#Angie McGucket

[thelastspeecher]

McGucket (Alien) Abduction

Look this was bound to happen at some point. I was gonna have to have a version of my alien abduction AUs but a McGucket or two was the one to get abducted. So. Here it is. We've been talking about it a lot on the Discord, and the muse has been hitting me with the ole frying pan of inspiration a fair amount, so I have a LOT that I can post. Eventually. First, an intro to the AU. Enjoy.

(Also, I'd normally put this at the end, but wanna show it off, so here's some art @elishevart made of the alien Stan and Ford!)

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              Shermie grumbled to himself at the insistent, loud knocking.  When he finally reached the front door and opened it, he found himself face-to-face with the last person he expected.

              “Stan?” he said, astounded.

              “Uh, yeah,” said his missing younger brother.

              “What- you- no one’s heard from you in years!” Shermie stammered.  Stan’s ears drooped slightly.

              “It’s a long story,” he mumbled.  Shermie looked past Stan at the two figures standing awkwardly behind him.  His jaw dropped.

              “I’m assuming that long story will explain the two humans you brought with you?” he said.  Stan looked over his shoulder at the humans.

              “Yeah.”

              “Where did you find them?  A poaching ship?” Shermie joked.  Stan’s ears drooped further.  “You-”  Shermie kneaded his forehead.  “What were you doing on a poaching ship?”

              “The same thing they were doing there.”

              “You were poached?” Shermie whispered.  Stan’s ears fell the rest of the way.  “Stan-”

              “Look, can we come inside?” Stan interrupted.  “These two don’t have the right shoes for the glass sand.”

              “You didn’t get them boots yet?” Shermie asked.

              “The store that sells them upped their security,” Stan said under his breath.  Shermie shook his head.  He turned his attention to the humans.

              “Please, come in,” he said as warmly as possible.  Stan stood to the side, allowing the humans to enter the house.  The female human, short and golden-haired, merely smiled shyly at Shermie as she entered, but the male spoke for the two of them.

              “Thank you fer helpin’ us,” he said, the translator he was wearing giving his voice a strange drawl. His eyes were weary behind his reading glasses, his sand-colored hair deflated and dirty. “We’ve been through the wringer.”

              “It’s no problem,” Shermie said firmly. “No poachers can get anywhere near this planet. You’ll be safe here.” The human’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Your names?”

“The guy is Fiddleford, the gal is Banjolina,” Stan provided. At her name, the female human, who had been closely inspecting a wall hanging, turned.

              “Uh, Banjolina’s my full first name, but I prefer to go by Angie,” she said softly. Her voice had a similar twang to Fiddleford’s. Shermie looked back and forth between the two humans, picking up on shared features. Namely, on the same long, thin nose.

              “They’re brother and sister,” Stan said, answering the question Shermie was about to ask.

              “Got it.” Shermie smiled at the siblings. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink while Stan explains everything to me.”

              “My sister has been havin’ some issues with food and drink,” Fiddleford said. Angie crossed her arms and looked away, her cheeks turning red. “She had somethin’ what made her feel woozy on the way here. Water would probably be best fer her.”

              “Understood. And you?”

              “Honestly, some alcohol would be nice,” Fiddleford said wistfully. Shermie chuckled.

              “I think I have something that should hit the spot. Stan?”

              Stan followed Shermie into the kitchen while the humans sat on a seat in the living room. The female seemed agitated, initiating a fierce but hushed conversation with her brother. Shermie grabbed two cups from a cabinet and turned to face Stan.

              “All right. Talk,” he said firmly. Stan sighed. His tail swished, an idle movement he’d tended towards even as a kit.

              “I went off to explore the galaxy after Pops essentially kicked me out,” he said. “Got by fine, mostly. But a month ago I got picked up by a poacher.”

              “Were you hiding your species?” Shermie asked pointedly. Stan glared at him. “If you posed as something else-”

              “Those two aren’t our species, but they got picked up,” Stan argued, gesturing towards the humans. Shermie sighed. It was pointless to try to get Stan to understand reducing risk.

              “Fine. Continue.”

              “Anyways. A couple days, maybe a week after I got nabbed, these two were taken from Earth. I already had my escape plan ready, and since they were the only others that got poached, I brought them with me. I figured we could come here, where there aren’t any poachers, and wait for the heat to die down a bit. Once the poacher gives up on looking for them, I’ll take them back to Earth.”

              “I see.” Shermie looked at the humans again. Their voices were getting louder, their gestures more animated. “The three of you can stay, of course. But you have to help out.” Stan grunted. “There are three kits here that constantly get underfoot, and a fourth is on the way.” Stan’s ears pricked up.

              “You and Amelia are having a fourth?” he asked.

              “We’ll have as many as we can.”

              “Yeah...” Stan sighed. “I’ve gotta find myself a mate soon if I want my own kits.” Shermie laughed. He flicked Stan’s ear.

              “You’re young, you have plenty of time! Now, let’s get these humans their drinks and help them settle in before the kits wake up from their nap.”

-----

              Shermie watched the humans out of the corner of his eye.  When they all sat down to have dinner, Angie had immediately looked disgusted at what was on her plate, though she tried to hide it.  Thankfully, she ate most of the food fine.  It was just the main protein that she was now pushing around with an upset expression.

              “Don’t be so picky in front of our hosts,” Fiddleford whispered to his sister.  “Eat it.  You need the nutrients.”  Angie glared at him.

              “Who was it what was sayin’ earlier how I’ve been havin’ reactions to every other thing I eat?” she snapped.  Fiddleford rubbed his forehead wearily.  “It don’t feel safe.”

              “It is,” Amelia, Shermie’s mate, put in.  She was cutting up the food of their second kit.  “I made sure to find things that humans could eat without any problems.”

              “See?” Fiddleford said pointedly.  “All those times ya had a reaction, well, it was prob’ly ‘cause the food weren’t safe fer us.”

              “You were fine when you ate it,” Angie retorted.  Fiddleford sighed.  Shermie smiled at him.

              “Let me guess.  You’re the older one?” he asked.  Fiddleford nodded.  “Being a good older brother gets difficult once your younger siblings reach adulthood.”  Shermie nodded at Stan, who had finished dinner early and was now playing in the nearby living room with the oldest kit.  “That one never listens to me.”

              “It’s ‘cause listening to you never does anything for me,” Stan shouted.  Shermie rolled his eyes.  The kit pounced on him.  Stan collapsed to the floor in a faux defeat.  The kit looked over at those still at the dinner table.

              “Can I play with the humans?” he squeaked eagerly.  The humans hesitated.  The kits had swarmed them the second they met, fascinated by a species rarely seen in this corner of the galaxy.  Arguably, they had been allowed to get a little too rough with their guests, as evidenced by the bandages now on Fiddleford and Angie.

              Angie looked down at her mostly full plate, then back at Stan and the kit.  After a moment, she sighed and stood up.

              “Anything to get out of finishin’ this,” she muttered.  She went into the living room, making the kit squeal with delight.  The other two kits made as though they were about to join their brother, but Shermie and Amelia quickly held them in their chairs.

              “I’m sorry fer her behavior,” Fiddleford said softly to Shermie and Amelia.  “Normally, she’s a much more gracious guest.”

              “The two of you have been through a lot,” Amelia said gently.  “Your planet hasn’t even had contact with anyone outside your solar system, has it?”  Fiddleford shook his head.

              “Not that I know of.  We didn’t know aliens were real until we got scooped up by that poacher.”

              “I was going to ask you about that,” Shermie said.  “What exactly happened?”

              “Angie and I were takin’ an evenin’ walk ‘round our family’s farm with m’ pal, Ford.  We were hopin’ to spot a meteor shower what was s’pposed to happen that night,” Fiddleford said.  He pulled Angie’s plate over and began to cut up what was left on it.  “Out of nowhere, there’s this bright light.  Ford jumped out of the way ‘fore it could hit him, but Angie and I, well, we got it head-on.  Then I blinked and we were in a spaceship.”  Fiddleford put a piece of the protein in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.  “We spent a few days there, terrified, until Stan found us while he was escapin’.”

              “I’m assuming he had a translator,” Amelia said.  Fiddleford shook his head.

              “No.  We had no idea what he was sayin’ and he had no idea what we were sayin’.  But I’ve always considered m’self a good judge of character.  And I reckon the principle of stayin’ put when yer lost don’t count when you’ve been kidnapped.  So’s I grabbed Angie’s hand, told her we were goin’ to see if this furry feller could help us out, and we left.  Once we were on Stan’s ship, he dug out an old translator so’s we could talk.”  Fiddleford chuckled softly.  “Made him sound like a robot.”

              “Oh, yes, those older versions are still used in some places,” Amelia said.  “But I’m glad that he eventually got some newer ones for the two of you.”

              “Did he tell you his plan?” Shermie asked.

              “That we would stay here until the poacher stops lookin’ fer us?  Yes.”  Fiddleford’s brow creased in worry.  “Do ya think it’s a bad one?”

              “No, I think it’s good.  But I might wind up reaching out to some people, see if we can get you a more formal, protected escort back to Earth.  Poached persons have the right to return to their home planets with protection.”

              “Really?” Fiddleford said, seeming interested.  Shermie and Amelia nodded.  “Well, any help we can get in goin’ home safe, we’ll take it.  We just finished the spring semester, but we’d both like to be back ‘fore the fall one gets started.  We’re in college and-”

              “Ouch!” Angie yelped.  Shermie, Amelia, and Fiddleford looked over.  Angie quickly clamped her hand over the fresh bite mark on her forearm, which was already bleeding.

              “You humans have soft skin,” Stan remarked.  Angie scowled at him.

              “Stop antagonizing her and get the first aid kit,” Shermie called.  Stan groaned but got up.  Shermie looked back at Fiddleford.  “I’m starting to think that helping with the kits might not be a good idea for the two of you.”  Fiddleford smiled sheepishly.

              “I reckon yer right ‘bout that.  We’ll just have to pay our way doin’ somethin’ else.”

[thelastspeecher]

Aaaaaaa thank you so much!!! I love love love it! Love seeing Angie riding her horse!!!

Happy belated birthday @thelastspeecher !

[triptychcryptid]

Was thinking about a comic I want to do for @trekkerac 's frankenghost AU where Ghost Stan annoys Ford by singing Abba at him dramatically, like SPECIFICALLY this verse in S.O.S "Whatever happened to our love? I wish I understooood! It used to be so nice, it used to be so good! Oh when you're near me darling, can't you hear me, S.O.S!" And he vindictivelly Morse-Codes S.O.S into Ford's ears like he's giving him a wet-willy, Ford tells him to knock it off, so Stan starts singing Fernando instead but changes the lyrics to insuate that Ford smells, so Ford retaliates by putting his Eurythmics cassette in the tape player and blasting it because stan HATES them, and meanwhile, Fidds is over there at his desk like "...I swear to jesus, I'm gonna burn this place to the ground and I'm taking them with me."

And like Fidds has the patience of a Saint, but he gets SO annoyed SO frequently by them that he's got half a death robot built in a storage unit in town. XD

[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).

[thelastspeecher]

McGucket (Alien) Abduction IV

Part I Part II Part III

Idk man I started using Roman numerals so now I'm gonna continue to do so. It's easier than coming up with actual names, so. And yes, this is still going on. But I'm now going to get back to work on some multichaps, so, fingers crossed I make progress on that.

Anyways here's Angie adjusting to being part alien.

———————————————————————————————————–

              “Do they fit?” Fiddleford asked.  Angie emerged from her hospital room’s small water closet, wearing some of the clothes she’d had before she changed.  “Hmm.”

              “Technically, yeah, they fit,” Angie said, looking down at herself.  “But…”

              “It looks awful tight,” Fiddleford remarked.  Angie sat on her hospital bed, feeling incredibly exposed.  Thanks to her new height, her old clothes covered less skin than before.  And, like Fiddleford had noted, it clung to her body.  Her fur wasn’t thick, but what there was of it made the fit of the clothes tight.  She flexed slightly, trying to get the fabric to stretch out so there was some give.  Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at her.  “You don’t look too comfortable.”

              “That’s ‘cause I ain’t.”  Angie shifted.  “Ugh.”

              “How’s your tail?” asked Amelia, the only other person in the room.  Shermie was back home, watching the kits, while Stan was talking to the doctors to get Angie discharged from the hospital.

              “Not happy to be stuck underneath clothes.”

              “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some new clothes that make room for that tail of yours.”  Amelia beamed.  “There’s a hybrid store that should have exactly what you need!”  Something that kept coming up was how much Angie looked like one of the many Heater hybrids that could be found on the planet.  The planet was a haven for those fleeing from poachers, resulting in a lot of mixing between races.  According to Stan, Shermie, and Amelia, Angie looked exactly like one of the most common hybrids, Heater-Klorthian.  Anything that would fit one of them should theoretically fit her.

              “Great…”  Angie scratched behind her ear, one of the spots where her cream-colored fuzz was thick enough to actually look like fur.  “Um.  Fidds, could ya-”

              “Yer not gettin’ out of the shoppin’ trip,” Fiddleford said.  Angie’s ears fell.  “None of us know yer size.  You don’t even know yer size!”

              “Fine,” Angie sighed heavily.  The door opened.  Stan entered the room.

              “All right, you’re good to go,” he said cheerfully to Angie.

              “No discharge papers?” Fiddleford asked.  Stan snorted.

              “Paper?  Nah.  Everything Angie needs got sent to Shermie’s technopad, since Angie doesn’t have one yet.”  Stan looked over at Angie.  His ears twitched in confusion.  “Why are you wearing clothes?”

              “Hybrids tend to do so, Stan,” Amelia said, quickly stepping in for Angie.  “Particularly those that look like Angie.  She doesn’t have thick enough fur to protect her from the elements.”

              “I guess you’re right,” Stan mumbled.  “Still think it’s kinda stupid.”  Fiddleford narrowed his eyes at him.  Angie absentmindedly scratched her cheek.  At the sudden sting, she let out a soft yelp.  All eyes turned to her.  “You forgot about the claws again, huh?”

              “Yes.”  Angie scowled at her nails.  They looked different, thanks to the manicure her Heater nurse had given her while she was sleeping.  But that wasn’t the only change since her collapse.  While she slept, her nails grew out and thickened, becoming akin to claws.  The manicure was an attempt to reduce the likelihood of accidentally hurting herself with her nails, as her skin was just as sensitive and fragile as it had been before.

              It might look pretty, but it didn’t work.

              “You’ll figure out how to scratch itches without drawin’ blood eventually,” Fiddleford said in a soothing voice.  He was already grabbing a bandage from Angie’s bag, which the hospital staff had stuffed full of anything she might need.  Angie crossed her arms as Fiddleford walked over to her and put the bandage on her cheek.  She quickly looked away, unwilling to make eye contact with her brother.  After a lifetime of being so much shorter, it was eerie being the same height as him.

              “Yeah,” Angie mumbled.  Fiddleford ruffled her hair playfully.

              “Perk up, Banjey.  Yer fin’ly gettin’ out of here!”  Angie looked at him again.  To anyone else, Fiddleford’s happiness would seem genuine.  But Angie could see the panic and concern churning in his light blue eyes.

              This hasn’t been any easier on him.  Technically, he’s even been dealin’ with this sit’ation fer longer ‘n me.  Angie forced a smile.

              “Yeah.  I’m ready to get some fresh air.”

-----

              Angie sat on the edge of the shopping center fountain, her feet resting on the glass sand that covered this area of the planet.  The native species, the Heaters, had adapted to walk around barefoot in it, so there weren’t any sort of pavement or pathways.  Before, Angie had, like Fiddleford, needed to wear thick, clunky boots to protect her feet.  After all, it was only using a generous definition that the soil could be called “sand”.  It was more like shards of glass, as though a giant’s porcelain cabinet had fallen open and broken all over the ground.

              “We’ll find ya some new shoes,” Fiddleford said, sitting next to her.  “Yer feet must be killin’ ya.”  Angie shook her head.

              “They’re fine.”

              “Ya don’t got no shoes,” Fiddleford insisted.  Angie’s previous protective boots were too small for her to wear now.

              But I bet they’d fit Lute, if he ever visited.  Angie felt a twinge of homesickness, thinking about her twin brother.  I miss him.  She refocused her attention on her conversation with Fiddleford.

              “Sure, but I’ve got them foot pads now, ‘member?” she said.  She rested her left ankle on her right knee, so that the underside of her foot was visible to Fiddleford.  On the soles of her feet, she now had incredibly thick, spongy pads, like a dog or cat.

              “The rest of yer skin is still thin, though.”

              “These aren’t.”

              “I guess…”  Fiddleford still looked concerned.  Angie rolled her eyes.  She shoved her feet into the glass sand and wriggled her toes.  She then lifted her feet, revealing that they were completely uninjured.  “Huh.”

              “You were the one tellin’ me on the way here to look fer some bright sides to this whole thing.  Here’s one,” Angie said cheerfully.  Fiddleford managed a small smile.

              “I reckon yer right.  Heck, I wish my feet were like that!  I hate wearin’ these big ole boots!” he said.  Angie grinned.  Stan and Amelia came back, both of them holding food from the many food carts and food stands in the open-air shopping center.

              “Here you go!” Stan said cheerfully.  He handed Angie a sandwich.  “The doctors said you can eat all Heater food now and not worry about getting poisoned, so I got you something new to try.”

              “It’s one of Stan’s favorites,” Amelia said.  She handed Fiddleford some sort of fried animal on a stick.  Angie inspected her sandwich carefully.  “Is there something wrong?”

              “Um.  Is this vegetarian?” Angie asked timidly.  Stan’s jaw dropped.

              “Are you still doing that?” he said, aghast.

              “Why wouldn’t I?”

              “Well, you stopped eating meat ‘cause that’s what you were having allergic reactions to, I thought.”

              “Yes, but I also, um, was a bit…intimidated by the meat ‘round here,” Angie said, trying to be delicate.  Stan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

              “You’re part Heater now!  You’re not built to be a vegetarian!”

              “She’s only one-fifth Heater,” Fiddleford said shortly.  “The rest of her is human and perfectly fine bein’ a vegetarian.”

              “But-”

              “Leave her alone,” Amelia interrupted.  “She’s allowed to be vegetarian still.  I grabbed something for her just in case anyways.”  She handed over the food she was holding.  “This is vegan.”

              “Thank you,” Angie said, relieved.  She gave Amelia the sandwich in exchange.  “I know I should try to broaden my horizons culinarily eventually, but right now…”

              “No, no, don’t push yourself.  You’re going through a transition.”  Amelia beamed.  “And once we finish our food, we can finally get Angie some clothes, so eat up!”

-----

              Angie idly pushed aside some of the hanging clothes, trying to find something that would go with her vibrant red and pink hair.  The clothes in the hybrid store were on hangers, but the hangers were not themselves hanging on anything.  Instead, the hangers hovered in mid-air.

              Fiddleford had spent most of their time in the store trying to figure out how the floating hangers worked.

              So much fer helpin’ me to find some new clothes.  Angie picked up a dark blue skirt and sighed.

              “Do they not make shorts what would fit my tail or are they all sold out?” she muttered to herself.  She could feel said tail right now, trying to move, but stuck underneath her current clothes.  No doubt the tip of it was peeking out, given its length.  It wasn’t as long as a Heater’s, but it was just long enough to cause Angie grief.  Amelia walked over and handed her a skirt in a light gray.

              “They don’t make shorts for Klorthian hybrids, softfur,” she said.  Angie frowned at her.  “Softfur is a term of endearment for females,” Amelia explained.

              “Well, my fur is soft.”  Angie sighed.  “Why don’t they make shorts fer folks like me?” she asked.

              “It’s just not what Klorthians wear.”

              “So I’m stuck in skirts.”

              “Unless you can sweet talk Stan into altering some of your shorts, yes,” Amelia confirmed.  Angie groaned.  She looked over at Stan, who was watching Fiddleford, trying to keep him out of trouble.  Stan glanced at her.

              “You can alter clothes?” Angie asked.

              “Only if you pay me,” Stan answered.  Angie turned her attention back to the floating skirts.

              “Ugh.”  She grabbed a shirt that was gently floating past.  “And this!  Why are all the shirts so short?”

              “Klorthians may not go completely nude like Heaters, but they wear as few clothes as they can,” Amelia said.  “If you visit Klorthon, you’ll see a lot of exposed skin.  Well, exposed feathers.”

              “You really should learn more about your culture,” Stan said.  He slapped Fiddleford’s hand away from a floating hanger.  “Cut that out, you’re gonna break it.”

              “It’s not my culture,” Angie snapped.

              “For now, it is,” Stan said.  Angie crossed her arms.  “You look like a Heater-Klorthian, so we’re just gonna agree whenever people say you’re one.”  That had been the agreement in the hospital.  No one, including Angie, wanted to explain the truth of her condition to every person that might talk to her.  “That means you gotta lean into the Klorthian way of doing things.”

              “But people remember me bein’ human,” Angie protested.  “Aren’t they goin’ to question my drastic change in appearance?”

              “You’d be surprised,” Stan muttered.  A female Heater brushed past Angie, knocking one of the hanging clothes hangers onto her.

              “Ouch!”

              “Wait.”  The Heater stopped to look at Angie.  Her eyes widened.  “Angie?”

              “Uh.  Yes,” Angie squeaked.  She felt her ears and tail go rigid with nerves.  “Um.  Good to see ya, Mrs. Koppler.”  The Heater looked Angie over.  After a few moments, she sniffed.

              “It’s about time you stopped hiding behind that hologram,” Mrs. Koppler said.

              Hologram?

              “Everyone knew that you were covering up your true self,” she continued.  “I mean, a human around here?  Any poached humans that arrive on this planet are taken to the Northern Continent, not the southern one.  It was poor workmanship, too.”  Mrs. Koppler laughed.  “As if a human would really look like that!”  Angie’s jaw dropped.

              She- she thinks I was usin’ a hologram back when I was human?

              “Why’d you even bother with it in the first place?” Mrs. Koppler barreled on, completely ignoring Angie’s expression.  “You look much better now.”  Angie looked at Fiddleford, who had finally given up on the clothes hangers and was glaring daggers at the Mrs. Koppler.  Then she met Stan’s gaze.  Stan’s rich brown eyes twinkled with mischief.  He grinned at her.  Angie remembered something Stan had told her during her time in the hospital.

              “You’re part Heater now.  You should drop the manners and politeness.  Do what a Heater does.  When someone gives you shit, you give it right back to them.”

              Screw it.  I’ve always wanted to try takin’ the low road instead of the high one, anyways.  Angie scowled at Mrs. Koppler.  She slapped the Heater across the face, then slammed one of her feet on top of Mrs. Koppler’s, making her yelp, likely more in shock than pain.  Stan let out a whoop.

              “M-my reasons fer, uh, hidin’ behind a- a hologram aren’t any of yer business,” Angie said.  The strength of her statement was no doubt impeded by her stammering.

              Sue me, I ain’t used to lyin’.  Or improv.

              “But yer no kit, Mrs. Koppler,” Angie continued.  “You should know full well it ain’t right to make comments like the ones you just said!”

              “She’s right,” Amelia said, appearing by Angie’s side with an armful of clothes.  “You should really know better, Bedilla.  Saying something like that to someone who just spent two weeks in the hospital?”  Amelia shook her head.  “For shame.”

              Now, that’s a strategy I recognize.  How many times have I heard my ma usin’ that to get some feller to back off?  To Angie’s delight, the strategy also worked well on Mrs. Koppler, whose ears drooped.  Without saying another word, Mrs. Koppler turned around and walked away.  Angie felt the breath go out of her in a whoosh as Stan wrapped his arm around her and squeezed tight.

              “There you go!  I knew you had a Heater’s spirit!” he gushed.  Angie’s face warmed.

              “What was that about?” Fiddleford asked once Stan let go of Angie.  “Why did Mrs. Koppler just assume Angie was usin’ a hologram this whole time?”

              “That’s the easier explanation,” Amelia said.  She handed the clothes she’d grabbed to Angie.  “Think about it.  What’s more likely, that Angie’s species changed, or that she was just hiding her true self for some reason?”

              “I…I s’ppose that’s a good point,” Fiddleford said.  He frowned.  “But…does that mean folks will start assumin’ I ain’t human?”

              “Probably,” Stan said with a shrug.  He grinned at Angie.  “The big thing, though, is that Angie gave that old biddy what she deserved!”  Angie felt herself blush again.  “Trust me, Angie, we’re gonna have you acting like a born and raised Heater in no time.”

              “But first, you need some clothes,” Amelia said.  She pushed Angie towards the nearby changing rooms.  “Try those on, I want to see!”

              “Okay, okay!”  Angie hurried over to one of the changing rooms and went inside.  She stared at her reflection in the changing room mirror.

              Actin’ like a born and raised Heater, huh?

-----

              Angie stepped out of the hovercar.  She could feel her ears and tail (now much more comfortable in clothes designed for it) twitching nervously.

              Stop it, stop it!  But no amount of concentration seemed to be enough to get her ears and tail under control.  Ugh.  Fine.

              “C’mon, Banjey,” Fiddleford said cheerfully.  He grabbed her hand, being careful to avoid her sharp nails, and pulled her towards the front door.  Angie swallowed.  Shermie’s mostly underground dwelling seemed different.  It wasn’t just the change in her height.  It was her enhanced senses, too.  She could hear the kits giggling as they played with Shermie down below.  She could detect a hundred scents on the hot wind that blew in her face, including those of the flowers in the backyard garden that she had spent so much time tending.

              Fiddleford opened the door and walked down the stairs immediately in front of the entrance.  It was a typical Heater home setup, but one that had thrown Angie and Fiddleford for a loop at first.  They both had fallen many times, forgetting about the stairs and unable to see them in the entryway’s dim light.

              But this ain’t dim no more.  Angie looked around in shock.  She couldn’t see as well as she had outside in the midday light, but unlike before her change, her surroundings were clear.  No wonder the Heaters never tripped down the stairs! 

              “We’re back!” Fiddleford sang as they entered the living room.  Shermie looked up from the kits, whom he was playing with.  He smiled at Angie.

              “Glad to have you home, Angie,” he said gently.  Angie felt her ears lay flat against her head.

              “Home.”  Yeah, this might wind up bein’ my new home.  I can’t exactly walk down the street like this back on Earth.  But her downcast thoughts didn’t last long in the face of the kits, who had caught sight of her and were staring, open-mouthed.

              “Aunta Angie?” asked the oldest kit.  The kits didn’t take long to start calling Angie their aunt, or “aunta”, and Fiddleford their uncle, or “unka”.  Angie still wasn’t sure whether “aunta” and “unka” were actual words in the Heater language or just her translator trying to translate a childish mispronunciation.

              “Hey there, kitlets,” Angie said weakly.  The kits stared at her for a few more seconds, then leapt up and sprinted over to her.  Angie yelped as the youngest jumped onto her tail, while the other two tried to climb up her legs.

              “Uh oh, kits, no, ya can’t do that!” Fiddleford said, grabbing one of the kits off Angie’s leg.  Shermie got up and retrieved the other one still trying to climb up Angie.  Amelia, who came in behind them, got the kit off her tail.  “She just got back from the hospital, ya need to go easy on her!”

              “He’s right, be careful with Angie,” Amelia scolded.  “She’s been through a lot.”  The oldest kit wriggled free of his father’s hands and dropped onto the floor in front of Angie.

              “Aunta Angie, did the doctors fix you?” he asked.  Angie smoothed the fabric of her new tail-friendly skirt, which had been wrinkled by the kits.

              “Well…”  Angie took a deep breath.  “In a way, yes.”  The kit’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

              “You look so much better!”

              “…Thanks?”

              I’ve been hearin’ that a lot today.  Angie let out a soft sigh.  I suspect I’ll continue to hear it fer a while.  Humans don’t really fit the aesthetic standards ‘round here.

              “You’re really pretty now!” gushed the second-oldest kit, still being held by Fiddleford.  He looked up at Fiddleford.  “When do the doctors fix you, Unka Fidds?”  Fiddleford’s face immediately twisted into confusion and displeasure.  Angie snickered softly at his sour expression.

              “Fiddleford doesn’t need to be fixed,” Amelia said.  “Angie did because she got sick.”  Stan finally came into the living room.

              “Yeah.  Making Angie look better wasn’t the goal, it was just a happy accident,” he said.  Fiddleford shot Stan a look of disgust.  He’d been getting progressively more upset throughout the day over Stan’s comments that Angie’s looks were greatly improved.  The kits all tilted their heads in confusion.

              “Well…”  The oldest kit smiled at Angie again.  “We’re glad you got fixed!  And maybe they’ll fix Unka Fidds, too!”

              “I’m not-” Fiddleford started.  He huffed impatiently and set down the kit he was holding.  “Never mind.”  Fiddleford forced a smile at Angie.  “Go lay down fer a bit, Banjey.  I reckon a nap would do ya good.  I can whip up some home fav’rites fer dinner while you sleep.  If that’s what ya want.”

              “Earth food!” the three kits cheered.  Despite herself, Angie chuckled.

              “Sounds like ya don’t really have a choice in what food to make.”  On an impulse, Angie wrapped her arms around her older brother.  He couldn’t rest his head on top of hers anymore, but she was able to rest her chin on his shoulder, which was an all right substitute.  “I think yer right.  I’ll go lay down fer a bit.”

              Angie departed for her den.  She entered and laid down on her bed, curling up in a new position, one that now felt more comfortable to her.  Her tail brushed up against her thigh, a constant reminder of what had happened to her, as if the fact she was never in a silent room anymore wasn’t enough.  Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as they closed.

              She drifted off to the sound of Fiddleford desperately trying to explain to the kits that, unlike her, he was going to remain human.

[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!

[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.

[eregyrn-falls-art]

Inktober, Day 27 - Angie McGucket and Stan Pines (Mergucket AU)

Continuing the theme of fave OCs I haven’t done - here is @thelastspeecher‘s Angie McGucket, Fidds’ younger sister, who often winds up with Stan in the many, many AUs that Speecher and @agent-jaselin have concocted.  Here, they’re from the Mergucket AU, in which the McGuckets are merfolk who draw in Stan and Ford and transform them into merfolk as well.  My rendition of Angie owes a lot to Agent Jaselin’s, for sure.