Why not get two bad ending AUs and put them together to see what happens? The answer: Lots of angst and sneaking-around rebellious loving
Ship art of M&Mem! (Does this count as Fiddauthor?) Married Life Ford belongs to @matcha-milkies MemoryFalls Fiddleford belongs to me
Their eyes locked when Stanford approached. Fiddleford, who had been searching the refreshments for anything useful, immediately startled and ducked underneath the table. He pushed past the odd, silken material that seemed to pulse with life as it gave this iridescent sheen when disturbed. The texture left the old man shuddering with disgust. Fiddleford let out an annoyed grunt as he pulled his hands close to himself and hunched over, making his body small. He didn't want to touch anything, didn't want to be here, but the chain around his neck refused to let him go far. The rambunctious chaos of the party continued to pound at his ears as the music overwhelmed him and the cackling laughter of monsters left him shaken. He gripped at his hair, tugging at it as his anxiety rose.
Then a familiar voice appeared, making him jump, "Fiddleford..?"
He snapped his eyes up to see Stanford knelt in front of him, now hiding under the same table. Except it was the other Stanford. A different one entirely who wore a crimson fluffy coat, a long white and red outfit just underneath, and a shimmering golden collar. They wore jewelry, and had pearls adorning their neck that made Fiddleford think of a similar gift he once gave his ex wife, Emma-May. On his left cheek was a small but notable red heart, marked besides the corner of their eye. This was not the same Stanford that Fiddleford currently knew. Still, he felt himself bristle in alarm.
"What do ya want?" He questioned.
Hurt, Stanford softly spoke, "I just want to talk..." He cautiously offered a red gloved hand. One that had Bill's symbol right on it.
Fiddleford looked hesitant and eyed them with a wary gaze, "What's there to talk about? You're with Bill too, ain't you?"
This Stanford flinched, but he let out a tired sigh, "Not that I had a choice."
Fiddleford went quiet for a moment as he glanced at the golden collar around the other's neck. His hand gingerly reached up to brush against his blue collar, buzzing with otherworldly energy, that still wrapped around his own throat. A strange sense of understanding washed between the two as they locked eyes again.