#nour386

WHOA yeah!! And you know what animal Dipper could be? A deer! Dipper, being as curious as he is, somehow gets transformed into a deer and now he's Wirt's problem haha

Dipper would probably be fascinated by Wirt and Greg tho, like, "you guys can understand ME?!" and they're like "it's weird, but yes" and Dipper would probably just sit there like:

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!

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              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.