#lute mcgucket

[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.

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              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.”

[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]

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!

———————————————————————————————————–

              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.

[thelastspeecher]

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.

              “I won’t even ask.”

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary '23 - Week 3: Fear

For this one, I decided to revisit my OG AU, the Stanley McGucket AU, where when Stan is kicked out of the house, he gets picked up by a very nice southern family and becomes their farmhand.

And of course, I had to go with the classic, the first fear we see from Stan in the show: acrophobia. Fear of heights. Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Stan walked into the barn.  He put his hands on his hips, frowning.

              Mr. McGucket told me to help Lute in the barn with somethin’.  Where the hell is he?  The barn was seemingly devoid of any humans.  Stan looked at the closest horse, Angie’s mare Daisy.

              “Have you seen Lute?” he asked.  Daisy whickered softly then resumed eating her hay.

              “Up here, Stan!” a voice called.  Stan looked up.  He immediately paled.  Lute was sitting on the loft, his legs dangling over the edge.

              “What the hell are you doin’ up there?” Stan asked.  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Gettin’ hay.  Duh.”

              “Why do you need to get hay all the way up there?”

              “‘Cause this is where we keep the hay,” Lute said slowly.  “Did ya think these bales were up here fer decoration or somethin’?”

              “…No.”

              Yes.

              “Sure,” Lute said, sounding doubtful.  He shrugged.  “Wanna join me up here?”  Stan’s heart leapt into his mouth.

              “No,” he blurted out immediately.  Lute cocked his head curiously.

              “Are ya sure?”

              “I’m sure.”

              “Huh.  I would’ve thought you’d be chompin’ at the bit to come up here.  Angie ‘n I were beyond thrilled when we were fin’ly allowed.”

              “Yeah, well…” Stan muttered, trying to think of a way to shift the topic off him.  “You two are so short, bein’ up there is probably the first time you’re taller than someone.”

              “Har-har,” Lute said dryly.  “I’ll climb on down and we can get to work.”  He stood up.  “By the way, there’s a trick to comin’ up ‘n comin’ down without hurtin’ yourself.  So don’t try comin’ up here on yer own, okay?”  Stan looked away.

              “Not gonna be a problem.”

-----

              Stan shielded the sun from his eyes with his hand as he peered into the canopy of the apple orchard.  A big storm had blown through the night before, so he, Angie, and Lute were tasked with checking on the trees.

              “Kinda surprised any of ‘em are still standin’,” he remarked.  “I thought tornadoes usually took down trees.”

              “Not always,” Angie replied.  She was climbing one of the shorter trees to inspect the branches.  “Especially a weak tornado like we had yesterday.”  She looked down at Stan.  “That was yer first tornado, right?”  Stan nodded.  “I’m impressed by how ya didn’t panic when the sirens went off ‘n the folks took us to the storm cellar, then.”

              “Eh.”  Stan shrugged.  “I’m not easily scared.”

              “Still.  Impressive.  Most folks get spooked by their first twister.”  Angie began to climb down.  Stan took a step back, giving her room to jump once she had reached the lowest branch.  Once on the ground, Angie walked over to Stan.  “Looks like the trees didn’t get much damage.  At least, nothin’ that would need us to intervene.”

              “I wouldn’t say that!” Lute called.  He was in the branches of the tallest tree in the orchard.  “We’ve got a branch here that needs to come down!”

              “Ugh, great,” Angie muttered.  Stan frowned.

              “Why does it need to come down?” he called back.  There was a rustle from the tree, but Lute was still hidden.

              “Well, it’s broken off most the way, but won’t break off the rest of the way on its own.  At least, not fer a while.  Leavin’ it partially on like that fer however long it takes to come down increases the chance of problems later on.”

              “Can ya get it with some brute force?” Angie shouted.  There was some more rustling.

              “Nope!”

              “Should I tell Pa we need him to take it down with the saw?” Angie asked.  She looked at Stan.  “We ain’t allowed to use the saw quite yet.”

              “Why not?” Stan asked.

              “Our older siblin’s proved not to be trustworthy with it at our age, ‘n they’re more trustworthy ‘n we are.”

              “Ah.”

              “Okay, takin’ a closer look at this branch, I think it might be able to come down without gettin’ the saw,” Lute said.  “I can’t get it on m’ own, but I think Stan’s strong enough to handle it.”  Stan immediately began to sweat.  “At the very least, he’s got enough weight to throw behind it.”

              “Uh.  What?” Stan blurted out.  Angie elbowed him.

              “You heard ‘im!  Get on up there so’s we can handle it on our own.  Otherwise, we got to get help from Pa.”

              “I dunno if that tree can support my weight,” Stan said.  Angie snickered.

              “Please.  There’s pictures of McGuckets in that tree goin’ back generations.  You’ll be fine!”

              “Seriously, Angie, I don’t think-”

              “Go on!  The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to go into town ‘n go to the ice cream shop!” Angie said firmly.  She shoved Stan towards the tree.  Stan looked back at her, his heart pounding.  She didn’t seem to notice his nerves.

              And there’s no way in hell I’m gonna say somethin’.  Angie raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.  She’s not gonna let it go.  Great.  Stan looked up at the tree.  He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.  Suck it up and get it over with, Stan.

              Stan took a deep breath and gripped the lowest branches.  He pulled himself up.

              Don’t look down, don’t look down.  Just look forward and pretend like you’re not in a tree.  Using this method, he managed to make his way through the tree until he caught sight of Lute.  Lute grinned at him and held out a hand.  Stan took the offered hand.  Lute helped him onto the bough he was sitting on.  See?  No problem.

              “That branch right there, it’s what we’ve got to take care of,” Lute said.  He pointed at a large branch.  It had been broken in the middle, but was still attached with enough substance that Stan could see why Lute couldn’t take it down on his own.

              “All right, got it,” Stan mumbled.

              “Did ya make it up there?” Angie shouted from the ground.  Without thinking, Stan looked down.  His blood ran cold.

              Big mistake.  Big fucking mistake!  The branch that needed to come down was higher in the tree than Stan had realized, so the ground was even further away than he had expected.  He immediately gripped the bough he was sitting on.

              “Yeah, he’s up here!” Lute called back.  He frowned at Stan.  “But he got all pale out of nowhere.”

              “Oh no!  Are ya sick, Stan?” Angie asked.  Stan swallowed.

              “Nope!” he squeaked.

              “Don’t listen to him,” Lute said, his brow furrowing deeper.  “He don’t look good.”  Stan could feel every inch of him shaking.  All of his focus was now in stopping himself from throwing up, preventing him from making a snappy comeback.  The lack of snark visibly worried Lute even more.  “What’s wrong?”

              “N-nothing!  I’m fine!” Stan said.  His voice quavered.

              “It don’t sound like yer fine,” Angie said doubtfully.  A breeze blew past, making the branches around Stan and Lute wave.  Stan gripped his fingers deeper, the bark of the tree digging under his fingernails.  “Lute, what on Earth is goin’ on up there?”

              “I don’t know!”

              “Stan, we can’t help ya unless we don’t know what’s wrong,” Angie said.

              “Wait…”  Lute’s eyes widened.  “Ya refused to go up to the loft the other day.”

              “What?!  Why would someone not want to climb the loft?” Angie asked, sounding shocked.

              “Was he reluctant to go up the tree just now?” Lute asked.

              “Uh, yeah.  I had to liter’ly push him.”

              “Stanley…”  Lute met Stan’s gaze.  “Do ya have a fear of heights?”  Stan’s eyes immediately darted away, which was answer enough for Lute.  “Oh, shoot.  Ya do, don’t ya?”

              “I’m not afraid of ‘em,” Stan muttered.  “I’m- I’m respectful.”

              “Uh-huh, whatever ya want to call it,” Lute said, waving a hand.  “Why didn’t ya tell us?  We wouldn’t have made ya come up here!”

              “We’re not the kind of folks to push people like that,” Angie confirmed.  “Sure, it might be a good thing fer ya to work on at some point, but not sprung on ya with no warnin’ and no easy way out!”

              “Can ya climb down?” Lute asked.  Stan swallowed again.  He shook his head.  “All right.”  He looked down at Angie.  “Go get Pa!”

              “Oh it!” came the response.  Angie rushed away.  Lute smiled at Stan.

              “Don’t worry.  I’ll stay up here with ya until the rescue arrives.”  He threw an arm around Stan’s shoulders.  “And I know yer reluctant to thank folks, so no need fer it.  I can see it in yer eyes.”  Stan nodded gratefully.  “But in the future, Stan, let us know these things.  Okay?”

              “No promises,” Stan mumbled.  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Fine, then at least suggest an alternative so’s we don’t get ya stuck in a tree like a cat again.”

              “I think I can do that.”

              “Good.”  Lute sighed.  “We should’ve just got Pa from the beginnin’.  There’s no way the ice cream place ‘ll be open by the time we get to town now.”

              “Unless…”  Stan released his iron-clad grip on the bough briefly and eyed the trunk, trying to think of a way down.  Another gust of wind breezed past.  Stan gripped the bough again.  “Never mind!”

[thelastspeecher]

Part 1

Like promised, here's the second part to the Shining Armor AU thing I posted yesterday. Left y'all on a cliffhanger a bit, but don't worry, it gets resolved. Using a plot point I haven't mentioned yet on here...

Happy 2023!

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              Mr. McGucket leaned back in his chair.  He and his wife had been silent for the most part during the story, but as Stan and Angie explained how they just wanted to be together, Mrs. McGucket began to shift in her seat.

              “…and that’s it,” Angie finished.

              “Sally, I think you know what we need,” Mr. McGucket said softly.  Mrs. McGucket nodded and stood.  She left the kitchen.  Mr. McGucket raised an eyebrow at Stan and Angie.  “The two of ya have been married fer over a year now.  Why the sudden rush to want yer relationship to become recognized by the king?”

              “Well, I got betrothed to a noblewoman-” Stan started.

              “Don’t insult me, please, son.  Even here in Gumption, we heard ‘bout how Prince Stanley’s engagement to Lady Carla was broke off fer undisclosed reasons.”  Mr. McGucket clasped his hands politely.  “I’m just curious as to whether a certain kind of congratulations are in order.”  Angie smiled weakly.

              “They might be,” she said softly.  Mr. McGucket beamed.

              “I’m awful glad to hear that.  And don’t worry, Junebug, yer ma ‘n pa have it handled.”

              “How?” Stan asked.  As if on cue, Mrs. McGucket returned, holding a small box.  She sat it on the table.  Stan leaned in to inspect it.  The box was made of wood and intricately carved.  Some of the symbols along the sides of the box looked familiar to Stan, though he couldn’t put his finger on where they came from.  Mrs. McGucket opened the box and removed what was inside: a golden tiara with glittering sapphires the same color as her eyes.

              Stan’s jaw dropped.

              “Ma, why’d ya get yer crown?” Angie asked, perplexed.  “I remember that from when I was small.  It’s just a dress-up thing.”

              “No, it’s not,” Stan croaked.  Mrs. McGucket placed the tiara on the table.  Stan continued to stare at it, taking in the fine detailing of flowers and birds.  He had never been very skilled at history, but this tiara was tied to one of the few things that he had found interesting from his tutor.  “It’s the crown of the missing princess of Lirone.”

              “What?”

              “I learned about this in my history lessons.  Decades ago, the crown princess of Lirone vanished, presumed dead.  She had been behaving a bit oddly before then, but no one could tie that behavior to her going missing.  She went into the forest and never returned.  When she went missing, she was wearing her crown, which had sapphires, birds, and flowers.”  Stan waved a hand.  “Something about symbolizing water, animals, and plants.  That was when my lesson started getting boring again, so I stopped paying attention.”  Stan frowned at Mrs. McGucket.  “How come you have it?”

              “Well, it is mine,” Mrs. McGucket said softly.  Stan blinked.  “Do you recall the name of the missing princess?”

              “Sally,” Stan replied.  Mrs. McGucket nodded regally.  “No way.  There’s no way you’re the missing princess!”

              “Sally and I met one day when she snuck out to walk amongst the commonfolk,” Mr. McGucket said.  He smiled, his eyes misty with memory.  “I thought she was the prettiest person I ever did see.  And fer some reason, she was interested in speakin’ with this poor peasant boy.  We managed to continue to see each other and we fell in love.”

              “That was the odd behavior you learned about in your history lessons,” Mrs. McGucket said.  “I had to get creative to find ways to meet up with Mearl.”  At some point, her thick accent similar to her husband and daughter’s had disappeared.  Now, every word she said was crisp and carefully pronounced.

              Just like Ford.  No.  Just like a royal heir.

              “But I knew that this would not last forever,” Mrs. McGucket continued.  “So I decided to fake my death to be with the one I loved.”

              “That’s what I suggested!” Stan burst out.  Angie gently placed a hand over his.

              “Darlin’, please, quiet down,” she said softly.

              “Did it allow me to live my life in peace with my true love?” Mrs. McGucket said to Stan.  “Yes.  But was it the right move?  Honestly, I don’t know.  I feel like there may have been a way for me to stay with Mearl but also not make my friends and family grieve my apparent death.  And I know for certain that I can resolve the problem you two face without Stan faking his death.”

              “Does it have something to do with Angie apparently having royal blood?” Stan asked.  Mrs. McGucket smiled.

              “It might.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.  My husband and I will accompany you back to the castle, but I’ll need to prepare for the journey.  Mearl, please show the happy couple where they will be staying, maybe give them some pocket money to go to the shops.”

              “Of course, dear,” Mr. McGucket said, kissing Mrs. McGucket on the cheek.  Mrs. McGucket placed the crown back in its box and left.  Mr. McGucket stood.  “Come with me.”  Stan and Angie stood as well.  They followed Mr. McGucket through the house, to a small but well-kept guest room.  “You two can stay here.  If you were only betrothed or courtin’, o’ course, ya wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the same room.  But since yer married with a lil one on the way…”

              “Pa, please, not too loud.  I can’t let anyone know ‘bout, y’know.  Not yet,” Angie said nervously.  Mr. McGucket kissed her forehead.

              “Sorry, honey.  As I was sayin’, since yer wed, you can sleep in the same bed.  I’ll be back in a mo’ with some pocket money like yer ma suggested.”

              “We have our own coin,” Angie said.  “Stan’s a prince.”

              “Not in this house, he ain’t.  He’s just my son-in-law.”  Mr. McGucket looked Stan in the eyes.  “My son-in-law who should’ve asked fer my blessin’ ‘fore marryin’ my daughter.”

              “Pa!”

              “But I’ll let it slide this time, due to circumstances.”  Mr. McGucket exited the room.  Stan sat down on the guest bed.

              “So, that went way better than I expected,” he said.

              “Better than I could have dreamed,” Angie said.  She shook her head.  “I just can’t believe that the crown m’ sister ‘n I used to play with was actually part of the royal jewels of a neighborin’ kingdom.”

              “I can,” Stan said.  Angie raised an eyebrow at him.  “I mean, you’ve always been pretty as a princess.”  Angie smiled.  She walked over to Stan and kissed him.

              “Even when I was a knight, killin’ people and sweatin’ in my armor?” she asked.  Stan snorted.

              “You kidding?  Especially then.”

-----

              Stan bowed before the thrones of the king and queen.  Angie knelt on the ground beside him, shaking.

              “I’ve never been so offended,” rumbled King Filbrick.  “My finest knight, a woman?  And my own son didn’t just know, he was complicit in continuing the deception!”

              “Father-” tried Ford, who was standing at Filbrick’s side.

              “Silence.”

              “Yes, sir,” Ford mumbled.

              “Then, to make matters worse, my son broke off an important engagement to a noblewoman so that he could pursue his knight!  And marry her!” Filbrick continued.  Angie’s shaking worsened.  All Stan wanted to do was embrace her, but he knew that if he moved to comfort her, it would only enrage his father more.

              Where the hell are Angie’s parents?!  Though they had traveled back to the castle together, Mr. and Mrs. McGucket parted ways with Stan and Angie to complete preparations for the plan they still hadn’t fully clued Stan and Angie in on.

              “Count yourself lucky you are my only spare heir, Stanley,” Filbrick said.  “Otherwise, you would be banished.”

              “And what of the knight?” asked Queen Caryn.

              “Beheaded, obviously,” Filbrick said, sounding almost bored.  Angie collapsed.  Bile rose in Stan’s throat.

              Dammit!  He and Angie had discussed their backup plan, should Angie’s parents be late.  They had hoped to avoid using it, but there was no choice now.  I have to do something before they drag Angie off in chains.  Already, Stan could see movement from guards in his peripheral vision.  He straightened and looked Filbrick in the eyes.

              “Father, you can’t!” he cried out.  Filbrick clenched the arms of his throne.

              “And why not?” he growled.

              “Because Angie carries within her the one third in line for the crown,” Stan said.  Gasps sounded around the royal court.  Even Ford’s eyes widened in shock.  Filbrick’s face paled, then reddened.  He stood.

              “A peasant woman is pregnant with my grandchild?” he asked dangerously.  Before Stan could say anything, the large doors opened.  Stan turned.  Mrs. McGucket strode across the room.  Her tiara sparkled on her carefully coiffed hair.  She wore her finest dress, which, being the wife of a farmer, was not fine at all.  But with her demeanor, she elevated it, to the extent that she didn’t seem commonfolk.  She looked the royal she truly was.  Stan bowed to her as she passed.

              “Banjolina Quinn McGucket is no peasant,” Mrs. McGucket said as she stood before the king, queen, and crown prince.  “For she is mine, and I am-”

              “Sally!” Caryn sobbed. 

              “Caryn?” Mrs. McGucket asked, blindsided.  Caryn jumped up from her throne and rushed to Mrs. McGucket, embracing her tightly.

              “I thought you dead!”

              “I know, and I am sorry,” Mrs. McGucket said softly.  “It was the only way I could think of to be with the one I loved.”  She gestured at the back of the room, where Mr. McGucket stood.  Mr. McGucket bowed, but didn’t approach.  “You should thank my daughter, as she was the one who insisted your son not do the same as I did.”

              “What?” Caryn whispered.  She turned to Stan.  “Stanley, you planned to fake your death to be with your knight?”  Stan nodded.  Caryn covered her mouth.

              “Caryn, what is this all about?” Filbrick demanded.  While his parents were distracted, Stan helped Angie to her feet.  Caryn looked at her husband.

              “Filbrick, I would know this woman anywhere.  We were the closest of friends in our youth.  She is Sally of the House of Turner, the missing Crown Princess of Lirone.”  Mrs. McGucket curtsied elegantly.

              “I bring the crown I wore the day I disappeared myself as proof.”  She smiled at Caryn.  “Though I see now it was not necessary.”

              “Lady Knight!” Filbrick barked.  Angie snapped to attention.  “You are this woman’s child?”

              “Yes, Your Majesty,” Angie replied, bowing.  “Her youngest.”

              “Then you are no peasant.”

              “No, Your Majesty.”

              “…I see.”  Filbrick sat back down on his throne.  “You are to be relieved of your duties as knight.”  Angie bowed her head.  “As a gesture of goodwill, however, I will not strip you of your knighthood.”  Angie’s head shot up in shock.  “We have been on poor terms with Lirone for decades.  If this union will allow us to finally set up trade routes with our neighbor to the south, I will gladly do all I can to speed it forward.”

              “We’re married,” Stan pointed out.  “The union’s happened already.”

              “Have you no sense of propriety, son?” Filbrick asked.  “While the secret marriage will allow your child to be born in wedlock, it will not suffice in the slightest for a royal affair.  We must begin arrangements and send word to Lirone immediately.”

              “What of Angie’s twin brother?” Ford asked.  Filbrick looked at him like he’d forgotten Ford was there.  “Is Sir Lute to be removed of his duties as knight, now that he is a prince?”

              “He may continue to be a knight here if he wishes and the Lironian royal court allows it,” Filbrick said dismissively.  He stood.  “Caryn, come with me.”  Caryn gave Mrs. McGucket one last hug before joining the king.  “Stanford, Stanley, tend to our guests’ lodgings.  And speak with our head of staff as to new accommodations for Stanley and his wife.  Their current rooms are insufficient for a wed prince and princess.”

              “Yes, sir,” Ford and Stan said, bowing.  Filbrick and Caryn left the room.  Ford, Lute, and the McGucket parents joined Stan and Angie.

              “When were ya plannin’ on tellin’ us we were royal?” Lute asked his parents.

              “Honestly, never,” Mrs. McGucket said.  “We worried it would only complicate matters.  But I suppose we found the one situation in which it solved more problems than it caused.”

              “Yes, indeed,” Ford said.  He took off his glasses, polished them with his shirt, and then put them back on.  “Stan, Angie, how long have you known about the child?”

              “A few months,” Angie mumbled.

              “And ya didn’t think to tell us?” Lute yelped.  Ford put a hand on his knight’s shoulder.

              “Lute, I’d imagine they opted to stay quiet until they knew they would keep the child,” he said solemnly.  Angie and Stan nodded.  Lute paled.

              “Oh.  I see.”  Lute cleared his throat.  “Well.  The king was correct.  My parents will need someplace to stay.  Should I take ‘em to the red guest suite?”

              “I believe that will suit them, yes,” Ford said.  “Meanwhile, I will take the happily wedded couple to speak with the head of staff so they may finally live together as husband and wife.”  Stan intertwined his fingers with Angie’s.

              “And it’s about damn time,” he rumbled.  Angie leaned her head against his shoulder.

              “Agreed.”

[thelastspeecher]

Modern Stanley McGucket AU - Nail Polishing

I'm not good at coming up with cute little titles for things, but I did my best! Here's a cute idea I got days ago but didn't have time/energy to write up until today. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              Stan strolled past the entryway to the kitchen, whistling idly.

              “Hey, Stan,” a voice said.  Stan stopped.  He looked over.  Angie was sitting at the kitchen table, which was cluttered with bottles of nail polish.  Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on painting her fingernails.  Stan noted in amusement that Angie did the same thing when taking pictures with her prized vintage Polaroid.

              “Are you talkin’ to me again?” Stan asked.  Without looking up from her hand, Angie nodded.  “Already?”

              “Ya say that like ya want me to keep givin’ ya the cold shoulder,” Angie said idly.

              “No.  I’m just surprised you already forgive me.”

              “I never said I forgave ya.  I’m just willin’ to let ya back into my life.  That’s all.”

              “I’ll take it,” Stan said.  Angie’s look of concentration briefly broke into a small smile, before returning.  After he and Lute broke up Angie and her boyfriend, Max, she had refused to speak to either boy for weeks.  Eventually, she started to speak to Lute again, but not Stan.

              Not like I blame her for talking to Lute before me.  He’s her twin.  I get it.

              “I was also a bit surprised ‘cause you’re paintin’ your nails,” Stan remarked.  He leaned against the wall.  Angie looked up at him.  “You don’t really seem like the kinda gal to enjoy that stuff.”

              “She didn’t used to.  Then someone said it’d help with her nail-bitin’ habit,” Lute, who was rummaging through the pantry, remarked.  “Now she’s got nails what are chewed to the quick and have polish flakin’ off.”  Angie threw a cotton ball at Lute.  It hit the side of his head.  “Rude.”

              “Don’t air my dirty laundry like that!” Angie said, feigning indignance.  “Also, yer not one to talk ‘bout poor hand hygiene.  With those hangnail farms of yours.”  Lute stuck his tongue out at her.

              “Hang on, I thought when the nail polish starts flaking, people take off the rest of the polish,” Stan said.  Angie and Lute looked at him.  Stan shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.  “My mom likes to do her nails.  I tried to drink the acetone when I was a kid and she told me what it was for.  After she told me to never drink somethin’ I didn’t recognize.”

              “Yes, most people use nail polish remover,” Lute said.  “Angie, however, prolongs the sufferin’ by refusin’ to do so and just waitin’ fer it all to flake off naturally.”

              “I have sensitive cuticles,” Angie mumbled, now painting her right pinky nail with a bubblegum pink polish.  “At least the farmwork makes the polish flake off faster.”

              “You have the ugliest nails I’ve ever seen fer someone who actively tries to make ‘em look good,” Lute said.  Angie threw another cotton ball at him.  He caught it.

              “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll start chuckin’ polish.”

              “You wouldn’t risk losin’ any of yer collection.”

              “I wouldn’t mind if the cheap stuff I got fer Christmas from Uncle Basset mysteriously broke.”  Angie looked at Stan.  “Say, want me to paint yer nails?”  Stan broke into a cold sweat.

              “Uh…”

              “Don’t worry, I’ve got ‘manly’ colors,” Angie said.  She screwed the lid back on the polish she had finished using.  “I wouldn’t saddle ya with Barbie pink.”  She blew on her pinky nail to dry it faster.  “Unless ya wanted Barbie pink.  No judgement.”

              “Um.”

              “And if ya didn’t like it, I can take it off right away.”

              “I thought you didn’t have nail polish remover,” Stan said.

              “She does,” Lute interjected.  “She just don’t use it.”  Angie blew a raspberry at him.  “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”  Angie rolled her eyes, then turned back to Stan.

              “If ya don’t want to, it’s okay,” she said gently.  “I understand.  Just thought I’d offer, that’s all.”  Stan swallowed nervously.

              This is the first time in ages Angie even wants to be in the same room as me.  If I turn her down, am I gonna be back at square one?  Sure, she says she’s fine with it, but can I really risk it?  Angie raised an eyebrow.  Stan’s stomach churned.  Just thinkin’ about painting my nails shouldn’t make me feel like I’m gonna throw up.  Why does it?  Who am I worried about seein’ me with nail polish?  Pops?  He ain’t here.  It’s just Angie and Lute.  And they don’t give a shit.

              “…Sure,” Stan managed.  Angie’s face immediately lit up.

              Yep.  Definitely made the right decision.  Stan walked over to the kitchen table and sat across from Angie.  She moved aside her bottles of nail polish, beaming.  And be honest, Stan.  You’ve always sorta wanted to paint your nails.

              “Okay, so, first, what color do ya want?” Angie chirped.  Stan looked at her selection.  He picked out a dark red.  “Ooh, good choice!”

              “Do I need to pick a second one?” Stan asked.

              “If ya want to do an accent nail, yes.”

              “A what?”  In lieu of an answer, Angie laid her hands flat on the table, palms down.  Stan could now see that while most of her fingernails had been painted a solid bubblegum pink, her ring fingers had somewhat wobbly stripes of yellow and white.  The stripes on her right hand were particularly messy, likely due to painting with her non-dominant hand.  “It’s just when one nail is a different design than the others?”

              “Yep.”

              “Does it have to be the ring finger?”

              “That’s what the accent nail usually is, but it could be any finger.”

              “I want it to be my middle finger,” Stan said firmly.  Angie sighed.  Lute snorted.

              “Ya walked right into that one, sis.”

              “Shut up.”

              “How about that color?” Stan said, pointing to a gold polish.  Angie nodded.

              “Do ya want yer accent nail to be a solid color or a pattern?” she asked.

              “Pattern.”

              “What pattern?”

              “Whatever’s easiest.”

              “Polka dots it is, then.”  Angie patted the table.  “Lay yer hands down fer me please.”  Stan obediently laid his hands palm down, spreading his fingers wide.  “Wow, you’ve got really good nails!”

              “…I do?”

              “Yeah!”  Angie opened the lid of the dark red polish.  “At least, they’re good in comparison to the nails I normally paint.  Which are mine ‘n Lute’s.”

              “By the way, once Stan’s done, mind paintin’ mine?” Lute asked.  Angie glared at him.  “I’ll buy ya a new polish next time we go to town.”

              “Deal.”  Angie began to paint Stan’s thumbnail.  Stan couldn’t help but stare as the polish covered his thumbnail, then his index finger, then his ring finger, and finally his pinky.  “It’s cool watchin’ yer nails get painted, ain’t it?”

              “That’s why I like havin’ Angie paint m’ nails,” Lute chimed in.  He had finally found a snack and was sitting on the counter while he ate, watching Angie paint Stan’s nails.  “It’s like one of them stim things or whatever.”  Angie capped the red polish, then uncapped the gold polish.  She painted the nail of Stan’s middle finger.  She then recapped the gold and uncapped the red again.  When she moved towards Stan’s other hand, Stan spoke.

              “I thought you were gonna do polka dots.”

              “I got to let the gold dry first.  Otherwise it’ll smear,” Angie said briskly.

              “All right, all right.  You’re the boss.”

              “Darn tootin’ I am.”  Angie painted the nails of Stan’s other hand, once again sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.  After finishing with the red, she checked whether the gold polish was dry.  When it was, she carefully applied small dots on top of the gold.

              Before Stan knew what had happened, his nails were fully painted and Angie was smiling proudly.  He reached to scratch his nose.

              “No!” Angie and Lute shouted.  Stan froze.

              “Yer nails ain’t completely dry yet,” Angie scolded.  “Don’t touch anything until they are.”

              “And then I can scratch the mosquito bite I got two days ago?”

              “Sure.  I don’t use top coats, so we’re done.”

              “‘Top coats’?”

              “A clear layer of polish on top to protect the colorful polish,” Lute said.  “Proper nail artists use ‘em.  But Angie don’t.”

              “If I did, then the polish would take forever to flake off!”

              “Again, nail polish remover.”

              “Get yer butt over here to get yer nails done ‘fore I change my mind.”

              “Sounds good to me!”  Lute hopped off the counter and took a seat next to Stan.  “I’m thinkin’ we’ll go with silver today,” he said cheerfully.  He laid his hands in front of Angie.

              “All right.”  Angie grabbed a silver polish.  As she began to paint Lute’s nails, she glanced over at Stan.  “Do ya like it, Stan?”  Stan looked down at his nails.

              Okay, I did this just to make sure I didn’t piss Angie off again, but it kinda rules.  A slow smile spread across his face.  It doesn’t hurt that Pops would have a heart attack if he saw my hands right now.

              “Yeah.  I do.”

              “Really?!” Angie said eagerly.  Stan looked at her, now smiling broadly.

              “Yeah.  And I’ve already decided I wanna do stripes next time.”

[thelastspeecher]

Modern Stanley McGucket AU - Pride!

I've had this one on the backburner for quite some time and I'm very happy that I finally managed to finish it up! Here is the long-awaited and much-discussed scenario in my Modern Stanley McGucket AU, where the McGuckets take Stan to Pride.

Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              The door to Stan’s bedroom slammed open.  Stan jerked in surprise, his phone slipping from his hands, thankfully landing on the mattress instead of the floor.  Angie and Lute jumped onto his bed, Angie sitting in front of him and Lute next to him.

              “Whatchya up to?” Angie asked, getting all up in Stan’s personal space.  Like usual.

              “Yer not takin’ more of those selfies, are ya?” Lute asked, pressing up against Stan.  Like usual.  Stan sighed.

              “Angie.  Lute.  What a surprise,” he said dully.  Angie and Lute snickered.  “I was trying to figure out the settings on the phone your parents gave me.”  He picked his phone up.  Lute promptly took it from him.  “Hey!”

              “Oh, this is Fidds’ old phone,” Lute said.  “You can just ask him to help ya with that.”  Stan took his phone back.

              “I can figure it out on my own.”

              “Well, don’t get too attached to it,” Angie said airily.  “Ma ‘n Pa ‘re plannin’ on lookin’ into gettin’ ya a new one when we go to Little Rock on Saturday.”

              “A new one?” Stan croaked.  The familiar feeling of heavy guilt settled in his stomach.

              They already gave me a phone before I was even allowed to feed the chickens unsupervised!  Sure, it’s one of their kids’ old phones, but it’s still way more than I deserved.  Now they’re gonna get me a new one?  I’ve been here for less than two months!

              “Well, not brand new,” Angie hedged.  “It’ll either be one that’s refurbished or a new one, but of a model what’s a few years old.  They’ll decide at the store.”

              “Fidds offered to do what he usually does when someone in the fam’ly gets a new piece of technology ‘n help with the purchasin’ decision,” Lute said.  “But Ma ‘n Pa insisted on doin’ it on their own so’s we can enjoy Pride.”

              “Uh.  Pride?” Stan asked.  Suddenly, Angie’s face was mere inches from his.  “McGucket, we’ve talked about this.  Personal space.”  Angie scowled, but backed away from him slightly.

              “Yep, we’re goin’ to Pride this weekend!” Lute crowed.

              “What’s…Pride?” Stan asked cautiously, feigning confusion.  Angie and Lute’s mouths dropped open.

              “Ya don’t know?  Yer a city boy!” Angie gasped.

              “So?”

              If I pretend not to know what Pride is, maybe they won’t, uh, notice anything about me.

              “Well, Pride is a celebration of sexual orientation and gender identity minorities,” Angie said.  She flipped her long, caramel-colored hair.  “It’s a time when folks in the LGBTQ community can come together and be loud ‘n proud ‘bout who they are.”

              “And this is relevant to me because…?” Stan asked.  Angie and Lute frowned.  “You’re not calling me-”

              “Oh, we ain’t assumin’ anything ‘bout ya!” Lute said, waving a hand.  Angie nodded.  “Allies are welcome.  In fact, that's why Angie ‘n I go.  To support Fidds.”

              “Yes, Lute ‘n I are very proud allies,” Angie said.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              Huh.  That was weird.  The McGuckets had serious anxiety issues, which they referred to as the “Family Nervousness”.  This anxiety often led to them practicing conversations ahead of time.  Judging by how frequently Stan would catch Angie talking to her reflection, only to hear her use the same phrasing a few hours later, the youngest McGucket child was the most prone to rehearsing social interactions.  Though he had only been with the McGuckets for about six weeks, Stan could already tell when Angie was shooting from the hip or reciting lines she’d said many times before.  And that was practiced.  Which means she was either nervous about this conversation or lying.

              “You said it’s in Little Rock?” Stan asked.  Angie and Lute nodded.  “Little Rock is like two hours away!”

              “No, it’s ‘bout an hour away,” Lute said.  “It just seems longer to ya ‘cause ya ain’t used to wakin’ up early just to get in the car fer the farmer’s market.”

              “Still, an hour’s pretty far.”

              “What?!  No, it’s not!” Angie protested.  She laid down on Stan’s bed so that her head dangled over the edge.  “It’s close!”

              “In what world is anything that’s an hour away close?” Stan asked.

              “In a world where just ‘bout anything is at least an hour away,” Lute said dryly.

              “Ugh.  Good point.”

              “Come on, Stan, you’ll love Pride!” Angie gushed, throwing her hands in the air.  “They’ve got fair food!”  Stan’s stomach rumbled.  Angie giggled.  “Sound like yer tummy wants to go.”

              “I dunno.”

              “Please?” Angie and Lute begged.

              “No one’s gonna think I’m…”  Stan gestured vaguely.  “…whatever for being there?” he asked.  Angie and Lute shook their heads.  “Fine.  I’ll go.”  Angie and Lute let out whoops of delight.  “Now get outta my room and let me mess with my phone in peace.”

              “C’mon, Angie, we better go so’s he can take more selfies,” Lute said.  He elbowed Stan playfully.  “Got to figure out the best lightin’ in the room, eh?”  Stan elbowed him off the bed in response.  Lute chortled.  Angie snickered.  She sat up.

              “Thanks fer agreein’ to come,” she said softly.  “We really ‘ppreciate it.”

              “Yeah, well…”  Stan cleared his throat.  “Anything to leave Gumption.”  Angie smiled.

              “Right.”  She slid off the bed.  “We’ll discuss plans at dinner.”  Stan nodded.  Angie and Lute left the room, closing Stan’s door behind them.  Stan sighed.  He looked up at the ceiling.

              It’s okay, Stan.  Like they said, straight people go to this sorta thing all the time.  No one’s gonna suspect anything.  His stomach rumbled again.  And you’ll get some fried food outta the deal.

-----

              The family pickup truck came to a stop.  Mr. McGucket got out to inspect the parking meter.  He smiled.

              “You were right, darlin’!  They don’t cost money on weekends!” he called to Mrs. McGucket, who was getting out of the truck as well.  “All right, kids, round up ‘fore we part ways!”  Angie crawled out of the front seat, where she had been stuck sitting between her parents.  Stan, Lute, and Fiddleford got out of the back seat.

              “I hate long rides squished in the back,” Stan muttered.  “You guys might all be twigs, but I’m sure as hell not.”

              “Oh, please, at least yer not stuck in the middle,” Angie said, waving a hand.

              “Kids!” Mrs. McGucket said.  The four teenagers looked at her.  “Y’all can wander off to enjoy the festivities.  But what’s the rule fer wanderin’ off on yer own?”

              “Keep our phones on us,” Fiddleford said.  Mrs. McGucket nodded.

              “And?”

              “Keep the phones on,” Lute added.

              “And?”

              “Keep the ring volume turned up,” Angie finished.

              “Correct,” Mr. McGucket said.  He looked at his wristwatch.  “Everyone, meet back up here fer lunch so’s we can all go together.  We’ll let ya know a time when we have an idea of how long the electronic store will take.”

              “Are ya sure ya don’t want-” Fiddleford started.  Mr. McGucket frowned at him.

              “Son, yer ma ‘n I can handle it on our own.”

              “But-”

              “Aw, c’mon, Fidds, don’t ya want to meet up with the folks ya met at the clinic?” Angie asked.  “Ya only get to see ‘em at Pride!”  Fiddleford glanced in Stan’s direction with a fearful expression.  Stan raised an eyebrow, confused.  Fiddleford’s shoulders settled in relief.

              “That’s a good point,” he said to his younger sister.  “All right, I’ll let Ma ‘n Pa handle the phone on their own.”

              “Exactly,” Mr. McGucket said with a nod.  “Now, go have yourself a grand old time!”

-----

              Stan wandered aimlessly down the street, which had been blocked off so that only pedestrians were allowed.  Very quickly after Mr. and Mrs. McGucket turned them loose, the three McGucket children had split off to find people they met at previous Prides.

              Sure, they offered for me to come with ‘em, but why would I?  I can take care of myself for a while.  I don’t need to follow them around like a lost puppy or whatever.  He walked past a stand selling flags.  He paused.  There were many more than just the rainbow one he knew.  Do all those mean something?  Or are they for countries?  The person manning the stand spotted him looking and smiled.

              “Interested in some of our merch?” she called.  Stan walked up to her.  “We do have the best flags at Pride.”  She looked to be roughly the age of the oldest McGucket child Stan had met so far, Basstian, who had just graduated college and still stopped by the house regularly.  Her hair was a bright blue and trimmed to a buzzcut.  There was a nametag pinned to her jean overalls, reading “Karly, she/her”.  Under her overalls, which were patterned with stars, she wore rainbow tights.

              If Angie sees this chick, she’s gonna want that outfit, I just know it.

              “Uh, I’m just wondering what all these different flags are,” Stan said.  Karly beamed.

              “A newbie to the world of pride flags, huh?  Don’t worry, I can help you out.”

              “Every flag is for a different…whatever?” Stan asked.  Karly raised an eyebrow.

              “If by ‘whatever’ ya mean sexuality or gender, yes.  Though there are a few that are more for, ah, lifestyle?  Like the polyamorous flag or bear flag.”

              “Are there really that many different ways to fall in love?” Stan mumbled, scanning the numerous patterns.

              “Ways to fall in love, ways to be.”  Karly shrugged.  “Humans are messy.”

              “Heh.  Yeah.”  A sudden bit of courage surfaced.  Stan cleared his throat.  “Are there…are there flags for people who like guys and girls?”

              “Oh, yeah!  There’s a few.  But going off yer phrasin’, I think you’d be lookin’ for the bisexual pride flag,” Karly said, pointing at a flag with a pink stripe, a purple stripe, and a blue stripe.

              “It’s…nice,” Stan managed.

              “It’s one of my favorites,” Karly said.  Stan’s eyes wandered, eventually landing on a flag with a pattern he recognized: two blue stripes, two pink stripes, and a white stripe.

              “What’s that one for?” he asked, pointing.

              “Oh, that?  That’s the trans flag.”

              “…Trans?”

              “Aw, yer really new to this,” Karly said with a chuckle.  “Trans is short fer transgender, though some folks will also use transsexual.  It means someone who don’t identify as the gender they were born as.”

              “So like, guys becoming girls, girls becoming guys?”

              “That’s the rough approximation, yes.  It’s a bit more nuanced ‘n that, but I ain’t the person to talk to ‘bout the intricacies of gender, bein’ cis and all.  There are some stands that would be better at educatin’ ya.”  Karly smiled.  “So are ya goin’ to buy somethin’?”  Stan swallowed nervously.  He pointed.

              “I’ll take that.”

              “Excellent choice!”  Karly grabbed the item Stan had pointed at.  “Say, you’ve got quite the accent.  Yer not from ‘round here, are ya?”

              “No.”

              “Are ya a college student, then?” Karly asked.  Stan looked away.

              “No, I’m…staying with some friends,” he mumbled.  “They’re letting me crash at their place for-for a bit.”

              “…Oh.”  Karly’s voice was soft and full of sadness.  Stan looked at her.  “I’m sorry.  I should know better ‘n to ask questions like that at an event like this.”  Karly sighed.  “Well, I hate to ask fer money after bringin’ up negative things, but that’ll be $2.50.”

-----

              It felt like the small trinket was burning a hole in Stan’s back pocket.  He took a deep breath, ignoring the sensation that everyone was watching him resume his walk down the street.

              No one’s paying attention to me.  Everybody’s doing their own thing.  Still, that feeling of guilt and dread pulsed at the base of his skull.  Fucking Pops.  Fucking me up in the head like this.

              “Hi, Stan!”  Stan was torn out of his thoughts by the sound of Angie’s voice.  He looked over.  Angie waved at him from the stall she was standing by.  The stall and everyone at it were wearing colors Stan recognized from one of the flags.

              But I don’t know which flag it is.  Stan waved back.  Angie beamed, then turned back to her conversation with a boy with long, purple hair.  Maybe I should have asked what all the other flags were for.  Nah, I wouldn’t have remembered.  I barely remembered the bi one and the one that Fiddleford was wearing.

              Stan hadn’t asked about the trans flag just because he liked the colors.  When they arrived at Pride that morning, he had noticed Fiddleford wearing a bracelet with those stripes on it.

              Which means Fiddleford…used to be a girl?  Or is gonna be a girl eventually?  Ugh, this stuff is complicated.  A stray thought passed through Stan’s mind.

              “You could always ask him.”

              Oh, hell no.  I’m not gonna get in his private business like that!  And I’m not gonna get in Angie’s private business, even though it’s now pretty damn obvious she was lying when she said she was just an ally.  Stan snorted quietly to himself, thinking of how he had earlier passed by Lute eagerly taking selfies with a bunch of teenage boys, all wearing rainbows.  And it’s even more obvious Lute isn’t exactly straight, either.  But I sorta knew that already.  He watches me way too closely whenever I take off my shirt.

              The smell of something fried and greasy reached Stan’s nostrils.  He took a break from his ruminating to buy some of the horrible, delicious fair food he had been promised.  As he turned away from the stall, corndog in hand, he saw someone with dark hair and a large nose making out with someone else in an alleyway across the street.

              Damn.  Gucket’s got game.  Stan took a deep breath.  But I need to wait for them to tell me.  Just like they’ll have to wait for me to tell them.

              Stan’s phone buzzed.  He pulled it out.  The McGucket parents were requesting they all meet up by the truck in fifteen minutes.  Stan changed his route to head off in that direction.  He put his phone back into his pocket.  As he did so, his fingers brushed against the trinket he had bought.  Hesitantly, he took it out.  He looked down at the item sitting on his open palm.  It was a bisexual pride flag keychain, eagerly awaiting keys Stan didn’t have the courage to put on it yet.

              But someday I’ll use it.  Stan tucked the keychain back into his pocket.  Someday.

[thelastspeecher]

Whoops, I wrote even more of that AU with princes Stan and Ford and Stan's brave knight Banjo McGucket. This time, the cat's outta the bag.

——————————————————————————————

              “This is why I didn’t want you to come with us in the forest, Ford!” Stan shouted.  He gestured at his currently unconscious knight, laying on the ground with an arrow in his shoulder.  “Sir Banjo and I have wandered around here plenty of times with no problem, and the first time you come with, he gets knocked out and shot!”

              “Stanley, please, calm down and just find some water so that I can wash Sir Banjo’s wound,” Ford said, kneeling by Banjo’s side.  Stan scowled at him.  “You can scold me as much as you like when we’re back at the castle.  Right now, we need to make sure Sir Banjo will be fine.”

              “He better be,” Stan muttered.  He stomped off into the woods.  Ford sighed softly.  He looked down at Banjo.

              “I apologize in advance, Sir Banjo,” Ford said quietly.  He gripped the shaft of the arrow and yanked it out of Banjo’s shoulder.  Banjo didn’t move or make a sound.

              Well, that’s both good and bad.  Good in that he didn’t feel it.  Bad in that he’s clearly deeply unconscious.  Ford set aside the arrow.  He carefully began to remove Banjo’s clothing, guilt coursing through him as he did so.  Sir Banjo is notoriously private.  I hate to undress him, particularly given that I’ve heard he refuses to do so in front of others.  But I have no choice.  I need to tend to his wound.

              Despite knowing it was necessary, Ford still hesitated when he got to the layer of clothing below Banjo’s breastplate.  He swallowed.  He began to pull the undershirt up, but stopped.  His heart jumped to his mouth.

              No.  There’s no way-  Banjo stirred, eyes opening.  Ford winced.  This is the worst time to wake up.

              “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” Banjo asked weakly.  Ford swallowed.  “Say it.  Your Highness.”

              “You’re…you’re not a sir,” Ford croaked.  “You’re- you’re-”

              “A lady,” Banjo completed.  She adjusted herself so that she was propped up against the trunk of a nearby tree.  She winced.  “I’m goin’ to need yer help removin’ my shirt to take care of my wound, Your Highness.  I apologize.”

              “You- you’re- wait, you have an accent?”

              “Please, Your Highness.  I don’t want Prince Stan to return and see me in this state,” Banjo begged.

              “Right.  Yes.  Of course.”  Ford removed Banjo’s undershirt, fully revealing the breasts that had given Banjo away.  “Do you have any water to wash the wound with?”

              “Of course.”  Banjo pulled out a waterskin and handed it to Ford.  “I’m yer brother’s knight.  I need to be prepared fer everything.”

              “I can’t believe you have an accent,” Ford mumbled as he washed the shoulder wound.

              “I try to hide it to be professional,” Banjo said.  She grabbed her overshirt and ripped a few strips of fabric from it, then handed the fabric to Ford.  “But when I’m in pain, it’s a bit more dif’cult to cover up.  Y’know?”

              “I understand,” Ford said.  He began to bind the wound with the strips of fabric.  “I…I have many questions for you.”

              “I had a feelin’.  But can it wait until we’re back at the castle?”

              “Yes.  Of course.”  Ford handed Banjo her undershirt.  “I’m assuming Sir Lute will tend to your wound better when we return?”

              “Not necessarily.”  Banjo slipped on her undershirt.  “There’s a doctor who knows my secret.”

              “Whom?”

              “…I don’t feel comfortable tellin’ ya, Your Highness.  I apologize.”

              “No, no, it’s quite all right.”  Ford handed Banjo her breastplate.  She shook her head.

              “I don’t want to wear somethin’ heavy while I’m injured.”

              “Ah.  I see.”  Ford helped Banjo to her feet just as Stan charged into the clearing.

              “I found a stream, but I didn’t bring anything to put water in-” Stan started.

              “It’s all right, Stan.  Sir Banjo had a waterskin,” Ford interrupted.  Stan looked over.  His shoulders slumped in relief.  “I was able to tend to his wound.  Once we’ve returned to the castle, he’ll get looked at by a doctor.”

              “Good.”  Stan walked over to the two and looped one of Banjo’s arms around his shoulders.  Banjo turned pink.  “I’ll help you back, Sir Banjo.”

              “No- no need,” Banjo squeaked.  “It’s just a shoulder wound.  My feet are fine.  I can walk back without support.”

              “If you say so,” Stan mumbled.  Banjo retrieved her arm and smiled at him.

              “I’ll be fine, Your Highness.  And given our differences in height, you’d have to slouch the entire way back.”

              “So?” Stan asked.

              “Your comportment tutor would have my head!”

              “Not without my permission.  And I’m not gonna give that old fogey permission to even look at you wrong,” Stan said firmly.  Banjo turned pink again.  “You’re a good man, Sir Banjo.”

              “Th-thank you, Your Highness,” Banjo mumbled.  She winced.  “We should get going.”

-----

              Ford knocked on the door to Banjo’s room.

              “Come in,” said the voice of Sir Lute, Banjo’s twin brother.  Ford pushed open the door.  Upon seeing him, Lute immediately bowed, as did Banjo.  “Your Highness.”

              “I, ah, had some questions for your twin,” Ford said awkwardly.

              “If it pleases Your Highness, I would like to remain in the room while you ask my twin questions,” Lute said.  Ford nodded.  He closed the door behind him.

              “Please, Sir Banjo, sit.  You should be resting.”

              “As you wish, Your Highness,” Banjo said.  She sat down on her bed, wincing slightly.

              “It’s just us, can we please drop the titles?” Ford requested.  “You don’t need to refer to me as ‘Your Highness’.”

              “In that case, ya don’t need to refer to us as ‘Sir’,” Lute said.  Ford nodded.

              “I can do that.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “So…”

              “My name ain’t Banjo,” Banjo said.  “It’s Banjolina.  But I go by Angie back home.”

              “Angie.”

              “Yes.”

              “Well, Angie, does your family know?” Ford asked.

              “Do they know I’m a knight?” Angie asked.  Ford nodded.  “No.  They don’t.  They think I came to the castle to be a scullery maid.  I- I didn’t want ‘em to try to stop me or worry.”  She glanced at Lute.  “Lute worries enough as is.”

              “Can ya blame me?” Lute demanded.  He ran a hand through his dark brown hair.  “Angie, the crown prince found out yer secret!”

              “I won’t say anything,” Ford said quickly.  The siblings looked at him.  “I have no interest in causing someone to lose a job they are so good at.  And I in particular have no interest in potentially endangering someone whom I consider a friend.  Someone my brother considers one of his closest friends.”  The words had the desired effect.  Angie blushed fiercely and looked down at the floor.

              “I’m honored,” she said softly, “to be regarded so highly by the crown prince.  Such a distinction is every knight’s dream.”

              “That brings up the main question I wanted to ask, other than your name,” Ford said.  Angie looked up at him again.  “Why did you want to become a knight?  It’s a dangerous field for even a man, let alone a young woman.  Not to mention the inherent danger of hiding your gender.”

              “There aren’t many options fer young women,” Angie replied.  She tied her shoulder-length hair, a few inches shorter than Ford and Stan’s, back into a ponytail.  “Essentially, ladies are to wait fer marriage.  Until then, we are to do all we can to make ourselves as marketable as possible.  This includes seeking out employment appropriate fer a young lady.  Once we are betrothed, we are to pour ourselves into our relationship, abandonin’ everything else fer it.  Includin’ whatever job we may have had.”

              “And after you get married?” Ford asked.  Angie raised an eyebrow.

              “Stanford, do ya really think it gets much better?  A wife’s responsibility is to keep house ‘n raise as many children as ya can possibly have.  That’s it.  The miniscule scraps of freedom ya had before are gone.”  Angie sighed.  “My ma, she has that life and loves it, and I’m glad it speaks to her.  But it don’t speak to me.  So’s I wanted to put that off fer as long as possible.  The only way I could think of doin’ so was to find a job far away from my folks.  Some distance to keep ‘em from actively match-makin’.”

              “Not that they’ve actually stopped tryin’ to get ya betrothed,” Lute commented.  Angie dragged her hands down her face.

              “Don’t remind me,” she mumbled.  “Every single letter from ‘em, they ask if my scullery maid position has led me to meet a nice young man yet.  They’re determined I find a knight.”

              “Luckily, you’re on speaking terms with every knight at the castle,” Ford said dryly.

              “Banjo is.  Angie ain’t.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “That still doesn’t explain why you chose to become a knight specifically.  You could have become a scullery maid and still reached your goal of maintaining distance between yourself and your parents.”  Angie looked at her twin.

              “Care to take this one, Lute?”

              “Sure.  Anything to get ya to rest like the doctor wanted,” Lute snapped.  Angie rolled her eyes, but obediently laid down, propping herself up with her pillows.  Lute turned to Ford.  “When we were but young children, a knight visited our village.”

              “Where are you from, again?”

              “A small hamlet called Gumption.”

              “Right.”

              “We didn’t often get knights, it bein’ so far from the castle.  So’s when a knight showed up, it was a big affair.  Even more after we found out he was there to defeat the monster what had been terrorizin’ our village fer months.”

              “And did the knight succeed in his mission?”

              “Yep.  Afterwards, he stopped by our fam’ly’s vegetable stand and spoke to us.  He even told us the entire story of how he managed to do the job.  Then and there, Angie ‘n I knew we needed to be knights.”

              “Didn’t your parents tell you knighthood was a pipe dream for Angie?” Ford asked.  Lute and Angie snorted.

              “Constantly,” Angie said firmly.  She smirked.  “Luckily, I didn’t listen.”

              “For whom is that lucky?” Ford asked idly.

              “Other than me, well, I reckon it’s awful lucky fer yer twin brother.”  Angie suddenly blushed fiercely.  “I- I apologize.  That was inappropriately forward of me.”

              “No, no, you’re right,” Ford said.  Angie smiled weakly.  “It’s incredibly lucky for Stan that you’re his knight.  I shudder to think of what may have happened otherwise.”

              “Thank you, Stanford,” Angie said softly.

              “I merely speak the truth,” Ford said with a shrug.  There was a knock on the door.

              “Yes?” Angie called.

              “It’s Stan,” Stan’s voice said.

              “Come in,” Angie said.  Stan opened the door.  He smiled at Angie.  “Your Highness.”  Angie moved like she was going to get out of bed.

              “No, Banjo, you stay right there,” Stan said.  “You gotta rest up.  The sooner you heal, the sooner things go back to normal.”  He scowled.  “With one exception.”

              “What?” Angie asked.  Stan looked over at Ford.

              “Oh, you’re here, Ford?”  Ford nodded.  “And I saw Lute was here, too.  Good.  I only have to share the news once.”

              “What news?” Lute asked.  “Your Highness,” he hurriedly added.

              “Father demanded I have an audience with him about today.  After I told him everything, he decided Ford needs a personal knight for protection, too.”

              “And who has been assigned to me?” Ford asked.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Who do you think?  Sir Lute.  Duh.”

              “Oh.”

              “Banjo’s already assigned to me, so Father had to go with the second-best knight for the heir,” Stan said airily.  Lute scowled.  “No offense, Sir Lute.”

              “None taken,” Lute mumbled.  “I know my s- my twin is better than me.”

              “Hey, no shame in that,” Stan said cheerfully.  “My twin’s better than me!  It’s just the curse of being the younger twin or whatever.”

              “I’m the older twin,” Lute said.  Stan winced.

              “Never mind, then.”

              “We should probably leave these two be,” Ford said.  “I’m sure Sir Banjo will recover much faster with just he- his brother here than with our intimidating presences.”

              “Good point.”  Stan rolled his eyes again.  “No matter how many times I tell Banjo to relax, he’s still all professional and shit around me.”

              “It comes with being a prince,” Ford said, exiting the room.  Stan followed, closing the door behind them.

              “So, what were you doing in my knight’s room?” Stan asked.

              “I was just apologizing for indirectly being the cause of his injury.”

              “Uh-huh.  And the door was closed because?”

              “When I first entered, Sir Banjo was shirtless,” Ford lied.  Stan stopped in his tracks, gaping at Ford.  “Is something amiss?”

              “You saw him without his shirt on twice today!” Stan said, punching Ford’s shoulder roughly.  “I haven’t seen him shirtless once!”

              “…Do you want to?” Ford asked.  He rubbed the spot where Stan had punched him.  To his surprise, Stan looked away, his cheeks red.

              “Not- not- I don’t- we’re gonna be late for our comportment lessons,” Stan stammered.  He hurried away.  Ford frowned.

              Stan would never willingly go to comportment lessons.  What on Earth is his problem?

[thelastspeecher]

I finally got my gay little hands on the last volume I needed of Smallville Season 11, and that inspired me to revisit some Smallville AU stuff. Specifically, I looked at what all I had written for the Angie version of the AU (where Angie takes Clark's place) and decided it wasn't enough. So I wrote some more. Okay. I wrote a lot more. Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford parked his beater car in the driveway of the McGucket farmstead.  To his surprise, the McGuckets, the family that had hired him as their farmhand, were already waiting on the porch for him.

              That’s odd.  I didn’t tell them when exactly I would be arriving.  No, they probably just heard me coming.  These gravel roads are loud.  Ford got out of the car, smiling hesitantly.

              “Hello!” he called.

              “Howdy!” replied Mr. McGucket.  Ford’s smile became more genuine.  He found it charming that Mr. and Mrs. McGucket had kept their southern accents despite living in Smallville for quite some time.  Ford pushed open the gate surrounding the house’s front yard and walked up to the McGuckets waiting for him.  There were three people about Ford’s age there with Mr. and Mrs. McGucket.

              “Welcome to our farm,” Mrs. McGucket said warmly.  “Did ya find the place all right?”

              “Yes.  It certainly helped that there was a large sign by your mailbox,” Ford said.

              “We best introduce ya to our kids.  Kids, this is our new farmhand, Stanford Pines.”  Mrs. McGucket pointed at the tallest of the three McGucket children, a young man with sandy blond hair and circular reading glasses.  “Fiddleford’s the oldest of these three, though he’s got three older siblin’s what have grown up and left.”  She then pointed at the other young man, who, with his dark hair and gray eyes, was a carbon copy of Mr. McGucket.  “This is Lute.  He’s the older twin.”  Mrs. McGucket finally pointed at the last child and only girl.  The girl had long caramel-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail and, unlike her brothers, hadn’t inherited Mr. McGucket’s nose.  Though her aquiline nose was still large and distinctive, far from her mother’s button nose.  “Angie’s the younger twin.  Fiddleford is a year older ‘n the twins.”

              They’re twins?  While they looked similar enough to be related, Angie and Lute’s different eyes, hair, and noses made them look more like cousins than siblings.  Stanford, be realistic.  Not all twins will look as similar as you and Stan do.  Particularly given that they’re clearly fraternal.

              “I’m actually a twin myself,” Ford said.  “However, my brother and I are identical, unlike the two of you.”  Lute crossed his arms.

              “Gee, what gave it away we’re not identical?” he drawled in an irritated tone.  Angie elbowed him roughly.

              “Be nice,” she hissed.  Both she and Lute were much shorter than average, unlike their tall and gangly older brother.  “He just got here and yer already on his case?”

              “I just don’t see the point in hirin’ a farmhand,” Lute said firmly.  “All he’s goin’ to do is slow the work down!  I reckon we’ll get less done with him ‘round!”

              “I know I’m new to this, but I highly doubt I’ll slow things that much,” Ford said, hurt.  Mr. McGucket crossed his arms and scowled at his youngest son.

              “Stanford makes a very good point,” he said.  “I don’t see how gettin’ an extra set of hands to help will slow things down, even if that set of hands don’t have farm experience.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Unless two of ya decided to dump yer chores onto the third.  Which yer not s’pposed to do, no matter how fast the third person can work.”  Fiddleford and Lute winced slightly, but Angie smirked.

              “Did ya have breakfast yet, Stanford?” Mrs. McGucket asked.

              “Oh.  Uh.  No.”

              “Come on in, then.  We can’t have ya doin’ chores on an empty stomach.”

              “No, I’m-”

              “We insist,” Mr. McGucket said.  He put his hands on Ford’s shoulders and steered him into the farmhouse.  His wife and children followed.  “We’ve got plenty of food.”

              “You’re already being far too generous by giving me a job as a farmhand, I don’t need-” Ford started.  But he was already standing by a chair in the kitchen.  He stifled a sigh and sat down.  Angie sat next to him.  Her bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.  “Um.  Hello.”

              “Ma ‘n Pa didn’t tell us yer story,” she said.  “All’s they said was that yer the new farmhand.”

              “Oh.  Well.  Um.”  Ford felt nervous under her intense stare, but it was better than the suspicion Lute was still eyeing him with.  “I’m from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey.”

              “What brings ya out here, then?”

              “Metropolis University.  I scoured the country looking for universities that would accept me as a student and count my course credit towards my high school diploma.  Metropolis University was the cheapest option.”

              “Yer not graduated from high school yet, but yer still goin’ to college?” Fiddleford asked.

              “Yes and no.  I’ll also be taking some courses at Smallville High.  I believe it is called dual enrollment.”

              “Ooh, what year are ya?” Angie asked eagerly.

              “I’ll be a freshman.”

              “Same as Lute ‘n me!”

              “Great,” Lute muttered.  Angie shot him a glare.  Lute cleared his throat.  “So, Stanford, do ya stick yer nose in other people’s business?” he asked.

              “Lute Everett McGucket!” Mrs. McGucket scolded.

              “What?  I think it’s a valid question, since he’s on our property.”

              “I- I wouldn’t dream of snooping,” Ford said.  “I’m here to work, so that’s what I’ll do.”

              “Why are ya here to work, though?” Lute asked pointedly.

              “Someone in town suggested I ask your parents for a job, given that many of your siblings can no longer assist on the farm.  And I do need a job.  I have to pay my living expenses somehow.  The kind of scholarships I can currently receive only cover so much.”

              “Hmph.”

              “Stop with the inquisition,” Mrs. McGucket said.  She placed a plate of pancakes in front of Ford, as well as a glass of orange juice.  “Go get a head start on yer chores.  Ya need it.  You, too, Fiddleford.”

              “Fine,” Lute grumbled.  He stomped over to a door that led to the backyard, slammed it open, and left.  Fiddleford grabbed the door before it could slam shut.  He smiled kindly at Ford.

              “Don’t mind him.  He’s a bit…protective.  Give him some time to warm up to ya.  It was a pleasure to meet ya, Stanford.”

              “Likewise,” Ford said.  Fiddleford exited as well, leaving Ford with the McGucket parents and Angie.  “Do you have chores to do?” he asked her.

              “Yes.  But I don’t need a head start like my brothers.”

              She’s the youngest, as well as a girl.  Not to mention, I have yet to meet someone quite as small as her at this age.  I’d imagine her workload is lighter than her brothers’.

              “Angie’s also the one who will be helpin’ ya get started on yer chores,” Mr. McGucket said.  He ruffled his daughter’s hair.  “We’ll start ya off easy today and work ya up to the more complicated things.”  Ford nodded to indicate he understood.  “Now, get to eatin’ ‘fore that pancake gets cold, young man.”

-----

              Ford wandered into the barn.  Like usual, Angie was there, tending to her horse, Daisy.  Like all the McGucket horses, Daisy was a Tennessee Walking Horse, though the only palomino they owned.  Ford couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that, after a year working on the McGucket farm, he now knew a considerable amount about animal husbandry and agriculture.  He’d never expected to learn anything about either field.

              I certainly never expected I’d become as physically fit as I am.  Farmwork was demanding in a way that even the boxing lessons he’d been forced to take weren’t.  Not that I ever gained significant strength or agility from those lessons.

              “Good afternoon, Angie,” he greeted.  Angie looked up.  She beamed.

              “Howdy, Stanford,” she chirped.  Ford couldn’t help but smile at her thick southern accent.  She and her siblings had picked up their parents’ accents, and as such, didn’t sound like anyone else in Smallville, the town they had grown up in.  “How are ya doin’?”

              “Better.”  Ford walked over to her and leaned against one of the horse stalls.  “Thanks to you.”

              “Oh, pish-posh.”

              “No, seriously.  If you weren’t there when the latest meteor infected person…”  Ford shuddered.  One of the most surprising and distressing aspects of Smallville was the presence of so-called “meteor freaks”.  Normal people who had somehow become affected by the meteor rocks in the area and gained superpowers.  They also typically became severely mentally unstable.  The latest person to become affected by the meteors had targeted Ford in particular.  Thankfully, Fiddleford, Lute, and Angie arrived at the last minute to save him.

              “I appreciate that ya don’t call ‘em meteor freaks like everyone else does,” Angie said.  Ford looked down at his hands.

              “I know better than to use that word against others,” he said softly.  “Even if they’re actively attempting to kill me.”

              “What do ya have against the word ‘meteor’?” Angie teased.  Ford managed a small smile.  “No, I get what yer sayin’.”

              “Speaking of the meteors,” Ford said slowly.  Angie cocked her head.  She dropped her curry comb into her grooming kit.  “Has anyone done any research into why they affect people in this way?  Meteorites elsewhere certainly don’t give people superpowers.”

              “I think Northwest Industries is doin’ research on it.”  Angie scowled.  She picked up her grooming kit and walked over to the shelving where they stored the various horse accessories.  “So fer all intents and purposes, no, no one’s doin’ research on it.”

              “Why do you say that?” Ford asked.  Angie put her grooming kit on the shelf.

              “You’ve been here fer a year, Stanford,” she said, turning to face him.  “How have ya not picked up on how horrible the Northwests are yet?  Any research they do, they’ll keep to themselves unless sharin’ it would earn ‘em more money.”

              “That’s a rather pessimistic viewpoint.”

              “It’s a realistic one.”

              “Still.”  Ford frowned thoughtfully.  “Maybe I should do some research on the meteor rocks.”

              “I think that’s a great idea, actually.”

              “Really?”

              “Sure!”

              “Would you help me?” Ford asked.  To his surprise, Angie paled.  She shook her head.  “Why not?”

              “I’m- I’m allergic.”

              “To…the meteor rocks?”

              “Yes.”  Angie winced.  Ford sighed.

              “You don’t need to lie to me.”

              “No, I really am!  Is it that surprisin’?  We were just talkin’ ‘bout how these meteor rocks are dif’rent from anywhere else on the planet,” Angie said firmly.

              “That’s a fair point…”

              “When ya do yer research, you’ll have to let me know what ya find out.  I’d like to learn more ‘bout where I came from, but it’s dif’cult with my…allergy.”

              “You have a very keen mind.  I’d love for you to look over my research,” Ford said.  His mind processed what Angie had said.  “Wait.  What do you mean by ‘where you came from’?”  In lieu of an answer, Angie began to walk away.  She paused briefly, then gestured for him to follow her.  Ford did so.  “Were you just referring to the fact you’re from Smallville?”

              “I’m no more from Smallville than you are, Stanford,” Angie said.  Ford frowned.

              “What does that mean?”

              “Just shut yer mouth.  If I tell ya, ya won’t believe me.  I have to show ya.”  Angie walked over to the storm cellar.  Ford had never seen the door unlocked.  And while Lute had warmed up to him over time, Ford never forgot how much he had insisted that Ford not snoop.  As such, Ford hadn’t attempted the small amount of lock-picking he’d learned from Stan.

              “Lute will be furious if he finds out I went in the cellar,” Ford said nervously.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Not if I’m the one what lets ya in.  It’s my secret to share, after all.”  She took hold of the large padlock on the cellar doors.  Before Ford’s astonished eyes, she clenched her hand into a fist, shattering the lock.  “Come on.”  Angie threw open the doors and descended into the cellar.  Ford followed her.  His jaw dropped.

              “Holy shit!” he blurted out.  Angie looked over at him in amusement.

              “I ain’t ever heard ya swear ‘fore.”

              “I’ve been on my best behavior.”

              “Clearly.”  Angie walked over to the object that had elicited such a strong reaction from Ford: a spaceship.

              A small one, yes.  Presumably for only one person to travel inside.  But a spaceship nonetheless.  I’ve consumed enough science fiction to be able to recognize one.  The spaceship was angular and made of some sort of dark metal.  There were no visible doors nor windows.  Angie placed her hand on the spaceship.  At her touch, the metal split, revealing an opening that only someone as small as Angie could fit within.  The inner walls of the spaceship lit with a pale blue glow.

              “Kara,” a voice boomed.  “Why have you shared your secret with this human?  He does not belong to your adoptive family.”  Angie crossed her arms, scowling at the ship.

              “I can trust him.”

              “My jewel, you are too trusting.”

              “And yer too suspicious,” Angie snapped.  She huffed impatiently.  “I’ll talk to ya later.”  She put her hand on the ship.  It closed again.  Angie looked at Ford.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  Artificial intelligence programs of deceased biological fathers.  Ya know how it goes.”

              “No,” Ford mumbled, surprised he could manage even a single word after what he had just seen.  “No, I- I really don’t.”  He took a deep breath.  “Angie, I believe I have correctly connected the dots, but I need you to say it out loud for me.  Please.”

              “All right.”  Angie sat down on the cellar’s dirt floor.  Ford sat as well.  “I’m not human.  I’m not even from Earth.  I was born on a planet in a completely dif’rent galaxy and sent here as a baby.  Ma ‘n Pa found me the day of the meteor shower.  Since that was the day they brought Lute home from the hospital, they decided to fudge the paperwork and claim I was Lute’s twin.”  Angie traced a finger through the dirt.  “They kept the truth from everyone.  Even me.  Until I- well.”  Angie grabbed a screwdriver out of a nearby toolbox.  “Don’t freak out.”

              “I think I’ve reached my freaking out maximum,” Ford said dryly.  Angie stabbed the screwdriver into her arm.  Instead of puncturing her skin, however, it bent.  Ford’s mind filled with static.  “I was wrong.  Apparently, I can freak out more.”

              “I got hit by a car and walked away without a scratch.  After that, I demanded answers from Ma ‘n Pa.  They spilled everything to me ‘n my siblin’s.”

              “You’re invulnerable?”

              “I didn’t used to be.  Well, I’ve always had pretty tough skin.  It’s just the complete inability to even bruise that’s a new development.”  Angie tossed aside the ruined screwdriver.  “I’ve got other gifts, too, which I’ve had m’ whole life.  My folks, though, they always just said I was one of them meteor folks, or that it was just adrenaline or whatever.”

              “You arrived the day of the meteor shower?” Ford asked.  Angie nodded.  “Do you know why?”

              “I…”  Angie closed her eyes.  “I don’t know fer sure.  But I…”  She pulled her legs close to her chest.  “I wonder if it may have somethin’ to do with the fact I was a lil baby flung into space all on my own.”

              “Angie, please don’t beat around the bush.  After everything you’ve told me, my brain is operating at half capacity.”

              “You at half capacity is still better than a lot of folks at one hundred,” Angie joked.  Ford sighed softly.  Angie looked down.  “I don’t want to say.  Sorry.”

              “I understand.  You’ve told me a lot today.”

              “Yessir.  I certainly have.”  Angie smiled weakly at Ford.  “Yer actually takin’ this better ‘n I did.”

              “Well, this does affect you far more than it affects me.  I’m not an alien.”

              “No.  Yer not.”  Angie’s eyes met Ford’s.  Her blue gaze had always been intimidating.  After these revelations, Ford couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she wasn’t human.  “But you feel like one.”  Ford’s heart plummeted to his feet.

              “That’s why you felt comfortable telling me,” he whispered.  “Because I’m an outsider as well.”

              “Obviously not as much of one as I am, but…”  Angie shrugged.  “Yer more visibly an outsider ‘n I am.”

              “Yes.  Of the two of us, I suspect most would believe I am the alien, not you.”

              “Exactly.”  Angie picked up the screwdriver she had tossed aside.  She idly bent it back to its original shape.  Ford’s jaw dropped.  “I told ya.  I’ve got other gifts than what I showed ya.”

              “What are they?” Ford asked eagerly.  He winced.  “If- if I’m allowed to ask that.”  Angie stood up.

              “I’ll tell ya, don’t worry.  I’ll even show ya.”  She grinned.  “After we finish our chores.”

[thelastspeecher]

sorry abt taking forever to request this (life has got me by the scruff of my neck like a kitten) but could I request super tailor au stute fluff? that or the night where Lute discovers that stan is a villain?

As a frame of reference for folks - on the Discord a bit ago we developed a new super AU that we dubbed the Super Tailor AU because it prominently featured Lute McGucket as a tailor with the superpower to control fabric and clothing, and he winds up working as a tailor, particularly for superheroes. Stan eventually becomes an employee of Lute's and they start a romantic relationship, but there's a slight problem: Stan's been a villain this whole time.

Hope you like it, nour!

———————————————————————————————————–

              Lute was awoken by a loud clutter from the kitchen.  He opened his eyes, but opted to remain in bed until he heard something else.  After all, it could just be the cat knocking things over again.

              “Fucking…shit…” Stan’s voice sounded faintly.  Lute groaned and sat up.  He threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

              Lord above, I love the man, but he’s awful fond of testin’ that love, ain’t he?  Wanderin’ home drunk at the witchin’ hour…  Lute’s phone, resting on the bedside table, buzzed.  He picked it up.  It was a text from Angie.

              I know you’re probably asleep, but wait’ll you see what Dan managed to do tonight!  He just got home and couldn’t stop bragging about how he gave Fleshmender what for.  The morning news is going to have a field day.  Lute sent back a thumbs up emoji, then got up and exited the bedroom.  His vision wasn’t great in the dark, but he knew his house well.  Even if he didn’t, he just needed to follow the sounds of Stan bumping into things and swearing.  At the kitchen, he turned on the light.  His jaw dropped.  Stan was partially dressed, but that wasn’t what shocked him.  No, what shocked him were the wounds on Stan’s body, the bruises on his face, and the costume he was in the process of taking off.

              “Uh…”  Stan let go of his costume to hold his hands up plaintively.  “I can explain.”

              “Yer…yer a mask?” Lute croaked.

              “…Surprise?”

              “I’d- I’m tempted to bring up how ya told me you’ve never considered bein’ a hero, but I know that costume.  That ain’t a hero’s costume.”  Lute pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Finish takin’ it off and sit at the table.”

              “Wh- where are you going?” Stan asked.  His words slurred slightly.  Lute winced.

              Sure hope he don’t have a concussion.

              “I’m grabbin’ the first aid kit.”

              “Oh.  Good- good idea,” Stan mumbled.  Lute exited the kitchen and made a beeline for the bathroom, his mind racing.

              Why didn’t I catch on to it sooner?  Without actually seein’ him standin’ in his costume in the kitchen?  Of course he’s Fleshmender!  Lute entered the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit underneath the sink.  Healin’ ain’t a common power.  How did I not connect the dots when I saw a villain with Stan’s power and body type throwin’ down with my sister and her team?

              When Lute came back to the kitchen, Stan was sitting at the table in only his boxers.  He watched Stan place a hand over a particularly large cut on his arm and close his eyes.  Lute waited for the shimmering light that accompanied Stan’s healing ability, but nothing happened.

              “Dammit,” Stan muttered.  Lute walked over to the table and sat next to his boyfriend.

              “I’ve never seen ya fail to heal yourself,” Lute remarked, opening up the first aid kit.

              “Happens when I use it too much,” Stan said with a shrug.  To Lute’s relief, he wasn’t slurring anymore.  “Gotta recharge or whatever, y’know?”

              No, I don’t.  Ya don’t talk ‘bout the mechanics behind yer power much.  We’ve been datin’ fer ages and ya still keep so much from me.

              “Well, I can at least patch ya up so’s ya stop bleedin’ all over the kitchen until yer charged enough to heal,” Lute said briskly, deciding to be as businesslike as possible to keep his mind from racing.  “Hold out yer arm.”  Stan did as he was told.  Lute got to work dabbing the cuts with disinfectant.  Stan let out a hiss.  “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “Is that supposed to hurt?  What even is that?” Stan asked.  Lute stared at him.

              “It’s- it’s hydrogen peroxide.  And yeah, it’s s’pposed to hurt.”

              “Why?”

              “Well, puttin’ things on open wounds usually hurts.”  Lute set down the cotton ball to frown at his boyfriend.  “Ya don’t know this?”

              “I haven’t run out of enough juice to heal myself since I was a teenager,” Stan replied.  “And since my power showed up, I’ve made sure I take care of cuts first.  Bruises can wait, bleeding can’t.”

              “When did yer power manifest?”

              “Ten.”

              “Yer almost thirty.”

              “And?”

              “You haven’t had a cut what didn’t heal right away in two decades?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Lord above,” Lute mumbled.  He began to bandage the largest of Stan’s cuts.  “I’d ask what exactly happened to put ya in a state where ya ‘ran out of juice’ just to heal yourself up this much, but I already know.”

              “You do?”

              “Got a text from Angie sayin’ her husband beat the tar out of Fleshmender.”  Lute glanced over at the costume laying on the floor.  “I might not be a mask like m’ sister, but I can recognize the outfit of one of her enemies.”

              “…Great,” Stan mumbled.  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Look, Lute-”

              “Why didn’t ya tell me?” Lute interrupted.

              “Why do you think, Gucket?  You literally make costumes for heroes!  Your twin sister and her husband are heroes!  You’re so wrapped up in the hero world, I-”  Stan looked away.  “I knew you’d break up with me the second you found out I fight for the baddies.”

              “Now, ya can’t know somethin’ like that fer sure,” Lute scolded.  Stan looked back at him.  “Ya never know fer a fact how someone will respond to somethin’, no matter how well ya know ‘em.”  Lute gently patted Stan’s arm.  “Yer other one now.”  Stan silently held out his other arm for Lute to treat.

              “Are you gonna turn me in?” Stan asked softly.  Lute shook his head.  “Really?”

              “Stanley, we’ll need to have a lot of conversations ‘bout this to figure out where we go from here,” Lute said tiredly.  “In the mornin’, of course.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan warily watched Lute.  “You’re waiting until after we talk to call the cops, then?”

              “No.  I ain’t a snitch.  Worst thing I can see resultin’ from our chats is us breakin’ up.”  Lute’s heart skipped a beat at the thought.  He heard Stan’s breath hitch in his throat and knew they both didn’t want that to happen.  “Best thing is that ya quit bein’ a mask or even join Angie’s hero team.”

              “Not in a million years,” Stan said under his breath.

              “I figure what’ll happen is somethin’ in the middle.  I don’t know fer sure, but that’s my prediction.”

              “Why are you being so damn calm?” Stan suddenly burst out.  Lute paused.  “You just found out I’m the same criminal that broke your twin sister’s nose last month!”

              “And when she came over fer me to repair her costume, ya healed it up fer her without her even askin’.”

              “All the girlfriends and boyfriends I’ve had before, their families hated me.  Yours actually likes me.  Sue me for wanting to keep it going.”

              “Sure, that’s the only reason ya did it,” Lute said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.  “Couldn’t have anything to do with ya actually likin’ her.”  He resumed tending to Stan’s wounds.  “To be honest, I’m not freakin’ out ‘cause it’s two in the mornin’.  Nothin’ good happens after two in the mornin’, so my goal is to get back to bed as soon as possible ‘fore I do somethin’ I regret.  And…”  Lute sighed.  “Stanley, I love ya.  I ain’t goin’ to lose my shit on ya when yer injured like this.  Ain’t right to kick someone while they’re down.”

              “I guess…”

              “Until we have our conversations and come to a decision together, though, I’ll request that ya stay away from my sister, her husband, and their daughter,” Lute said tartly.  “And ya can’t work on hero costumes in the shop.”

              “That’s fair.”

              “And yer sleepin’ on the couch.  Sorry.”

              “Honestly, when you showed up I thought I would be spending the night on the street.  I’ve got no problem taking the couch.”

              “Good.”  Lute gathered the debris from the various items in the first aid kit and tossed it into the trash.  He picked the kit up.  “Ya can go sleep now.  I’ll speak with ya in the mornin’.”  A pained look that had nothing to do with his injuries flashed across Stan’s face.  Lute knew just why.  They always kissed before bed.

              But I can’t kiss him.  Not now.  Lute left the kitchen, Stan still staring after him.  He dropped off the first aid kit in the bathroom and went back to the bedroom.  As he sat on the bed, his phone buzzed again.  He picked it up.  It was another text from Angie.

              You and Stan can still babysit Wendy today, right?  Lute’s chest ached.  He adored spending time with his niece, as did Stan.  The feeling was mutual; Wendy said constantly that Stan and Lute were her favorite uncles.  He replied with a heavy heart.

              No, sorry, something came up.  The response came back quickly.

              Oh.  OK.  I can ask someone else, then.  Another text made Lute’s phone squirm in his hands.  What are you doing up so late?  Go to bed!  Lute managed a weak smile.

              Only if you go to bed, too.

              Ugh.  Fine.  Night.

              Night.

              Lute set his phone back on the bedside table and laid down, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.  Falling asleep without the white noise from Stan’s snoring was hard enough.  Falling asleep, knowing Stan was snoring in a whole other room, was somehow worse.

              Lute closed his eyes, but as he’d worried, sleep came slowly.