Namaygoosisagagun First Nation/Collins has burned to the ground. The entire community is nothing but ashes after being quickly consumed by wildfires. They did not have any support from emergency services, and no one offered aid. The community saved themselves by escaping into boats because no one came.
Mishkeegogamang and Cat Lake have lost power. Families are ending up in shelters with nothing. Armstrong, Lac La Croix, Whitesand, Gull Bay, Lac des Mille Lacs are currently in the fires path and all members are being evacuated.
All this loss, all this devastation, and it was entirely preventable.
After steadily underfunding wildland firefighting and purposefully excluding Indigenous wildland firefighters and Indigenous wildfire organizations from wildfire operations, firefighter training, decisionmaking, and resource exchanges, in 2025, Doug Ford slashed the forest firefighting budget.
It's hard to ignore his decision to cut funding and leave us out of adequate fire training (even though we've lived with forest fires for thousands of yearsâfar longer than settlers have been in Canadaâand made sure fires like the ones we're all seeing today were prevented through kinisitotÄn) when, despite making up less than 5% of the population, we account for 42% percent of all wildfire evacuations in Canada.
And when we are successfully evacuated, we face discrimination and racismâlike Kashechewanâbecause it's always been easier to blame us than it is to blame the true culprit: denialism, corportate greed, and colonization.
The people of Collins and every other impacted community deserve better.
Right now, the AFN is currently accepting donations to help Collins First Nation. If you're able to, please consider donating.
ONWA (Ontario Native Women's Association) is another great place to donate to. They have outreach vans going to motels and inns and offering food, water, resources, and cultural support to those impacted by the wildfires.
Other places to consider donating to are Mikinakoos Emergency Fund, Red Cross, True North Aid, Indigenous Climate Action. You can also send donations directly to Whitesand First Nation via e-transfer ([email protected]) and they request that you add your full name in the e-transfer comment section to receive a tax receipt.
*Before sending money, verify that the appeal appears on an official First Nation, Tribal Council or registered charity channel.
If you can't offer financial support, please consider donating items of need. Moontime Connections is currently accepting drop-off donations. If you live in the Thunder Bay area, Namaygoosisagagun Health Office is also taking in donations! They can also bemailed to Superior Inn Hotel & Conference Centre at 555 West Arthur Street, Thunder Bay, ON, P7E 5P8.
The fastest way to accomplish The Project is to cease being afraid of The Project. The Project cannot maim you. The Project cannot kill you. The Project is more afraid of you than you are of it. It is okay if The Project turns out differently from how it was in your head, and it is okay if it has flaws. You are capable of engaging with The Project.
Summary: A little oneshot based on an old prompt I posted. (It is Stan focused)
Basically Stan gets bored since Ford is giving him the cold shoulder and finally decides to take part in class.
It was supposed to be a Smart(er than average) Stan thing but I got too lazy to write more and just cut it short
One shot under the cut:
Growing up, they were two peas in a pod. Stanford was the brains, the cool twin with the cool extra finger and Stanley was the other one.
The two wouldn't go anywhere alone, even as toddlers it was hard to separate them when they needed to use the bathroomâ eventually they learned there were just some things they had to do alone.
Still, Stan was always there to support his nerdy brother. When Ford had a presentation after school, he would skip boxing practice to make it, if Ford wanted to attend a new science club, Stan would tag along despite having no interest, Ford had some new quirky interest and wanted to ramble, Stan was there to listen always even when he didn't understand it.
The point is, Stan never really changed. He stayed the brother he always was, always sticking close just in case his twin needed someone, always there making jokes when his brother was upset and always there to punch bullies when Ford was threatened.
He didn't change. Ford did.
Suddenly, Ford didn't like when Stan distracted him from getting in too deep in his head. Suddenly, Ford found his jokes too childish. Suddenly, everything Stan did was annoying to Ford.
It was one day when he got into trouble in class for, admittedly, taking it too far that Ford seemed to finally snap. Stan had been desperate, okay? Ford hadn't been talking nearly as much with him, avoided working on the Stan O War and would roll his eyes whenever Stan suggested something nerdy just for him! So Sue him!
Stan had been getting low grades, the usual, messing about in class, in classic class clown action, and trying to get his brother to laugh just a little at himâ Heck, Stan would've taken a slight huff with a smile! Then, the teacher ruined it for them all and sent Stan to the principal's office, whatever.
It was when Stan was finally free from the clutches of the principal that the trouble really began.
He raced out, catching Ford just in time to walk home together, called to him and barely managed to set his hand on his brother's shoulder before it was promptly smacked away by aâ get thisâ six fingered hand!
âYou always do this!â His brother had spun around, face screwing up into that angry owl look of his while Stan's hand was still frozen up from where it had been slapped away.
âFor once in your life, can you take anything seriously?!â His brother shouted, which was rare and Stan definitely didn't like considering how much he was shouted at by adults already. He was never a fan of shouts but he simply lowered his hand, staring at his brother as he caught his breath.
A few students paused to watch and Stan could hear the whispers and snickers, his ears growing hot as he controlled his expression and bubbling embarrassment in order not to turn into self-defence fury.
Stanford surely could have waited until they got home to argue, couldn't he?
âCome on, Sixer, I was just messing aroundââ
âThat's all you ever do, Stanley! Mess around! Mess things!â Stanford interrupted and then, with a cool and cruel voice proceeded to say âI refuse to be there to pick up after your messes anymoreâ
With that Stanford left, walking home alone despite the fact they had the same destination.
Okay. So maybe his attempt to get closer to his brother had been all wrong, yeah. Still, Stan was trying, Ford wasn't.
No, all Ford ever did was push him away but keep him on a leash, close enough to tug in case he needs him but making sure there is distance for God knows what.
Stanley didn't change, he stayed the same boy that Stanford would laugh, play and joke with. Stanford is the one who changedâŚ
So why is Stanford the one who is angry here? If anything, Stanley is the one who should be angry here.
It had been nearly a week of petty harrumph and cold shoulders from Stanford and maybe a little bit of self-reflection from Stan and a lot of working in the shop or cleaning the house before Stan came to a realisation while laying in bed late that nightâŚ
He is so fucking bored.
Usually, he and Ford had things to do together from playing around, lounging together, reading (Stan reading comics), to random exploring and so on⌠Now everything seemed rather⌠stale.
It was like that time when his brother was sick and Stan hadn't been allowed near him at all. Stan had spent so long just messing around, maybe being more destructive than usual before just⌠deciding to sit down and space out. His mother had said it had been the greatest two days of her life, the day when Ford was slowly recovering from his fever and Stan finally managed to behave.
And maybe Stan would've been offended, maybe he was a little still, but to be honestâŚ. Yeah. Valid. He was a nightmare as a kid.
It was during boxing that the boredom seemed to really creep in, though. The whispers of other students crawling up his spine a little more every day, the way some of the other teens would try poke him into fighting his own twin (âpersonally, I wouldn't let that slideâ), the happy expression of his mother from having Stan behave once again, the indifferent look of his father instead of the usual scowlâŚ
Stan stood in his usual pose, hopping foot from foot, and despite seeing the punch coming, he didn't react at all.
He was sent home. Busted lip and spinning head. Coach made sure to tell his father how disappointed he was and Ford didn't even bat an eye.
Unlike the night Ford snapped, his father didn't send him to his room without dinner. However, that usual disappointed scowl returned⌠Stan noticed it as his mother helped clean his face up.
â
You may think it was a one time thing but Stan may or may have not let it occur more than once. He may have sat back, listening to his father shout about how he just had to be a failure in everything, including boxing.
âStop thatâ Ford muttered when he entered his room with a few too many bruises, nose stuffed with paper to stop the bleeding.
âIf you think you can get pity from getting beaten up, you are very wrong, Stanleyâ
Stanley did not stop.
A fight at school once or twice, boxing where he'd welcome the punches, dizzy spells from when his head was knocked too hard and maybe talking back to his father once or twice before standing back to receive a beating from him as well.
âStop that! It's distractingâ his twin would whine when his father spent a good while in a screaming match with him, only silenced by a belt.
Stan did not stop.
Eventually, whatever that boredom streak was, started turning internal.
Stan found himself biting his nails too far or scratching his scalp too much, testing random limits he may have such as how long he could stay underwater or how close he can get to a flameâŚ
It was one certain morning that the boredom finally hit like a wave, rolling him and pulling him under, hitting him against the rocks until he is stopped of anything human, that Stan looked to his notebook and thoughtâ
âMight as wellâ
Stan began paying attention in class. He began actually answering the problems on the board even though he couldn't see that well and the sheets of paper, taking notes of he wasn't busy doodling.
The first time he handed the answers on a little sheet over, he got yelled at for copying Ford which got said twin covering his work with his arm and turning his body against Stan like Stan wanted to steal all his pens and notebook.
Fortunately, Stan stayed behind to ask the teacher to move seats. He's sure Ford would be ecstatic over it and like that Stan could finally see the board.
The next morning, when the teacher made him and some girl in the front change seats, Stan didn't get to see his brother's satisfaction. Although⌠Ford seemed far more grumpy than usual by the time he arrived home.
There was a weird vibe settling in the school between Stan and his teachers. A sort of questioning and expectation from him.
Teachers began being nicer to him, being less snappy and making less back-handed comments, they didn't call on him as much or smack his hand with a ruler, Stan even managed to catch a little appreciative nod from his maths teacher and that's like getting a nobel prize for him.
At home, no one really questioned Stan. Then again, Stan supposes they were happy with the peace and quiet for once.
At home, there wasn't anymore loud laughs or dumb jokes, no random singing trying to coax a smile from Ford or their mother into a song. It was quiet just the way everyone must have always wanted.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Stan couldn't handle the silence. He would get in his car and drive off to the piercings where he could sit and watch the sunset while wasting his battery to listen to the radio. To listen to anything, anyone talking.
Other times he stayed home, unwilling to move and just stuck reading, writing or working on homework. Drawing didn't seem as fun nowadays, it wasn't so fun when there was no one to see his creations or encourage his stupid dreamsâŚ
Speaking of dreams, he wonders how the Stan O War is doing. The old gal must be rotting from the inside out if some teens haven't found her and made it their hang out drinking spot. Stan would bet the place was covered in piss and beer cans by now⌠the thought made his chest tighten.
Still, it had been a nice dream, leaving Glass Shard beach. An excuse he had made in order to help Ford find somewhere where he belonged when, really, it was just Stan being selfish again and wanting the safety of Ford and no one else to hurt them.
âWhat are you doing?â
Stan blinked, not having processed being talked to right away. Looking up, he found his twin hovering over him, looking down at where Stan laid on his bed.
Seeing his brother's impatient expression morph into annoyance, Stan realised he should probably answer.
âUh⌠readingâŚ?â Perhaps some sass managed to come out towards the end but it was all drowned out by the confusion.
âSince when do you read?â Ford huffed as though the very idea of it offended him.
âI've always readâ
âYeah. Comics.â
WhatâŚwhat was going on right now? Stan didn't know what to say or how to react to this conversation. He is a little hurt with the way Ford is talking to him, if he's honest, but with how everyone talks to Stan in the same manner⌠he supposes it was only a matter of time.
âIs this one of your new tactics?â His brother asked, arms crossing âfirst you let yourself lose in boxing matches on purposeâ I've seen it, by the way, you could've easily blocked a lot of those punches.â
âThen you start arguments with father like you have some death wish, scratch your scalp until it bleeds and now⌠now you readâ frustrated, Ford gestures towards the book Stan is holding.
âI meanâ moving seats in class, really, Stanley? Just how immature can you be? I'm the one who is upset with you, not the other way aroundâ finally, Stan sorta understands something Ford is saying because so far Ford has just been listing random shit Stan does.
âI couldn't see the boardâ Stan blinks again.
âOh yeah, sureâ Suddenly you can't see the blackboardâ
âI've never been able to see the board?â
To this Ford blinks at him, all annoyance gone in seconds, replaced by confusion.
âAndâ well, I thought you'd like the changeâ Stan sits up a bit to shrug.
âWhy would I like the change?â Ford immediately latched onto that as a reason to be upset with Stan again âWe have always sat next to each other! Always!â
Once again, Stan doesn't know what to say to whatever Ford is saying and⌠it's quite nerve-wracking really. He always knew what to say and what Ford meant but⌠right now he couldn't find the reasoning behind this conversation.
Not to mention, it was weird. Stan was sure he should be jumping at the chance to talk to Ford again, that he should be happy that Ford is talking to him, that somehow his actions dragged a reaction from his brother again.
âWaitâ you've been coming to my boxing matchesâ Stan closes his book and apparently that's not the right thing to say because Ford's face goes a little red from anger and he makes a frustrated sound.
âNO!â
âBut earlier you saidââ
âWhatever! Don't bother me! I'm studying!â With that, Ford cut their conversation (somehow it felt more of an interrogation) short and sat at his desk, grumbling to himself before muttering to Stanâ
stan curse where he's like. supposed to become an upstanding citizen except it just turns him into the most annoying narc on the planet. stan used to commit crimes and punch things and be a silly scoundrel now he's like. is that a WEED? im calling the police >:(
ford sends him a card and when stan shows up stan doesnt even react beyond "okay im leaving as fast as possible". he takes fords book, dips, and then not even twenty minutes later the cops are there and ford has been arrested.
he is either let out or probably escapes and now its a no portal au where ford tracks him down and goes "YOU CALLED THE POLICE??? ON ME?????" and stan goes "yeah you're obviously on SO many drugs. and you threatened me with a crossbow. have you considered therapy, im certain there's some ethically dubious asylum nearby that could zap your crazy away"
and i think it would take some serious shenanigans for ford to realize that stan's been magically messed with, because i think he'd be too pissed off at stans behavior to really think about the why, so unless that happens ford's just going to be horribly irritated at the thought of his brother (not that he wasn't before, now its much worse bc stans all stuck up and irritatingly boring and proud of it) and it would take a long while for the truth to come out, especially since stan probably Knows what happened but doesn't want to be a criminal anymore
This is just. So funny. Stan can't do crime because Crime Is Wrong and he's going to make this brand new opinion and make it everyone elses problem. He's out there making citizen's arrests. He's tattling on every single lawbreaker no matter how slight. He's like a superhero almost but bad. Wandering the world homeless and making it his mission to correct every injustice he sees. By calling the police about it.
He probably has his first stable 9 to 5 being horrendously picky about following procedure and doing everything by the book. His coworkers hate him. He times their breaks. He's like Dwight from The Office almost. But Worse.
Anyway yeah I could see Ford missing every single glaring sign that Something is Wrong with Stan because he's 1. Incredibly pissed off at his brother for calling the police on him, and 2. Convinced Stan's acting like this to be petty. Very much "I Know Stan doesn't actually care about following so and so laws/rules, he's just pretending he cares because it'll inconvenience me specifically."
It takes a long sequence of horrendous shenanigans where Fords trying to battle a demon and Stan keeps calling the cops on him for every little even slightly illegal behavior for Ford to realize Stan does actually care about following the law now. And then he gets even angrier because Stan doesn't want to be fixed, because he cares about being an upstanding citizen now, and every attempt Ford makes at trying to break the curse leads to Stan calling the cops on him for kidnapping.
Ford hates this version of his brother. The Real Stan would love to be kidnapped by Ford. The Real Stan would love to help Ford do a little B&E to steal components for Ford. The Real Stan would drive over the speed limit. This Stan is an asshole who won't even let Ford off the hook for jaywalking across an empty street.
Child Stanpiper is so tiny... thank god its grown man stan out there, imagine.. you find your (baby) twin brother in the multiverse, and hes the size of your pinkie finger.... I would be full on ugly sobbing
I TOLD YOU ID BE BACK. YOU ASKED FOR WRITING @softersynths AND I WILL DELIVER
He's walking through a busy market in the dimension E-Scolopax 488â6 when Ford drifts over to an exotic pets stall.
It's a bad idea before he even moves his feet. Stalls like this are exceedingly common, out here in the dimensional wastes, and Ford knows he is the sentimental type to feel compelled to open a few cages, overturn a terrarium or two if a particularly sad creature catches his eye. He may be a scientist, but he is also the same boy who cried over the shattered shells of sea snails in his youth. He can't exactly help it.
So he drifts closer, ducking around the strange-at least to him- bodies of interdimensional persons to get a closer look. The merchant at the stall is, predictably, selling their wares with the sort of loud showmanship that drives the softer eared of the crowd away, and makes the particularly naive or easily entertained lean in closer.
The merchant is holding up a weasel like thing, bright pink with a spider's worth of limbs and a long curly tail, and from what Ford's translator is picking up, apparently the creature is of a rarer variety. The crowd shifts, and suddenly Ford is towards the front of the stall, and his eyes glance around the decorated cages and tanks, each with their own inhabitant.
There is a small birdcage that hangs almost eye level from the stalls main frame, and Ford drags his eyes up to look inside.
At first, he thinks it's completely empty. The walls and floor of the cage are bare, the smooth metal tarnished and cold. The cage is small in and of itself, and Ford's eyes move on to the more distracting things to the left and to the right.
But his eyes drift back, almost magnetized.
This merchant likely wouldn't have an empty cage, front and center. Especially not one hanging in such a glaringly obvious spot. The bars of the cage are tightly knit together, implying that whatever is in said cage is small.
Ford reaches up and tilts the hanging cage, until he can more clearly see into it.
There's something very small huddled as far in the back as it can be.
Whatever it is, the creature is tiny. Ford almost needs to squint to be able to make it out, a combination of how small the thing is huddled and how far in the cage it's decided to sit. It's barely bigger than his thumb's fingernail, the way it's curled up on itself.
He tilts the cage again, just the smallest bit, and suddenly there is movement.
With the tilting cage, the creature inside starts to slide closer, and when it moves it panics and unfurls.
It's a tiny bird.
Little wings flap frantically, so quickly that it's nearly buzzing, ticking as it tries to regain its balance, but then it reaches a tiny hand out and it's not a bird at all, it's a tiny person with wings, and then the tiny person with wings makes a noise like a cut off yelp and it's not a tiny person with wings, it's a tiny child with wings, and then they turn their head up and-
And Ford freezes.
It's Stanley.
It's not his Stan. Ford knows exactly, painfully, what his own dimensions Stan looks like. This is Stanley, but this version has wings, this version is identical to the ruddy cheeked twin of Ford's childhood, looking no more than nine, maybe ten.
This Stanley is tiny.
Ford can't even force himself to breathe.
Stanley-tiny, with wings, no more than ten years old- is looking at him fearfully. Wide, wet eyes and a horrible shiver that doesn't speak of cold, but instead of terror. This Stanley curls up again, tucking his head down to his chest and hugging his knees, folding his wings around himself as protection.
Protection from him. From the cage.
Without a thought, and as if in a trace, Ford unlatches the cage door.
The door is barely big enough for his six fingered hand to reach through, and the metal hinges bite into his gloves, but when Ford reaches this tiny version of his twin, his hand is gentle.
He slides his fingers along the bottom of the cage and corners the small huddled figure, cupping his hand around Stan's back and pushing, every so slightly with his thumb, until Stan slides into his palm, as gently as he possibly can. He curls his fingers down, until his brother is securely held, all in one smooth motion.
Against the glove, he can feel Stan's wings flap and flutter in that sickening panicked way, like a rat caught in a trap or a cat in a cage. Ford drags his hand back, prize safely cupped in his palm, back out of the cage.
He's safe now. Ford has him, Stanley is safe now.
Predictably, however, the merchant managing the stall does not take kindly to someone stealing his wares.
The merchant is yelling at him, loud screeching waves, and Ford fully intends to simply hurry away, off to find a quiet corner somewhere to further inspect and calm the treasure in his hand, but then the merchant makes a mistake.
They reach a clawed hand around Ford's wrist, the one holding his brother, and jostle Ford's arm enough that he almost loosens his hold.
Ford shoots the merchant without hesitation.
The crowd surrounding the recently unmanned stall, predictably, panics.
People are running and screaming to get away, the entire wave pushing and shoving to get away from Ford, to get away from the shot of a quantum destabilizer firing. Someone will alert the market's security, and Ford needs to move, now.
In his final act in this dimension, with his free hand Ford unlatches, breaks, and overturns as many cages, tanks and baskets full of exotic animals as he can. The weasel creature from earlier scatters in with the crowd, another bug-like thing flies over the heads of panicking people, and using the distraction, Ford hits a button on his interdimensional transportation device and hops through the created rift without missing a beat.
His stomach scoops, that ever present feeling of a changed atmosphere washes over him, and the world goes quiet.
There is still the tiny weight in his hand, and through his curled fingertips, Ford can feel the movement of breath, of life.
Very carefully, Ford rotates his hand palm up, and slowly opens his hand.
Immediately Stanley dives sideways, wings stretched and bolting for escape, and Ford nearly drops him into the dirt.
âIt's okay!â He says, catching his brother, his baby brother, by cupping both hands together. Stan continues to squirm, but something must be wrong with his wings, he doesn't fly, he can't, but he's trying anyway, making these horrible fearful noises as he tries.
âIt's alright,â Ford tries to soothe. âI am not going to hurt you Stanley, I'm not going to hurt you.â
In his hand, Stanley stills his escape attempts.
Ford lets out a small sigh of relief. âIt's alright,â he says again. âYou're safe, I promise, you're safe now.â
Stan turns his head up, gazing up, up into Ford's face, looking smaller than he's ever looked.
Perhaps that's because he is, physically, smaller, and also a child, but it twists something in Ford's heart all the same.
Stan's head is on a swivel, looking around and over the side of Ford's hand, to the new world they've found themselves in, back again to Ford's face, and then he pauses, stares.
Ford recognizes the exact moment that Stanley counts his fingers. Counts them again.
Slowly, Stan looks back up.
In a tiny voice, just as young as Ford remembers, Stan speaks. Hesitant, surprised and disbelieving.
Today I'm thinking about Stan running into something extremely supernatural and fucked up during the 10 ish years he's spent on his own. Think Magnus Archives kind of horror where whatever happened marked him and he's no longer quite human. [This works with werewolves, vampires and other classic supernatural elements as long as Stan's fucked up, I'm not picky.] For this post let's say he was touched by the Stranger.
He has so many identities, he burns through them like a pack of cheap cigarettes and it feels good, to never be recognized. It feels safe too, to inspire fear instear of being terrified himself.
But then Ford finds him because if anyone can find Stan, it would be his twin. And he asks him for help. Stan shows up, of course he does. Monster or not, Ford's his weak spot and the only thing he ever wanted was to reunite with him.
When Ford opens the door however, he can't recognize Stan for a second and almost shoots him on sight. But then Stan speaks and Ford would recognize that fucked up voice anywhere so he lowers his crossbow.
He does the full paranoia checkup thing on Stan and he can't settle down because this is Stan, it has to be, but it's also not quite correct and he can't figure out if this is because he's forgotten details of his twin or if it's because this is an imposter. Could Bill even recreate a copy of Stan?
Stan tells him not to worry about it and eventually Ford does, because he has bigger things to worry about so he goes through the whole portal explanation and he guides Stan downstairs to see it.
The moment Stan sees the portal though, that monster part of him awakens and he knows he needs to bail or something terrible will happen. He can feel himself loosing control, the pull of the portal bringing the horrors forward.
Ford is too busy talking to notice. Stan tries to tell him but once Ford has started talking, it's almost impossible to stop him, Stan knows. He's unraveling at the seams though and he tries to step back but his body isn't his own anymore. He feels like a stranger in his own skin, a side effect of his condition he's gotten used to and can usually contain but not now. He thinks he may have started screaming because everything hurts so much, he feels split in half and isn't sure how much of it is literal.
He thinks this is the end, that he will die here. Or maybe this will somehow fix him, if it doesn't kill him. He feels something pulling him back, helping him get out even as part of himself lurches forward to get closer. He's not entirely sure what happens after that but when his thoughts clear, he's in a cage in a room he doesn't recognize and Ford is sitting on a chair opposite him, looking at him in fear.
Ok but wait. You know that compass from potc that Jack Sparrow carried around? The one that points to what the holder wants most in the world?
Imagine Ford finds a compass like that in Gravity Falls. At first he thinks itâs junk, because it doesnât point north, but a closer look at the thing reveals it has magical properties. After a bit of investigation, Ford is fascinated to find it points towards whatever he wants most.
Except the compass doesnât point towards any of the things Ford would have expected himself to want. Curious and thrilled to discover thereâs some mystery thing he apparently wants more than anything, Ford sets off to follow the compass to whatever it keeps pointing to.
He follows.
And follows.
And follows.
And eventually realizes he needs to get a car for the trip, because whatever his deepest desire is is quite far away, out of Gravity Falls. (How intriguing! How unexpected! Ford would have thought everything he wanted was in this anomaly hotspot heâd found.)
He follows the compass for days, making notes in his journal about it. The compass doesnât always point in the same direction, like whatever it is Ford wants moves around. But eventually, it narrows in on a location: a rather seedy-looking casino that Ford would never step foot in otherwise.
But in he goes. His eyes are glued to the compass, so he doesnât notice a man stepping in his way until he hears a shocked, quiet, âStanford?â
Ford looks up and locks eyes with the twin brother he hasnât seen in years. Stan is staring at him wildly, muttering to himself about whether or not Ford is a hallucination and heâs high. Something to come back to, perhaps. Ford isnât inclined to deal with his brother right now, heâs so close to whatever the compass says he wantsâwhich is apparently on the other side of Stan.
âExcuse me,â he says bluntly, stepping around Stan and looking down at his compass again.
Except now itâs pointing behind him?
Ford turns around and skirts past Stan again. The compass whirls to point behind him. Huffing, he moves around Stan yet again, but this time Stan shuffles away from him to the side.
âŚAnd the compass follows.
As realization dawns on him, Ford makes a circle around his brother, whoâs watching him with concern and nerves. No matter which way he goes, the compass always points back the same way.
Itâs Stan. The compass is telling him that what he wants most in this world is the brother who betrayed him. (The brother heâs missed.)
Ford doesnât want to believe it. He thought he was finally happy. He had the degrees he wanted, the research job he wanted, and a whole forest full of strange and wonderful anomalies to study, but apparently the thing he wants the most deep down is to reunite with his brother?
Heâs not sure heâs ready to forgive Stan. But heâs not sure heâs still quite as angry with him anymore. Perhaps that anger was really just a cover for the hurt he felt and the ache of missing his twin. He doesnât really want to think about it; has been pushing those feelings down for years.
But the compass points to Stan. No matter what, it points to Stan. And now Ford has to confront all the hurt and emotions heâs been pushing away since that night. And Stan is still looking at him as if he doesnât believe Ford is real. What a mess.
Horse racing management find their cheating horse gone one day, and on that same day authorities pick up a talking horse. There's only so many horse Esq communities, and soon enough Fords tracked down to come pick up his horse nephew to take care of until they find his horse dad.
Ford still does not realize this is Stan. He's too busy sweating and thinking about who Stansons mom might be. Is it a horse? A human? A centaur? Horse headed Minotaur? Something else? Does he have a special diet? How has his education been until now? How is he so small? Fords pretty sure Stan was never so small. Then he's realizing retroactively how lonely and hard Stan's childhood must have been since he couldn't go to school and most kids aren't built to play with a baby horse.
Stan cannot tell his brother he's pretending to be his own son. Too embarrassing. He's got too long legs and his high pitched voice keeps getting coos from everyone.
I've been consulting the ancient scrolls and I've found what at first appears to be an inconsistency in the InnoStan AU but in fact is just much funnier.
If we assume the "Ford somehow never figures out his nephew is a shapeshifting bug" and "Ford finds Stan passed out with a shapeshifting bug calling him daddy" posts are simultaneously true, then from Ford's perspective Stan was acting weird (definitely on drugs) and this freaking bug thing was calling him dad and then a week or two later Stan had a baby that he won't let Ford spoil properly and also he never saw that weird bug thing again.
And he just never makes that connection. Stan doesn't super remember that day and Shifty just assumes Uncle Ford knows and never mentions it, which is why he brings up the "dad lets me stretch" thing.
inconsistencies are a given when i make most of my lore up on the spot, or change it around time to time for The Bit (or if its more interesting).
Thats actually just. So funny and like Ford to do. Yes he did see this shapeshifting bug thing in Stan's house calling Stan dad. Yes a few weeks later he learned his brother had a baby. Yes Stan barely lets him interact with this baby and is really cagey about where it came from. No Ford does not connect this information. There was a bug and he refuses to ask about it, because he's too busy heckling Stan about letting him see his baby. Give him the baby Stan. He wants to uncle it.
Do you guys want Selkie!Stan WIP that I probably won't finish because I am always forgetting it? Do you guys want it? Do you?
Anyway- you're getting it. The introduction to the AU is much longer than the actual Stan content ngl
Selkie Stan One-Shot (Uncompleted)
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It was that dream again. He knew the moment he drifted off to sleep and heard the waves from back home.
Opening his eyes, Stanford Pines found himself out in the street, near the beach. He was in his pajamas, flashlight in hand and still sleepily rubbing his eyes as he made his way down to the sandy floors.
âStan?â His young voice called as he began to search for his twin in their little boat, the Stan O War.
Stanford already knew his brother wasn't there but the memory played out as usual.
It wasn't the first night this had happened, as Stanford grew up he couldn't help curse his brother's sleep walking tendencies though, feeling them to be a burden. His father had told him to just let him roam free after the third time it happened in a single week but this young Stanford was unable to leave his brother be. They were siblings, twinsâŚhe couldn't just leave him.
It wasn't an everyday thing. More often than not, Ford would find his brother snoring loudly like a walrus peacefully in his bed, the snores only having begun after his smoking addiction did.
As teens, when Stanford tried to ignore his brother but ultimately failed, he'd take his time getting dressed and putting on shoes rather than the uncomfortable sandals his brother opted for. He would then walk over to the beach, barely spare their childish project a glance as he headed for the water where his brother usually stood, water up to his knees as he stared off into the distance.
âAlrightâ he'd sigh tiredly, used to it by then âlet's get you back to bedâ and just like that, he'd carefully take his brother's hand and walk him back home.
Now, however, or rather- Before, as he was still a preteen in this dream⌠Stanford would look around the beach in confusion, freezing at the sight of a familiar silhouette.
âStanley?â
Stanley was standing in the water, waist deep and getting his pajamas, that he was so excited to match Ford with, all wet. He seemed to be still walking towards the pitch black ahead.
âStan?â Ford called again, hesitation just a step away from the waves and taking a step back any time they got too close.
âStan, what are you doing?â The boy was too confused, shining the light towards his twin and still not seeing where the sky and water ended âthis isn't funny, pa will be so mad when he sees youâ
But Stanley just kept on walking and walking until-
âStan!â
His brother slipped, a dip in the sand where the waves usually hit. Stanford knew as that's usually the area their mother told them to not swim in rare days she came to the beach with them to sunbathe
âI don't want to have to keep worrying about you twos drowning while I'm relaxingâ she'd nag. Stanley and Stanford always loved to swim past the area when she wasn't around, a reef with different fishes hidden just a little further out was waiting for them every time.
âLee!!â Ford cried out, dropping his flashlight in a panic and rushing in the water after his twin. In hindsight, he should've taken the light with him so he could see where his brother was in the dark depths of the water but all he could think about was getting to his brotherâs side, to keep him close and safe. All he could think about was losing his twin at that moment.
Blindly he searchedâŚand Stanford knows how that memory ends, he knows he ends up feeling around far too long for his brother and he knows he struggled with the weight that comes with swimming with clothes. He also knows the moment he felt a hint of skin against his hand and freaked out a bit, worried it was some sea monster rather than his brother but had grabbed on anyway until his hands felt around enough to conjure a picture in his head of a leg he had grabbed.
Stanford remembers how he thought he saw a pair of eyes shine in the darkness like a lighthouse before they drifted closed and the feeling of bubbles waved past his face. He remembers wrestling in the water to turn his brother upright so he could bring them both back to landâŚ
Stanley would cough as he hit the ground of the beach with Stanford, Stanford had never been more happy to be a nerd and having learnt CPR.
Stanley had ended up confused and disoriented when he woke up to Stanford yelling and crying at him, demanding to know why he thought a night swim was a good idea-
âWhy am I here?â He'd ask Stanford instead.
Then they'd go home at last, both shaky from the panic of the moment and the night breeze hitting their cold bodies, they'd huddle close to each other for warmth and open the front door to find their mother.
Their mother in no way was cruel, she was never as bad as their father⌠but in that moment, the moment Stanley opened the door for them as Stanfordâs hands couldn't stop shaking and his head couldn't stop spinning from the little air that entered his lungs, he saw her. Arms crossed, shawl over her shoulders keeping her warm, eyes out the window she liked to sit by when she received callsâŚ. She looked awake. She looked as though she had been awake for a while.
Stanford knew the window had a perfect view of the beach.
âYour brother is brokenâ she said, eyes distant⌠and she never clarified which of them she meant.
Instead of continuing the memories as it should, Stanfordâs dreams end with him in the darkness of the water and the feeling of bubbles hitting his face. Nightmares of his brother drowning following him when he isn't awake taking his hand to bring him home.
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Like most days, when Stanford has such nightmares, he wakes up with a headache.
âMorninâ, Stanfordâ Fiddleford McGucket, his lab assistant and old college friend, greets him in the kitchen and Stanford manages a tired smile at the scent of coffee that greets him as well.
âGood morningâ he sighs, pouring some coffee for himself as well. As usual, Fiddleford seems to notice his exhaustion but doesn't comment on it, instead he takes a sip of his own coffee before asking-
âYou ready to head on over north?â
North. Right⌠They had planned to take their boat further out to research some new species of seaweed they had discovered that had been carried by the current.
They were meant to have started the previous week when they set off from the river to sea but the sight of sandy beaches had brought the nightmares back to Stanford.
âYes, I will grab my coatâ Stanford sighed. Somehow, even far away, Stanley managed to disrupt his plans.
Fiddleford had some vague idea of what his nightmares were about, every once in a while Ford would have them again and his friend would find him on their dorm couch staring into nothing in particular.
On worse nights Stanford would wake him up with his crying, feeling foolish for missing the person that betrayed him.
âHe used to sleepwalkâ he whispered in the dark of the living room, surprised to hear himself talking, especially since his friend hadn't probed him to talk about it this time.
The rummaging in the kitchen had stopped, as though F had been surprised himself. It continued soon after and Ford had felt it was easier to go on when his friend wasn't looking at him or giving him much attention.
âHe'd always go down to the beachâŚfirst time it happened heââ he choked on his own words and shook his head âhe nearly hadââ he couldn't even say it and wasn't that pathetic? It had been yearsâŚStanley hadn't seemed as traumatised as Stanford had been with it.
âBefore he leftâŚwas kicked out-â Stanford corrected âhe was still having those episodes. Walking to the beach, through the waterâŚâ Ford went on in a hushed tone as his friend returned with a steaming mug of tea in each hand.
âSometimes IâŚI worryâ
The mug was hot as he took it, both his freakish hands wrapping around the ceramic, letting themselves burn to root himself to the present.
âI worry he still sleep walksâŚâ he whispered into the darkness, glad he couldn't see his friend's expression. Not that he was looking at himâŚ
âand I'm not there to pull him out of the waterâ
Stanford never did tell Fiddleford who âheâ was but Fiddleford never really did ask after that.
As he came to the deck of their little research boat, Ford with his heavy long coat lined with fake fur underneath as he wore some wool undergarments and a thermo cup in his gloves hand, Fiddleford soon joined him with his own coat made of real animal pelt that Stanford unfortunately had the pleasure to witness being gifted one Christmas he had spent with his friend. He never did spend another Christmas with the McGuckets after that.
The two went over their notes as they sipped their coffee, the cold icy wind hitting their faces. According to their research, this new species of seaweed could be quite nutritious and used for medicineâŚthere is just one problem-
âIt seems to be coming from this directionâ his friend pointed to a white area on the map.
The seaweed was coming from frozen areas.
This is a problem, how? Well; first, they wouldn't be able to obtain it as it would be under the freezing waters, and second, the seaweed itself would most likely be frozen in unachievable areas.
Stanford sighed. How did he end up here? Researching weeds of all things⌠He should be out there, exploring the extraordinary, the weird! He should be researching things like him⌠Anomalies.
He had taken this assignment because- well- it would get him closer to his dream of researching anomalies. There are countless sea stories talking about them, afterall, the fact that he has to sail around with a friend has nothing to do with his choice at all.
It's not like he wishes Stanley was here. That would be foolish.
âPerhaps its best we dockâ Fiddleford recommend âthere is land pretty close to here, three days outâ
âYesâ Stanford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the headache away âwe can decide on a new plan thenâ
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Norway was as cold as any of them expected, the grounds damp from the constant rain that comes and goes.
The people there seemed polite, happy to help when asked but also seeming to run from interactions. As they set up camp to take a night off from the constant sway of the waves, Stanford couldnt help but think about the legends of trolls⌠it was nighttime, if they were real surely he would see one.
Did he want to see one?
Fiddleford was going off about their surroundings, commenting on how lovely it is to have moss everywhere rather than the dry, almost hay-like, grass everywhere to make you struggle to sleep with. Each rock covered in moss lump played with Stanfordâs imagination and he found himself sketching little ideas of what a troll may look like based off each shape while his friend photographed anything and everything to have some sort of evidence to show about their studies to their college.
Their campfire cast shadows around them, making their surroundings appear much darker and scary than it actually was.
âFish cake?â
âYes, thank youâ Stanford thanked, taking the offered snack as he kept doodling the weird lump on the âbeachâ - it could hardly be called a beach really, there was barely any sand and the water was surrounded by volcanic rocks. It was honestly more mountain and boulders with nearby water than a beach.
The lump moves with the light of the fire and Stanford chuckles to himself as he munches on the awful texture of the fishcake. He is sure Stanley would've pulled a prank to scare him by now or began making stories about trolls approaching themâŚ
He's also sure Stanley would've sleep walk right into the waters as soon as he let his guard down⌠messing their travels like he messes up everything else.
âIt's not his faultâ Stanford thinks he hears a young naive voice say and quickly shakes his head, instead focusing on the advancing lump.
He turns to watch his friend set up his camera to photograph the stars, a telescope right by its side and-
Stanford does a double take. He looks at the lump. The one that's wobbling towards them.
Flabbergasted, all Stanford can do is blink at the dark shadow that's shuffling up the beach and towards the forest area where they are camping. It couldnât beâŚ.could it?
Quickly, Stanford grabbed a flashlight and stood, coat fluttering in the wind from where he left it open to lounge. His eyes widened with wonder, his heart raced. YesâŚit must beâŚ
A troll!
âI'm going to the beachâ he announced in a hurry, already running down to the beach, not listening to Fiddleford's scolding or complaints- he had important things to do! Those things were called: Science!
Slowing down to a jog, Ford panted as he turned on the flashlight and pointed it around, trying to find the moving creature in the darkness.
There!
Stanford gasped as the light squared in on theâŚ.theâŚ
Seal.
A regular seal. Well- a baby seal, specially⌠one with white fluffy fur and big black pupils that look up at him all shiny and adorable and-
The baby seal flopped over and began to slap at its chubby belly. Stanford stood by, watching.
âUhâŚâ he looked around for the baby's parents but saw no other seal but the adorable fluffball.
SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP
âI can assure you, I am no threatâ Stanford tried, lifting his hand to show he was unarmed. Perhaps it was not good to teach a young pup that humans were safe⌠Stanford hears they are hunted for their coats oftenâŚ
âWellâŚexcuse- I- I didn't mean to bother you-aand I'm talking to a sealâ he realised, immediately dropping his hand and allowing the disappointment of finding a seal and not a troll roll in.
âI need sleepâ he sighed and turned around to walk back up to camp, walking away from the seal pup.
Glancing back, Ford noticed the seal roll back onto its belly and huff through its nostrils, a nice curt nod that made it seem as though it was saying âthat's right walk awayâ. Stanford chuckled, shaking his head.
âNice beach walk?â Fiddleford asked, not looking away from the peephole of his telescope, only doing so to take notes of what he saw. Ford looked up at the bright night sky, taking in the stars.
âI supposeâ Stanfordâs reply was laced with disappointment "I thought I had seen something but turns out it was just a baby sealâ
There was a crash and the fluttering of paper, Stanford jumped and looked to his friend. His friend who looked back at him. Wide eyes and looking ready to squeeze his eyes out.
âYou saw a baby seal?! And didnt tell me?!â
âIm telling you now-â
âAnd why do you sound so dissapointed?!â
âWell-â
âARE THEY STILL THERE?â Fiddleford squinted into the distance, hand on his forehead
âI guess-â
And there he goes. The man sure can run when he wants to. Stanford stood by, watching his friend run to shore before turning to look at his hand where he held the flashlight.
âHm⌠Iâm sure he'll come back for itâ
It was later when he was cozy writing in his journal, in his little sleeping bag inside their tent, that Fiddleford returned looking just as disappointed as Stanford had earlier.
âThere was no baby seal, Stanfordâ he whined âand even if there was, it was too dark for me to seeâ
âI'm sure I saw oneâ Ford lift a brow at his friend's drama, watching him unroll his own sleeping bag just to collapse on it and sulk âand I doubt a seal could move away that fast on land, you probably just didn't look hard enoughâ
He got a middle finger in response so Stanford showed Fiddleford all his four middle fingers in return.
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There was some rummaging going around. Stanford groaned, covering his head with the extra blanket he packed.
âFiddleford, keep it downâ he complained loud enough for his friend to hear it outside.
There was movement next to him. A squeaky yelp that Stanford recognised.
Someone shook his shoulder, Stanford quickly sat up to find his friend still in his sleeping bag, eyes wide. Stanfordâs own eyes widened.
âI thought that was youâ he whispered as the noise outside continued âif it's not you thenâŚwho..?â
âOr whatâ Stanford quickly reached for his glasses, blinking rapidly as his world focused once again. The light of the rising sun peeked through the small gaps of their tent and the thin layer.
Outside, galumphing about, was the same seal as yesterday- No no, wait. Thatâs not a sealâŚ
Two extremely human (and normal) tiny hands poked out from the fur, wriggly fingers readying to dig into their backpack. Stanford watched, vaguely aware of his partnerâs panicked whispers as he watched the seal(?) with human hands(??) go through their things.
âWhat is it?â Fiddleford finally let his own curiosity win past his fear, pushing his head against Fordâs to take a look outside as he fixed his own small glasses.
The anomaly outside curved in a way no seal should be able to, both men watching in horror as it grew two small feet, tiny toes poking out of the fur as it shoved its head inside of their bag. Suddenly-
âHurra!â the anomaly popped back up, two arms holding up one of their lunch boxes, their head falling off to reveal brown curls and a wide smile on a-
âItâs a childâ Fiddleford gasped as the kid rearranged themselves to sit propped up against the bag, legs stretched out in a way it was so obvious they were wearing seal-fur that it made Stanford feel like an imbecil.
Stanford squinted as the child struggled to open the tupperware, slamming tiny fists at it when their tiny fingers couldnât pry it open before using their all too sharp teeth, gnawing at the plastic like an overly excited puppy. Slowly, Stanford crept out of the tent, waving off Fiddlefordâs hushed warnings to not scare the child (âYouâre no good with children, Ford! Let meâ) as he wondered if he should let the infant know there was a latch on the lunchbox.
The infant stopped, freezing as soon as they noticed Stanford. Two big brown eyes lifted towards him, teeth still around a corner of the plastic box.
Now that he was closer, Stanford could make out the details of the childâs face. Such as how their nose curved downwards and their full cheeks were covered in freckles that stretched and became more of spots towards their ears that were smaller and more round than any human ear should be or how their tanned skin glistened in the first rays of the Norwegian sun, brown curls dusted in white from dried sea water.
Stanford could also make out how they were more masculine than feminine, probably a boy, and how sharp his teeth were or his small hands had a darker tint than the rest of him, sort of like the spots near his ears.
Curious of all was how similarly this anomaly resembled him when he was younger⌠Although with the way the kid was acting, the sun-kissed and freckled skin Stanford never quite achieved during his summer breaks, and how casually he seemed to act despite stealing Stanfordâs things right in front of him, resembled someone else entirely. Resembled Stanley.
With a quiet gasp, the boy scrambled to his bare feet (isnât it freezing?), dropping Stanfordâs tupperware and puffing up his chest in a way that made his round cheeks puff up adorably with it. Then, suddenly, the anomaly/boy began to drum his belly rapidly, the thick fur of his coat muting the sound to be less potent in comparison to the sealâs yesterday. Stanford blinked.
âUhh..â
THUMP THUMP THUMP
Unsure on what to do, Stanford finally glanced back to Fiddleford for help. His friend seemed to have already been in the process of leaving the tent, sighing as though he knew this would happen.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
âHelloâ Fiddlefordâs voice was a pitch higher, his hands resting on his knees as he crouched a bit to the anomalyâs height âWhat are you doing here, little boy? Arenât you cold?â
âWay to be creepyâ Stanford muttered to the side, crossing his arms
THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
âI am not creepy!â Fiddleford turned his way with a hiss
âWhat are you doing here all alone, oh little boyyyâ Stanford made a bad imitation of a witch from the fairytales, it was, admittedly, childish.
THUMPTHUMP ⌠THUMP THUMP
âI did not sound like that!â
THUMP
âDebateableâ
THUMP ?
As the two of them argued, the small anomalyâs little belly slaps grew weaker before they came to a stop completely, his head spinning from Fiddleford to Stanford as they got into another of their little childish quarrels.
Stanford ignored the ache in his chest as he remembered such fights with his twin⌠Their last fight had been far from childish though.
He found himself missing said fights.
Somewhere in between their quarrel, the small anomaly must have decided this was the green light for them to go on with biting the tupperware. They casually took a seat, propped themselves back against Stanfordâs bag and began gnawing at the lid once again.
[To be continued? If I survive??? Probably???? Only âŹ9.99?? A cookie???]
worm!stan anon here, you mentioned moth ford and made me think about bugs. anyways the first types of moths i thought up are those really pretty and fluffy ones which. aren't ford-coded AT ALL. so ive been looking at moths for like an hour (which ironically is pretty ford-coded) and I propose this: polyphemus moth (antheraea polyphemus). which is still v pretty BUT its also beige like his coat and has little yellow eyes on its wings. also poly- in the name. ok thank you for your time
Hilariously enough I looked at this exact moth when doing my own Ford moth related research lol. It really is a good moth for him, matches his colors and has some eyes for Bill flavor, has the word poly in it, whats not to like!
Now imagine Moth! Ford, a guy who is now super fluffy and now very suddenly a bug, having to go through Bug Dark Souls to find his brother, the Velvet Worm with 0 knowledge that his brother is a velvet worm or how to fly. Def almost dies several times. Is Not having a good time. Has a slightly better time when he finds Stan, then back to not so good when he learns his brothers been eating people.
Stan's explanation that he needs to eat bugs to survive, and that 'its bugs Ford, its not a big deal' does not help. Yes they are bugs but they're bugs that have a whole civilization and are fully sentient. And Stan's inability to confirm or deny if he's eaten any bugs that might have been humans before is not helping.
Fiddleford watched in confusion as Ford stopped moving completely. He looked shocked mixed with a little bit of what looked like fear but before he could ask him if he was alright, the expression was gone, replaced by a forced smile.
"Ah, looks like I got the wrong adress, sorry!" He said, quickly packing his vaccuum.
As Fiddleford watched him, his gaze fell on Stanford's hands and he realized they only had 5 digits.
"Wait. What are ya and why are ya pretending to be Stanford?" He asked, squinting distrustfully.
In the year and a half he'd been working for Ford, he'd seen a lot of weird supernatural stuff so a shapeshifter of some kind didn't seem too far fetched. A lot of creatures out there liked to play tricks on them after all.
The thing pretending to be Stanford frowned at him.
"What do you mean what am I? Do I look like a unicorn to you?" He said, a little harshly. "Look, I'm sorry I tried to scam you okay? I had no way to know you're friends with Ford. I'll just leave and we can both forget this whole thing even happened."
"What are ya talking about?"
The... man? Looked intensely back at him.
"Just don't tell Ford you saw me okay? He already has a low enough opinion about me, no need to add to it."
"I have no idea what yer even talking about!! Who are you??" Fiddleford yelled frustratingly.
The man frowned, looking just as confused as he was now.
"Uhhh... I'm Stanley Pines? You know my brother Stanford Pines, right? Judging by your reaction and," he gestured at Fiddleford, "by how nerdy you look."
Stanford had a brother? He knew of Shermie, his little brother who should finish highschool in a few months but he'd never heard of a Stanley. Although... He stared at the man's hands. That would explain the uncanny ressemblance and the more common number of fingers.
"I didn't know Stanford had a brother besides Shermie." He said, unthinkingly.
Stanley's face fell and for a moment he looked... crushed. Defeated. Like he'd been carrying a heavy weight that just got heavier.
Fiddleford sighed. He was sure that Ford had had a good reason to not mention Stanley but he also knew his friend well enough to know that the reason wasn't necessarily correct. Despite what Ford liked to think, he could be wrong sometimes. Very rarely.
Besides, he couldn't let a man leave his house looking like that.
"Ya know what? It's almost noon, why don't ya come inside and have a sandwich? I bet ya haven't eaten anythin' yet." Stanley looked tempted, but conflicted. "We can trade funny stories about yer brother."
after closely examinatng the absolute banger doodles (after reading the absolute killer of a fic) ive found a rather interesting detail
so like ford wakes up on the 8th day, but bill and stan are staked for 30 years.... does ford straight up get up and miss them? kdksnsosnsisns
it would make sense like i wouldnt realize either but like its so funny. they're right there. ford prolly looked for stan the whole time too. i mean its sad for them but funny for me
and if ford and fiddleford eventually meet up does fiddleford just. not tell him. IT MAKES SENSE BUT ITS SO FUNNY TO ME. YEAH HERE I AM WOTHOLDING INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR BRO YOU MISS DEARLY. CAUSE IT COULD RELEASE THE MOST EVIL VAMPIRE TOO AND WE WORKED TOO HARD TO GET THAT ONES ASS LOCKED UP
hollup i gotta go yell at the dark lord now
Ford finding a secret tomb underneath his tomb and realizing what that might mean:
Pictured: Ford approximately five seconds after opening the secret under-tomb below his tomb and not noticing the scrawnyass body beneath his brother's
Fiddleford would LOVEEEE to have helped [lie] by telling Ford that his brother is staked to the earth with Bill Cipher but unforties he was given a Direct Order and he doesn't have the spine to say no )': sadge.
Which means he gets to sit there and smile painfully as Ford fails to find Bill and Stan in his own damn underground lair for years and years.
tvvt stan and bsb stan attempt to drink each others blood
"-and honestly, I have no idea what you were thinking," Ford groused as he rolled his brother's limp body over and stuck his folded coat under Stan's head to cushion it, "This dimensional variant of you has a strain of vampirism explicitly designed to neutralize and prey upon vampires exactly like you! What did you think was going to happen?"
Stan, who had recovered just enough to move his mouth and look around, licked a little dried blood off his lips and made a noncommittal sound. "Listen, we got curious! And we knew whatever you and his Ford would do to us would be way weirder, so we figured we'd get all your questions answered before you got the chance to do any tests on your own."
"And you thought you'd accomplish that by drinking his blood?"
"Don't stand there and act like you weren't gonna do the same thing!" Stan grumbled a little lower, "Besides, I gave as good as I got. Apparently, when other vampires drink from him, he barely feels anything. I knocked him flat to the floor."
"And now you're paralyzed."
"Only for an hour or two, max!" Stan argued. "Neither of us died a second time, so I consider that a win."
Ford sighed and crouched to sit on the ground with his legs crossed. With a world-weary, beleaguered expression, he pulled out a pen and a small, leather-bound notebook. "So what did you learn, then?"
"Drinking your own blood, even if it's from a different you, is a bad idea."
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