#Lute McGucket

[thelastspeecher]

Here's a little bit more in my Horse Boy Stan AU. Just after Stan turns into a horse, and how he winds up with the McGuckets.

;)

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                 Stan stomped his hooves anxiously as he waited his turn.  Jimmy Snakes had left town as soon as he found an upcoming auction to sell him at, frustrated that Stan refused to be broken.  The money would be wired to him after the sale.

                 Stan felt a shiver run down his spine.  He was going to be sold.

                 At least last week could’ve been worse.  Jimmy could have dropped me off at a place that treated me like shit.  But the stables holding the auction boarded and fed Stan, and were kind in all their interactions with him.  Except for the upsettingly thorough examinations to determine the minimum price he would be worth.  Stan lowered his head.  I just want this whole nightmare to be over.

                 The people at stable hadn’t been able to break Stan, but he was still defeated.  There wasn’t even a glimmer of hope that he could escape.

                 “Lot 17, a buckskin Irish Draught stallion,” the auctioneer announced.  The boy holding Stan’s lead brought him out of the wings and onto the stage.  There was some murmuring from the gathered crowd.  Stan felt a strange twinge of pride that made him stand at attention.  He knew from the people at the stable that he was considered a high-quality horse, despite lacking a formal pedigree.  “Wild or feral caught, no paperwork, unknown age though he is fully grown, and unbroken.”  The murmuring grew louder, then died down.  The auctioneer seemed to notice the apparent loss of interest.  “He would serve as a good workhorse.  Or, as he is intact, stud fer workhorses.  We’ll start the biddin’ at four thousand.”

                 “Four thousand!” a voice shouted.  Stan looked at the crowd, quickly zeroing in on the sole person interested in buying him.  It was a young man about his age, with dark hair and a large nose that took up most of his face.  A young man next to him, with blond hair, elbowed him and whispered something.  Stan’s potential buyer shrugged off whatever the other man said.

                 “Any other takers?” the auctioneer asked.  He sounded disappointed, though Stan wasn’t sure why.

                 I’ve never been worth four thousand bucks in my life!  No one else spoke up.

                 “Going, going, gone,” the auctioneer said.  He slammed the gavel.  “The buckskin goes to Lute McGucket.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “I assume yer father will come by with the money fer him?”

                 “Sure thing, Mr. Smith!” the man, Lute, called.  Chuckles sounded from the crowd as Stan was led backstage and into a stall to wait.

                 Thankfully, Stan didn’t have to wait long.  Within about fifteen minutes, two voices sounded, getting louder as they approached Stan’s stall.

                 “He ain’t broken, Lute.”

                 “My fam’ly’s got a way with horses, you know that.”

                 “And what’ll ya do if ya can’t break him?  Rent him out fer stud?  Without papers, no one would pay a cent!”

                 “Look, we’ll figure it out.”  The two people from before came to a stop in front of Stan.  “I can tell there’s somethin’ special ‘bout this feller,” Lute said.  His friend crossed his arms.

                 “I don’t know if yer right.”  He sighed.  “But it ain’t my business, so I’ll drop it.”  Lute’s friend began to walk away.  “I’ll see ya and this new stallion tomorrow.”

                 “Sounds good!” Lute called.  He turned to Stan.  “All right, feller, let’s get ya out of here.”  He pulled a lead out of his pocket and attached it to Stan’s halter.

                 Okay, first impression, he’s not the worst.  I guess.  Lute opened the door to Stan’s stall and led him out of the stable.  A different stallion was patiently waiting, tied to a post.  Lute smiled at Stan.

                 “This here is my usual steed, Tuesday.  He’s a gelding, but don’t worry, we won’t geld ya.”  Lute winked.

                 Uh.  I don’t think I want to know what he’s talking about.

                 “I can tell yer not the kind of stallion we would geld,” Lute continued.  “But not so’s we could stud ya.  No, it’s ‘cause yer special.”  He cocked his head.  “What’s yer name?”

                 “Stan,” Stan whinnied instinctively.  He winced.

                 Dammit, think!  Why bother telling him, he won’t understand!

                 “Stan,” Lute repeated.  Stan’s jaw dropped.  Lute grinned.  “Just like yer special, I am, too.”  He mounted his horse and tied the lead to his saddle.  “Let’s get ya home and sorted out, okay?”

                 How the hell did he know what I said?  Lute winked again.  Eh, fuck it, I don’t care.  He understood me, and that’s all that matters.  Stan eagerly followed Lute and Tuesday, for the first time since this whole mess started, feeling optimistic.

[olmanmcguck]

slides in

Hello Mista mcgucket (never let me say this again)

Anyway been seeing you and Stanley being buddy buddy 👁️👁️

-🧨

i dont know you are, im afraid! but s'always nice to say hi to someone!!

and abso-lutely! stanley is my pal! or.. at least id hope so! he did run me over once.... twice....

[bella-is-sleepy]

About me and what I will write

Hi, I’m Bella I do multi fandom’s and I’ll put that down below. My favorite color is purple and I love mochi, boba and potatoes.

DISCLAIMER || I mostly do X Female Reader but if you request X Male Reader/ FTM/MTF I won’t really be good at it just letting you know!!

THINGS I WILL WRITE:

Angst || Fluff || Comfort || Lemon/Smut ||

Platonic || Romantic || Father(s)/Mother(s) + Son(s)/Daughter(s) (NOT ROMANTIC)

THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE:

R@pe || P3DEdPHli@ || Student x Teacher FANDOMS:

Hazbin Hotel || Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Nifty, Husk, Vox, velvette, Valentino, Carmilla Carmine, Rosie, Zestial, Sera, Adam, Emily, Lute, Saint Peter, Lucifer, and maybe others

Helluva Boss || Blitzø, Millie, Moxxie, Loona, Stolas, Octavia, Fizzarolli, Ozzie/Asmodeus, Verosika, Queen Bee, Vortex, striker, Sallie Mae

Gravity Falls || Dipper, Mabel, Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Wendy, Soos, Fiddleford/McGucket, and maybe others.

The Owl House || Luz, Amity, Willow, Gus, Hunter, Eda, Lilith

TMNT/ROTTMNT || Everyone (2007, 2012, 2014/2016, 2018, Mutant Mayhem)

DEMON SLAYER || Mostly all of them

MHA || Class 1A, Some pro heros, LOV, and some others

And possibly more!

[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.”

[brightdrawings]

Stanford McGucket Chapter 4: Visitors From the Woods - Part 1, Upside Down

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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!

The leaves rustled in the breeze as sunlight shone through the gaps between them, creating a shifting shadow on the ground. To Stanford it looked as though some sort creature towering over him shifting about trying to find the perfect opportunity to strike.

‘If it were thin enough to have light seep through it in small spots then it’s either severely injured or paper thin. In the first case it’d probably favour distancing itself from any potential danger or try to devour me for last minute sustenance but that’s highly doubtful. The latter case wou-’

“Ow,” Stanford tripped forward. The ladder he had been carrying clattering to the ground.

“Ah. Sorry there Stanford, forgot to tell you that we were stopping here,” Lute said. He offered an apologetic smile. He lowered the wheelbarrow and walked over to Stanford. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Stanford assured. He rubbed his thigh through his overalls. “Just a small bump, nothing to worry about.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” Lute grinned. He picked up his lopping shears from inside the wheelbarrow, and rested them on his shoulder. “We’ve got a lotta work to get done and not having you get injured in the first five minutes would really help.”

“I’d assume so,” Stanford said as he picked up the ladder. “So what are we doing here?”

“You’re setting the ladder up under those darker branches over there-” Lute said pointing up to some dark branches that stuck out from the apple tree above them. “-and them I’m going to use these here Loppers to trim them off.”

“So we’re trimming the trees down?” Stanford asked, standing the step-ladder between two sturdy branches.

“In a nutshell yes,” Lute said. He walked over to the step-ladder. He gave it a shake of appraisal before nodding to himself. Carefully he handed Stanford the lopping shears before stepping onto the ladder. “Can’t climb up with my hands full,” he explained.

“Yes that makes sense,” Stanford nodded. He handed back the surprisingly heavy tool back once the other boy had reached the top of the ladder. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why are you cutting down those branches?”

“Simple really, they’re dead,” Lute said. He snapped the shears shut on a branch, making it fall on the ground next to Stanford. “See how it doesn’t got any leaves?” Lute asked, ignoring Stanford’s annoyed ‘watch it’.

“Yes. I see,” Stanford said. He noted the thinness and dryness of the branches. Lute quickly snipped several more branches before nodding to himself. “That should be good,” he muttered. He handed Stanford the loppers and made his way down.

“Alright, now we just put these in the wheelbarrow and then move onto the next one.” he chuckled at the way Stanford’s jaw fell slack at the sight of all the trees in the orchard. “You thought we got off easy didn’t you?” Lute teased, stepping on the nearest branch.

“Can you fault me?” Stanford pouted. “The title of ‘tree trimming’ doesn’t hint at too much.” He bent over and picked up the two nearest branches, one in each hand, and placed them in the wheelbarrow.

“It’s easier if you break ‘em down first,” Lute said. He stepped onto more branches, filling the air with snaps and crackles. “It makes them take up less space.”

“So that we can fit more inside?” Stanford asked, following Lute’s direction.

“You catch on fast,” Lute grinned. “The more in the barrow the less often we have to go back and empty it out.”

“Yeah, that’s — that’s a pretty good way to minimize how much work we have to do,” Stanford nodded. He watched as Lute picked up a particularly long branch with both his hands before snapping it over his knee. Stanford tried to copy the motion, only for him to cry out in pain and drop the intact branch.

“You alright?” Lute asked. He placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder and helped the other boy steady himself.

“Ignoring the pain in my leg I’m fine.” Stanford smirked. He shook his leg before standing up properly. “Why didn’t that work? I copied you exactly,” he said. He glared at the offending branch on the ground. He could hear it laughing at him mockingly from its place on the ground.

“Might have to do with you picking out a rather thick one,” Lute said. He picked up the stick. “Yeah this is one of the ones we’d normally leave for the axe,” He nodded before placing it in the wheelbarrow. “Well that’s all of them, let’s put these away and get a move on,” Lute said.

Stanford nodded and bent over once again, picking up a branch in each hand to put in the wheelbarrow. He noticed Lute squatting down and piling the broken branches into his other arm. Stanford mirrored the boy’s actions and the pair found themselves with a mostly cleared up grass floor in under a minute. “Sharp work there, Stanford,” Lute said. He placed the lopping shears into the barrow. “Keep this up and we should be done before lunch!”

“You think so?” Stanford asked optimistically. He took the ladder down placed it under his arm as he followed Lute’s wheelbarrow.

“Not in the slightest!” Lute smirked as he lowered his wheelbarrow. “This is one of the longer chores we have. Hope you’re ready for the long haul.”

“That was cruel,” Stanford pouted.

The pair spent an hour in the orchard before their wheelbarrow was full. Lute led the way back to a small wood heap next to the barn where he dumped the wood.

“It’s helpful to stock up for winter,” he said on their walked back.

“I have an idea,” Stanford said as he steadied the ladder for Lute.

“I’m all ears,” Lute said, snipping at the dead branches of a pear tree.

“What if you trimmed smaller parts of the branches to begin with, that way we could just put the wheelbarrow beneath you.” Stanford said, grinning to himself, feeling as though he was a genius that had just reinvented the wheel.

“Hate to burst your bubble there Stanford, but there’s a flaw in that there plan of yours,” Lute grunted. He worked the clipper on a particularly thick branch.

“Oh?”

“These clippers weigh a tonne, wavin’ them around in that plan of yours would tire me out in no time. Plus you’d have to move the barrow around to catch the falling branches as well. You'd end up with more branches falling on your head than in the barrow,” Lute said. He lowered the clippers to Stanford. “Hold these for me.”

“Yeah-um. Well I’m—I’m probably going to need to rework that plan. But it has potential,” Stanford said. He placed the clipper on the ground before holding ladder in place as Lute descended.

“Maybe,” Lute shrugged. He jumped from the last rung of the ladder onto a nearby branch.

“Perhaps if I had some sort of machine that cut through branches. One that wouldn't need human interaction,” Stanford mused. He stopped on a couple of branches while cupping his chin in his hand.

“Oh Lord you’re starting to sound like Fidds,” Lute chuckled.

“Is that bad?” Stanford asked. He watched Lute as he stomped on some more branches.

“Not necessarily. He’s pretty good with machines,” Lute said. He picked up the twigs he broke. “But his biggest problem was that he’d get lost in his own thoughts when making schemes and plans. Which can be great for when he wants to stay in the flow of his work, but not so great when he doesn’t think of the bigger picture.”

“How badly are we talking?” Stanford snapped a branch over his knee, only needing two attempts.

“I was complain’ about how my alarm was too quiet. Ma and Pa were gettin’ on my case about not getting up on time you see. So out of the goodness of his heart, Fidds offered to fix up my alarm to make it louder for me,” Lute said. He loaded the last of the branches into the wheelbarrow.

“That sounds kind,” Stanford placed the clippers on-top of the branches in the wheelbarrow.

“In theory yes. In practice he made my alarm loud enough that is shattered me and Angie’s bedroom windows,” Lute said with a fond smirk. “Hoo boy let me tell you that was a morning alright.”

“I see what you mean.” Stanford shuddered.

He and Lute had gotten ready to move to the next tree, when the clippers began to float upwards with a sparkling trail.

“That’s not normal right?” Stanford asked.

“Do your tools float on their own?” Lute’s voice was shaky as he stepped back.

“Not unless my brother was doing his invisible string trick.”

“Sorry to interrupt you,” A soft voice came from above them. The pair looked up with mixed expressions of confusion and cautious excitement. “I overheard you talking about getting your chores done faster, and I think I might be able to help you.”

The voice belonged to a short girl in a puffy yellow dress that reached passed her knees. She had brown skin and a cheeky grin that spread across her freckled face. Her black hair was skillfully tied to look like a pair of bows on top of her head. She had a pair of see-through yellow butterfly-shaped wings coming out of her back as well as a small wand in her hand.

“Who’re you?” Lute asked.

“Why, I’m Applina! The Magical Fairy of the apple tree,” She said. Her voice was chipper and sweet. She jumped off her perch on the tree and drew a circle or sparkles around herself with her wand as she descended to the ground.

“But that’s pear tree,” Stanford pointed out.

“Sh-I mean-I’m the fairy of all the trees. I just confused this tree for one of the apple ones,” Appleina said.

“Right,” Lute wasn’t convinced.

“Listen, you’re going to be spending the rest of the day cutting the branches, and I can trim down how long you’ll spend doing that,” she said. Applina crossed her arms. “My friend and I are looking for his students. Help us find them and I’ll help you trim the rest of the orchard.”

“How can you help us with that?” Lute asked.

“Seriously?” Applina pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the floating tools.

“Oh right.”

“So have we got a deal?” she asked impatiently.

“Can we have a moment? This is kind of a lot to take in,” Lute said.

“Yeah sure,” Applina waved her wand and the tools crashed back on top of one another. “But be quick about it. I need to make sure those rascals don’t hurt themselves you know?”

Lute nodded and pulled Ford aside. “Please pinch me,” he whispered. Ford obliged. “Ouch!”

“So you’re not dreaming.” Stanford beamed.

“Why are you so happy about this?” Lute’s face contorted with confusion.

“My-I mean-I found the Jersey Devil when I were younger. Spooks, magic monsters they’re all real!” Stanford said, “How can you not be excited about this?”

“Magi? -fairies? I thought those were nothing but stories my Grandpappy told me,” Lute said, dragging his hand over his face.

“Well maybe he knew more than he let on?” Stanford suggested.

“Maybe?” Lute’s face was contorted with confusion. “We’ll leave that for later. Right now we need to figure out this situation.” He motioned to Applina.

“I can still hear you, you know,” she said.

“We’ll be with you in a minute,” Lute said over his shoulder.

“I think we should hear her out,” Stanford said. “If we don’t like her offer we can say no if we’re not feeling easy about it.” He put his arm around Lute’s shoulder.

“She’s gonna have an uphill job with that one,” Lute pouted.

The pair walked over to the fairy, who had taken a seat on a tree root. During their discussion Applina had set herself up a cup of tea. Floating next to her on a table made of sparkles stood around teapot and three tea cups that looked like fine china. A fourth cup was in her hand, the tea within was a dull pink and released a soft coloured steam.

“Are you two ready to talk about my offer?” She asked. Her pinky finger pointed out as she held her tea cup.

“I-um, yes? How long did it take you to prepare that?” Lute asked.

“This?” Applina pointed to her tea set. “No time at all, I have magic after all.”

“Right.” Lute said.

He and Ford walked over to Applina, easily towering over her while she nonchalantly sipped her tea.

“I’m hoping you two have come to a decision,” Applina put down her tea cup. “I certainly do not have all day.”

“We want to hear more about your deal.” Is what Ford wanted to say, if it were not for the fact he was now face-down in the dirt.

“Toufi are you alright?” a distressed voice asked. Stanford heard the patter of feet stop not too far from him.

“Winks what have you done?” Applina asked. Her cheerful demeanor from before melted like a lump of sugar in warm tea.

“They were going to attack you!” Winks said. Ford looked up and saw a man no taller than Applina. He wore grey shoes and brown tights. Under his tan green vest was a dark green tunic. On his head was a brown pointed hat.

“They were going to help us you lost lamb.” Applina said. She waved her arms as she spoke.

“And how are you so sure?” Winks crossed his arms, his hat pointed skywards. “You don’t know what they’re thinking.” “I’m pretty sure they were thinking. ‘Oh thank goodness this nice fairy was going to help us with our chores.’” Applina stomped her foot.

“Ugh my head.” Lute rubbed his forehead.

“Quick we need to get out of here.” Winks grabbed Applina’s wrist, his hat deflating ever so slightly.

Lute tried to pick himself up. However, when he tried to push himself up on to his feet. He found himself swinging them up over his head. Standing firmly on his hands as though he were a circus performer.

“Why are the trees so tall? Applina did you do this?” Lute asked. He reached to dust the dirt from his hair before almost falling over. “Why am I upside down?”

“Toufi come on.” Winks urged.

“Toufi? I thought your name was Applina.” Ford said.

“We need to get out of here.” Winks tugged at Applina’s arm.

“Okay I’ve had enough.” Applina, or Toufi, pulled her wrist out of Wink’s grip. She flapped her butterfly-like wings and flew above the trio. With a wave of her wand Winks floated in the air next to her with the same spell she had used to make Lute and Ford’s tools float earlier.

“Mr. Farm boys, I haven’t been perfectly honest with you.” Applina said.

“We gathered,” Lute said curtly.

“Allow me to explain myself.” She floated down so that she was standing between Ford and Lute. “My name is really Toufi, and I’m just a regular fairy, not a fairy of Apple trees.”

“Right.”

“But I wasn't completely dishonest.” Toufi said. “We truly do need your help. Winks you see, he lost his students. We searched all over the woods and we couldn’t find nary a hair of them anywhere. We came to your farm to look for them, and we still have no clue of where they could be. So please, kind sirs, would you help us? We’d be more than willing to help you with your chore in exchange.” “Now hold on there.” Lute raised his hand, but lowered it again to stop himself from losing balance. “You lied to us about your name, but didn’t lie about what you needed? Why? And why am I stuck like this?”

“I think I’m upside down too.” Ford said. He tried pushing himself up, to similar results as Lute.

“Well that’s just dandy.” Lute spat.

“Now, now don’t worry Sir, the spell Winks placed upon you can be easily undone.” Toufi said. She waved her wand. A ball of sparkles shot from the star at the end of her wand, and splattered against Lute and Ford.

“You should be fine now.” She smiled.

“Yeah...totally.” Winks tugged at the collar of his shirt.

Ford and Lute swung their legs around, trying to stand upright. And while the image itself would have made Toufi roll with laughter. At this very moment she was far from entertained. The same could not be said for Winks, who laughed freely.

“This isn’t funny Winks.” Toufi stomped her foot.

“Oh come now Toufi, it’s hilarious. They look like little beetles trying to right themselves.” Winks wiped away a tear.

“You want to say that down here Mr. Smart mouth?” Lute asked. He’d have shook his fist had it not risked him falling onto his face.

“That’s not in my power.” Winks said smugly, before falling face first into the dirt.

“Stop wasting time and undo the spell.” Toufi hid her grin behind her hand.

“Why? So that they can attack us?” Winks picked himself up.

“Not to play devil’s advocate here,” Stanford spoke up. “But you’re not really giving us a fair chance here.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Winks squinted.

“When Toufi said that she wanted to make an offer, Lute and I walked over with the intent of learning more.” Stanford said. “But you couldn't have known that from wherever you were. In fact, if I were to guess, the reason your students are missing it’s because you’re so set in your views on people that you refuse to listen to them when they talk to you.”

Wink’s jaw was slack. Toufi fell onto the grass with laughter. Winks opened his mouth only to close it again, outrage coloured his face as he struggled to put his feelings into words. Lute chuckled with Toufi while Ford wore a small satisfied smile as they watched Winks  pace to and fro. Stopping on occasion to open his mouth, only to stop himself and go back to pacing.

“My goodness!” Toufi said clutching her sides. “That was marvelous.”

“Stanford how did you figure all that?” Lute asked.

“Let’s say that Winks reminded me of someone.” Stanford grinned sheepishly.

“Well in any case you hit that nail on the head.” Toufi grinned. “Now if only someone would learn his lesson.” Toufi added unsubtly.

“Why are you siding with them?” Winks cried. He threw his arms over his head.

“Because if you listened to Mr. Sahir we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” Toufi said. “I could be at home working on fixing my good dress, but no, someone decided that he didn’t want to listen to whatever his students had to say.”

“It’s not my- fine you’re right.” Winks slumped forward with a heavy sigh.

“Wait what’s going on?” Lute asked.

“Well you see, er Lute? Was that right?” Lute nodded, “You see Lute, we’ve been searching for a few days now and I don’t want to waste any more time arguing.”

“And you don’t want your mentor Mr. Sahir coming back to finding you not having learnt your lesson.” Toufi said under her breath.

“Would you like to pour some lemon juice into my wound while you’re adding that salt?” Winks asked.

“No thanks, I’ll save the lemon juice for when you really deserve it.” Toufi smiled.

“Well thank you.” Winks rolled his eyes.

“And given your track record that should be within the next five minutes.” She added slyly. Stanford and Lute failed at hiding their chuckles.

“Do you want me to undo the spell or not?” Winks asked. He waved his arms wildly.

“Well if you want us to consider helping you I’d highly recommend it.” Lute said. “Unless you want me to go hunting for you when this spell wears off.”

“Hey now, let’s not get too hasty,” Winks said. “I was just joking with Toufi, I’ll undo the spell right now.”

Winks muttered under his breath before giving his wand a small flourish. An orb of light launched out of its tip and landed on Lute’s nose. It then flew up to his boots and then back down to his hands. Finally it went through Lute’s back before disappearing in a puff of sparkles.

“You should be good now.” Winks said nervously.

Lute gave a small “oof” as he fell back onto the ground. He carefully stood up, grinning as he found purchase on his feet and not his hands.

“Hoo wee! I’ve never been happier to be able to walk on my own two feet.” Lute said merrily.

“So no hunting for me later?” Winks asked tentatively.

“I think you’re forgetting about someone.” Stanford piped up.

“Fix up my good friend Stanford over here and I won’t add your wand to our firewood stack.” Lute said.

“Sure thing.” Winks said nervously.

He repeated the flourish and muttering he had done before. However there was no orb of light. Giving his wand a small smack, the way one would give to a malfunctioning electronic device, Winks tried again. A small stream of sparkles poured out of his wand tip before it fizzled to a stop.

“Oh no.” Wink said.

“Oh no?” Stanford and Lute repeated.

“I told you to make sure it was full before we left.” Toufi said, placing her face in her hands.

“You might have to wait a bit before I can help you Stanford.” Winks said sheepishly.

“What do you mean. ‘A little bit?’” Lute asked.

“My wand’s run out of magic.” Winks said. “I could have sworn it was full of magic when we left the woods.”

“So what now?” Lute asked. “We can’t leave Stanford stuck upside down.”

“I told you not to worry, at most he’d be stuck like this until tomorrow morning.” Winks said.

“I wouldn't mind staying upside down,” Stanford said. Not that anyone noticed.

“That’s not any better” Lute said. “How is he supposed to eat?”

“As it turns out, you’re able swallow while upside down, your esophagus pushes your food down, or in my case up, towards your stomach.” Stanford said, his words still not noticed by no one.

“We could give him a small enhancement using Toufi’s wand.” Winks said. “Right Toufi?”

“Why can’t you just go back to your forest and refill your wand with magic?” Lute asked.

“We-” Winks caught sight of Toufi and corrected himself. “I can’t go back without my students. I’d be in a world of trouble.”

“Well that’s just your own fault isn’t it?” Lute glared.

“Please, I’m sorry, things have been piling up for me and I haven’t been able to do anything right for days now.” Winks stammered. “That’s no excuse.” Lute stamped his foot. “Because of you, me and Stanford could have lost out on an entire day of chores. How am I supposed to explain to my Ma and Pa that some pixie showed up while we were working in the orchard and flipped Stanford over? Either you find a way to fix this up or you’re gonna be finding yourself with a whole new world of trouble.” “I-er.” Winks cowered away from Lute who was now towering over him. His fist dangerously close to the pixie’s face.

“There is another way to solve this you know,” Toufi said. Her comment was more to Winks than to Lute.

“What do you-no. Please don’t say it.” Winks begged. His hat deflated completely.

“You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place Winks. So you’re either going to swallow your pride and talk to Eirafa or face whatever Lute has in store.” Toufi put her hands on her hips.

“What are you talking about?” Lute snapped.

“While Winks over here won’t be able to help Stanford, we do know someone who would be able to. And she would be able to solve our missing student problem.” Toufi said.

“So why didn’t you go to her first?” Lute asked.

“You think I didn’t suggest that?” Toufi said. “But Mr. ‘I’d rather die before letting go of a grudge’ doesn’t want to even consider the option.”

“Could we have a bit of context?” Stanford asked.

“I’ll give you the cliff notes.” Toufi pinched the bridge of her nose. “There’s a witch that lives about 8 miles west of here. Her name is Eirafa and she should have a spell that would help us find our students in 20 minutes. But she stiffed Winks on a payment when he worked for her one time and has been holding a grudge ever since.” “I worked a week for her and she only paid me the work of a single day!” Winks cried. He stomped his foot angrily.

“And would she be able to fix Stanford up?” Lute asked.

“Most likely.” Toufi said.

“That’s not very convincing.” Lute muttered.

“She has a spell for almost any situation.” Toufi said. “And unless you want Stanford to wait until tomorrow she’s your best option too.” “Oh, I wonder if the spell replaced my arm strength with my legs strength” Stanford muttered. “That would make travelling easier.” “I guess we have no choice.” Lute sighed. “We’ll go see your Witch.” “Wait I didn’t agree to this.” Winks said. “You don’t get to agree to this.” Lute said pointedly. “It’s called responsibility.”

“I can fix this.” Winks said. Stubbornly. “I just need time.”

“By the sounds of things, time is the last thing you have.” Lute shot back.

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Stanford said. “All in favor of taking part in a magical journey to the witch's hut-”

“Actually she lives in a cottage” Toufi corrected.

“-Witches cottage say ‘Aye’” Stanford said.

“Aye,” Lute, Toufi and Stanford said in unison.

“All opposed?”

“I really don’t have a choice in this do I?” Winks sulked.

“Off to the witch we go!” Stanford cheered. He kicked his legs enthusiastically, almost clocking Lute in the face. “Whoops, sorry.”

--

A/N: i’d like to thank the amazing @artylovr for their amazing work on the drawings featured in this chapter.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Toufi and Winks are characters I based off of Enid Blyton’s work with her frequent use of Fairy folk. I have plans for these two to make multiple appearance in the future. 

what did you like the most? What did you like the least? tell me all about it below! see you guys next chapter!

[agent-jaselin]

15, Ford and Lute high fiving? (I'm thinking mergucket au)

Awesome backflipping mermaids are the only way to do this one properly haha.

[nour386]

Flute headcanons part 2

@thelastspeecher @darfichihrenhundstreicheln here's some more flute ideas!

1. Lute thought that Ford had stood him up on their second date. But did was actually held back by work and his phone didn't have any charge because his supervisors watch him like a hawk.

2. Ford makes it up to lute with a homemade candle lit dinner.

3. Ford has no idea what he's doing. Stan and Angie are out for the night and he wanted to do something nice for Lute to apologize.

4. Ford definitely uses his powers to summon a bottle of wine mid way through the evening to impress lute.

5. Lute calls him cheesy. Ford says that it's a good thing that they're drinking wine.

6. Lute forgives Ford for the stand up. And they kiss. Just a light peck

7. They basically suffer anxiety when they have to share a room together as well as Stan or Angie.

'they're both so nosy. They'll find out straight away. Oh my God they already know don't they?'

'it's okay, I once saw Stan order ice cream and forget about his powers so it melted in his hand. It took him two more ice creams before he realised.'

'WHAT'S THAT GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHING?'

'it means that my brother is a dumb ass and that we're probably in the clear'

8. Stan guesses about their relationship right in the first two minutes as a joke and doesn't understand why both Lute and Ford went through the five stages of grief. His joke wasn't that bad was it?

9. Lute points out which villains are best in bed and which ones should be avoided like the plague.

"The worst part was that he hogged all the blankets"

"Kind of a petty reason to rank him so low"

"My list my rules"

10. Ford hasn't slept with that many heroes, villains or non masks. So his list is more on how the heroes he's worked with are.

"They're all terrible and the sooner I get out of that office the better"

"You know I expected a bit more of love for your team you know?"

"They'll get their love when they file their forms on time."

"What do you do if they don't? Steal their underwear while their wearing it?"

"No, I mean as funny as that is it wouldn't help. I'd just be forced to lessen the time they're allowed to legally fight crime. If they go over their allowed hours they're committing vandalism and can face trial. Also taking away their underwear would land me a security sexual assault trial that I promise you I can't afford right now."

11. The head of the villain league finds out about flute and doesn't tell anyone but she does tease Lute at every opportunity.

12.

"Does he like books?"

*Lute proceeds to choke because he had gone to get Ford a gift of books the previous day after work*

13. Lute is a little shit but he does like Ford. He wouldn't have tried the relationship if he didn't. Sometimes his pranks go too far and Ford seriously questions if he even loves him. But Lute realises his mistakes and apologies to Ford

[ao3feed-anastasia]

An Unlikely Reunion

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3Fhqohu

by Haberdasher

In an Anastasia AU, Angie and Lute McGucket reunite.

Words: 1575, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Gravity Falls, Anastasia (1997)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Original McGucket Character(s)

Additional Tags: Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Family Reunions, Reunions, Amnesia, Royalty, Alternate Universe - Royalty

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3Fhqohu

[thelastspeecher]

Horse Boy Stan AU request, the birth of Junior with Stan and Angie reacting to how he looks different. Or, when Stan wins his first race as a horse.

                 "Next up, Lute McGucket on Hardtack!"

                 "You got this," Lute whispered to Stan as they walked up to the gate. Stan tossed his mane.

                 "We've got this," he whinnied.

                 One of the competition workers opened the gate. The horn blared. Lute dug his heels into Stan's sides. Stan jumped forward.

                 At his last competition, Stan hadn't gotten even close to the podium. In his eagerness to finish quicker than the others, he didn't slow down for his turns, resulting in clipped barrels. His time was the fastest, but he got so many penalties from hitting the barrels that it didn't even matter.

                 Lute decided after that to focus harder on Stan’s training. Specifically, he worked Stan on being willing to slow down so that he could be more careful.

                 He was very annoying about it, saying that it was a good lesson for life.

                 Stan approached the first barrel. Lute gently tugged on his reins, lightening the pressure of his heels slightly. Unlike the previous competition, Stan listened. He slowed, allowing Lute to guide him around the first barrel with no danger of clipping at all. It felt like there was a yard between Stan and the barrel.

                 Stan picked up speed again for the second one. Lute didn't tug on the reins to slow him, instead just pulling at a tighter angle, making Stan's turns sharper.

                 Stan slowed slightly for the third barrel, only for Lute to dig into his sides, urging him faster. Stan obeyed. He heard Lute inhale sharply as they turned, but again Stan avoided knocking into the barrel.

                 The crowd cheered, promoting Stan to speed up again, now that he was done. He raced back to the gate he had entered through. The next horse - a bay gelding - and his rider were waiting to be called. Stan snorted proudly at the gelding, who was watching him with a wary expression. It was the typical look Stan got from actual horses meeting him for the first time. They could always tell there was something off about him and tended to avoid him if possible.

                 Lute brought Stan outside and walked him around for a cooldown.

                 "That was amazing, Stan," Lute whispered to him. Stan flicked his tail happily at the praise. "We did a good job with our trainin’."

                 "When does Angie compete?" Stan asked. This particular competition didn't have the events Angie competed in as a rider, so like him she was competing as a horse. But because her usual rider was Lute, their older brother Fiddleford was subbing in for him.

                 "You want to watch?" Lute asked.

                 "Can I?"

                 "Uh, not when you've got hooves."

                 "Oh." Stan pawed the ground. His control over his human form was still poor, but even if it wasn't, there'd be questions if the stallion Hardtack disappeared. "Well, she probably wouldn't want me to watch anyways."

                 "I don't know about that..." Lute said. Stan huffed. "All right, let's get ya stabled so I can watch my sister win another blue ribbon." Lute dismounted and led Stan into the stable where horses were being kept between rounds. He brought Stan to his stall and removed his saddle and reins. "Think you can wait to be brushed down until after Angie's done? She's up first in her event."

                 "Sure," Stan said. Lute patted his side and left.

                 Stan stood in the stall, listening to the sounds of competition off in the distance. Lute was training him on more than just barrel racing, but they decided to only enter him in one event this time, since he was still very new to equestrian events.

                 People and horses walked past, some looking happy, others sad, and most of them nervous. Stan sighed.

                 This sucks.

                 After ages, Lute returned with Fiddleford, who was leading Angie. Angie was a stunning palomino in horse form, resulting in her horse name of Honey. She whinnied at Stan.

                 "Congrats, Hardtack."

                 "Huh?" Stan neighed.

                 "The results came out for yer round. Ya got first," Angie said. Stan's jaw dropped. "A few got faster times, but they bumped the barrels and got penalties."

                 "Did they already have the award ceremony?" Stan asked eagerly.

                 "Yeah," Lute answered for Angie. Fiddleford brought Angie into the stall next to Stan. Lute held out a blue ribbon. "Some competitions have the horse in the awards ceremony, but not this one." Stan stared at the ribbon. "We'll put it on yer stall when we get home."

                 "I- I really won?" Stan said, still taken aback. Angie, who was being brushed down by Fiddleford, whinnied in amusement.

                 "Ya better get used to it. I've seen ya practicin’ with Lute. This is just the first of many." She shot a glare at him. "Not that I care."

                 "No, I know you only care about your ribbons," Stan said. Lute grabbed a curry comb and began to brush Stan down. "But maybe I'll get enough to catch up to you." Angie snorted.

                 "You can try," she said.  Stan grinned.

                 "I will."

[thelastspeecher]

Uhhhhhhh here's more Horse Boy Stan. I've actually been sitting on this for a couple days lol. It takes place immediately following this.

——————————————————————————————

                 Stan, Lute, and Tuesday arrived at, according to Lute, who chattered the entire trip, the McGucket horse ranch.  There was already somebody waiting for them when Lute led the two horses into the stable.  A middle-aged man stood in the middle of the stable, his arms crossed.  He looked very similar to Lute, with the same dark hair and large nose.

                 His dad, maybe?

                 “Howdy, Pa!” Lute chirped.

                 Yep.

                 “Lute, why did the auction house call me sayin’ I had to pay fer a new stallion?” Mr. McGucket asked.  Lute gestured to Stan.

                 “I had to rescue Stan, here.”

                 “Stan?”  Mr. McGucket looked at Stan.  “Leo said the horse didn’t have a…name…”  Mr. McGucket’s eyes narrowed, then widened.  “Hoppin’ taters, he got the gift!”

                 “Ya see now why I had to get him,” Lute said.  Mr. McGucket walked up to Stan.  He circled the stallion, looking him over curiously.  “He seems awful confused ‘bout his sit’ation.”

                 “Well, when the gift was new to the fam’ly, it was confusin’ to ‘em.  Am I right that this is new to ya, Stan?”  Stan nodded.  Mr. McGucket stroked his chin.  “Hmm.  What’s Stan short fer?”

                 “Stanley.  Stanley Pines,” Stan neighed.  Mr. McGucket nodded.

                 “All right, Mr. Pines.  I think we can get ya into somethin’ a bit smaller, but I ain’t sure how long it’ll last.”

                 “You- are you saying you can make me human again?” Stan asked eagerly.

                 “Until ya go back to bein’ a horse,” Mr. McGucket said.  Suddenly anxious, Stan shied away from him.  “Look, ya got the gift of switchin’ ‘tween horse ‘n human forms.  Since ya got it recently, ya won’t be able to control it well just yet.  It’ll take some practice, but ‘fore ya know it, you’ll be able to take either form as easy as breathin’.”

                 “What makes you say that?” Stan asked warily.  He blinked.  Suddenly, instead of a middle-aged man, a dappled gray stallion stood before him.  Stan gaped.

                 “‘Cause that’s how it is fer everyone in my fam’ly,” the stallion neighed.  Lute rolled his eyes.  He walked Tuesday into a stall and began to remove his riding gear.  The stallion, who was clearly somehow Mr. McGucket, cleared his throat, drawing Stan’s attention.  “This is a very simple method to get ya to move ‘tween forms.  It ain’t the best method ‘cause it don’t tend to last long, but I’d like to just get ya back to human to help yer mood, however brief it winds up bein’.”  Stan nodded.

                 Even if it’s only five minutes, I’ll take it.

                 “Good!  Okay, what ya do is ‘member how it feels to be human,” Mr. McGucket coached.  “Standin’ on two feet, havin’ fingers ‘n toes, only really havin’ hair on top of yer head.”  Stan closed his eyes.  He visualized what it was like to be human, reliving the sensations that, after a week as a horse, he missed dearly.

                 A jolt of pain suddenly shot through him.  Stan let out an agonized grunt.  He fell to the floor, overcome by what felt like severe muscle cramps across his entire body.  His skin prickled and burned, like he was being stabbed with needles all over.  His chest ached as though he had been shot, his heart thundering like a champion racehorse.  Then, it stopped.

                 “Excellent job!” Mr. McGucket’s voice said.  Stan opened his eyes.  He was on the floor, but instead of on four knees, he was on his hands and knees.  Stan choked back a sob.

                 I’m never gonna take having hands for granted again, holy shit.

                 “Yer quite the quick study,” Mr. McGucket said, kneeling next to Stan.  Stan felt himself begin to shake.  “Lute, go fetch some clothes fer him.”

                 “He won’t stay human long, what’s the point?” Lute asked.  Mr. McGucket frowned at him.  Lute sighed.  “Fine.”  Lute left the stable.

                 “Oh.  Right.  I’m naked,” Stan mumbled to himself.  The gentle evening air was chilly on his now fur-free bare skin.  He looked at Mr. McGucket.  “You are, too.”  Instinctively, Stan averted his eyes.

                 Catching some guy naked in the locker room is one thing.  This- this is different.

                 “Yer a bit thrown off by that, huh?” Mr. McGucket said with a chuckle.  He got to his feet and walked over to where his clothes were sitting, neatly folded.  “If ya plan to stay here long enough to get yer shiftin’ under control, you’ll get used to seein’ folks as god made ‘em.  We don’t tend to be as concerned about the propriety of that.”  Mr. McGucket began to pull on his clothes.  Stan frowned at him.

                 “How’d you fold your clothes before you turned into a horse?” he asked.  Mr. McGucket chuckled again.

                 “I have my ways.”  The barn door opened.  Now fully dressed, Mr. McGucket looked past Stan, towards the door.  “I thought I told Lute to grab the clothes fer our guest.”

                 “I wanted to see the feller m’ self,” a female voice said.  Stan turned around.  A short, very cute blonde young woman about Stan’s age stood in the doorway.  She met Stan’s eyes.  A gasp escaped from her.  The folded clothes she was carrying tumbled to the ground.  “It’s you!”

                 “What do you mean?” Stan asked.  He coughed, trying to clear the taste of alfalfa from his mouth.  The woman crossed her arms.

                 “Yer the feller what rode me!”

                 “Huh?”  Stan squinted at her.

                 “Are ya sure, junebug?” Mr. McGucket asked.  The woman walked up to Stan and glared down at him.

                 “I’d know that face anywhere,” she snarled.  Stan’s eyes widened.

                 “You- you were that yellow horse?” he choked out.  The woman’s eyes were the giveaway.  Once she got close enough, he could see they were the same blue as the yellow horse he had ridden a week ago, in a desperate attempt to escape from the police.  She scowled at him.

                 “I ain’t yellow.  I’m palomino.”  She kicked the clothes away from him.  “And ya don’t deserve my fam’ly’s gift after what ya did.”  She turned away and stormed out of the barn.  Stan turned back to Mr. McGucket.  He swallowed nervously.  The man’s face, previously kind and warm, had turned stormy.

                 “Is she tellin’ the truth?” he asked in a dangerous voice.  Stan held up his hands.

                 “Look, I didn’t have a choice!  I needed to get away and my car broke down!”

                 “So ya decided to steal a horse?”

                 “I wasn’t gonna keep it!  I mean, I let it- her-”  Stan quickly corrected the pronoun at Mr. McGucket’s thunderous expression.  “-go as soon as I was safe!”

                 “That’s still theft, even if it weren’t fer long.”

                 “I swear, if I knew she was a person, I wouldn’t have just jumped on her!” Stan said desperately.  Mr. McGucket pursed his lips.  “I thought she was a regular horse!  I didn’t-”

                 “I believe you,” Mr. McGucket said softly, cutting off Stan.  “And I’d like to know exactly what ya were runnin’ from, but that can wait.”  He frowned.  “Of course, no matter how innocent yer intentions were, yer actions weren’t good.  My daughter was upset fer days that some feller rode her like a pony at a fair.”

                 “I didn’t mean to,” Stan muttered.

                 “I know.  It don’t fix things, though.  Not right now, at least.”  To Stan’s relief, Mr. McGucket seemed to have calmed down somewhat from his earlier furor.  Mr. McGucket stood and retrieved the clothes.  He handed them to Stan.  “At least it explains why ya got the gift.”

                 “What do you mean?” Stan asked.  He began to put on the worn and stained, but clean work clothes.

                 “The very first McGucket what got the gift, he got it from survivin’ a ride on a kelpie.”  Stan frowned, confused.  “A kind of fae what takes the form of a horse.  Kelpies, they do whatever they can to get a rider off ‘em.  But my ancestor, he stayed on no matter what.  So the kelpie gave our bloodline the gift to take a horse form, too.”  Mr. McGucket met Stan’s eyes.  “My daughter told me that no matter what she did, she couldn’t get ya off.  You survived the ride.  You were given the gift.”

                 “I- I don’t want it!” Stan burst out.  Mr. McGucket sighed.

                 “There’s an awful lot we still have to talk about.  But I think it can wait.  We don’t know how long it’ll be ‘fore ya return to a horse, and I reckon ya want some human food.”  Stan’s stomach rumbled.  Mr. McGucket managed a small smile.  “Come on in the house.  We’ll get ya somethin’ to eat what ain’t alfalfa.”

[thelastspeecher]

Ehhhhh fuck it, here's some self-indulgent angst in my Olympian Falls AU.

——————————————————————————————

              Mearl parked the truck in the driveway and looked at his youngest son in the passenger seat.

              “Don’t forget, we’ll tell folks ya fell from the loft in the barn again,” he said.  Lute scowled.

              “I know.  That’s what we told the hospital,” he spat.

              “Look, tellin’ the truth is important, but in this case-” Mearl started.  Lute threw the passenger door open.

              “I know,” he ground out.  “We can’t tell the truth ‘bout how my arm got broke.  Folks can’t know it happened ‘cause a monster attacked the farm.  Again.  No, we have to tell ‘em I got hurt doin’ somethin’ stupid.”  Lute stormed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.  Mearl sighed.  He knew that it would be an adjustment to have Angie living at home again, after years of her staying in New York.  But he didn’t expect Lute, whom had been raised as Angie’s twin, to be struggling the most.

              Tensions had been high when Mearl returned from New York with Angie.  Specifically, tensions between Angie and Lute.  Angie’s other siblings had been happy to see her, but her twin dodged her constantly, refusing to be alone with her as much as possible, leaving the room whenever she talked about camp, and even avoiding talking to her altogether.

              It came to a head that morning, when a monster attacked the orchard where Angie and Lute were harvesting apples.  Lute was slammed into one of the apple trees, breaking his arm, before Angie was able to kill the monster.  Angie brought Lute to the house, near hysterical.  Sally stayed home to calm her down while Mearl drove Lute to the hospital.  The entire drive there and back, Lute had sulked, staring at the floor like it personally offended him.

              Mearl suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.

              Lute was awful upset at Angie.  It might not go well when he sees her.  Mearl grabbed the keys from the ignition and sprinted after his son.  He could hear Angie frantically apologizing the moment he stepped inside.

              “I’m sorry, Lute, I- I can’t heal like some of my siblin’s at camp,” Angie’s voice sobbed.  Mearl made a beeline for the living room.  Lute stood in front of the couch his mother and sister were sitting on, visibly seething.  Tear tracks shone on Angie’s cheeks.  Sally gently rubbed circles on Angie’s back, trying to soothe her.

              “Then why’d ya waste time tryin’?” Lute snapped.  Angie bit her lip.

              “I thought- I thought if it’d work fer anyone, it’d work fer my twin.  I mean, Dad is a twin, so-”

              “Yer not my twin.”  Lute’s voice was full of cold anger.  Angie let out another sob.  “Yer not even my full sister!”

              “Lute,” Sally scolded.

              “How can you defend her?  She ain’t yer daughter, Ma!”

              “She is.”

              “No, she ain’t!  She’s some- some Greek myth what came to life!” Lute said furiously.  “And she can’t even protect us from the monsters what come here.  The monsters what come here ‘cause of her!”

              “I- I killed the one today,” Angie said weakly.  Lute’s eyes blazed with fury.  He leaned in.

              “You ran away from it!”

              “I had to get- get some distance so’s I could fire an arrow.  I ain’t good at melee fightin’.”

              “Then why’d you run without me?”  Lute’s voice broke.  Angie’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “You left me!”

              “I didn’t-”

              “No, you did!  You left, just like ya did years ago to go to that- that camp!”

              “I-”

              “You should’ve stayed there,” Lute spat.  Angie’s head drooped.  “Better yet, when ya showed up on our doorstep, Ma should’ve divorced Pa ‘n sent the both of ya far away!”  Mearl’s heart plummeted.  Sally gasped.  She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Angie jumped to her feet.

              “I didn’t ask fer this!” Angie screamed.  She ran out of the living room, nearly colliding with Mearl on her way.  The front door slammed.  Angie’s sobs gradually grew fainter until he couldn’t hear her anymore.

              “Lute Everrett McGucket, that was completely unacceptable,” Sally snapped.  Lute glared at her.

              “I’m only tellin’ the truth.  And Angie knows it.  I’ve read those books ya got on Greek mythology.  Her- her father-”  Lute’s face contorted, as though he had tasted something sour.  “-is the god of truth.  I bet she knows a lie when she hears one.”

              “Ya might feel like that’s the truth, but it don’t make it,” Mearl rumbled.  Lute looked over.  His eyes widened in panic.

              “I- I didn’t know you were there, Pa.  I didn’t mean-”  He let out a large sneeze.  “I didn’t mean-”  He sneezed again.  “What in the-”  Lute sneezed three times in a row.  “What’s-”

              “That sounds like when Harper gets hay fever,” Sally said.  Lute sneezed.  “But ya ain’t never had it ‘fore, and the pollen count ain’t high right now.”  Mearl stifled a groan.

              “It was Angie.”

              “What?!” Lute squeaked.  He rubbed his suddenly red and watering eyes.  “But- but-”

              “When I visited her fer Thanksgiving last year, one of her camp friends told me she accidentally gave hay fever to someone she was upset with.  Feller was sneezin’ fer over a week ‘fore Angie realized she was the one what done it.”

              “Of course she did it,” Lute muttered.  He sneezed.  “It- it weren’t enough that I broke my arm, were it?”

              “She didn’t mean to make ya sneezy,” Sally said.  “And she certainly didn’t intend fer ya to break yer arm.”  Mearl looked over his shoulder.  The front door had some damage to its hinges; Mearl had noticed Angie breaking things more frequently than she used to, particularly when she was upset.

              If she messed up the door and got Lute sneezin’ already, there ain’t no tellin’ what else she might do in her state.  A surge of fear pulsed through his chest.  And there ain’t no tellin’ what attention she might attract.

              “We need to go after her,” Mearl said.

              “Sure, go after the one what keeps causin’ me grief,” Lute said.  Mearl frowned at him.  Lute backpedaled.  “I mean- I-”  He sneezed.  “She just needs to cool down.  She’ll come back.”  Sally looked at Mearl.

              “Lute’s got a point, darlin’.  Angie might just need some time to herself.”

              “But-” Mearl started.

              “She can take care of herself,” Sally said gently.  Mearl hesitated.  “She’s been on quests, ‘member?  She’ll be fine.”

              “I don’t know…”

              “If she ain’t back in an hour, we’ll go lookin’,” Sally said.  Mearl sighed.

              “Fine.” He gave Lute his most disapproving look.  “In the meantime, yer goin’ to yer room,” he said firmly.  Lute stomped off, sneezing intermittently the entire way.  Mearl walked over to the couch and slowly sunk down on it.  Sally rubbed his back.  “When did things get so complicated?” he moaned.

              “The moment ya found our daughter in a golden cradle on the doorstep,” Sally replied.  Mearl looked away.  “Mearl?”

              “Sometimes I think the same thing as Lute,” he said quietly.  “That I should’ve taken Angie and left y’all.  Then- then none of this would’ve happened.”

              “True.  But what would’ve happened would be worse,” Sally said.  Mearl looked at her.  Compassion shone in her eyes, a far gentler blue than Angie’s.  “Our children would’ve grown up without a father.  You ‘n Angie would’ve struggled to get by.  No matter what those negative thoughts might say, it’s fer the best we didn’t tear the fam’ly apart.”

              “Yer right,” Mearl said.  He gripped his knees.  “I just- I hate seein’ the twins like this.”

              “Lute never really addressed his complicated feelin’s after we told him ‘bout Angie.  He tried to hide ‘em away.  But he can’t hide ‘em anymore, and they’ve twisted and turned after years of bein’ shoved down.”  Sally sighed.  “It don’t help they’re both teenagers.  Their age is dif’cult without dealin’ with Greek mythology monsters ‘n whatnot.”

              “True,” Mearl conceded.  Sally leaned against his shoulder.  He looked at the clock above the television.  “One hour.  Then we go lookin’ fer her.”

-----

              Max was idly playing with a dagger when the butler knocked on his bedroom door.  He quickly shoved the weapon in a desk drawer.

              “Yes?” he said.  The butler opened the door.

              “Young Master Hillcrest, you have a visitor,” the butler said primly.  Max stood up.

              “A visitor?”

              “Miss Angie McGucket.”  Before Max could get too excited, the butler cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable.  “She seems to be in some distress.  Your grandfather is with her.”

              Grandpa Stanley?  Max’s blood ran cold.  Oh, shoot.  It must be a Greek thing.

              “Thanks fer tellin’ me.  I’ll go down to see ‘em right now,” Max said.  The butler nodded.  He stood to the side so that Max could rush past him.  Max sprinted down the hall and large staircase to the first floor.  He paused in the foyer, which was empty of demigods.  He looked up at the butler, watching from the second floor.

              “They’re in the sunroom,” the butler called.  Max nodded.

              Should’ve figured as such, with her father.  Max headed for the sunroom.  When he arrived at Camp Half-Blood last summer, the last person he’d expected to see there was his best friend’s twin sister.  He’d been told Angie McGucket was staying at a fancy boarding school in New York City.  But the lie fell apart the moment he saw Angie sitting at a picnic table with a group of other mostly blond kids.

              Angie was a demigod, like him.  And like him, her parentage was a closely guarded secret.  If the truth ever came out for either of them, it would have dire consequences for their families.

              “He wasn’t thinkin’, sweetheart,” Grandpa Stanley’s voice said as Max approached the sunroom.  He was like Max, a demigod, though while Max had yet to find out his mother’s identity, Grandpa Stanley had known for decades his father was Hephaestus.  When Max questioned why there were multiple demigods in their family, Grandpa Stanley merely shrugged.

              “Some fam’lies ‘re favored by the gods,” he’d said.

              “That’s a good thing, right?” Max had asked.  Grandpa Stanley’s face had darkened.

              “It very rarely is.”

              Max cast aside the memory when he reached the sunroom.  He stood in the doorway, watching Grandpa Stanley comfort Angie.  The sunlight that filled the room seemed drawn to her, shining like a spotlight.

              “Angie?” Max asked.  Angie looked up.  Max felt his heart do a backflip.  When Angie first went away to camp, they’d been children.  Too young for Max’s fondness for her to be much of anything.  But now, his affection had surged into infatuation.  Angie was the perfect girl: smart, powerful, beautiful, and kind.  Any room she walked into grew brighter.  Any song played by her was more lovely.  Any person she spoke to was the better for having met her, no matter how brief.

              It was no wonder she was one of her godly father’s favorite children.

              “I’m- I’m sorry,” Angie whispered.  She rubbed her eyes.  Max walked over to the couch the two were sitting on.  He grabbed a nearby wooden chair and sat down.  “I- I didn’t know where else to go.”  She took a shuddering breath.  “I need to call camp, but I can’t- I can’t risk drawin’ more monsters.  I know- I know Grandpa Stanley made a- a monster security system, so’s I figured I could use yer phone…”

              “Why do ya want to call camp?” Max asked.  He had a feeling.  It had taken some convincing before Angie agreed to try spending a school year at home, instead of at camp.

              “I need- I need to ask Mr. Chiron to send someone to bring me back,” Angie mumbled.  Max’s heart sank at the confirmation of his fear.  “It was foolish fer me to think I could stay here.”

              “What makes ya say that?” Max asked.  Angie looked down at the floor.

              “I- a monster attacked the orchard this mornin’, while Lute ‘n I were harvestin’ apples.”

              “But you got the monster, right?” Max asked.  Angie nodded.  “So, it’s fine!”  Angie burst into tears.

              “No, it ain’t!” she wailed.  “Lute got hurt!  And- and he was so upset, he- he said he weren’t my twin and- and he didn’t want me here!”  Max scowled.  Lute was his lifelong best friend, but that didn’t mean he could look past something like this.  “It’d be safer ‘n- ‘n better fer everyone if I weren’t here.”

              “Don’t let this single instance sway ya,” Grandpa Stanley said gently.  Angie sobbed.  “It’s growin’ pains, that’s all.”

              “I don’t want anyone to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

              “And they won’t,” Max said.  Angie shook her head.

              “Lute already did.”

              “That’s ‘cause he don’t know how to protect himself,” Max said.  “If we teach ‘im and the rest of yer fam’ly some fightin’, that’ll be enough fer ‘em to avoid gettin’ hurt.”  He looked at Grandpa Stanley.  “Right?”

              “It would definitely help,” Grandpa Stanley said.  Angie sniffed loudly.  “I’m sure Lute didn’t mean what he said.  He’s just adjustin’.  All y’all are.”

              Don’t give him the right to make Angie cry.

              “Think about it, Angie,” Max said.  “Do ya really want to go back to camp?  Spend the rest of the year in a mostly empty cabin?”  Not many half-bloods were too powerful to prevent them from staying with their mortal families.  There would only be a handful of people still at camp right now.  Including the person Max wanted Angie to bond with the least: one of the co-head counselors of the Hermes Cabin, Stan Pines.  Angie’s knee bounced anxiously.  “Or do ya want to stay here in Gumption, with me ‘n yer fam’ly?”

              “I want to stay,” Angie whispered.  Max beamed.  “But- but I ain’t ready to go home just yet.”

              “Take all the time ya need,” Grandpa Stanley said.  He got up.  “I’ll call yer folks to let ‘em know where ya are.”  Angie nodded mutely.  Max waited until Grandpa Stanley was gone.

              “If ya want me to beat up Lute, let me know,” he said.  Angie chuckled weakly.

              “He’s yer best friend!”

              “Yeah.”  Max reached out and rested his hand on Angie’s bouncing knee.  It gradually slowed down.  Angie met his eyes.  Max smiled at her.  “But us demigods have to stick together.”

[thelastspeecher]

Olympian Falls AU, second option if you like, the birth of Junior/Lee and Stan stepping up to the role of being his dad.

SURPRISE out of nowhere I finally wrote this up lmao.

What can I say, I was mentally revisiting this AU after reading the latest PJO book and getting the Official Percy Jackson Cookbook in the mail yesterday.

I, uh, I went a slightly different route here, but it's still Stan stepping up to help with Lee.

——————————————————————————————

              Stan tugged at the uncomfortable collar of his black dress shirt.  Despite his best attempt to find something that didn’t feel like it was choking him, he’d come up dry.

              As if funerals needed another reason to suck.

              “Hey, Stan.”  A voice broke through Stan’s thoughts.  He looked over.  Angie’s mortal twin, Lute, was standing nearby, holding her infant son, Lee.  Stan felt a wave of sympathy.  Lute’s eyes were as red as Angie’s.

              Can’t blame him.  He and Max were best friends their entire lives.  Lute swallowed.

              “Could- could ya hold Lee fer a lil bit?” he choked out, his voice breaking.  “Angie ‘n I ‘re- we- we need a minute to collect ourselves.”

              “Yeah, sure, I can take the little stinker,” Stan said immediately.  He held out his hands.  Lute carefully handed Lee over.

              “Thanks,” Lute managed.  He quickly spun around and hurried back to Angie, who was sobbing into her mortal older brother Fiddleford’s shoulder.  Stan sighed.  He looked down at Lee.  The boy had thankfully slept through the entire funeral.  Now, however, he was wide awake, staring up at Stan with curious brown eyes.

              “You’re gonna turn out all right,” Stan said quietly.  “There’s worse things in the world than not having a dad.  Like having a bad one.”  Lee’s gaze suddenly shifted.  Stan followed where he was looking.  A woman in black was standing by Max’s headstone.  She looked almost blurry, like if Stan rubbed his eyes, she wouldn’t be there.

              Shit.  Please don’t let it be a monster.  Today’s been bad enough.  Stan shifted Lee so he was supporting the baby with just one arm, then let his other hand drift towards his pocket, where one of his Celestial Bronze knuckle dusters was hiding.

              The woman rested a hand on the headstone.  Her shoulders shook.

              “You may have lost your life, but in the end, you won the most important battle,” she said softly.  “You were a victor.”  A chill ran down Stan’s spine.

              That’s not a monster.  That’s- that’s Max’s mom, isn’t it?  The woman, Max’s godly mother Nike, clenched her hand into a fist.  As though sensing Stan watching her, she whipped her head around.  Stan swallowed and took a step back.  Nike’s dark eyes were wild.  Whether with grief or something else, Stan wasn’t sure.  Max said his mom always looked like she needed to switch to decaf, so maybe this is normal for her?  Nike’s unhinged gaze fell to Lee in Stan’s arms.  She smiled faintly.

              “Stan?” Angie’s voice said.  Nike disappeared in a puff of golden dust.  Stan turned.  Angie rubbed her reddened eyes.  “Thank- thank you fer holdin’ lil Lee while I took a mo’,” she said in a thick voice.  Like it always did when she got emotional, her southern accent was as strong as the rest of her family’s.  Stan smiled at her.

              “Not a problem, Ang.  I’ll always help out with your kids,” he said.  Instead of smiling back, Angie merely nodded silently.  “You want him?”

              “Yes, please.”

              “You got it.”  Stan handed Lee over to Angie.  Tears trickling down her cheeks, Angie stroked her son’s face.  A ray of sunlight broke through the cloudy sky, shining directly on mother and child, turning both Angie and Lee’s blond curls to pure gold.

              Guess I shouldn’t be surprised Apollo sent a sign.  Angie’s one of his favorites.  Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets.  His fingers brushed against his knuckle dusters.  Some part of Stan calmed down having his weapon close at hand.  When I finally bite it ‘cause a monster caught me off-guard, will my dad show up at the funeral?  Or will he be too busy delivering packages on Mount Olympus?

              “We’re all goin’ to head over to Angie’s place,” Fiddleford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Sounds good to me.”  The four began to head for the cemetery parking lot.  Lute cooed at Lee as they walked.  “So, uh, will you be able to cover the mortgage all right on your own, Angie?”  Angie nodded.

              “I can.”  She sighed.  “But I’m considerin’ movin’.  I think- I think a fresh start might be good fer Lee ‘n myself.”

              “You could come back to New York,” Stan suggested.  “You’d be close to camp.”  Angie shook her head.

              “As nice as it would be to see folks more reg’larly, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.  I can’t lean on camp.”

              “I wasn’t saying-” Stan mumbled.

              “But I wouldn’t mind some extra help with Lee,” Angie continued, speaking over Stan.  Stan eyed her.  “In partic’lar, it’d be nice to have help from a fellow demigod.  I ain’t sure, but I get the feelin’ Lee might be able to attract monsters.”

              “I saw ya lookin’ at someone earlier, Stan,” Fiddleford spoke up.  “Was that a monster?”  Stan shook his head.

              “No, not- not a monster.  Just someone paying their respects or whatever.”  Angie’s eyes widened in a silent question.  Stan nodded.  Angie bit her lip, fresh tears springing to the corners of her eyes.  She quickly looked down at Lee again.

              “Huh.  I could’ve sworn there was somethin’ odd ‘bout ‘em,” Fiddleford mumbled.  Like Mrs. McGucket, he had the Sight, able to look through the Mist and see things as they really were.

              “Anyways, Angie, if you want me to stick around a bit, you just gotta ask,” Stan said, shooting his trademark grin in Angie’s direction.  “I’m more than happy to help out whenever I’m in the area.”

              “Yes, but how often will ya be in town?” Lute asked.  Since leaving camp for good, Stan had refused to settle down in one place, instead opting to travel across the country like a nomad.  When he would be somewhere was unpredictable.  Stan shrugged.

              “Look, I can’t see the future.  You gotta talk to Angie about that,” he said.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Oh, please, you know full well the only thing I can predict is who wins football games,” she said.

              “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan said, waving a hand.  “But even though I’m not any good at prophecy, I’ve got a feeling that I’ll be around more.  A lot more.”

              Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Angie finally smile.

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary '24 - Week Two: Possess & Sacrifice

This takes place in my Smallville AU, in which Stan and Ford take the role of Clark Kent as seen on my favorite TV show of all time, Smallville. And that's all you get for context. I'm tired.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Stan paced back and forth, pointedly avoiding looking at the eerily still figure of Fiddleford on a slab of icy crystal.  Ford, much like Fiddleford, wasn’t moving, merely standing by their friend, staring helplessly at him.  The voice of their biological father filled the cavernous crystalline fortress.

              “He will not die. It will take some time, but he will recover.”  Ford slumped in relief.  “Humans continue to surprise me with how much they resemble us.  I would not have expected him to handle a Kryptonian malady so well.”

              “Bullshit,” Stan muttered under his breath.  “Like a damn computer could be surprised.”  He stopped pacing, Jor-El’s words fully catching up in his head.

              He’s doing that sneaky thing, isn’t he?

              “How long is ‘some time’?” Stan asked.  Ford’s shoulders tensed again.

              “It is difficult to tell at this point.  It could be months or years.”

              “Years?” Ford croaked.  Stan glared at the closest crystal.  “But- but- is there anything you can do?”  The response took a while to come.

              “Yes.”  As per usual, the crystals lit with a dim glow when Jor-El spoke.  “I know of a way to speed his recovery to a mere week.”

              “Then do that!” Stan snapped.  “And why the hell didn’t you say you could?”  Jor-El was silent.  “Hello?”

              “There is a saying on Earth that I am sure your adoptive mother taught you,” Jor-El said slowly.

              Dammit.  If Mom taught us the saying, it’s not gonna be sunshine and rainbows.

              “There is no such thing as a free lunch.”

              “A free-”  Stan shared a horrified look with Ford.  “Are you joking?  We’re your kids!  You won’t help our friend who got sick because of us?”

              “You are my children, yes,” Jor-El said, the AI maddeningly patient.  “However, by both the standards of Earth and Krypton, you are adults.”

              “If we were seventeen, you’d do it without question,” Ford said, his voice tight with anger.  “But because we’re barely out of high school, you’re insisting on something in return.  Is that correct?”

              “Yes.”

              “I knew coming here was a bad idea,” Stan spat.  “Nothing good ever comes from Jor-El.”

              “Stanley,” Ford hissed.

              “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about taking him up on his stupid offer!”

              “What choice do I have?” Ford asked.  “I won’t let Fiddleford lose months or years of his life to recover from something he would have never encountered if it weren’t for me.”  Ford looked down at Fiddleford and took a deep breath.  “Jor-El, what do you want from me?”

              “Acceptance of your destiny.”

              “Oh hell no,” Stan burst out.  Ford glared at him, but Stan steamrolled on.  “When are you gonna drop this destiny thing?”

              “When my sons have embraced it,” Jor-El said.  Not much emotion came through his AI voice, but he did sound more exasperated than usual.  “The two of you are more than the mere humans that raised you.”

              “Here comes the anti-human racism,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

              “You have great potential.  Once you reach it, you will be as gods on Earth!”

              “We don’t care about being gods!” Stan said.  “We just wanna be us!  And ‘embracing our destinies’ isn’t part of that!”

              “You are spirited and rebellious, Ley-El,” Jor-El said.  “Much like my darling Lara.”  Stan froze, blindsided by a casual mention of their biological mother, someone that the Jor-El AI seemed reluctant to bring up.  Jor-El seized Stan’s confused pause to continue speaking to Ford.  “For-El.  I will heal your human companion.  In exchange, you must agree to study here until such a time as I determine your training complete.”

              “How long will that take?” Ford asked hesitantly.

              “As long as is necessary.”  There was a pause.  “I am sure my own son would never even dream of doing so, but should you decide to leave before your training is complete, I will invoke a punishment.”

              “Ford,” Stan hissed.  Ford closed his eyes.  “Don’t do it.  It’s a shit deal.”

              “I can’t let F suffer because of me,” Ford said, his voice thick.  He swallowed.  “Very well, Jor-El, I will-”

              “I’ll do it,” Stan interrupted.  Ford’s head whipped around to stare at him.  Stan walked over to Ford and Fiddleford.  “I’ll do the training.”

              “You have yet to even fly.”

              “Just means I’ve got a lot to learn,” Stan said, fighting back his terror at the idea of being miles above the hard, unforgiving ground.

              Invulnerability doesn’t make falling any more pleasant.

              “This is true…”  Jor-El sounded thoughtful.

              “Stan, what are you doing?!” Ford demanded.  Stan sighed.

              “Look, you’ve got potential.  You shouldn’t throw that away for however long the training takes.  And you shouldn’t have to put your relationship on ice, either!  Fiddleford might annoy me sometimes, but he makes you happy.  The two of you have something together.”

              “Stanley…”

              “I don’t have anything going for me right now.  If I drop outta my life for a while, I can slide back in when training’s done without any problems.”

              “That’s not true,” Ford said, sounding pained.

              “Sure it is!”  Stan feigned a lighthearted tone.  “Anyways, you can’t stop me.  I already volunteered.”

              “I accept this exchange,” Jor-El’s voice thundered.  A warm, white glow surrounded Fiddleford.  Pink flooded back into his cheeks.

              “Stanford?” Fiddleford said weakly.

              “Take him and leave, For-El,” Jor-El rumbled.  “Your brother’s training must begin.  There is a lot of ground to cover.”  Ford picked Fiddleford up.  He shot one last saddened yet relieved glance at Stan before disappearing in a flash.  Stan swallowed.  He looked up at the fortress’s vaulted ceiling.

              “All right, Jor-El, it’s just you and me!” he shouted.  “Let’s get started!”

-----

              “You saw him?” Lute asked quietly.  Ford nodded.  Lute handed him a glass of sweet tea.  Ford took the glass, his hands clinging to it like a lifeline.  The McGuckets’ kitchen was as warm and welcoming as ever, despite the rain pounding furiously against the farmhouse roof.  He desperately needed to talk to someone about the latest Kryptonian development, and Fiddleford’s younger brother Lute was the only one around who knew about the “whole alien thing”.  As Fiddleford and Lute phrased it. 

Other than Mom.  And I don’t want to stress her out with this.  Lute eyed Ford’s grip on the drink.

“Uh.  Careful.  Last time ya held a glass like that-”  The warning came too late.  The glass shattered, spilling iced tea everywhere.  Lute sighed.  “Yer cleanin’ it up this time.”  He tossed Ford a roll of paper towels.  Ford began to mop up the liquid.  “So.  You saw him.  Tell me more.”

              “Like I said, I went to the Fortress of Solitude.”

              “That’s the ice castle the two of ya got?”

              “Yes.”

              “You came up with the name, didn’t ya?”

              “Irrelevant,” Ford mumbled.  “What matters is that Stan has been staying there since he agreed to do Jor-El’s training.  Now that Fiddleford is doing better, I decided to drop to check in on him.  And he…”  Ford took a shuddering breath.  “Do you recall a few years ago when you had to use Kryptonite to take me down?”

              “Yeah.  It was like you were possessed or somethin’,” Lute said.  Ford began to brush the shards of glass into his hands.

              “That’s because I was.”

              “I don’t ‘member any meteor infected folks that week.”

              “I wasn’t possessed by a human.  Jor-El did something to take me over.  He determined it was the only way I would fulfill this grand destiny he has planned for me.”

              “Grand destiny,” Lute muttered under his breath.  Ford dumped the glass shards and wet paper towels into the trash.  “Are all Kryptonian parents like this with their kids?”

              “I haven’t had a chance to meet any Kryptonian parents other than Jor-El,” Ford said dryly.  “And even then, he’s an AI.”

              “…Right.”  Lute leaned against the kitchen table, frowning.  “He possessed ya those years back?”  Ford nodded.  “How is he able to do that?  And why’d ya bring it up?”

              “I honestly have no idea how he is able to do so.  He seems to have access to Kryptonian technology us on Earth can’t even conceive of.  As for why I brought it up…”  Ford trailed off uncertainly.  Lute’s gray eyes widened.

              “No,” he whispered.  “He didn’t.”  Ford nodded.

              “Stan seems to have been possessed as well.”

              “How- are ya sure?” Lute asked weakly.  Ford shot him an annoyed look.  “Right, right.  The twin bond.  I mean, I’d certainly know if Angie was possessed.”

              “Is she getting suspicious about Stan’s disappearance?”

              “No more ‘n Fidds is, thankfully.”  Lute eyed Ford.  “By the by, Stan stayin’ at that ice castle wouldn’t have somethin’ to do with Fidds’ miraculous recovery last week, would it?”  Ford winced.  “I knew it!  There ain’t no coincidences that big in this world.”

              “I- I won’t tell you exactly how the two events are linked,” Ford said carefully.

              “I reckon I could figure it out.”

              “Even if you do, I will neither confirm nor deny.”

              “Fair enough.”  Lute opened the fridge and removed the pitcher of sweet tea.  “I won’t tell no one ‘bout the two bein’ linked, neither.”

              “…Thank you,” Ford whispered.

              “Ain’t no problem.”  Lute set the pitcher on the counter.  “So.  How do we un-possess Stan?  Want me to grab the Kryptonite?”

              “No.  I hesitate to bring Kryptonite to the Fortress.”

              “You think it might muck it up?” Lute asked.  Ford nodded.  “And yer concerned about that why?”  Ford stared at him.

              “It’s my last link to my biological heritage.”

              “It also has only brought you ���n Stan grief,” Lute pointed out.  Ford shook his head.

              “Still, I can’t- I can’t do it.”

              “Fine.  We’ll figure somethin’ else out.”  Lute opened the cupboard and took out a cup.  “But until you’ve calmed down, yer gettin’ yer drinks in plastic.  Not glass.”  The back door slammed open.  Ford and Lute looked over.  Stan stumbled in, hair and clothes drenched from the downpour outside.

              “Stanley!” Ford exclaimed.  Stan looked up, panting.

              “Uh, hey, Ford.  I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d be here.”

              “Were you trying to avoid me?” Ford asked.

              “Uh.  No.  Just not talk to you first.  Um.”  Stan rubbed his neck.  There was a long line of red down his arm.  “Um.”

              “Are you bleeding?” Lute asked.  Stan looked at his arm.

              “Oh.  Yeah.  I guess.”

              “How?!” Ford asked, aghast, as Lute opened the cupboard under the kitchen sink and pulled out a first aid kit.

              “Uh.”  Stan laughed weakly.  “It’s got to do with why I’m back here instead of training with Jor-El.”

              “Yeah, Stanford was tellin’ me you got possessed or somethin’?” Lute said.  “Sit down at the table, I’ll get ya bandaged up.”  Stan sat obediently.  Lute came over and began to tend to Stan’s wound.

              “I only got possessed for the flying training,” Stan mumbled.

              “That fear of heights still won’t let ya fly even knowin’ ya can’t be hurt if ya fall, huh?” Lute remarked.  Stan glared at him.

              “It’s a respect, not a fear.”

              “And if you were to fall now, you’d be hurt, wouldn’t you?” Ford asked quietly.  Stan immediately looked down at the kitchen floor.  “There’s no way you completed your training.  But when you insisted on leaving, Jor-El took your powers.”  Lute paused.

              “Is he right?” Lute asked.  Stan nodded reluctantly.  Lute looked at Ford.  “How on Earth could ya have guessed such a specific series of events?”

              “He’s threatened it before,” Ford said with a shrug.  Lute’s mouth fell open.

              “Jor-El threatened to take yer powers away ‘fore?”

              “Yes.”

              “Lord above.  They need some parentin’ classes on Krypton, I reckon.”

              “Why did you stop the training?” Ford asked Stan.

              “I got sick of it.  He’s not the greatest coach.  And…”  Stan sighed.  “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

              “You missed yer friends and fam’ly,” Lute said.  Stan nodded again.  “That’s sweet.”

              “Are you fine with being powerless?” Ford asked Stan.

              “Being back home with everyone is worth getting bruises and needing to drive places,” Stan said firmly.  He grinned.  “Anyways, you and I both know things like this never stick.  I’m gonna be back to normal by next week.  Just watch.”

[thelastspeecher]

How do Lute and Angie feel about Fidds as Old Man Mcgucket? Do they resent Ford for ultimately causing their brother's mental decline

Oh!

Well, broadly speaking, I think that Angie and Lute struggle to see their beloved big brother in Old Man McGucket. Once Fidds is able to regain his memories (which almost certainly includes memories of them) and heal, become a bit more like his old self, they feel like they're getting their big brother back. He's not the same as he was before and he never will be, but they can accept him like this. He was always a bit kooky, to put it mildly. Most of the family is, especially when they get older.

I think Angie and Lute would feel like they can't really connect with Fidds after he fully spirals. They'd look out for him (leave food or money or clothes or whatever out for him) and talk to him and just generally try to take care of him. But there's a distance. This isn't their big brother.

And oh yeah 100% there's some resentment towards Ford. A lot of yelling, possibly some physical violence when they find out the full extent of what happened between Fidds and Ford. They feel like Ford could have checked in with Fidds more often or even just listened to him, and that could have helped things out.

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary '24 - Week 3: Fantasy & Memories

I'm doing my best to catch up! This takes place in my original Stanley McGucket AU, aka the one where Stan winds up working as a farmhand for the McGucket family after he gets kicked out of the house as a teen. And it's almost a bit of an accidental Fiddleford Friday, since Fiddleford is a big feature in it. Enjoy!

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              The party ascended the long and winding staircase to the top of the tower.  When they reached the door, Mudd gestured for Stabitha to pick the lock.  The elf did so quickly.  She went to push the door open.  Mudd grabbed her arm.  She was taller than him, but his orcish strength meant he could stop her before she did anything to alert the wizard.

              “Let me,” he said softly.  Stabitha scowled, disappointed, but stepped back.  “And, uh, gimme one of your knives.”

              “What?  Why?” Stabitha asked.  Mudd rolled his eyes.

              “Just do it, okay?”

              “I’ll be defenseless.”

              “You’ve got at least six knives,” piped up the third member of the party, Bloom.  Stabitha shot the half-elf a glare.  “You’ll be okay without one.”

              “Fine.”  Stabitha slipped a dagger out of her boot and handed it to Mudd.  Mudd grinned at her.

              “Trust me.  I know what I’m doing.”

              “Sure.”  Stabitha’s tone made it clear she didn’t believe him.  Mudd silently pushed open the door.  The wizard was muttering under his breath as he went through a book.  His back faced the door.  Mudd’s grin widened.  A perfect opportunity to attack.  Mudd crept over to the wizard and roughly grabbed him.  Before the wizard could do anything, Mudd raised the dagger and plunged it into-

              “Roll fer attack.”

              “Huh?” Stan asked, looking up at Fiddleford.

              “‘Member when ya fought those goblins?  Ya had to roll to see whether yer attacks landed or not,” Fiddleford said.

              “Yeah, but those were moving targets,” Stan argued.  “The wizard is less than a foot away from me and I’m holding him still!”

              “Doesn’t matter.”

              “What are the odds I won’t hit him?”

              “Close to zero, but not quite there.”  Fiddleford was maddeningly calm as he explained the gameplay.  “There’s always the chance yer hand spasms or there’s a noise that startles ya or somethin’ else what makes ya drop the knife or miss.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.”  Stan squinted at the dice in front of him.  “Which ones do I…?”

              “Those,” Angie said helpfully, pointing at two dice.  Fiddleford was leaving for college tomorrow, so she, Stan, and Lute had been roped into playing his favorite game: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.  Angie and Lute, though not fans of the game themselves, had played it to make their brother happy before, so they understood the game mechanics more than Stan, who was new to it.

              “Got it.”  Stan rolled the dice.  He squinted at the numbers.  “Uh…twenty-seven.”  Fiddleford rolled some dice of his own behind the screen he was using to hide their opponents’ information.  His supplies for Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons were some of the few items not yet packed.  Stan would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that, the first time he was in Fiddleford’s bedroom, everything that gave the room personality was tucked away into bags and boxes.

              “The dagger plunges into Probabilitor’s heart,” Fiddleford said.  “Roll fer damage.”

              “Damage?  It’s in the guy’s heart!  He’s dead!”

              “It’s how the game is played,” Fiddleford said with a shrug.

              “That one,” Lute said, pointing.  Stan picked up the single die with a frown.

              “Okay, I know you said wizards don’t have a lotta, uh, what is it called?”

              “HP,” the McGucket siblings said together.

              “Yeah.  Wizards don’t have a lotta HP.  But even with that, how am I gonna kill this guy?”

              “You should’ve had me do it,” Angie said.  She inspected her nails idly.  “I get bonus damage when I use my knives.”

              “How?”

              “Class bonus, leveled up skills, magical bond with the daggers,” Angie said lazily.  Stan raised an eyebrow at her.  “Lute ‘n I told ya that we’ve played this before.”

              “You’ve played a game you don’t like enough to level up?” Stan asked.

              “We can’t exactly help Fidds with his robots,” Lute drawled.  “Neither of us got any ability with technology.  So’s this game is what we do when Fidds chooses siblin’ bondin’ time.”

              “Are you ever goin’ to roll?” Fiddleford asked impatiently.  Angie and Lute snickered.  Stan rolled the single die.  Fiddleford craned his neck to see the result.  “Not too bad.  Roll again.”

              “Again?”

              “The damage fer the dagger I gave ya requires rollin’ the same die twice,” Angie said.

              “Oh.”  Stan rolled again.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “Good.  Good damage.”

              “Is he dead?” Stan asked.

              “No.”

              “Dammit.”  Stan sighed.  “Is he gonna zap me with lightning or somethin’?”

              “Let me-” Fiddleford started, looking down at his notes.  Lute cleared his throat.  Fiddleford looked at him.  “Yes?”

              “Angie ‘n I ain’t rolled initiative yet,” Lute pointed out.

              “Good catch.  Roll fer initiative, then,” Fiddleford said.  Angie and Lute each rolled their dice.  Fiddleford rolled something behind his screen.  “Oof.  Probabilitor didn’t roll too high.”

              “Thirteen,” Angie said.

              “Eleven,” Lute said.

              “Yer move first, Angie,” Fiddleford said.  Angie perked up excitedly.  She moved her figurine to be next to Stan’s and the wizard’s.

              “I take out two daggers and stab Probabilitor in the back with ‘em both!” Angie chirped.

              “Roll fer attack.”

              “Thirty.”  Stan yawned, getting bored now that his character wasn’t doing anything.  Lute was similarly disinterested, idly repeatedly rolling an extra die.

              “Critical hit, then.  Roll fer damage, and remember that crits ‘re more powerful.”

              “Total damage of twenty-one,” Angie said with a smirk.  Fiddleford cleared his throat.  Stan and Lute looked at him.

              “Probabilitor wheezes a faint cry, protesting that the odds were in his favor, not yours.  As dark red blood blooms on his robes-”

              “Sweet,” Stan muttered.  Lute nodded in agreement.

              “-he lets out a long, guttural gurgle.  He collapses onto the floor of the tower room.”

              “Great!” Stan said.  “I loot the body.”  Angie and Lute burst out laughing.  Fiddleford chuckled as well.

              “Yer goin’ to have to roll fer it,” he warned.

              “Ugh.  Never mind, then.”

              “I guess we’re done,” Fiddleford said.  “Unless the three of ya want to continue…”  He unzipped a backpack next to him and pulled out a notebook.  “I’ve got plenty of campaign ideas all written up!”

              “Maybe try playin’ with yer roommate,” Lute suggested.

              “Aaron graduated last year.  I’ll have someone new this year.”

              “Hopefully he likes graph paper games,” Stan said.

              “Even if he doesn’t, there’s a club I can go to.  It’s just inconvenient, since it’s in a buildin’ all the way across campus,” Fiddleford sighed.  He began to gather the dice, figurines, and various pieces of paper.

              “It’ll all work out,” Angie said cheerfully.  Fiddleford ruffled her hair playfully.

              “I’m sure yer right.  Now, if you’ll excuse yourselves, I’ve got to finish packin’.”  Angie, Lute, and Stan stood up.  Stan followed the younger siblings out of the bedroom.  “Close the door!”  Stan did as he was told.  In the hallway outside the room, Angie leaned against the wall, smirking at Stan.

              “What’s with that look?” Stan asked.

              “I think I know why ya decided to take charge ‘n stab the wizard instead of let someone else do it,” she said.

              “Isn’t it obvious?” Stan said dismissively.  “I wanted to get the thing over with.  We were playing for two hours!”  Angie shook her head.

              “I think you were gettin’ into the game.  You wanted to be the one to kill the wizard ‘cause you were havin’ so much fun.”

              “That’s slander.”

              “No, I think she’s right,” Lute said.  “You enjoyed yourself!”

              “You’re all delusional,” Stan scoffed.  Angie and Lute chuckled.

              “It ain’t a bad thing to have fun,” Angie said.  “We ain’t exactly fans of the game, but we still have fun.  Sometimes.”

              “Fidds can get a bit partic’lar at times with that game,” Lute said.  “That’s usually when it stops bein’ fun.  Luckily, he didn’t do any of that today ‘cause he wanted some good mem’ries ‘fore he leaves.  No good mem’ries would be made with him bein’ partic’lar.”

              “He’ll be gone until Thanksgiving,” Angie said.  “It’s important to have fond mem’ries to look back on while bein’ apart fer so long.”  After a moment, Stan nodded.

              “Yeah.  Good point.”  He crossed his arms.  “And- I’m not gonna confirm or deny whether I had any fun-”  Angie and Lute snickered.  “-but either way, don’t expect me to play that game any time soon.”

              “You won’t need to.  Our other siblin’s play with Fidds durin’ Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Lute said.

              “Oh.”

              “Of course, I’m sure Fidds would be more ‘n happy to pull out the character sheet fer Mudd the orc barbarian if ya decide to play again,” Lute teased.  Stan shoved him playfully.

              “Nah.  Fidds will just have to make do with today’s memories.”

[thelastspeecher]

I was minding my own business at work today, just doing something, idly thinking about my nonsense. And then out of nowhere, like a burst of divine inspiration, an exchange that would take place in my Accidental Abduction AU appeared in my brain. And then I wrote a whole scene so that I could put that interaction in something.

So here's a random, out of the blue Accidental Abduction AU write. It takes place immediately following this one. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              Stan followed the girl alien through the spaceship halls.  At first, the ship had reminded him of the things on Star Trek.  The general shape and construction of the hall and rooms still did, but it wasn’t quite as fancy and clean.  The ship looked a bit worn, like it had been used for a long time.  There were also intermittent decorations, most of them looking like they were either purchased at a craft fair or made by children at school.  Stan slowed to look at a vase that had been tucked away in a corner.  He would have expected the vase to house some weird alien plant, but the flowers inside were regular Earth roses.

              “My mother loves that kind of flower,” the girl alien said, noticing Stan’s distraction.  Stan’s attention quickly snapped back to her.  “We do not often go planetside when we are near Earth, but whenever we do, my father insists on procuring some for her.  He even found seeds a few trips ago, which has allowed my mother to grow her own.  They are not the same, though.  Something about our atmosphere or climate makes them grow…different.”

              “You guys go to Earth?” Stan asked, walking again.  The girl alien began to walk as well.  “Like, beam down on the planet?”

              “We do go down to Earth, but we land rather than teleport down.  My parents are, hmm, hopefully this translates properly.  They are…old school.  They do not like the teleportation function.”

              “Yeah, parents can be sticks in the mud sometimes,” Stan mumbled.  He frowned at the very inhuman alien girl.  “How the hell do you guys visit Earth without the government capturing you to dissect or whatever?”  The alien girl smiled, but this time, to Stan’s relief, hid her needlelike teeth.

              “We have our ways of visiting without drawing suspicions.”  The hallway suddenly opened into a wide room.  A white table, laden with exotic-looking food, was set in the middle of the room, ringed by white stools.  Underneath the table was a slick dark red rug and decorations like those in the hallway hung on the walls.  An alien with magenta hair like the girl alien and light pink skin was cleaning the kitchen area in the corner.  Next to the kitchen area was an entry to another hallway.  One of the walls was actually a large window, looking out into the void of space.  Stan was tempted to walk over to the window, but before he could, the very first alien that Stan had met on the ship spoke.

              “Ah!” said the alien, the father of the family.  He was sitting at the table, as was the alien girl’s brother.  The alien dad smiled at Stan.  “You have finally brought us our guest.”

              “He was distracted by the roses.”

              “I would imagine he was surprised to see something from Earth on our ship,” said the pink alien cleaning the kitchen.  Judging by her voice and general appearance, she was the mom of the family.  The alien mom turned around and scowled at her son and daughter.  “I am so disappointed in you two for not letting us know early enough to return this poor boy home.”  The alien girl and alien boy bowed their heads sheepishly.  Stan stood in the entryway awkwardly, uncertain of what to do.

              “Please, come sit,” the alien dad said.  Stan hesitantly walked over to the table and sat on one of the stools.  At first, the seat of the stool was far too low for him, but it automatically adjusted for his height, getting taller until he could reach the table properly.

              Makes sense they’ve got their chairs set short.  They’re all way taller than me.  Stan glanced around, mentally taking stock of the aliens’ heights.  The girl and boy were both at least six feet, while the dad was at least seven and the mom was nearing eight.  Are women taller than men for this species?  The alien dad coughed politely, drawing Stan’s attention.

              “When we first met, I was too flustered to ask for your name.  Would you mind sharing it with us?”

              “Uh, Stan.”  When Stan didn’t elaborate, the alien mom prompted him.

              “Earth names from your culture tend to consist of a given name and surname.  Could you provide us with your full name?” the alien mom asked.

              “How do you know about- y’know what, never mind.  My full name is Stanley Pines.  But call me Stan.”

              “Stan,” the alien mom said experimentally.  She smiled.  “How quaint.”

              Dunno if I agree with that assessment, but I’m not gonna argue with the people I have to rely on for the next year.  Ugh, I’ve got to depend on these guys for a full fucking year!

              “Well, Stan,” the alien dad said, “you will likely be unable to pronounce our names, so we shall have to come up with a workaround for that.  Now, however, it is time to eat.  We have done our research and made some food that should nourish you well.”

              “None of this stuff is gonna poison me?” Stan asked.  He suspiciously eyed the item directly in front of him, which looked like a small loaf of bright red bread with blue flecks.

              “Correct,” the alien mom said with a nod.  “I am familiar with what foods humans can and cannot eat and have removed all items harmful to you from the table.”

              “Um.  Okay.”

              “We will serve you,” the alien boy said quickly.  “That way you do not have to worry you are doing something wrong.”

              “…Okay,” Stan repeated.  He sat silently as the aliens filled a metal plate with the items on the table.  When the plate was placed in front of him, he stared at it.  Almost everything was a color that made alarm bells go off in his head.

              If I saw food on Earth that looked like this, it would either kill me or cost about a thousand bucks.  He grimaced.  But I don’t really have a choice.  Stan picked up the utensil he had been given, which was just a spork, and scooped up the bright orange mashed potatoes with dark red gravy.  He hesitantly took a bite.  His eyes widened.  The “potatoes” tasted like caramelized onions, while the “gravy” had a strong beefy yet cheesy flavor.  It combined to form something Stan recognized.  This tastes just like French onion soup!  What the hell?

              The first bite was enough to awaken Stan’s stomach.  His hunger now roaring and curiosity about the food piqued, Stan quickly scarfed down everything on his plate.  To his delight and confusion, all the food was delicious and most of it tasted like something he’d had on Earth.

              “I knew the mashed rom would be a winner,” the alien mom remarked as she watched Stan inhale his food.  “It is my mother’s favorite.”  Other than that, the alien family left Stan alone during the meal, talking amongst themselves instead of trying to pull Stan into the conversation.

              Under most circumstances, I’d be offended.  But I’m honestly just relieved.  I don’t want to talk to these guys.  Stan looked at the alien boy and girl, the closest things he had to peers on the ship.  The alien boy noticed and nodded silently at Stan before turning back to his sister.  Not right now, at least.  I need some space to deal with all this.

              Stan finished his first serving, as well as his second and third, before he was satiated.  Now that the growling in his stomach had been resolved, a new and urgent need made itself known.  Stan crossed his legs and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the alien family.

              “Do you need something, Stan?” the alien dad asked.

              “Uh, yeah.  Where’s your bathroom?” Stan asked.  The aliens all cocked their heads curiously.

              “Do you need to bathe?” the alien mom asked.

              “I mean, eventually, but not right now.”

              “Try a different word,” the alien dad suggested.  “Often, the translators work literally, and turns of phrase or odd terminology are translated incorrectly.”

              “Um.  The restroom?” Stan tried.  The alien boy frowned.

              “You mean your bedroom?” he asked.

              “No!  I- ugh.”  Stan sighed.

              I was trying to be polite.  I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth like I usually do.  But polite clearly isn’t working.

              “I need to take a piss,” Stan blurted out.  The aliens all blinked.

              “Oh!” the alien boy said.  “You are asking for the toilet.”

              “Yes.”

              “I will show you the way.”  The boy alien got up from the table.  His sister scowled at him.  “What?”

              “You offered just to get out of cleaning the dishes,” the alien girl said, crossing her arms.

              “No, I did not!  I-”

              “Neither of you are going to get out of any chores,” the alien mom said.  “Your father can help Stan.”  The alien kids groaned but began to clear the table.  The alien dad and Stan both stood.

              “Follow me,” the alien dad instructed.  Stan followed the alien dad out of the dining area/kitchen and back into the same hall that he had been through before.  “Luckily, your room is next to one of the- what did you call it?”

              “Um, a bathroom?”

              “An interesting name, given the baths are elsewhere,” the alien dad murmured.

              “On Earth they’re in the same room.”

              “Odd.  Regardless, your room is next to one of the…bathrooms on the ship.  The room that actually has the baths, however, is past the eating area.  Will you need to bathe before going to sleep?”

              It’s been a while since I had a bath that wasn’t just baby wipes…

              “Uh, yeah.”

              “I will send my son to fetch you from your room after he and his sister have completed their chores.”  They arrived in front of yet another circular door.  Like the previous doors Stan had seen on the ship, the alien dad placed his hand on the door, causing it to light up purple, then blue, then finally descend into the floor.  Before Stan could step into the bathroom, the alien dad spoke again.  “I must apologize again for the circumstances under which you came into our lives.  Rest assured, we will do our best to make you feel comfortable, perhaps even like one of the family.”

              “…Sure.”

              “If not family, then at least friends,” the alien dad said.  Stan nodded.

              “That feels more likely.”

              “Then that shall be our goal!” the alien dad said jovially.  He smiled as warmly as he could with his nightmarish teeth.  “I will be leaving an item you can use to entertain yourself in your room.  Please let me know if you would prefer something else.”

              “…Sounds good,” Stan mumbled.  The alien dad walked away.  Stan entered the bathroom, the door closing behind him.

              After using the toilet – which was thankfully very Earthlike in design – and struggling with the door a bit, Stan left the bathroom.  Now that he had figured out the trick to opening the doors, he entered his bedroom without any issue.  There was something placed on the desk in front of the massive window.  Stan walked over to it and picked it up.  His eyes widened.  It was a sketchbook.  A small box of writing utensils that looked similar to crayons had been set beside the sketchbook.

              I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.  Stan walked up to the window.  He stared out silently for a few moments.  Off in the distance, he could make out some asteroids.  Stan walked back to the desk.  He sat down, picked up one of the weird space crayons, and set the tip to the paper.  The lines were jagged at first, as he got used to the alien writing implement.  But eventually, a rough sketch of the asteroids formed.  Stan sat back with a small smile on his face.

              This, though, I can work with.