#angy fidds

[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

[thelastspeecher]

vulpixen replied to your post: “now, the dilemma of a desert island AU in which...”

Fidds would go nuts being alone on the island before his siblings and the Stans show up.

​depending upon how he arrived on the island and thus what scraps of wreckage are available to him, he can't even build any robots! he winds up channeling his robot-making wants into building like art pieces and increasingly extravagant shelters from wood.

(he could I think eventually gather ore and isolate metal from it but that would take a LONG time and a LOT of effort)

[abysmalarts]

DRAW ME FIDDSTAN NOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW NOW NOW NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES ANGIE PLEASE PUPPY DOG EYES PLEASE ANGIE PLEASE

HELPMEEEEEEEE

take your food FAGGOT. can you tell i draw fidds more easy? i gave up on stans hair. not sorry HELP

[thatabitcryptic]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next portal era!!

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

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

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

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

Canon blah blah blah

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

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

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

[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

[brightdrawings]

Cutting the Strings

I wrote up a quick one shot last night based off of @thelastspeecher‘s Vampire Stan au. Xey mentioned that Jimmy Snakes was involved and my Jimstan loving heart went wild with ideas, so please enjoy!

(also on ao3!)

Stanley sat comfortably on the sofa. His wife, Angie, sat comfortably his lap. While his kids played with their toys happily by his feet. The T.V. blared in the background, some kids show that boasted educational benefits, but was probably more in the business of selling toys. Stan grinned as he listened to Angie’s short rants on the inaccuracies of the show’s depiction of amphibians.

 “An Axolotl's gills can’t be used to catch things! They’re too soft,” Angie huffed. Stanley felt more relaxed as she continued to rattle on. They could faintly hear the sound of an engine cut outside of the shack.

“They’re amphibians sure, but you can’t-someone’s at the door.” Angie cut herself off. Her head turned to stare down the front door. She gave a small snarl, a habit she had yet to grow out of after settling back into society.

 “Anyone we know?” Stanley felt light, a goofy grin had spread itself across his lips as Molly ran a toy car into his foot repeatedly.

 “He don’t smell familiar. Almost.” Angie said. “He kinda smells like you if’n I’m being honest.” She added after a beat.

 “Well, Ford and Fidds’ aren’t gonna be back until nightfall. Might as well-” Stanley slowly pushed himself off the couch. Angie gave a soft squeak as she fell to the floor. “Darn, sorry Ang.”

 “It’s fine.” Angie picked herself up.

 “Like I was saying; might as well tell them to come around later if they want them.” Stanley said. He made his way to the front door.

 “And what if he wants you?” Angie asked.

 “Ha, unlikely,” Stanley said smugly.

 “Is it really that hard to believe?” said the man at the door.

 Stanley’s stomach fell.

 “Who’s there?” Angie asked, baring her teeth as though they were her werewolf fangs.

 “Stanley should know who I am. After all we were pretty close weren’t we?” the man teased. Stanley could see the smug smile on the man's face despite the door between them. “Or am I too embarrassing to discuss with your ‘werewife’?”

 “How do you-Stanley do you know who’s outside?” Angie asked. Her head tilted to the side while her face twisted with confusion.

Stanley wanted some answers himself. He’d only come up with his pet name for Angie the previous night. The man outside knew more than he should, and Stan needed to know how much.

 “What do you want Jimmy?” Stanley demanded. He balled up his fists.

 “Jimmy?”

 “Oh come on kitten, is that any way to treat an old friend?” Jimmy teased. He leaned against one of the awning supports. “And I came all this way from Cali too.”

 “Who’s Jimmy?” Angie asked.

 “My ex.” Stanley said, he stared at Jimmy’s shadow through the door’s fencing. “Don’t avoid the question Snakes. If you’re here to hurt me or my family, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 “Hey now, no need to be so confrontational Stan; I’m here because of you after all.” Jimmy said.

 “We’ve got pitcher of holy water if’n that’ll convince you to talk,” Angie offered.

 “Feisty. I can see why you tied the knot with her Kitten.” Jimmy smiled. “But I’d advise against the holy water. Wouldn’t end too well for Little ol’ Lee you see.”

 “What are you talking about,” Angie stepped forward with a growl.

 “Come on out first. It’s a lovely day and it’s been years since I’ve seen you. Plus I’d love to see the lovely lady that stole your heart.” Jimmy added cheekily.

 “How can we be sure that you won’t try any funny business?” Angie asked.

 “If I let you bring your pitcher of holy water, would that put you at ease?” Jimmy asked.

  “You know I was joking right?” Jimmy asked.

 He wore a spiked leather jacket and dark jeans. His blonde hair was tied in a ponytail that sat on his shoulder. He wore a pair of sunglasses that sat down his nose. His skin was sickly pale, very much like Stan. A pair of fangs poked out from under his moustache.

 “Well I wasn’t,” Angie said flatly.

 “I can see that,” Jimmy shot back.

 “So um, what was that about killing you not being good for me?”Stanley asked. He was parked between his wife and ex on the couch on the porch and was not enjoying this situation in the slightest.

 “Right that,” Jimmy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “So remember when we were dating and we somehow thought it was the best idea for me to turn you into a vampire?”

 “Yeah?” Stanley’s stomach tied itself into a tight knot.

 “And how you ran away the next night because you realised that you weren’t comfortable with the idea and I kinda forced the decision on you?” Jimmy sighed. “Turns out that when a human gets turned by a vampire, a bond is formed.”

 “What kind of bond?” Stanley asked. “I kinda have a good thing going on here.”

 “To cut an essay on vampire powers, that I’m sure your brother would probably leap at a chance to read, short. You're basically one of my lesser vampires.” Jimmy sighed.

 “I beg your pardon?” Angie glared.

 “I can read Stan’s mind, and command his actions. But don’t get me wrong, I didn’t do anything to him.” Jimmy raised his arms in surrender. Angie raised the pitcher, there was a fire in her eye that Jimmy did not want to get caught in. “I just checked in on him from time to time to see how he was doing.”

 “Command my actions?” Stanley asked in disbelief. “Listen Jimmy, I know you’re a vampire and a biker but you can't make me do wh-” Stanley smacked himself in the face. “-nevermind.”

 “So what now?” Angie asked. “Stan follows you around at night hunting down poor souls to make an immortal army?”

 “God no.” Jimmy shook his head. “Too much of a hassle.”

 “Then what do you want?” She asked.

 “I found a way to break the bond, and I’m here to deliver.” Jimmy grinned. He reached into his jacket.

 “And how do we do that?” Stanley asked. “A fight to the death or something?”

 “‘Or something’” Jimmy said. “All you need to do is drink my blood and you’ll be your own independent vampire.”

 “Okay but why.” Stanley asked.

 “Why what?”

 “Why bring this up now, why even try to fix this? I’ve been living like this for years and nothing's gone wrong for me.” Stanley said standing up.

 “That’s just it Stan. If I let this go on something will go wrong.” Jimmy said. “Last year I got in a really bad crash while on my bike. I lost so much blood that the paramedics used up all their blood packs trying to keep me from passing on.”

 “Right.”

 “While I was being wheeled off to the hospital my mind left my body, probably looking for a Lesser to take over their body so that I don’t die. But when I got to your body. I saw you with your kids, finally making up with your brother. A loving partner by your side. I couldn't’ take that from you.” Jimmy pulled a small vial of dark red liquid from his jacket. “Think of this as a way to bury the hatchet between us. And a late wedding gift,” Jimmy added with a smirk.

 Stanley stared at the vial. “Is it really that simple?” he asked.

 “Normally a Lesser would plan some elaborate betrayal in order to prove their independence from their master before finally earning their freedom in the final coup of their master. But I’d rather cut that middleman and get back to riding on my bike.” Jimmy smiled.

 “So this is goodbye?” Stanley asked.

 “For now,” Jimmy said. He picked up the motorcycle helmet off the porch. “If you’ll excuse me I’ve got some roads to drive along recklessly.” he winked.

 “You’re a good sort Jimmy.” Angie said. She put down the pitcher of holy water and offered Jimmy a hand.

 “I’m glad to hear it,” Jimmy said. He shook her hand. “Take good care of this ol’ kitten for me now.”

 “I always planned to,” Angie grinned.

 “Well. I’ll be off now.”Jimmy said. He gave an eager wave before slipping on his helmet and walking off into the afternoon sun.

 Stanley and Angie watched Jimmy ride off towards town. The dust his bike kicked up got into Stan’s nose, making him sneeze his accursed adorable sneeze.

 “I still hate that nickname,” Stanley lied. He scratched his nose.

 “I don’t know, I think it suits you perfectly.” Angie grinned.

fun fact: when I originally thought up this fic, I had the image of Jimmy getting a ‘goodbye’ kiss from Stan, and then cutting his tongue on STan’s fangs to give him his blood. but that didn’t really fit the story or tone of the scene so it got cut.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

[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!

[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.

[amydiddle]

Idk if u do ocs, but maybe a gf oc w/Fidds, 75?

75 - “You ate them? I was saving them!”NUMBERS

I, personally, don’t have my own GF ocs that would interact with Fiddleford in this way. Dot is reserved for Pines Family…and mostly Mabel and Dipper so I am gonna take @thelastspeecher​‘s wonderful and rambunctious little Guck. *hugs Angie to my chest; hoping I did her justice*

“You ate them? I was saving them!”

Fiddleford let the refrigerator close behind him as he glared at his younger sister. Angie had a big grin on her freckled face as she made a show of licking off her fingers. The ice pops that had been in the freezer box were gone and she was proud to say that they had been delicious. 

“Finders keepers, Fidds. You shouldn’t have left it in the fridge.”

“It had to be kept cold,” Fidds was doing all he could to not shout as he ran his hand over his face, “Where else was I gonna keep ‘em?” 

“I am sure you woulda thought of somethin’,” Angie remarked with a shrug. The girl slipped down off her seat and smiled up at her brother. She carefully took his hand and placed the popsicle sticks into it. A wide grin spread on her face as she saw him short circuit. 

She closed his hand around the sticks and patted the fingers. “So you can make more.” 

Angie laughed as she skipped out of the kitchen. As soon as she was out of the room she started to run. 

“BANJOLINA!” The sound of popsicle sticks hitting the floor followed Angie as she ran. Than came the tell tale sign that her older brother was in hot pursuit. Both of them did a lap around the hallway before she bolted for the doorway. 

She was aware of their mother telling them to stop running in the house just as she opened the door and ran out into the yard. Her bare feet hit the dirt hard as she jumped off the front porch. 

Angie’s mistake was a look over shoulder as she got onto the driveway.The look slowed her down and gave Fiddleford the upper hand. The teenager tackled his little sister to the ground and they both ended up rolling in the dirt. “Gotcha!” 

“Dang nabbit!” Angie hit the ground and tried to throw her brother off but Fiddleford would not budge. 

“Surrender,” Fiddleford tried not to laugh as he held her down, “You ain’t gonna get out of this unless you apologize.” 

“Never!” 

“Thank you leave me no choice,” Fidds sighed dramatically and than an evil grin spread on his face. 

Without any hesitation Fiddleford began to tickle her and seemed to find enjoyment in her shriek. Angie did everything she could to try and break free from her brother’s attack but there seemed to be no way to get free. 

“Apologize!” 

“N-no!” Angie got out between bouts of snort filled laughter. 

“Apologize and this will stop, sister dear.” 

Angie batted at his hands but the tickling was making it hard to get the strength to push him off. She just shook her head no and did her best to kick him. Fiddleford had prepared for that and moved just in time. 

“Nice try, but that ain’t gonna work.” 

Angie’s sides hurt from the laughing. She had no choice.

“Fine! Fine! I-I surrender! I’m sorry.”Fiddleford stopped as soon as the words left her mouth and smiled down at her. 

“Thank you, Angie. Yer the best.”

Fidds jumped up and brushed the dirt off his clothes. Angie stayed on teh ground, trying to catch her breath. 

“I hate you,” she gasped. 

“Love you too.”

[thelastspeecher]

@vulpixen

Yes!

There's a Vampire Lord in Gravity Falls who has had her under his control for decades, probably over a century. She hates it, but can't do anything about it. Until she's told to capture Fiddleford and bring him to her master.

Fiddleford is her blood relative, and so she's able to resist the command enough to send him home and beg for his help. Fidds asks her to come with him (he can't help but feel worried about this woman who looks like she could be his sister), but Angie knows she can't. She can resist commands to hurt Fidds, but not anyone else.

Fiddleford gets back to safety and convinces Ford and maybe Stan to help him rescue Angie.

[icefeels]

*stares off into the distance*

drawin fidds, lookin at grunge fashion, thinkin about AU of @thelastspeecher ‘s Stan McGucket AU where it’s the early 90′s and the Stan/Ford/Rick generation is proportionately younger and Angie and Bea are in the same classes in high school

AU where Bea actually accepts the help the McGuckets would surely offer her and doesn’t run away in a panic the moment she graduates high school. straight C’s but with a killer essay, she gets into backupsmore (she’s... not really into the idea of college but she’s cool with the idea of living close to her good buddy Fiddsy and his cool roomie, she’s got a job at a pet supply store and she’s okay with taking just one or two classes a semester) sure she never meets Greg this way (sorry Greg) but a year and a half after graduating, instead of living out of the back of her buddy’s van she’s visiting “home” with Fidds (and how awkward, how weird, she can’t understand/get over this family where the adults are like..?? trusted? and care about each other and the kids? and now her somehow? fucked up!!) when the original Tau-4 accidentally tracks her down by mistake

all because i wanted to draw young ripley and young fidds wearing matching 1994 outfits

imagine

[thatabitcryptic]

So the timestuck au takes place directly after Ford exits the diner and has seen the people with yellow eyes (on his way back home is when he finds Mabel in case u were curious). Well what if that happened again? After fidds has decided to help them but before they sercure the shack with unicorn hair?

Ford seeing people supposedly possessed doesn’t seem to have a ‘trigger’ so to speak - in the diner and i assume it was from his sleep deprivation but what if it did? Say for example,,,, someone uses words or a word that Bill would use?

Okay so we all know that bill calls Ford ‘Fordsy’ on occasion right?

Well who else calls him that??

M a b e l

He freaks out thinking Bill has possessed Mabel especially when Babel (Bill mabel bc mabill is apparently taken *shivers* ew) starts taunting him.

Mabel is of course super confused about what’s going on and we get a bit of drama and fidds hears a commotion and saves the day

Then ford is all reclusive bc even when Bill isn’t possessing him Mabel could still be in danger (angst I guess aha)

Mabel feels terrible 1) bc she’s still kinda in shock and 2) because ford is upset

So she talks to fidds we get more father fidds :) and this leads to him talking alone with ford for the first time since the portal test (remember fidds is still angy at ford with him ignoring his warnings and all) he it goes surprisingly well,, his sappy heart doesn’t like seeing him upset so he cheers him up (hand on shoulder bc hugs are too much rn probably but ford melts into it all the same) and fidds asks him if they can get rid of Bill,,,,, and we head into Mabel suggesting the unicorn hair at a breakfast family meeting the next morning :D

[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.

[thelastspeecher]

Junior in Olympian Falls AU (or Lee, as he's known in it) is still a car mechanic like he usually is. He has a great-grandfather who was a son of Hephaestus, a father who was a son of Nike (the divine charioteer), and a mother who is the daughter of Apollo (the person who drives the sun across the sky). It's what he was meant for.

But thanks to his parents, he's also crazy competitive. So he doesn't just repair cars. He also races them.

Mostly illegally.

His redneck McGucket relatives are so proud of him.

[thelastspeecher]

I’d like a little scene of smoll Ford having a nightmare and mustering the courage to go up to Angie and Stan’s room for comfort^^

Happy early birthday ;)

Thank you :)

I also got this request from an Anonymous, who specified they would like it during the time when Stan doesn't know the kid he's taking care of is actually his twin, not his twin's son. So I went with that for this, so that it fulfills both requests in one. Hope you like it!

———————————————————————————————————–

              Ford sat bolt upright, heart racing, covered in a cold sweat.  He quickly grabbed one of his many stuffed animals at hand, a plush axolotl given to him by Angie.  Squeezing the stuffed animal close to his chest, he tried to steady his breathing.

              It’s okay.  Everything’s okay.  Ground yourself in the now.  Though he was able to calm his pounding heart, the anxiety didn’t fade.  Dammit.  Come on.  I don’t want to do it.  Ford closed his eyes, but immediately opened them again, unnerved by the loss of the soft glow of his nightlight.

              “No,” he whined out loud.  He hung his head with a sigh.

              Time for the nuclear option.  Still clinging to his stuffed animal, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid off.  His bedroom door was ajar, and he pushed it open the rest of the way as he exited.  Thankfully, Stan and Angie had installed a nightlight in the hallway, not just his bedroom.  They claimed that it was in case Ford needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but given how many times they made it clear he could visit them if he had a nightmare, he felt it wasn’t the only reason.  Damned nightmares.  I can’t even remember what they’re about when I wake up!  Why is something I don’t remember keeping me from falling asleep?!  But that had been the case ever since he was reduced to a child.  Hopefully, seeking comfort from his twin would be less humiliating than from his former foster parents, Wyatt and Madeline.

              Ford knew the way to Stan and Angie’s bedroom, but even if he didn’t, he would have found it immediately.  Stan’s snoring could probably be heard two houses over.

              Honestly, it’s a miracle he found a spouse who can sleep through it.  Ford tentatively pushed open the bedroom door.  Angie’s side of the bed faced the door.  She was sleeping facedown, her limbs akimbo.  Ford was reminded of his college roommate, Fiddleford McGucket, who slept in the same manner.  It wasn’t the first time Angie reminded him of his old friend.  But Fiddleford talked about his family a lot.  None of his relatives have a name as normal as “Angie”.

              Ford walked around to Stan’s side of the bed.  Stan was sleeping on his back, possibly the cause of his snoring, and sprawled, but less than Angie.  Ford nervously tugged on Stan’s arm dangling over the side of the bed.  The snoring stopped immediately.

              “Whuzza…oh.”  Stan turned onto his side.  “Ford?”

              “Yes,” Ford squeaked.

              “What’s going on?” Stan asked.

              “I, um, I had- I had a-” Ford stammered.  To his frustration, he didn’t feel any less embarrassed asking for comfort from Stan.  Thankfully, Stan caught on.

              “Did you have a nightmare?” Stan asked softly.  Ford nodded, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.  “Do you want to snuggle with me and Angie?”

              It’s “Angie and I”, Stanley.  You’re a teacher, you should have better grammar.  Ford immediately felt bad.  Don’t be ornery towards someone you’re asking for help.

              “Yes,” Ford mumbled.

              “No problem,” Stan said.  “You’re in luck, actually.  Half the time, Angie takes all the blankets.  The other half of the time, she throws ‘em all off.  Tonight’s a night she’s not being a blanket hog.”  Ford made a noncommittal noise.  “Wanna hand getting up?”

              “Yes, please.”

              “You got it.”  Stan reached down, picked Ford up, and set him on the bed, between himself and Angie.  “Go ahead and crawl under the covers, sport.”  Ford obediently pulled the blanket over him.  Stan turned to face him.  “…Wanna talk about it?”

              “About what?”

              “Your nightmare,” Stan said.  “If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine.  But I figured I’d ask.”  Ford looked at his stuffed animal, avoiding eye contact with Stan.

              “I don’t remember it,” he said quietly.  Stan was silent for a moment.

              “Do you really not remember or are you saying that to avoid talking about it?” he asked pointedly.

              “I don’t remember!” Ford said, louder than he meant to.  He winced.

              “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna wake up Angie,” Stan said, immediately picking up on what Ford was worried about.  “She sleeps through everything.  She falls off the bed at least once a week and doesn’t realize until her alarm goes off and she wakes up on the floor.”

              “Oh.  Good.”

              “I believe you that you don’t remember your nightmare,” Stan continued.  “But I wanted to make sure you weren’t saying that just to keep me from getting upset.  Like I said, it’s fine if you don’t wanna talk about it.  I’m not gonna try to pull it outta you.  Even kids have boundaries that need to be respected.”

              “Did you learn that phrase from An- Aunt Angie?” Ford muttered.

              Dammit, I almost forgot to tack “Aunt” in front of Angie’s name.  This façade is difficult to keep up during the day, let alone in the middle of the night.  Stan chuckled.

              “You’re just like your dad, you know that?”  He ruffled Ford’s hair.  “All right, if you don’t wanna talk about stuff, let’s focus on getting to sleep.  We’ve got school in the morning.”  Ford nodded silently.  He rolled over, facing away from Stan.  To his surprise, he felt Stan’s hand on his back, making gentle circular motions.  “Remember, kid.  You’re safe here.”

              “Yeah.”  Ford closed his eyes, already feeling better.  “I know.”

[thelastspeecher]

Fun Fact #1: String players and pianists tend to have long fingers. Not because those instruments attract people with long fingers, but because the repetitive stretching of fingers required to play lengthens players' fingers over time.

When the adult tasked with helping Angie with her powers in Pollution Powers AU finds out she can play fiddle and piano, she is tasked with practicing those instruments to work on her power control as it impacts her fine motor skills. Angie didn't bring her fiddle with her to the school, but there's a piano there, so she practices piano while she waits for her fiddle to arrive. The first time she sits down to play, she practically has a panic attack at how much her fingers stretch.

Fun Fact #2: Vocal pitch is determined by size and thickness of vocal cords. Lower voices have larger, thicker vocal cords, while higher voices have smaller, thinner vocal cords.

Once Angie gets some general control over her powers, she's given exercises of higher difficulty, one of which being adjusting her vocal cords to change her vocal pitch. She's able to give herself a crazy vocal range by using her powers, without changing her outward appearance whatsoever.