these amphibians are important to me

  • what he says: im fine
  • what he means: the panamanian golden frog is extinct in the wild. i watched a documentary about frogs and in between filming and post-production, the species went extinct in the wild. they had to put a fucking disclaimer about how oh, sorry, this frog is gone now. sorry for talking about it. and yet so many other frog and amphibian species are critically endangered and no one cares. does anyone care? is it just me? how can we be so heartless as to allow such a vast and important group of animals to just die due to their sensitivities to disease and human interference? it's just not fair and i feel completely helpless, so many species are going to go extinct in my lifetime and i feel like nothing i ever do is going to be enough to save them.

agent-jaselin  asked:

I'm not great at hijinks but maybe, stanley mcgucket au, Portal Ford winds up at the Mcgucket farm?

I had another idea, where Portal Ford ended up at the McGucket farm at some point post Chapter 12 of “Stan Pines, Farmhand”.  He’d be found by his adorable lil nieces.  But I had that idea after I had already written like 90% of this original idea, so who knows what’ll happen to the idea of Portal Ford meeting Danny and Daisy.


               “I think the weird noise came from over here,” the southern voice from before called.  Hidden by a bush, Ford swallowed nervously.  

               I’m injured, have no idea what reality I’m in, and have somehow stumbled onto some southerner’s farm. This likely will not go well.  He took his gun out of its holster and prepared to fire it if need be.  There was a rustling.  Someone parted the branches of the bush.  Ford found himself face-to-face with a pair of bright blue eyes and a very large nose. The young woman, well, more like a teenager, stared at him with blatant curiosity.

               “What is it?” another voice asked.  Ford’s blood ran cold.  He recognized that voice.

               “Some stranger!” the girl called back.  She cocked her head.  “Ya look mighty familiar, sir.  But ya ain’t from ‘round these parts, that’s fer sure.”  

               “What, uh, what year is it?” Ford asked.  She blinked.

               “1971.”

               Shit!  Ford hated accidentally arriving in a universe that had a slower timeline; he had to be incredibly careful to not accidentally give away secrets about the future.  

               “Angie, I don’t think ya should be talkin’ to strangers that ya find in bushes,” the second voice said.  “This person might be dangerous.”

               “Psht.  If’n he was dangerous, he’d have tried to attack me or somethin’,” the girl, Angie said casually.  

               He can’t see me!  Ford pointed his gun at the girl.  She leaned back, suddenly fearful.  

               “…Oh,” she said softly.  

               “Please, leave me be.  Walk away. Forget you saw me.  It’s for your own good.”  The girl stared at him, frozen in fear.  

               “Angie?”  When she didn’t say anything, the other person clearly grew concerned; Ford could hear footsteps approaching.  “Shit!” Ford instinctively fired off a shot in his panic.  It narrowly missed the girl, who stumbled backwards, clearly terrified.  “Fuck!”  Before Ford could take another action, a large fist collided with the side of his head.

—– 

               The room slowly swam into view.  Ford watched a ceiling fan lazily turn in circles, listening to the hushed voices from nearby.

               “I’m tellin’ ya, Angie, he looks just like my twin.”

               “If’n he was yer twin, I think he’d be a bit younger.”

               “How many people with twelve fingers and this nose are there?”

               “Those are very distinctive features.” Ford remained silent, trying to regulate his breathing so as to not alert anyone that he had woken up.  “…He stopped snorin’.”

               Damn.  

               “Stay here.”

               “But-”

               “He shot at ya earlier.  I’m not lettin’ him get another chance.”  

               “Fine.”  Footsteps approached.  Someone grabbed the collar of Ford’s shirt and pulled him up into a sitting position. Ford watched as a young man grabbed a chair and sat in it to face him.  He stared at Stan Pines, about 18 years old.  

               “Say somethin’,” Stan said.  Ford didn’t respond.  “I know it’s you, Stanford.  Don’t know how it’s you, don’t know why it’s you, don’t understand anything that’s goin’ on.  But I’d know my twin anywhere.”  Ford sighed.

               There’s no point in pretending.

               “Yes, Stanley.  It’s me.”  Stan nodded, clearly trying to hide any emotions he might be feeling about the situation.  “Where exactly am I?”

               “Arkansas.”

               “Arkansas?”

               “Yeah.  Ya ended up on the property of the family I’m a farmhand for.”

               “How did you get here?”

               “I got picked up when Pops kicked me out- wait, no.  I should be askin’ you that.”  Stan squinted at him.  “How did you get here, and why are ya so old?”

               “I’m…from an alternate reality,” Ford said tiredly.  

               “Holy buckets!”  The girl from earlier poked her head into the room.  “That’s amazin’!”

               “Angie, get yourself back in the kitchen,” Stan said.  Angie shook her head.

               “There ain’t no way I’m stayin’ in there, when yer twin from an alternate reality an’ prob’ly the future too, by the looks of him, is in here.”  Stan sighed.

               “Fine.”  Angie took a seat on the floor and looked at Ford with a vested interest.  

               “Ma ‘n Pa should leave us alone more often,” she said.  “I wonder if every time they leave fer a long weekend somethin’ excitin’ happens.”

               “Shit,” Stan said, running a hand through his hair.  “How ‘re we gonna explain this to your family?”

               “Tell ‘em the truth?” Angie said with a shrug.

               “How long do we have ‘fore your brothers get back?”

               “Lute ‘n Fidds should be back in a couple of hours, tops,” Angie said decisively.  Ford’s eyes widened.

               “Fiddleford?” he muttered.  Angie narrowed her eyes at him.

               “How do ya know my big brother’s name?”

               “I…guessed.”

               “Like hell ya did,” Stan said.

               “You’re his younger sister, then?” Ford said to Angie.  She nodded.  “The one who studies amphibians, right?”  Angie frowned.  

               “I mean, I like ‘em.  But I ain’t exactly studyin’ ‘em.”  She leaned forward.  “Are ya sayin’ that I study ‘em when I’m all growed up?”

               “Uh…”

               “Back to ya knowin’ Fiddleford’s name,” Stan interjected.  “How?”

               “It’s not important.”  

               “Yeah, it is, Sixer.”

               “No, it isn’t.  What’s important is that I leave this reality and return to my own as soon as possible. Before inadvertently destroying your reality’s timeline.” Angie blanched.  

               “That don’t sound good.”

               “It isn’t.  Look, I am going to leave, whether you let me or not.”

               “It ain’t safe fer ya,” Angie said.  “Yer hurt.”

               “I’ve dealt with much more severe injuries,” Ford said confidently. Angie and Stan stared at him, confused and worried.  “Seriously. I’ll be fine.”

               “We should let him go,” Stan said to Angie.  

               “But-”

               “No buts.  He might get pissed and shoot us.”

               “Do ya want any food or somethin’?” Angie asked.  Ford’s heart ached.  He recognized the southern hospitality that his old partner had displayed.

               “No, thank you.  I-”  He cut off at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel.  “Oh, no.”

               “What is it?” Stan asked.

               “Fiddleford can’t see me.  Do you have a back door?”  Angie nodded.

               “Stan, go ahead and show him out the back way.”

               “On it.”  Stan stood up and walked down a hallway.  Ford followed him.  “Another reality, huh?” Stan asked casually.

               “Yes.”

               “I guessin’ in yours I don’t end up with the McGuckets.”

               “…No.”

               “Figures.”  Stan pushed open a door to reveal an expansive yard.  “Go on.  I might be pissed at ya, but I hope ya get home.”

               “I’d say the same, but-”

               “Ya don’t need to.  Good luck, Sixer.”

               “You too, Stanley.”  Ford set off across the yard.  He looked back for a split second, but Stan had already closed the door.  

inaturalist.org
Saving Salamanders with Citizen Science
A new salamander disease is spreading around the world and we need your help to find out where it's going! If you find a dead or sick salamander in the wild, please take pictures and upload them to this project as soon as possible.

A handful of dead salamanders have recently been reported to me from the Appalachian Mountains. Please keep reporting these important records and share this message!

Fellow Hoodians, because of your adorable obsession with me, I trust you’ve all heard the rumor about my relationship with the frog man. At this time, I feel I must tell you that this rumor… is absolutely true!”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. I tend to be dramatic when addressing my people, but it’s very important to entertain them. The more stimulating you are, the more people show up when you summon them.
“I recently heard our relationship referred to as a cross-species catastrophe! This was very troubling, and it concerned me so much I lost twenty minutes of sleep last night. You see, this frog man is an amphibian only on the outside. Inside, he’s the long-lost Charming prince who was cursed to look like a frog many years ago. I’ve chosen to love him despite his flaws, just as I love you.
—  Queen Red Riding Hood’s Guide to Royalty - Chris Colfer

very important section of my room
if you wanna make my day just get me some reptile, amphibian or bug plushies and stuff

though there is an orca there because he’s special