SURPRISE! Sudden random follow-up to something that was written years ago!
Anyways, I recently reread @nour386's "Rekindling" (a follow-up to my "After the Farmer's Market", itself a follow-up to @mythomagically-delicious's "Farmer's Market") and got inspired. So. Here's a part four to this incredibly collaborative story.
It's superpowers, and Stan is a villain and Ma Pines (named Mariam here) is a retired hero. And unhappy about her baby boy's choice of career.
Enjoy.
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Mariam really needed to see the chiropractor. But it would wait. It would wait until she had a sit-down with her youngest son about his career choices. Hopefully, a private environment would make him more receptive to the conversation.
And he and his compatriots would be less likely to get...aggressive. Mariam doubted they wanted to explain fire, wind, and water damage to their insurance company.
Mariam leaned on the picket fence that bordered the property the three lived on. The house was nice and well maintained, if small. As was the garden that lined the front of it. It didn't look like the place a trio of villains would live. And the young woman kneeling in the flower bed, humming as she weeded, didn't look like a villain. But Mariam knew better.
Slowly, cautiously, she reached out with her telepathy, hoping to find in the girl's memories the answer to why her free spirit became a criminal. She only got as far as learning the new Sirocco was in college majoring in biology before the door to her mind was firmly slammed shut.
Angie got to her feet, brushing dirt off her overalls, and turned to face the retired hero.
"Leave," she snapped.
"Good trick."
"My Ma taught me how to keep folks out of my head." She must have been hiding her accent a bit while in her mask. It was much stronger now than it had been a few days ago in the bank. Mariam opened the gate and stepped onto the property. Angie clenched her dirt-covered hands into fists. A breeze began to pick up.
"I don't think you want to let any of your neighbors know you're a super, do you?" Mariam asked casually. Angie scowled. The wind slowly died down. "You should probably teach your brother that trick, by the way. He practically welcomed me to take over his body." That was a lie. He'd actually put up an admirable, if futile, fight. But if she told the truth, she wouldn't have been able to hear Angie's teeth grinding from where she stood.
"He knows the trick. It takes effort to do. Effort you wouldn't understand. You telepaths don't actually have to work at protectin' yer minds. You have it easy."
That...actually stung a bit. Mariam frowned. As a hard worker to her core, she didn't appreciate being told she was a slacker.
"Should we have this conversation inside?" Mariam asked calmly. Angie's eye twitched. "Again, do you really want your neighbors to see all of this?" Angie stayed still. She likely would have remained frozen in place, unwilling to concede even an inch but also afraid of drawing attention, if the front door hadn't opened to reveal one of her housemates: Stan.
"Hey, Ang, are you done yet? Lute's-" Stan followed Angie's gaze. When he spotted Mariam, he stopped mid-sentence. "Fuck off."
"You're really gonna talk to your own mother like that?" Mariam asked. Stan glared.
"Do you have any clue what you did to Lute when you went in his head?"
"It's harmless," Mariam dismissed.
"No, it's not! You just pretend it is because you only do it to people you think deserve it!" Stan's hands were beginning to smoke. The event at the bank had proven he had better control than he used to, and even knew some worthwhile tricks. But he still couldn't help it sneaking out when he got riled up.
Angie noticed.
"Stan," she murmured. Stan took a deep breath. The smoke went away.
"You're not gonna leave, are you?" he snapped at Mariam. She shook her head. "Fine. Then...come inside. That way the neighbors don't call the cops."
Mariam shot Angie a smug look as she walked past the villainess and into the house.
"Cute," she commented. She wasn't lying. It was tastefully decorated, like the exterior. Much like the outside of the house, the inside seemed designed to dispel any suspicion about its inhabitants. Though there were too many framed photos on the wall in her opinion. It crowded the space.
Mariam walked out of the entryway and down a hallway, casting an eye over the photos, hoping to glean some information from them. Unfortunately, without context, she couldn't learn much. As she walked, she heard the sound of a TV, which gradually got louder until she arrived in a living room.
Laying on a pale brown couch, watching the TV, was Lute. He...didn't look well. In fact, he actively looked sick. His skin was pale, there were bags under his eyes, and his forehead glistened with a faint sheen of sweat. He caught sight of her and visibly flinched.
"L- Libra," he croaked. Stan put a hand on Lute's shoulder.
"I'll make sure she behaves, don't worry," he said quietly. Angie, who had brought up the rear, went to her brother.
"Do you need some more water?" she asked. Lute nodded. Angie grabbed the massive pitcher resting on the couch side table and walked away. When she returned, the pitcher full, Stan had gotten Mariam to sit in a recliner that was probably his favorite spot. Stan was standing at her side like a guard. But one watching a prisoner, rather than watching someone worth protecting. Angie opted to sit on the ground by the couch, flicking her hands every few seconds to bring a cooling breeze to her ill brother.
Lute, for his part, just stared at Mariam in terror. Mariam felt, for the first time, a twinge of guilt over possessing someone. She had never seen someone after they gained consciousness post-possession. She'd had suspicions that there was probably a lingering headache or something, but nothing this severe.
"Is he...all right?" she asked hesitantly. Angie fixed her with eyes she recognized. The same eyes her mother, the first Sirocco, had.
"No. He's sick. Because of what you did." She sent another breeze to her brother.
"I could..."
"We don't need yer help," Angie snarled, and in that moment, sounded just like her mother, refusing Mariam's attempts to redeem her. "Pa sent herbs to help him get better faster. He'll be fine 'fore ya know it." Mariam thought back to the information she'd gotten from Fiddleford.
"Ah. Your father is Hemlock, right?" she said. Angie's eyes widened. "Yes, I suppose he would know medicinal plants."
"How-" Angie started.
"Fidds said she got in his mind, remember?" Stan interjected. Mariam frowned slightly at the nickname, further proof of how close her son was with these villains. "Long enough to get names, faces, and powers." He glared at his mother. "I'm guessing addresses, too?"
"No. I've still got some contacts that can get me addresses," Mariam said with a shrug. "If you're wondering how I found you here."
"Yeah, you've got contacts, but you only bothered to use them to find me after you decided to ruin my life and make my friend sick!"
"I can still take her on," Lute said weakly. The pitcher was already half empty. Mariam distantly remembered hearing that hydros had to drink a lot of water. And Stan, who was a pyro, craved the warmth. She wondered what the implication was for an aero like Angie or her mother.
"Lute," Angie sighed. The interaction reminded Mariam eerily of when Stan and Ford were younger, how Ford would often serve as a moderating force for his twin.
Clearly, Stan needed that influence. If he and Ford had stayed together, he probably wouldn't have turned to villainy.
"There's no need for that," Mariam said primly. "I'm just here to talk."
"About?" Angie asked. She seemed to have assigned herself the spokesperson for the trio. Which lined up with how she took charge at the bank.
"I want to know why my baby boy decided to become a villain." Lute let out a soft snort at the phrase "baby boy". "I raised him better. In fact..." Mariam made eye contact with Stan. "You dreamed of becoming a hero like me."
"That was before you, the great hero," Stan spat, "abandoned me!"
"I tried to find you-"
"Bull! You found me just fine right now! You could've found me before!" Stan's hair lit on fire. A gust of wind quickly put it out.
"Please be more careful. Our fire hydrant is out of service right now," Angie said dryly. Stan closed his eyes and took a few breaths.
"The M- Angie and Lute's family, they saw my potential. I…didn’t make a good first impression. But they offered to let me join them. Even after what I did."
"In yer defense, some of what ya did was effectively an audition," Angie said. Stan shrugged dismissively.
"Doesn't matter. The point is that your family, they took me under their wing." Stan glared at Mariam. "You didn't do shit. You left Pa after I got kicked out!"
"How did you-" Mariam started.
"Ford told me. You couldn't have left that bastard before? You knew what he did!"
"I..." Mariam looked down at her lap. She purposely did not look at her archenemy's children, who were paying very close attention to the conversation. "I shouldn't have been spending so much time out as a hero. If I'd spent more time at home..."
"Excuses, excuses," Stan scoffed. He let out a long breath. "All right, you've said your piece. You can leave."
"Not until I get you back on the right path."
"Don’t you get it yet? You're the one that put me on this one! If you and Pa and Ford hadn't been- hadn't been- I would've wound up the hero you wanted me to be! But I'm not. So just accept it." Stan narrowed his eyes. "We're done."
"Stanley, I-"
"Save it."
"I'm sorry," Mariam blurted out. Stan's crossed arms dropped to his sides in shock. "I wasn't the mother you needed. The one you deserved. Just- let me be that for you now."
"I..." Stan swallowed. He looked at his friends. They seemed astounded as well. No doubt they grew up with a negative opinion of her, an opinion not helped by whatever Stan told them. After a long silence with Stan clearly struggling to find a response, he finally sighed. "You're too late."
A new silence fell, but not for long, as it was quickly broken by a coughing fit from Lute. Angie jumped to her feet to fuss over her brother. Stan pulled Mariam out of the chair.
"It's time for you to go."
"...Fine." Mariam allowed Stan to escort her out, but paused on the doorstep. Stan went to close the door. He let out a soft swear.
"Ma, stop using your telekinesis on the damn door."
"One last thing."
"What?!" Stan growled, but there wasn't as much bite in his voice as there had been before her apology. She turned around.
"I want to see you. To know you're doing well." She looked Stan up and down. He was well-fed and clearly getting plenty of exercise. Likely from committing crimes, but at least he was healthy.
"I don't want you coming back to my house. Angie and Lute, they don't like it." Stan looked away. "I don't really like it, either."
"A neutral location, then," Mariam suggested. "Maybe Ford's?"
"His roommate hates your guts."
"I'll figure it out," Mariam said confidently. Stan finally looked back at her.
"I'll think about it," he said. That was better than Mariam was hoping for. She nodded, smiling. "...Bye." Without a hug or similar farewell gesture, he closed the door. A gust of wind pushed Mariam off the property, a second one locking the gate behind her. Mariam turned. Angie was watching from an open window. With a firm glare, she slammed the window shut.
Mariam casually dusted off the dirt picked up by the wind that moved her. She set off to find where she'd parked her car.
It was probably for the best if she didn't come back anyways. She didn't want to spend her retirement bickering with the unnervingly powerful children of her archnemesis.
In under the wire! And a bit shorter than I usually do for these, but I'm happy with how I ended it. Thank you Stanuary for the years of inspiration and prompts and celebration of Grunkle Stan. It's been great and I've been so glad to participate in it.
(By the way, this write takes place in my Stanley McGucket AU. Figured it's good to end my final Stanuary on my original AU. Enjoy.)
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Stan leaned against a post in the barn, watching Lute demonstrate something with a bale of hay.
“Now, it’s heavier than it looks,” Lute said. “Keep that in mind and remember to lift with yer-”
“Knees, not my back,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “I know.” Lute looked at him in surprise.
“I wasn’t sure you’d know how to lift stuff. Yer learnin’ all these chores fer the first time, after all.”
“Dude, I was a boxer. I had to do weight training twice every week. Of course I know how to lift things.” Stan pushed away from the post and went over to the bale of hay. He lifted it onto one shoulder, quickly hiding his surprise at how heavy the hay was. “My coach didn’t want me throwing my back out when I was in high school, before I had a chance to really get my career going.”
If all of Pops’ complaints about his back weren’t just bellyaching, it’s only a matter of time anyways.
“So, that was what you wanted to do fer yer adult job?” Lute asked, lifting a bale himself with seemingly no effort. Stan raised an eyebrow.
He’s a twig. How the hell did he do that? Though now that I look… Stan could see Lute’s arms were corded with lean muscle. Farm work, I guess. He abruptly remembered Lute had asked him a question.
“Uh, not- well, sorta.” Stan felt his face flush a bit with embarrassment. Not over the idea of being a professional boxer. He was confident enough in his abilities that he could do it. No, the embarrassment was at what he and Ford had planned on doing. Looking for treasure sailing the world on a boat they rebuilt by hand didn’t seem like something the practical McGuckets would take seriously. Luckily, he’d always had boxing as a backup in his mind, in case he needed to make extra cash in between treasure finds.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Lute asked playfully.
“I keep my options open,” Stan said vaguely. Lute began to walk. Stan followed. “Which, yeah, includes boxing. But obviously it wouldn’t be something I’d do my entire life.”
“Why not?”
“Boxing is a young man’s game.”
“I dunno, I feel like I’ve heard of some boxers still goin’ at it when they’re older,” Lute said slowly.
“Yeah, and have you seen ‘em?” Stan said. He shook his head as they walked out the barn. “I don’t wanna mess up my pretty face.” Lute let out an involuntary snort. “I also don’t wanna ruin my body. Or my head.” Stan grimaced. “I don’t wanna even think about what’s going on in their minds after that many hits.”
“Fair point. Yeah, I s’ppose boxin’ would be pretty tough on the body. I mean, I do track and field. That’ll wear yer body out, too. And it’s just runnin’! Not gettin’ punched!”
“You do sports?”
“Not the kind you do,” Lute said quickly. “But…yes.” They reached a pile of hay bales stacked in the corner of a pasture. Lute set his down and sat on it. Stan followed suit. “Huh.”
“What?”
“I reckon most sports are fer young folk, ain’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“The trainin’. The competitions. Those just beat up yer body.” Lute shot Stan a small smirk. “Even if yer not beatin’ someone up fer it.”
“Yep.” Stan sighed. “I’ll need to find a nice, cushy job when I get older. I’ve already messed up my body a bit with the boxing I’ve done. And working here as a farm hand.”
“What?” Lute looked scandalized. “You shouldn’t be breakin’ yer body doin’ chores! Why didn’t ya say anything?”
“I’m fine, just getting used to doing them, y’know?”
“Well, yes,” Lute stammered, “but if yer chores are too much fer ya yet, you should’ve let us know! We can handle it until ya work yer way up.”
“C’mon, Lute.” Stan met Lute’s eyes. “I’ve been here like, a month. You should know by now that I don’t ask for help.”
“Even when you’ll just hurt yourself without that help?”
“Duh.”
“Lord above.” Lute shook his head. “That’s somethin’ we need to work on.”
“Nah.” Stan stook up and stretched. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Lute asked, sounding doubtful. Stan shrugged.
“Right now, I am.”
“Don’t sound like it. You just admitted you’ve been overworkin’ yourself!”
“Eh. That’s a problem for Future Stan.”
-----
“What chore is this one from?” Lute asked dryly as he massaged Stan’s shoulder.
“Uh.” Stan frowned, trying to remember. “Oh. When I dislocated my shoulder gettin’ the horses to calm down.”
“Lord.” Lute sighed. “And how long ago was it?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Well, from the sound of it, it was when you were our farm hand, which was over fifteen years ago.”
“Why’d you bother askin’ if you knew when it was from?”
“A rough range ain’t the same as an exact year.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan said dismissively. “I don’t think it really matters when it happened so long ago.”
“Are you the physical therapist?” Lute asked pointedly. Stan didn’t respond. “That’s what I thought.” He moved his hands down to Stan’s bicep. “Tense here.”
“I’ve got four kids. All of me is tense.” Lute let out a soft snort. “…That feels great.”
“It better! A large part of my job is givin’ folks massages!”
“I’m lucky that you gave up on runnin’ to do physical therapy, huh?”
“You sure are.” Lute grinned at him. “What with all the problems ya left fer Future Stan to solve.”
At this point I'm sort of determined to post these out of order. But here's week 4, taking place in my Avatar Stan AU! Given how I've been diving back into ATLA lately, it's not a surprise I went with this AU for this prompt. Enjoy~
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Stan snapped his fingers. A golden flame came to life hovering over his thumb and forefinger.
“Look, all I’m sayin’ is that if fire is an element of warmth and life, and heat helps ya get better after yer hurt, firebendin’ should be able to heal.”
“Next thing yer goin’ to say is that ‘cause mud soothes the skin, earthbenders should be dermatologists.”
“…I didn’t say it, you did.”
Stan spread his fingers, watching the fire dance across them.
“Only to beat you to sayin’ it!”
“I just think it wouldn’t make sense fer there to be only one element what heals, when there are so many ways to heal and so many kinds of injuries.”
“Healin’ with waterbendin’ involves sensin’ energy pathways, it ain’t somethin’ fer a rock thrower.”
“I sense things all the time with earthbendin’!”
“Tellin’ whether there’s a cave under us or someone approachin’ don’t count.”
“Why not?”
Stan slowly turned his hand over. The flame settled in his palm and grew larger, flickering in rhythm with his breath.
“It just don’t!”
“Well, I sense things still! Like through the banyan-grove tree. I sense all sorts of energies and connections. Just like what yer talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Everybody senses things in the swamp!”
“Yer just provin’ my point.”
“Next thing yer goin’ to say is that airbenders should heal.”
“Air is literally a necessary part of bein’ alive.”
“All right, that’s it. Stan, what do you think?”
The flame in Stan’s hand flickered out of existence as he turned to face the debating siblings. They were sitting on a rock bench (courtesy of Angie) outside the McGucket farmhouse, waiting for the Fire Sages to arrive. But to Stan’s frustration, the Fire Sages were notoriously prone to lateness. They were supposed to be there at sunrise.
It was almost noon.
“What?” he snapped irritably.
“Angie’s tryin’ to claim that every element should be able to heal,” Lute griped. He jabbed a thumb in his sister’s direction. “Tell her she’s off her rocker, will ya?”
“I dunno.”
“I think you’d know if it was possible,” Lute said confidently.
“Why?” Stan asked.
“Yer the Avatar, duh!”
“So?”
“Yer sort of the element expert.”
“I’ve only bent fire and air. And the air was just a few puffs mostly.” Stan scowled. “I’m not even an expert on my native element! They want to test me more before they decide I’ve mastered firebending.”
“They’re just bein’ cautious,” Angie assured. Stan sighed. Angie cocked her head. “Uh oh.”
“What?” Lute asked. Angie narrowed her eyes.
“Stan’s been thinkin’.”
“Uh oh,” Lute echoed. Stan glowered at them.
“What, I can’t think?” he snapped.
“We encourage you to think,” Lute said. “But when you’ve been just sittin’ ‘round thinkin’, well…”
“That ain’t a good sign,” Angie finished. Stan merely grunted, not dignifying the siblings’ conclusion with a verbal response.
“What’s on yer mind?” Lute asked. Stan grunted again. A pebble hit him in the left temple.
“Ow!”
“Talk to us,” Angie cajoled. “We’re yer team, right? Yer Team Avatar? We need to be able to talk ‘bout things!”
“I don’t really talk about things,” Stan muttered. Another pebble hit him, this time on the back of his neck. “Cut that out!”
“No, no, she’s got a point,” Lute said, standing up. “If yer not willin’ to talk, maybe we should get some sparrin’ in.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“We are a bit behind on our pro-bending practice,” Angie pointed out. A rock flew into her hand. She tossed it from hand to hand playfully. “It’d stink if we lose our next match…” Stan looked down the road in the direction the Fire Sages would be coming from. He sighed.
At least it’ll keep my mind off things.
“Fine.”
-----
A plume of dirt hit Stan in the face.
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Stan coughed, waving the dust away. All he got in response was snickers from the siblings. “You can’t just throw dirt at me!”
“Yer the Avatar,” Angie teased. “Dirtbending is well within yer abilities.” Stan scowled at her. He punched a quick burst of flame in her direction. She dodged it easily. “Not a lot of heart in that one.”
“I’ve still got dirt in my eyes, sue me.”
“Really?” Lute asked. “I can wash ‘em out fer ya.”
“No, that’s- it’s fine.”
“Y’know, you could always give me a taste of my medicine,” Angie said slyly.
“Oh.” Stan crossed his arms. “I see what this is. You’re trying to get me to earthbend.”
“Or airbend, which seems more likely, given you’ve done it once ‘fore,” Angie admitted with a shrug.
“This is pro-bending training, not Avatar training,” Stan snarled.
“It can be both,” Lute suggested, preparing what Stan could tell was a water whip attack. He dodged it easily.
“You said pro-bending. We’re supposed to be training for pro-bending,” Stan insisted.
“I agree with Lute, it can be both,” Angie said.
“Fine, fuck whatever we were supposed to do,” Stan burst out. Angie and Lute’s eyes widened. “Nothing goes the way it’s supposed to anyways! Not for me!”
“Stan…” Angie said softly. But Stan was on a roll.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” The rock hovering in front of Angie and ribbon of water suspended by Lute both fell to the ground. “I wasn’t supposed to have the weight of the world on my big, dumb shoulders. I didn’t learn the- the diplomacy or have the fancy tutors. I’m not supposed to be the Avatar. I’m supposed to be the Avatar’s no-good brother.” He sat heavily on the ground. “And don’t try saying that I’ve done it before or whatever. It doesn’t fucking help. It’s not like I can contact any of my past lives. Look at me, you think I’m a spiritual guy?”
Angie and Lute exchanged a nervous look.
“Rhetorical question,” Stan mumbled. He put his chin in one hand. “I just…” He sighed. “The firebending, I can handle. It’s everything else that’s the problem.” He groaned as he remembered something. “Dammit, that’s right, I never really finished my firebending training. Guess I don’t even have the firebending down.”
“What do you mean?” Lute asked.
“Lightning,” Stan said glumly. “That’s the only part of firebending Ford could do better than me. You need to have a cool, logical mind to do it. I can’t do that. My tutors would tell me I’m too hot-blooded for the cold fire.” He looked down at the ground morosely. “It wasn’t a problem before since you can’t use lightning in pro-bending. But now…”
“Yeah.” Angie sat on the ground next to Stan. “It's a lot. Especially when you didn't think it'd ever be your responsibility.” Lute sat on Stan's other side.
“Luckily, we're here to help!” he said brightly. Stan eyed him suspiciously.
“With lightning?”
“No. The other stuff you said you didn’t know how to do.”
“You guys don't know this stuff either. And you're not exactly diplomats.” Stan suspected having a swampbender for a parent had impacted Angie and Lute's social skills. They were good with people, but very honest. In Stan's opinion, too honest for the sort of socializing Avatar business called for. Ford's tutors had taught him a sneakier mode of communication, which got extensive use at events where Ford had to be there as the Avatar.
“Then we'll learn alongside ya,” Angie said. She grinned at him, smile brighter than the Spirit Lights. “Studyin' together is more fun and more effective than doin' it alone.”
“Don't know if I agree.”
“You had tutors,” Lute said, rolling his eyes. As the Avatar's twin, Stan was schooled privately for safety reasons. “Your school experience is atypical.”
“The point,” Angie interjected, “is that it's a heavy burden to bear. But yer not doin' it alone. You've got folks willin' to shoulder it with ya.” She leaned against him. “We’ll help ya carry the weight of the world.” Lute leaned against Stan’s other shoulder.
“What she said,” he said softly. Tears unexpectedly pricked the corners of Stan’s eyes. He cleared his throat.
“That’s- that’s good,” he croaked.
“Yer not gettin’ all choked up on us, are ya?” Lute teased.
“What? No! It’s- it’s the dust your sister threw in my face,” Stan said quickly.
“Excuse me, Avatar Stan?” a voice said from behind them. Stan jumped to his feet and spun around. The Fire Sages had finally arrived. Stan hurriedly bent into a passable bow. The Fire Sages bowed as well. “We’re here for your next test.”
“Yer Honors,” Lute said, “could ya tell us how many more tests Stan has to pass ‘fore he can move on to his airbending trainin’?”
“Only a few more,” the Head Sage said. “We feel the need to be thorough, given that the Avatar before him…well, you recall what happened.” Stan winced. Even he remembered learning about the previous Avatar’s loss of control while performing a major act of firebending. Calling it a disaster was putting it mildly. “But he’s been doing well so far. We don’t foresee him failing.”
“That’s good!” Lute said cheerfully.
“Yes.” The Head Sage looked at Stan. “Go get ready for your next test.” Stan nodded. He looked at Lute and Angie. They each gave him a thumbs-up.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
;)
——————————————————————————————
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.
Dropping a random ficlet that takes place in the Accidental Abduction AU and is Pride-adjacent for the last day of Pride. Hope you guys like it!
(As a reminder, I recently decided that Stan assigns the alien family the last name of "Roswell", so that's why he refers to them that way in this ficlet.)
———————————————————————————————————–
“It’s ceremonial,” Angie scolded Stan. “You’re supposed to mostly fake it, or at least go easy!” Stan scowled.
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” he demanded. “Do you really think we do stuff like that on Earth?” He paused. “Okay, maybe we sorta do, but it’s not exactly the same.” Angie sighed and sat down next to him. They were in the kitchen on the Roswells’ ship, heading back home from following the migration of the strange, sheep-like creatures they tended to called parthok. Lute looked morosely at Stan from the other side of the kitchen table.
“None of our siblings got beat up for following the tradition,” he mumbled. Underneath the cooling pack Lute held to his face, hints of the black eye Stan had given him peeked out. Thanks to Lute’s blue skin, the bruising was dark navy and literally black, colors Stan had never seen on a human.
“I’m guessing the people your siblings tried to feed a knuckle sandwich knew that the fight wasn’t real,” Stan retorted. He had been minding his business, looking for a quick snack, when Lute came up to him and out of nowhere threw a punch in Stan’s direction. Stan reacted with a punch of his own. Luckily, only after a few blows, Angie showed up and separated the two of them, shouting that the fight wasn’t supposed to be real. Stan gently prodded his split, fat lip. “Explain this tradition to me again.”
“It’s very straightforward,” Angie said. “In our culture, when someone begins dating someone else, the two new lovebirds’ twins must fight their sibling’s new significant other, to prove that the person is strong enough to protect their twin. So, when you and I started dating, Lute had to fight you to prove that you were strong enough to protect me.”
“But we started dating weeks ago,” Stan said. He looked at Lute. “Why did you wait to do this ceremonial fight or whatever until today?”
“I wanted to wait until after we found out you weren’t tethered to your home planet,” Lute explained. “If you were, we’d have to leave you on Earth and you’d have to break up with Angie, so the fight would be unnecessary.”
“Or Angie could move to Earth,” Stan argued. He waved a hand. “Don’t you have a brother on Earth doing human research or whatever anyways?”
“Mom and dad wouldn’t let me move to a different planet until I graduated school,” Angie said. She rolled her eyes. “And they’d probably want me to enroll at the same college as our brother. Which, going off what he said about the school, sounds like a pretty cruddy place.”
“Ugh. College,” Stan muttered. He frowned as something occurred to him. “Hang on.” The twins looked at him curiously. “You said that the twin for both people in the relationship have to do the fight.” Angie and Lute nodded. “But my twin’s on Earth. Angie can’t fight him.” By now, Stan had told the Roswell parents as well as Angie and Lute about his family back on Earth, including Ford. Angie cocked her head.
“You’re right,” she said. “I should’ve done that while we were on Earth checking to see if you were tethered.”
It’s definitely a horrible idea, but I’d still pay money to see Angie kick Ford’s ass to next Tuesday.
“It’s okay,” Lute said. “This happens on occasion. People from other species, who don’t have twins, marry into our people. In those cases, a stand-in takes the role of twin. For example, one of our mom’s friends fought our dad when they started dating.”
So I might still get to see Angie beat someone up. All right, now I’m getting invested.
“Do I ask someone or…?” Stan asked.
“Someone you are close to will volunteer for it,” Angie said cheerfully.
“The only people I’ve interacted with on your planet are your parents and siblings,” Stan said flatly. Angie and Lute winced.
“Good point,” Lute said.
“You’ll just have to wait for the fight until you make a good friend at school, then,” Angie said. Stan was tentatively enrolled in the local “youth educational facility” for the start of the next school year. Whether he could actually attend was dependent upon how well he could read, write, and understand the verbal form of the Roswells’ native language, the name of which human vocal cords couldn’t pronounce. “I can’t wait, by the way.”
“For school or the fight?”
“The fight! Lute hasn’t dated anyone yet, so this will be my first.”
“You haven’t dated anyone?” Stan asked Lute. Lute shook his head. “A perpetual bachelor, eh?”
“No, not that,” Lute said.
“Haven’t found the right gal?”
“No. I haven’t found the right guy,” Lute said matter-of-factly. Abruptly, Stan’s heartbeat began to pound furiously in his ears.
“You- you-” Stan stammered. He cleared his throat and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his clothes. “You, um. Lute, you’re- you’re into…guys?” he squeaked weakly. Angie and Lute looked at him oddly. Stan couldn’t blame them.
I haven’t had this poor of a reaction in front of them this entire time, and how much alien shit have I been exposed to since I was abducted?
“Yes,” Lute said. He leaned in, visibly concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just, um-”
I’m only trying to get over everything my Pops said my entire life about guys that are into guys, that’s all. No big deal.
“Mom mentioned that Grandma had a strange reaction to meeting a same-gender couple when she first came to the planet,” Angie said softly. “Is that what this is about, Stan?”
“…Yeah,” Stan mumbled. “At least where I’m from, people don’t like when guys date guys or gals date gals.” Lute immediately leaned backwards, hurt on his face. He set down the cooling pack, fully revealing his black eye.
“You- you don’t have an issue with me being attracted to men, do you?” he asked nervously.
“No!” Stan blurted out. “No, not at all! It’s none of my damn business.” Lute nodded, seeming to be somewhat mollified.
And it’d be a real dick move for me to be upset about it, with how big of a crush I had on Carla’s brother.
“I imagine that, with the culture you grew up in, hearing Lute casually mention he wants a boyfriend was a shock to you,” Angie said diplomatically. “Even if you don’t personally hold those views.”
“Yeah.” Stan managed a smile at Lute. “Seriously, Lute, I’m fine with it.”
“Good,” Lute said. Stan’s smile strengthened.
“It feels like every day, I learn something new that makes me realize staying with you guys was the right choice,” he said. Angie and Lute smiled, but Stan felt a slight shiver down his spine. “It’s better to be on a planet that’s accepting,” he backtracked quickly. Angie patted his hand, not noticing Stan’s hurried attempt to distance himself from any indication he might be interested in a “same-gender relationship”.
Sure, they’re fine with it. But I’ve gotta do some introspection bullshit about it before I can say anything to these guys. Which means I might never tell them. Eh. Whatever. Sally, Angie and Lute’s mom, walked into the kitchen. She looked at Lute and Stan, visibly beat up from their fight. She sighed.
