#Fiddleford got his wish he never has to wear shoes again. You try putting a shoe on that

[arapaiknow]

i believe this is what the kids call an “au”. They are creatures now

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction (Stan x Reader Slow Burn; Eventual NSFW)

You put your car into park, eyeballing the wooden cabin your map led you to. When you’d received a postcard in the mail from Ford Pines himself, you figured it’d be something good, but a nice place in the middle of the woods in Oregon? Definitely an interesting place to continue his work.

You nibble your bottom lip as you double-check the address on the postcard, nervous fingers tracing the slightly tattered edge of the cardstock. Ford’s loopy cursive had beckoned your presence to the small town, and now that you were here, you could sense why. The woods around the cabin are dense, the contents of those woods possibly new and ripe for discovery. He’d mentioned a few creatures he’d run into while living in this area that intrigued you; little men with long white beards, eyeballs with wings, a bear with many heads! A kind man, he remembered you from Backupsmore where you’d gotten your Zoology degree. He was a nice partner in the few classes you’d had with him, a sheepish smile hidden behind his hand while the two of you whispered between experiments. In all honesty, he was probably the first friend you’d made at that school.

And now here he comes, the same sheepish grin spread across his cheeks as he waves to you from his porch, shoving his hands into his pockets as he comes toward your car.

“It’s so good to see you again,” He laughs as he claps a hand to your shoulder, six fingers squeezing you gently in lieu of a hug. He definitely looks different, you think, with his arms much thicker than they used to be under his cable-knit sleeves.

“I’m glad you decided to come! I’ve got a hunch that there’s a new creature becoming as curious of us as I am of it, and I’d like your help with it, if you’re interested.” Ford talks as he takes your suitcase from the top rack of your car, careful to hold it close to his side as he motions you toward the house. “You’re welcome to use the attic as a workspace and bedroom, if you wish. Everything’s newly built, so likely not haunted.” He teases, and you smile, holding your purse to your chest as you walk comfortably alongside him, quietly laughing as you both reminisce that you swore your dorm building had at least 4 ghosts inside, but you somehow got away from it alive.

He’s grinning as he closes the wooden door behind the both of you, and you quietly regard the tall stranger moving around the kitchen, the faint sound of water running distantly. Ford smiles down at you and sets your suitcase on the floor nearby, moving through the living room and calling for the man to come meet you.

The stranger dries his hands on the corner of an apron he’s wearing, using his shoulder to push the edge of his glasses back onto his face as he extends a slightly-damp hand. “Fiddleford McGucket, ma’am. Ford’s told me plenty about ya.” He’s grinning, freckled cheeks lifting his glasses slightly further up his face. You shake his hand and give him your name, matching his kind smile as you release his fingers. “You came on a good day! I reckon I’ve made too much supper for the three o’ us, so you’ll get a free homecooked meal!” Fiddleford talks over his shoulder as he starts back toward the kitchen, calling a sweet “Go make yerself comfy first!” as sounds of a knife against a chopping board resume.

Ford explains the way to the attic and your shoes make the stairs creak a little, but all-in-all the home looks cozy. You settle in a little bit, placing your suitcase under your bed after fishing out a fresh shirt and pulling your hair up into a bun. The smell of whatever Fiddleford is cooking wafts in and your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since starting your drive from Portland. You smile at the thought of meeting the man. Definitely a sweetheart, but not from around here, you think, if that accent could tell you anything. Something he said, however, makes you even more curious. Ford mentioned a lab assistant in his card, but Fiddleford mentioned another guest to make food for.

You jump when you hear the door downstairs slam shut, a gruff voice saying something to the other two, and though you can’t quite make out what they’re saying, you hear laughter. That must be them.

You give it a couple of moments before you come back down the creaky steps, peeking your head around the edge of the bannister to see Ford and Fiddleford sitting at a table with their backs to you, chuckling to one-another between bites of food. At one end of the table, facing you, is--Ford? Your eyebrows fly up in surprise as you get closer, but when you open your mouth to ask something, you notice the double has only five fingers. He stands, a dimple prominent at his cheek as you approach. Ford never mentioned a brother, let alone a damn twin.

“Stan Pines, good t’meet’ya, toots!” He grins, shaking your hand quickly before plopping back down into his chair. You stammer a little before giving your name, his forwardness taking you slightly off guard. Ford explains that his brother has been staying with them, only beginning after he’d sent the initial postcard and you nod, smiling kindly to him and mumbling a soft, pleased to meet you, Stan. Fiddleford chuckles at your side, patting the chair beside him. “C’mon, get eatin’ before it gets cold, huh?”

You smile and sit down, digging in. McGucket says it’s got some local veggies in it, and damn is it good, especially after having not eaten for hours. You just nod and keep eating, careful to not make an ass of yourself.

Fiddleford asks a few questions about your time in college and you answer between forkfuls, teasing Ford with an anecdote or two about the girl you tried to get him set up with who he got too nervous to call again, or the time your mutual professor had asked him if he’d ever permed his hair. He flushes red and laughs, just like he did back then, and you grin with him. It’s great to catch up with him, and the way McGucket laughs with him makes him feel like an old friend, too. Stan twists his fork into his plate, a little quiet. You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye, and when you turn to meet his gaze, you smile, tilting your head at him. I bet you have plenty of embarrassing stories about Ford too, you say, almost more of an invitation than a statement.

When Stan smiles, his dimple reappears, his suave demeanor returning as he gives you a wink and nod. “Wouldn’t be a good brother if I didn’t indulge in terrible stories of my dorky twin, would I?” to which Ford snorts a laugh, trying to hide his wide grin with his hand as he rolls his eyes, “Oh God Stan, please don’t.”

Stan breaks into a (possibly over-exaggerated?) story about Ford, the same sheepish and smiley boy you met years back, standing up to a bully they had when he was a kid. It’s cute to see Ford so bashful, chuckling and interjecting corrections as Stan grins and ignores his brother. Stan knows how to tell a story though, even with Ford trying to argue between words. He has Fiddleford laughing, and you’re smiling too.

Something about his grin makes something in your chest heat up, and you feel the blush rising on your cheeks when he does a double-take, catching your stare focused on him. His smile breaks into a soft laugh and you join, looking down at your hands in your lap rather than the other men at the table. At the corner of your eye, you catch your research partners sharing a glance, but they don’t say anything.

“Anyway, ah, it’s gettin’ kinda late.” Stan says, his voice a little quieter than before. You look up at him and now he’s staring, and it’s his turn to turn a little pink in the cheeks as he rubs the nape of his neck. He picks up used plates from the table, glancing to meet your gaze and mumble a thanks as you hand him your own. Stan moves swiftly toward the sink then, ignoring the questioning look Ford gives him and trying his best to ignore the smug smile creeping onto Fiddleford’s features as he starts to distractedly wash the dishes.

“W-Well, ah, yes. It is getting late,” Ford agrees, glancing to you before pointedly nudging Fiddleford, ridding the lanky man of the smirk curling at his lips. He’s a little bewildered at...well, whatever the hell just happened, but Ford gruffly clears his throat and nods to you. “You should get some rest. I’d like to take you through the forest tomorrow so you can see some of what F and I have been researching.” You nod at his words, rubbing the back of your neck like a scolded child as you feel the flush of your cheeks only deepen in color.

I’m excited to get started with you three tomorrow, you smile as you stand from the dining table, looking between Fidds and Ford before straining your neck to catch Stan’s gaze as well, not wanting to leave him out. Stan raises his brows as he looks at you from over his shoulder, a little surprised to be included but the tell-tale dimple appears on his cheek once again as he smiles warmly over to you, nodding. “We’ll see ya in the mornin’, toots. Go get some sleep.” He almost looks like he wants to say something else, lingering eyes locked on your own as his smile softens, and he turns to face the running water of the sink once more.

Fiddleford ducks his head slightly to interrupt your gaze once Stan is turned away again, his grin kind but with a hint of amusement at the edges. “You’re welcome to come ‘n bother us for whatever you need--I’m sure at least Ford and I will be up a few more hours.”

You nod with your own polite smile, reaching to touch Fidds’ arm thankfully before pulling away, moving past the table toward the living room. I appreciate the dinner, Fiddleford! I hope breakfast is just as good! You call the words over your shoulder and the men chuckle as you wave your way from the room and back toward the stairs. They really are a nice bunch, you think, albeit a little ragtag. But, such is the life for this field of work. You avoid a few more of the creaky stairs this time you go up, starting to map which of them squeak under your weight.

As you finally reach your room and shut your new bedroom door, you take a long breath, resting your head back against the cool wood of the unpainted door, breathing in your new home for...well, as long as you can study the anomalies Ford had mentioned. Moving around to get ready for bed, you stop for a moment to lean against the triangular windowpane, catching the astounding view of a not light-addled sky and a streak of the Milky Way. Breathless, you watch the stars glitter from the opposite side of the pane of glass separating you, deciding then that you could really get used to living like this.