#uh I missed fiddleford friday so

[lemons-and-pie]

He looks like Kermit to me,,, I recently remembered Kermit also plays the banjo so now I have this drawing

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary '24 - Week 3: Fantasy & Memories

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

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

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

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

              “Just do it, okay?”

              “I’ll be defenseless.”

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

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

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

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

              “Roll fer attack.”

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

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

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

              “Doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “HP,” the McGucket siblings said together.

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

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

              “How?”

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

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

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

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

              “Again?”

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

              “Oh.”  Stan rolled again.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “Good.  Good damage.”

              “Is he dead?” Stan asked.

              “No.”

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

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

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

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

              “Thirteen,” Angie said.

              “Eleven,” Lute said.

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

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

              “Roll fer attack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Ugh.  Never mind, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “That’s slander.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Oh.”

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

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

[thelastspeecher]

A Change in the Recipe

Last Friday, I did another of what I call “choose your own fic-venture” streams.  Basically, I have the start of a scene written out and give three options for how the scene should continue, and the chat votes on which option I go with.  And I do other votes when I feel that the scene could progress different ways.  

This time around, chat voted four times on how I would write the scene, from my Bakery AU.  Specifically, this is the scene taking place directly after this ficlet, in which Ford finds out his twin works in a bakery and has two kids.  Thanks again to everyone who stopped by!  It was a lot of fun!

Shout-out to @nour386 for the title suggestion!  Thank you for it!

              “How did you end up here?” Ford asked.

              “Long story.”  Stan began to wipe down the counter, his eyes stormy from memory.  “When I got kicked out, I spiraled, ended up with a rap sheet a mile long, and was on my way to gettin’ a pair of concrete shoes.  But then I tried to steal cupcakes from this bakery. Lute caught me, but he and Angie didn’t call the cops.”  Stan’s expression softened.  “They’re good people.  Too good for someone like me.”  Ford looked away, pretending to be interested in a case of fancy cupcakes.  The name “Danny” caught his eye.  He peered more closely.

              “Is- is there a cupcake named after your daughter in here?” he asked.

              “Yeah.  Daisy’s got one named after her, too.  Customers eat that shit up.”

              “I take it you were holding your daughter earlier to get people to buy more treats?” Ford asked.  “Playing the sympathy card?”

              “No.  She’s good at playing the cute card, too.  Cuteness is what makes or breaks bakeries like this, Poindexter.”

              “I suppose their usefulness to the bakery was an upside to having children without being married,” Ford said idly, continuing to examine the cupcakes on display.

              “Asshole.”  Ford’s head whipped around.  Stan was glaring at him.  “Things got tight when I knocked Angie up.  Things got tighter when we found out that it was twins.  Sometimes, I have my kids with me when I’m working.  Customers buy more when they see that we’re a ‘family business’.”  Stan made air quotes around the last two words.  “But I didn’t have ‘em to sell more cookies.  They- they weren’t even planned.”  Ford opened his mouth.  “Are you happy now?  Now you know my daughters were an accident?”

              “I- I wasn’t-” Ford started.

              “And I like showing ‘em off,” Stan continued, ignoring Ford.  “My daughters are the best babies in the entire goddamn world.  I want people to see ‘em.  I want to spend time with ‘em.”  Stan’s voice broke mid-sentence.  He looked away.  “I don’t get to spend as much time with ‘em as I want, since I gotta work to keep a roof over their heads.  So, yeah, I drag Danny or Daisy down here when the bakery’s not too busy, and I get- I get to watch them do all the adorable shit that they’re so good at.”

              “Why can’t you just have them down here the entire work day?” Ford asked.

              “They need to nap, and eat, and have their diapers changed,” Stan said, resuming his wiping down of the counter.  He cleared his throat.  “And if there’s more than five customers in here, we have to decide whether it’s all right for the girls.  They get overwhelmed.  So most of the day, they can’t be down here, ‘cause of all the customers.  Which- that’s good.  But it also means Danny and Daisy have to stay upstairs.”  Stan looked at the door that led to the upstairs, a wistful expression on his face.  

              He misses his daughters, and they’re literally in the same building.

              “I wasn’t trying to imply that you had children for the purpose of helping the bakery succeed,” Ford said.  “I was just-”  Ford sighed. “Like Fiddleford says, I wasn’t being very tactful.”  Stan grunted. “My apologies.”  Stan stared at him.

              “Where did you learn to apologize?” Stan asked.

              “Fiddleford.”

              “Figures.”  Stan tossed the rag he was using underneath the counter.  “Lute and Angie made me learn manners and shit like that, even before I moved in.”

              “Did you move in before or after you started dating Angie?”

              “Before.”  Before Ford could follow up his question, the bell over the bakery’s front door jingled.  Stan looked over Ford’s shoulder at the person that had just walked in.  He grimaced.  “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath.  He cleared his throat.  “Uh, hey, Fidds.”  Ford turned his head.  Fiddleford stood in the doorway, frowning with a severity that he typically reserved for Ford’s most flagrant breeches of lab safety.  “How was the conference?”

              “It’s only the first day, but so far, good,” Fiddleford said in a clipped voice. He stepped fully into the bakery. The door closed behind him. “Why’s the sign still say the bakery’s open?  I thought they closed by now.”

              “I was gonna close up, but Ford came in and threw me off,” Stan said. Fiddleford pursed his lips and flipped the sign around.  “Thanks.”

              “No problem.”  Fiddleford switched from crossing his arms to putting his hands on his hips.  Ford raised an eyebrow.

              Wow.  He really is angry. Ford glanced at Stan.  Stan looked nervous.  Stan must know that pose as well.

              “Look, Fiddleford, I know you’re upset that I got Angie pregnant before we got married-” Stan started, apparently deciding to get out in front of the argument.  Fiddleford waved a hand.

              “That’s not what I’m angry about,” he said.  Stan blinked.

              “It’s not?”

              “No.  You and Angie were serious fer a long time, and engaged on top of it.”

              “Bassett-”

              “Uncle Bassett’s traditional.  He wanted ya to have a courthouse weddin’, sure.  But I understand why ya wanted to wait until ya could properly celebrate.”  Fiddleford narrowed his eyes.  “What I’m miffed ‘bout is that I haven’t seen my nieces yet.  And they’re six months old!  Why wasn’t I invited to see ‘em until now?”

              “Y- you were busy,” Stan stammered.  “Angie didn’t wanna bother you-”

              “Oh, please.  I could’ve taken a couple days off to visit.  But I didn’t get a single invitation, and didn’t even find out they were born until two days after it happened!”

              “In my defense, I was sleep-deprived.  I couldn’t remember all of Angie’s siblings,” Stan said. Fiddleford huffed.  He crossed his arms again.

              “Fine.  With twins, I s’ppose that makes some sense.”  Fiddleford changed his attention from Stan to Ford.  His frown switched from anger to bemusement.  “Hang on.  What’s goin’ on here?”

              “Your future brother-in-law is my twin brother,” Ford answered. Fiddleford’s eyes widened.

              “The same one ya had a falling out with?”

              “Did Ford tell you he had more than one twin?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford glowered at him.

              “I ain’t done bein’ peeved with ya,” Fiddleford said firmly.  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Yer not helpin’ yer case.”

              “Eh.  Now that I know the real reason you were pissed, I’m not that worried,” Stan said with a shrug.

              The door behind the counter opened.  Lute poked his head out.

              “Stan?  Angie’s askin’ fer ya,” Lute said.  Stan nodded.

              “On my way up.”

              “Lute Everett McGucket!” Fiddleford thundered.  Lute paled.  He closed the door.  The sound of his footsteps hurried upstairs.  “Oh no, ya don’t get to run away from yer problems!”  Fiddleford strode over, lifted the flip-up counter, and followed Lute up the stairs.  Stan chuckled.

              “Lute’s gonna get it.”

              “You’re a father.  Shouldn’t you be a bit more mature?” Ford asked.  Stan scoffed.

              “Even if I’m only as mature as a six-year-old, that’s still older than my kids. I’ve got plenty of time to grow up before it becomes a problem.”  He opened the door that Fiddleford had slammed closed in his rush upstairs. “You gonna come up and meet Angie and Daisy?”  A strange look crossed Stan’s face.  “…I think you’ll like Daisy.”

              “She is my niece.  I have no doubts that I’ll like her,” Ford said.  Stan shrugged.

              “I mean, it’s pretty much impossible to not like either of the girls.” With that, he went upstairs.  Ford followed.  The wooden steps they trudged up creaked slightly under their weight. Ford silently noted the pictures hung on the walls of the McGucket family.  He paused at one of Stan, Angie, and Lute apparently selling baked goods at some sort of festival.  All three were beaming broadly.

              And proudly.  I haven’t seen Stan that proud about something since…  Ford thought back to the hours he and Stan spent on the Stan O’War. A melancholic feeling settled in his chest.  Stan cleared his throat.  Ford looked over.  Stan was at the top of the stairs.  He gestured for Ford to come up.  Ford quickly finished going upstairs.  He looked around.  They had arrived in what appeared to be a living room.  A young woman was stretched out on a gray patterned couch, fast asleep. Lute stood near the couch, holding the daughter that Stan had introduced Ford to.  Fiddleford was eagerly cooing over the infant, playing with her hands.

              “Aw, what a cutie!  An absolute sugar-cube.  I could just eat yer lil fingers ‘n toesies all up!”  Fiddleford kissed his niece’s fingers.  The baby stared at him with wide eyes, like she couldn’t believe Fiddleford had just done that.  Loud crying suddenly emitted over a baby monitor resting on an end table near the couch. The woman on the couch groaned and got up.  “It’s okay, Angie,” Fiddleford said.  Angie squinted at him.

              “Fidds?  When did you get here?”

              “Not that long ago.  But like I said, it’s okay.  I’ll get her.”

              “Mmkay,” Angie mumbled.  Fiddleford left the room.  Angie began to lay back down.  Stan cleared his throat.  Angie sighed heavily.  She looked over where Stan and Ford were standing.  Her eyes skipped over Ford initially, before coming back to him. Her jaw dropped open.  “Either sleep deprivation is makin’ me see double, or…”

              “This is my twin brother,” Stan said.  “Ford.”  Angie’s face cycled through a series of emotions, before settling on ambivalence.

              “…All right,” she said after a moment.  Stan frowned.

              “That’s it?” he asked.  Angie nodded. “Last time I talked about Ford, you said you had ‘harsh words for him’.”

              “I’m too tired to have harsh words fer anyone,” Angie said firmly. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Just tell him to be nice to the girls, and that if he so much as implies they aren’t perfect lil angels, I’ll toss him out on his ear.”  Stan turned to Ford.

              “You heard the lady, Sixer.”

              “I wouldn’t dream of insulting my nieces,” Ford protested.  Stan nodded.

              “Exactly.  Especially since Angie just threatened you with physical violence,” he said somberly. Ford looked over at Angie.  She was still sitting up, but had fallen back asleep.  Her oversized T-shirt (Is that Stan’s?) had slipped off one shoulder, her hair was a complete rat’s nest, and she was snoring quietly.

              “…I don’t know how much of a threat she poses,” Ford said quietly. Stan snorted.

              “Wait until she gets Delilah.  You’d change your tune fast.”

              “Delilah?” Ford queried.

              “Her fav’rite shotgun,” Fiddleford answered, walking back into the living room, holding an infant.

              “She has a shotgun?” Ford asked.  Lute, Fiddleford, and Stan all nodded.  “…Why?”

              “City slicker,” Lute muttered.  He sniffed the air experimentally.  “Oof.  Someone needs a change.”  Stan reached for his daughter.  Lute shook his head.  “It’s fine. I’ll take care of lil Danny.”  He strolled out of the room with his niece. Fiddleford walked over to Ford.

              “You should hold Daisy,” he said.  Ford eyed the infant being held by Fiddleford.

              “I’m not sure if-” he started.  Fiddleford shoved Daisy into Ford’s arms.

              “Take a look at her,” Fiddleford instructed.  Ford looked down.  Daisy eagerly reached for him with outstretched hands.  His eyes widened.  One of Daisy’s hands had five minute fingers.  But her other hand…

              …She’s a polydactyl.  Tears began to prick the corners of Ford’s eyes. He wiped them away quickly.  She’s a polydactyl.  And her twin isn’t.  A hand rested on his shoulder.  He looked over.  Fiddleford smiled at him warmly.

              “Thought you’d like seein’ that,” he said quietly.  Ford nodded.

              “She’s…special,” he choked out.

              “Duh,” Stan said.  “She’s my kid.”  Ford nodded again.  “You know I’m never gonna let her feel bad about being a polydactyl, right?”

              “Yes.  I know. You’re better suited than anyone else for that task,” Ford said.  Stan grinned.

              “Doy.”

              “Lute owes me ten bucks,” Angie said from the couch.  Everyone looked over at her.  She had woken up at some point.  “I told him that if Ford ever showed up, the easiest way to get him to soften ‘n open up would be showin’ him the girls.”  She rolled her eyes.  “He thought it would be gettin’ the two of ya to sit down and talk.  I swear, sometimes it’s like he doesn’t know ya at all, Stan.”

              “Yeah, that was way too optimistic,” Stan agreed.  He eyed Ford.  “If- if you don’t wanna hold Daisy, you don’t have to.”

              “Now that I’m holding her, I don’t mind that much,” Ford said.  “She’s quite sweet.”

              “Not fer long,” Angie said quietly.  As if on cue, Daisy began to wail.  Ford winced at his niece’s loud cries.

              “What- what do- how-” he stammered.

              “I’m on it,” Stan said, removing Daisy from Ford’s arms.  “She’s hungry.”  He exited the room, taking the same route that Lute had earlier.  Ford looked at Angie.

              “Stan’s quite the doting father, isn’t he?” he asked.  Angie nodded.  Ford placed his hands behind his back.  “Good. Speaking from experience, it’s difficult to grow up…different.”  Angie raised an eyebrow.

              “Don’t worry.  Yer not the only one in this room who got picked on fer bein’ ‘different’.”  She sketched air quotes around the word.  “No one’s goin’ to mess with my daughters and get away with it.”  She yawned widely.

              “Yes.  Stan told me about Delilah.  Between your shotgun and Stan’s, ah, inherent aggression, Danica and Daisy will be fine.” Angie snorted softly.

              “‘Inherent aggression’.  Lord. Stan was right.  You are a nerd.”