#ptpc writes

"You know," Stan says quietly, cutting into the peaceful silence of breakfast. "If ya think about it, me and McGucket are your sugar daddies, Ford."

McGucket snorts loudly and slaps his hand over his eyes, shaking quietly with laughter.

Ford chokes on his drink, a little bit of coffee running down his lip as he convulses with coughs. He spits back into the mug and sets it down, then coughs harshly into the crook of his elbow.

"Christ, don't die on me now!" Stan exclaims.

Fiddleford lets out a hiccup of a giggle. "Stanley Pines," he says.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Before Fiddleford can respond, Ford recovers and lowers his arm, inhaling shakily. His face has gone rosy-pink.

(Six-fingered hands come up for just a moment to fidget with the ring on his necklace; the one that matches Fiddleford's.)

"Excuse me?" Ford demands.

"You're excused," Stan replies easily, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back into his chair. The grin on his face could win in a shit-eating contest.

McGucket can't help but burst into quiet giggles as Ford splutters.

"Wh- no, you can't just- that's not even true! I mean- I- it..." he trails off, becoming lost in thought -- but not for long. A look of flustered horror rains down on his face.

"Oh, my god," Ford squeaks. "Why would you make me aware of this..."

Fiddleford wheezes and leans over to Stan, resting the side of his head against his shoulder. His hands rest lightly on Stan's chest, gripping loosely onto the fabric of his shirt.

"To see the look on yer face," Stan chuckles. He tilts his head down for a moment to press a chaste kiss to the top of Fiddleford's head. "And hey, I thought it was pretty obvious. Ain't I the shinin' image of a sugar daddy?"

He spreads his hands as he says it, displaying himself. Though he's careful to not smack McGucket -- instead, that arm just wraps around the giggling man's frail shoulders.

Indeed, the gesture makes Stan's attire and accessories all the more obvious. Golden chain, a ring on each ring finger, a golden watch... hell, even the buttons on his hawaiian shirt seems a little shiny.

"Y-you gotta admit, he's not too- too wrong 'bout that," McGucket manages, wiping a stray tear from his eye with a little sigh. "Ooh, boy, that got me good..."

"Both of you, shut up," Ford protests, covering his hot face with both hands.

(Stan takes a moment to look at the ring on his brother's hand, unable to keep his smile from softening as he stares at the one matching his right-handed ring.)

"Or what?" Stan teases, gradually lowering his voice to a purr. "You know you like it. Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Can get'cha anything ya need..."

Ford squirms, uncovering his pouting face. "W-well, I would like a coffee after you make me spit mine back out, thank you."

McGucket cackles and has to take another moment to catch his breath. "Y'all are killin' me over here. How'm I supposed to treat my precious darling Ford over here right if I kick the bucket too early?"

After the reveal and the long conversation that followed, the two brothers had made it to Ford's livingroom and practically collapsed onto the couch.

Stan was drifting off, thinking about how he'd maybe go about asking for food. Well. Hm. Maybe Ford would just let him take some.

Wait. ...Does Ford even have food?

He was just about to start thinking about that, mentally trying to take stock of what he remembered of Ford's kitchen without getting up to actually check.

That was when his attention was drawn out of his thoughts, as Ford cleared his throat quietly.

"Stanley. Does this mean you can..." Ford trailed off, raising his hands from his lap. He didn't seem to notice they were just barely trembling.

Stan glanced at Ford's eyes. Oh. Fuck. A brief thought of attempting to lie to his brother formed, but.... no. He- just couldn't. Not about this.

He bit his lip. Nodded.

"Yeah, I can," he whispered, and his fingers went from ten to twelve as he lifted them towards his brother's. It was seamless. Practiced.

He chanced another look at Ford, who was clearly torn between staring at his hands or his face.

"You've-" done this before, went unsaid. Ford's bottom lip trembled.

There wasn't even a full thought to the movement. Stan's fingers brushed Ford's, and suddenly they were intertwined. Twelve with twelve.

"Stanley," Ford warbled. His grip was tight. "I'm- I'm so s-sorry. I didn't believe you, I c- I-"

Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he gasped for air.

"Moses. Hey, hey, Poindexter, it's okay. I get it," Stan murmured, thumbs rubbing along Ford's skin.

"C'mere," he tugged gently, and Ford followed, into his lap, burying his face in Stan's shoulder.

One of Ford's hands escaped the hold and his arm snaked around Stan's back, grasping desperately, just as the other held onto his brother's hand.

Stan, perhaps a little selfishly, pressed a kiss to the top of his brother's head, and continued to reassure him. It wasn't his fault, and Stan had never blamed him. He'd been hurt when those curtains shut, no shit, but he was here now. Figured that was the most important thing.

Thankfully, it seemed like Ford was beginning to calm down a little. He sniffled and shifted his head, nosing into Stan's neck.

"Sorry," he croaked.

"What, for getting my shirt wet? It's okay, Ford. I'm serious."

Ford let out a shaky breath, relaxing into Stan's hold. "I still... I wish it would've gone differently."

"Even if you did make a time machine to make that happen, why would you need to, huh? Hard part is over with. No reason to do it all over again in a different way."

His brother mulled over it, and Stan began to gently stroke up and down his back.

"Right," Ford murmured. "I just- I..."

"...I missed you," he finished.

Stan was not going to cry. He wasn't.

"Fuck. I- yeah. I missed you too," he sniffled, and pressed a kiss to Ford's forehead.

--

"You remember when.. we were really little, we'd just made the first Fort 'o Stan, technically, and I showed you- I showed you the six fingers?" Stan murmured.

"....Yes," Ford replied sleepily, head shifting where it laid on Stan's chest. "I had always thought I had made it up, in my head. And all the instances after. I always thought you'd been joking, but..." he yawned, "you were telling the truth, because..."

"Because I thought you knew," Stan huffed out a laugh. "Not sure how I messed that up."

"It was.. was on both of us," Ford murmured, cuddling ever closer.

Stan hummed. "Yeah, I guess. It is kinda funny it took you so long to know you'd been living with one of your anomalies since you were born, though. I thought you had some kinda nerdy internal, uh, weirdness radar."

"...You were my first anomaly," Ford said, suddenly more awake than he'd been in the last thirty minutes.

"Huh. I guess I kinda was. The blueprint, eh?"

Ford smiled, leaning up to kiss at his chin and neck. "You're.. my original inspiration. My muse."

"Alright, no need to butter me up that much," Stan muttered, heat rising to his face. "Go to sleep already, will ya? Otherwise at this rate I'm gonna burst into flames or something."

Ford chuckled lowly, but acquiesced and returned to his spot, head on his brother's chest, arms wrapped around him comfortably.

“Stanford, c’mon, lemme help-“

Ford growled and shook Stan’s hand off of his shoulder, turning on his side to face the wall. He paused, heaving for breath, then kicked their shared blanket to the ground in a fit of anger.

Stan sighed and took his glasses off just to pinch the bridge of his nose. “For fucks sake, Sixer. I’m- I wanna help you so you don’t try and bite Mabel’s head off later or some shit. Wanna make you feel good.”

For about 30 seconds, Stan was met with the sound of Ford’s breathing and small squeaks as he grinded his teeth together. He was just about ready to get up and start making a nest for Ford instead, but then, finally, his brother spoke:

“Stanley…I just- it’s…. in a way, new, to me. I’m not- not used to it, but I want… you. Stanley. I just want to… I need- control.”

Stan listened with a frown. Trying to really get what his brother was sayin’, because it was clear that even though Ford just wanted to snarl and bark, he was still talking and communicating. Stupid that that’s what works, but well. Anyway. He should probably say something before Ford tries to be all impatient about it.

“So.. you mean like you wanna be on top, or you just wanna be able to push me around while I take ya?”

Ford exhaled harshly, shifting so he could snake one hand down to touch himself. “Yes. Second option. Please.”

“I’m all yours-“ Ford moaned softly at that. A pang of heat snaked down to rest in Stan’s stomach. “Mm. You’re all fucked up, aren’t you? Where d’you want me, hotshot?”

Ford rolled onto his back, using the new angle to plunge two fingers into himself. “I just- I want- your mouth. Fuck. Get your clothes off and lay down.”

“Is it my birthday? Ow-“ Ford flicked his ear for the comment, but it was quickly forgotten as Stan did as asked, getting comfortable as Ford sat up.

Once he was close enough, Stan gently pulled on Ford’s wrist, taking his hand away from where it’d been getting busy. Ford whined, unsatisfied. Stan just chuckled.

“Poor baby. Let me replace those for ya,” he cooed, hands sliding up Ford’s body as he lowered himself down to his brother’s mouth.

The first taste of Ford’s cunt had both of them moaning, and Ford’s thighs trembled around Stan’s head.

“Stanley, would you- more, just, keep-“

He pet at Ford’s sides. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

That was the last thing he’d say for a while as he picked up the pace, eyes slipping shut as he focused on Ford’s pleasure. Licking a line up his brother’s pussy, moaning at the taste, sucking at his clit and finally, finally dipping his tongue inside Ford’s entrance.

Ford made an animalistic noise and threaded his fingers through Stan’s hair, tugging harshly.

“Ghh- yes, please- please-“

He muttered something in what Stan was pretty sure an alien language- the kinda thing that would probably take Stan decades to learn, so he’d kinda given up on translations for that stuff. Body language and tone was where most of the magic happens anyway, so that’s all he really needs.

And something tells him, just based on Ford’s reactions, that he’s doing pretty damn good. Ford’s starting to open up a little more now, so Stan manages to sneak a hand down and slip a finger in.

Ford sobs, rocking down onto Stan like his life depends on it. He’s getting close, so Stan figures he’ll add a second finger and a thumb at the clit, cock throbbing at the way Ford mewls from the new additions. Fuck, it never gets old. If he didn’t have to worry about his body going numb he’d wanna do this forever.

It’s what he’d call heaven if he believed in that kinda nonsense- deep inside his brother, only able to smell him, taste him, hear him. Those fingers tangled in his hair, and his thighs- powerful, strong- trembling from pleasure. The only thing that could make this better is if he can make Ford squirt- he moans at the thought, and that’s what manages to do Ford in.

He manages to get out a strangled shout of Stan’s name, gasping, muscles tightening. His cunt twitches as he comes, slick gushing out, getting in Stan’s mouth, dripping down his face and hands.

Stan just swallows and works his tongue until Ford whines and pushes off him.

It takes a moment to properly catch his breath, sitting up as soon as he can to get a look at his brother.

“Good?”

“Incredible,” Ford sniffles. A tear runs down his face, and Stan wipes it away. “Ah. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart.” The nickname makes Ford bashful, blushing like a boy. Stan can’t ever get enough of it. But, more importantly, he should ask…

“You feelin’ a little better?”

Ford nods. “Mm. I do want.. to continue. But I just- eugh. Sticky.”

“Shower? We can use that bench thing we got,” he suggests, sliding off the bed with a groan. He turns to hold a hand out to his brother.

Ford takes it, standing shakily and kissing Stan’s cheek. “I love you.” He makes a face. “Oh- also sticky.”

Stan lets out a snort. “Well, yeah, dork. You got your pussy juices all over me.”

“Pfft, ewww, don’t say it like that!”

“It’s true!” Stan laughs and gently pulls his brother along. “Love you too. Now c’mon, let’s get in there and sit down. Maybe try a bath.”

“Hmm. Tempting. We might get water everywhere though,” Ford points out.

maybe it starts as soon as ford comes back from the portal. he punches stan and then holds him by the shoulders to look him right in the eyes because: "For everything in the universe, Moses, what were you thinking, Stanley?"

stan isn't one to be outdone, so he grabs ford's arms too and, honestly, it takes a herculean amount of strength to not hug his brother right then and there, because ford's obviously furious (and that punch did kinda hurt).

"You're my brother, Ford. I didn't have to think about it." (he did, sometimes, but that's something he'd take to his grave.)

so they kinda skirt away from eachother after the whole "i want my house back, and i want my name back" (that was so dangerous, this realm is in danger, this realm isn't the same anymore oh god, are you okay?) and "as far as i'm concerned, they're the only family i've got left" (i still see you in my reflection, i want you to meet our family, are you okay?)

but dipper is concerned about ford not eating, talks to mabel, and she tells stan.

ugh. so now he's gotta feed the brother that punched him, too. how annoying. (just like old times, eh, poindexter?)

so he goes down, obviously. with a plate of something or other, you know. something that ford used to like. and, i mean, it's not like stan made it for him or anything, he just wanted the kids to try something new (they're sleeping over at soos's or someone else's tonight).

so he has an incredibly strained talk with the guy, touches his shoulder and feels ford jolt under his hand (and, ouch, does that smart), but is able to leave the plate downstairs. it's in the sink come morning, which is good, stan thinks.

and that, somehow, kickstarts it. stan comes down to bring the nerd food, and begins to yap about whatever. sometimes he manages to stay in there for a full 20 minutes, talking, fingers tapping on ford's shoulder, before he gets waved out.

and it only spirals from there. they keep absentmindedly prodding at eachother, until one time stan turns at the wrong time and ford, going for his knee or something, accidentally presses his entire palm to stan's crotch and absentmindedly squeezes, and of course, because of his own fucking dumb luck, stan moans a little.

they both freeze. ford's face goes beet red.

"...um, Ford, are you gonna-"

ford jumps and draws back as if fire just sprouted from stan's clothes. "RIGHT! YES! i, uh, i just- well, i didn't- oh god," he says, and genuinely scrambles to the elevator as if he'll be chased.

stan blinks and watches the doors close, then watches the dial turn from 3 to 2. wow, stan almost forgot the 2nd floor was there.

he waits maybe 30 seconds before taking the elevator to the 2nd floor.

"hey, listen, Ford," he starts as he walks in, preparing to apologize.

he stops. ford is masturbating. or, was, because now he's staring at stan with wide eyes, 6 fingers neatly wrapped around his leaking cock.

"wow," he murmurs.

"Stanley," ford says. "get out."

he jumps. "RIGHT! shit- sorry, i thought- yeah, fuck, okay."

he swallows, mouth dry, and leaves and spends the rest of the night in bed, staring at the ceiling, touching himself and cumming harder than he has in what feels like over two decades. he does not think about why ford's reaction to accidentally touching stan was to jerk off (it's definitely, absolutely not the only thing he thinks about as he shoots off and dirties his sheets).

the next day, stan drags himself through morning tours, then skips the afternoon ones to bring ford lunch, snagging it from dipper before the boy goes down and fawns at his brother (stan feels like he does enough of it as is, so dipper definitely doesn't need to add). thankfully, he gets wrapped up in something mabel's doing and leaves it be, this once.

which is good anyway, because ford doesn't like triangle-cut sandwiches anymore. he's okay with squares and "other fun 'wich-shapes" (coined by mabel, who does crap like cut pb&j's into spirals only to feed the excess to the pig).

so he brings squares down, because he's not mabel and doesn't feel like pretending. (he's done enough of it already, hasn't he?)

ford tenses as soon as stan announces himself. stan sighs and sets the plates down; crosses his arms.

"listen, ford, i don't care if you were yanking your own chain, alright, we're brothers, i've seen it all before. doesn't matter to me, okay? we can just forget about it."

he doesn't he realize he's started pulling at the hairs on the back of ford's neck until the nerd doesn't respond back for a lingering moment.

"oh- shit, sorry. do you want me to stop?" he asks, already pulling away.

"n-no," ford says, then clams up.

stan blinks. ford's face goes pink.

....huh.

slowly, cautiously, stan puts his hand back, sliding fingers into ratty hair. some of it pulls just because it hasn't been brushed in a while. ford's eyes close.

"...you like that?" stan asks, quiet.

ford swallows and cracks an eye open. he does a very small nod.

stan pulls a little harder. ford's mouth drops open, just barely.

a pit of lava opens up in stan's abdomen. holy shit. he's just taken ecstasy and it's starting to kick in, because, fuck.

that's how they end up fucking for the first time in almost half a century (moses, they're fucking old, stan thinks).

"Lee! oh, god, fff-fuck! Lee!" ford sobs, pushing his forehead onto stan's bare shoulder and rubbing onto him like a cat.

stan groans and readjusts his grip on ford's hips again and again, feeling him.

"Ford," he responds, breathless. "Ford. you- hahh, fuck, brother," he says.

ford shouts and comes, hands sliding over stan's back- up, down and out, repeat- and rubs his face into stan's neck.

stan keens and rubs his thumbs into ford's skin and comes inside, filling him so completely that it starts spilling as soon as he slips out. quietly, he pushes it back in with two fingers, then starts feeling around when ford's dick shows an interest.

ford moans and grabs and pulls him close, nails scraping into his hair and kissing him as stan's fingers explore and feel. ford comes again. stan keeps feeling until ford asks him to stop, and he does. wipes his fingers off on the nearest piece of clothing.

they manage to stumble into the next room, fitted with a small bed. at ford's request, stan gets on top and crushes him with bodyweight. at stan's, he slides back in, soft, and plugs ford up as they drift off.

"Well, other than the fact they're your hands, and they are special just 'cus of that," Stan starts, kissing the pad of his pointer finger, "they're, y'know, skilled. And rugged. And... innocent, at the same time. I like that in a man."

Ford playfully scoffs. "Knucklehead," and the way he says it is so fond it makes Stan glad he's got dentures, now. That kinda sweet tone would rot a lesser man's teeth right out. "And what do you mean by my hands are skilled?"

"Well-! It's just. All those little tricks you can do. Rollin' stuff between your fingers, shadow animals, card tricks, all that... stuff," he lamely finishes, looking away with a slight blush, absentmindedly playing with Ford's fingers.

Ford chuckles. "All that stuff, indeed. I wasn't, ah.. aware you were so enamored."

"Well," Stan says, then stops.

Curious, Ford raises an eyebrow at him.

Stan huffs and tries again.

"I mean, not always. There was this.. this day in.. Highschool? I don't remember. And you started learnin' all your, your tricks, and it was.. well. Started thinking about your hands a lot more after that," he admits.

Ford purses his lips and attempts to think back. "In Highschool..."

Right, that was right. Their mother had just taught Stanley how to cheat at cards, when their aunts and great-aunts and cousins and everyone still kicking at the time had joined up for.. well, it was somebody's... birthday? Or perhaps a holiday.

And Ford had seen Stanley learning cards, looked down at his own hands, and wondered.

It had been decades since then, and he didn't remember it any better than Stanley could. He just knew that was what had prompted it.

With a light hum, Ford stretches and grabs a pencil from the nearest surface, twirling it between his fingers as he settles back down.

Stan blushes. "Yeah, like that. Fuckin' showoff."

Ford just laughs. "And this does something for you?"

He gets a mumble in response, because Stan has now buried his face in Ford's chest and is talking to his shirt.

"Stanley, really," Ford giggles and grabs at Stan's chin.

Stan rises onto his elbows, a lopsided grin on his face. "Really what? Silly? Stupid? We've established those already."

"You're not stupid," Ford huffs, pressing his palm to Stan's face, fingers sliding over scratchy stubble. Stan's eyes slide closed with a pleased sigh. "Moses, you need to shave."

Stan barks out a laugh. "That's what you wanted to say?"

"Pfft! No, but it's true! I just meant to say, ah... well, I suppose I truly don't understand the hand thing. ..You really like them?"

Stan gives his brother a withering look.

"No, genius, I hate them and want them cut off," he rolls his eyes sarcastically, but that blush returns to his face as he adds, softly, "Of course I like 'em, I just- fuck, I dunno. They're pretty, and they- they take care of me, they do amazing stuff, they're, uh, big and strong, and warm, I guess? Just- you know, if I had a pussy I'd want you to finger me alla the time."

"Stanley!" Ford laughs, scandalized.

Stan shrugs and glances at the wall. "Well, it's true," he grumbles, skin a pretty shade of pink. He's almost pouting. "They're just.. cute. I dunno."

At that, a warmth blooms in Ford's chest. Nostalgic, overwhelming, heartfelt, Stanley. It's too easy to set the pencil back where he found it- he had just been limply holding the thing for a while.

Fingers come up under Stan's chin, gently turning so Ford can see his face again.

"Six.." Stan warns, but lets him do it anyway.

Ford just hums and cups his brother's face, thumbs brushing Stan's bottom lip. Stan swallows, and, really, Ford can't even help it at this point.

He coos over his little brother, bodily pulling Stan closer to press chaste kisses to the face he wants to cherish and revere for- well, the rest of time. Hands skirting along Stan's sides, gripping flesh through fabric until they find their way under that tanktop and start anew.

"Love you," Ford murmurs, smile wide and soft as he kisses at the wrinkles on Stan's face. "My sweet darling, you- I just- my hero," he says, beaming so wide it almost makes his face hurt.

And Stan just melts.

---

Later, the elder twins both positively kiss-drunk, manage to slot themselves together at the kitchen table, sipping at glasses carrying drinks of choice.

"You know," Ford starts, looking blankly down at his coffee. Once he hears Stan's questioning noise, he continues. "I know of a spell that can change physical sex characteristics for a short period of time. If you do, in fact, wish it.. I could finger your pussy."

Unsurprisingly, Stan spits out his drink and starts coughing.

Ford jumps to attention, and, once the coughing stops, Stan straightens up, revealing his beet-red face.

"Are you.. alright?" Twelve fingers hover uncertainly.

Stan rubs a hand down his face and scoots his chair back a little. He's hard- or getting there.

"Just surprised," Stan answers, gruff. Shyly, he adds, "..How long would it take for you to prepare that spell?"

Warmth blooms in Ford's abdomen, spreading downwards. He perks up, grinning.

He hears footsteps, so he raises an arm. “Hey.”

His brother leans their body against the side of the couch Stan’s laying on.

“Hm. Move so I can join you?”

“Sure, Bill,” Stan murmurs, swinging his legs off and sitting up as it settles in with him, shoulder to shoulder.

Bill blows a raspberry, it’s higher-pitched voice revealing itself now that Stan’s guessed right.

“Well, shit, how’d you know it was me this time?”

Stan smirks. “Told me to move instead of asking me to move.”

“Fuck. But I had you with the voice at least, right?” Bill asks with a pout, resting its head on Stan’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, hotshot, I almost thought you were Sagan,” he answers, hand resting on his brother’s thigh, thumb rubbing gently.

“What?!”

Stan snickers.

“Sorry. Sounded too deep.”

Bill just groans quietly, “Ugh. Okay, fine, I guessssss I have’ta work on it. Whatever. So what’cha doing, Fiver?”

It pokes Stan in the thigh, then raises its hand to poke his cheek.

“Blegh,” Stan says, waving the hand off with a scrunched face. “Hands offa the goods. I was just resting my eyes. Thinkin’.”

“You’re nooooooo fun,” Bill drags out, whiney, but not really meaning it. “We’re outta whipped cream.”

“Pfft. Yeah, that was Sweetheart. Let him take the last of it ‘cus he was freaking out about something the other day.”

Bill groans again and slumps, sliding its head into Stan’s lap and twisting its body to drape over the rest of the couch.

“I’m so borrrrrrrrred. Staaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnn.”

“What.”

“…..I dunno.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Moses. You’re a big baby.”

Regardless of this fact, and the complaints that Bill immediately spills into, Stan relaxes and threads his fingers through his brother’s hair, petting and scratching gently at the scalp until his brother is reduced to satisfied purring.

——

i think canon would go exactly the same even if ford had DID, save for some of the dialogue - esp because i dont think ford wouldve realized they had DID until being in gravity falls. maybe meeting some of the anomalies and theyre all like “uh no thats not a normal human thing buddy” LMAO😭. either that or finding out through bill when they start exploring their own head!

just before the paranoid era, the og triangle himself probably messed with ford’s brain to make it harder for the system to communicate within their mindscape- so og bill using the sticky notes and paper and breaking all the writing tools he could while possessing their body would’ve been an act to lessen communication between them.

they were probably very blurry during the paranoid era and sometimes weren’t sure if they were being possessed by og bill or if they were fronting (im thinking bill the introject would have formed during paranoid era, but was pretty dormant up until weirdmaggedon or just after it.)

so by the time stan came to help, they were alllll out of sorts. probably couldnt get 100% sorted until getting the metal plate (i assume a few years into the portal), but there still wasnt a ton of communication cus it really was touch & go, survival of the fittest sort of thing for a longgg time for them.

so like. while it mightve been brought up & briefly explored before weirdmaggedon, i think most of the self discovery wouldve happened after weirdmaggedon & stan getting his memories back. like, going into stans mindscape to help him heal but theres some hijinks so stans suggest him going into fords mindscape to help, too. yays!

and would it be fucked up or what if introject bill was the one who had to shoot stan with the mem gun…..oughhh.

on a funnier note, considering it’d be mostly the same as canon and the going into the mindscape spell and all that works fine with ford & DID in general. would system hopping be a real thing. probably not? but its a silly thought to me. hopefully thats not ableist to say that cus i know irl its not a real thing aljskjsksjk.

also mention of some other sweetiespies in ford’s system, sagan and sweetheart. i’m thinking sagan is kinda a protector & partial introject, some bits of manly dan and some bits of stan, so his voice is lower when fronting.

bill, i’m thinking, is a prosecutor, so it doesn’t really like sagan all that much. tbh bill probably doesn’t super get along with most in the system bc of who it’s an introject of, but everyone warms up to it eventually. mostly.

and then sweetheart (given a name by stan bc i think it’s cutes) is a non-speaking alter who holds a lot of bad memories from the portal years. i think it’d be cool if he has the form of something that brings the system comfort, like the original stan o war. maybe a smaller version in headspace.. but yeah sweetheart is kinda a specific memory holder. i think is the term? and he likes fronting to be with stan (most of them do, but some won’t want to admit it, like bill lol). would he also count as an introject? or is that only for based on real people & not real objects🤔. idks

but. hmm yeah ford would probs have a more introject heavy system? considering most fictional media they wouldve consumed wouldve mostly been in childhood. so. i guess other possibilities would be like. filbrick caryn shermie. classmates from new jersey or BMU. fiddleford / other mcguckets. anomalies they’ve met (“mothman owes me money” comes to mind LOL). older gf townspeople🙂‍↕️ cus like they wouldnt have known robbie + his friends, or wendy + her brothers for example. OH and otherbeings fom portal travel is possible too🙂‍↕️.