoke; the way the illustrations every few pages seemed to come to life as the words danced off the page into a literary firework display that made Ford resent being distracted from it.

Fortunately any distractions were minor. An occasional groan of pain from Angie as she pooled over her summer homework. A couple of frustrated quips down the hall from Fiddleford and Lute. The questioning croak that came from beside him.

“Wait what?” Stanford said aloud, turning to look at the frog that was now seated beside him. “Er-Angie, did you leave the back door open?”

“What? No.” Angie replied, sounding rather miffed.

“Then why is there a frog here?” Stanford asked, pointing at his amphibious couch neighbour.

Angie rolled quickly to see what Ford was talking about. “That’s Scout, Harper’s pet frog. Friendly little fella, but he shouldn’t be outta his tank. One of my brother’s musta opened the tank by mistake.” She sighed in relief, turning back to her work. “They’ll come back for him later.”

“Ah” Stanford said, “should I be concerned?”

“Nah, as long as ya don’t lose ‘im yer good.” Angie assured over her shoulder.

“If you say so.” Stanford said. He turned to look at the frog, who blinked back at him. “I’m guessing it’s been awhile since you’ve been out of your tank. Would you like to read with me?” he asked the frog.

Scout croaked back at the boy, who took that as affirmation. “In that case let me just-” Stanford said, sitting the frog in the palm of his hand. It felt wet and warm, he’d have to wash up for dinner in any case, so Stanford didn’t mind. “-Ah, there we go. Now, are you ready to explore the enchanted wood with me?”

Scout croaked in response.

“Wonderful.” Stanford grinned as he began to read out loud for his new companion.

A/N:Looks like this will be multichap after all!

this chapter was fun, but dear lord that compost dialogue at the end. That was a pain. 

anyway, I’ll be taking a bit of a break from the fic in order to sort out plot and stuff. Also Uni is starting to pick up so updates may take a while. Sorry about that in advance.