[ID: Four Drawings From Darklordofawesomeness' Cat Stan Series.

Maniacintosh - it WILL eat your finger!

Little playaround that got carried away.

Dorks.

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

Stanford is sent through the portal, meanwhile Stanley gets some mutant powers from the portal.

Why? Because shit sounds like something out of a marvel comic, COME ON!

Really enjoyed @cyphertronix's Game Changer/Gravity Falls art, so

...and then I started thinking about "Like My Coffee", so here are some of those:

that stream inspired me

I'm at work so I'll have to expand on this later .....maybe ANYWAYS I have an idea for an au...

Stan and Ford as multi dimensional space pirates. That it! The pines brothers as multi dimensional space pirates where they go around to different dimensions and loot cool items. I was also thinking that bill and his henchmaniacs are like a rival pirate crew or something not sure again I'll probably expand more on this

i'm peeing

Evelyn Burns Petals

Hello again i figured i would post some of my old stuff since i didn't have the confidence before so i hope you enjoy :D

Finished February 9, 2023

“BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!”

Chanting, chanting is all you can hear when you enter the town. It’s fairly common nowadays to hear such words be uttered by so many people. It’s a shame, to hear it another time, however it's not your business, you’d rather stay away and not accidentally get yourself caught again. That time, it almost took you a whole two days for the magic to even get the wound to scab. Either way, the point is that Evelyn is missing.You have a feeling she’s here because two days earlier she had mentioned finding a place that sold mint leaves since you and her had run out. 

The earlier chanting grows louder as you make your way to the centre of town after looking everywhere for Evelyn. Hundreds, if not thousands of women, men and children alike all gather around a podium in the centre of town. The podium had what looked to be a wooden beam with the silhouette of a person you can’t seem to make out, all tied up as a person on the right seemed to be making a speech. However you were unable to hear what exactly they were preaching about for the chanting had elevated to a nearly deafening sound.

“BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!!!”

You, by some miracle, get past the other townspeople just enough to just make out the person, but by that time you were already too late as the fire had already started burning.

“EVELYN!!!!”

You’re running now, your hood has fallen' off as you’re trying desperately to get past the townspeople most not moving as they and you watch the fire creep closer to Evelyn.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!!” “EVELYN!!!”

You finally manage to get past the people in front of you, them recognizing you seemed to have made them move, clearing a path for you to get to the podium. The chanting grows ever louder as you make your way up the stairs, pushing past the mayor and getting to Evelyn. You’re suddenly being pulled back further away from her as she’sburningshe’sburning SHE’S BURNING!! You don’t even care any more as you are struggling to get out of whoever is keeping you awayawayAWAY SHE NEEDS ME!! 

BANG!

Everything goes silent, so silent even that you're not sure if the silence is only for you or if the world had gone quiet for that single moment.  You’re let go, somehow, but you don’t care as you run as her smoldering body falls, you catch her; she’s still hot to the touch but you can’t seem to feel a thing as she lays there, in your arms. She almost looks peaceful if not for her being so chard you almost can’t recognize her. Someone is speaking to you but all you can care to even think about is her body, she’sdeadshe’sdead SHE’S DEAD! 

“Hey! It’s alright it’s dead, the wicked witch is dead! She can’t hurt you anymore like she did to us!”

You stop in your tracks for a moment, 

she can’t hurt me anymore like she did to them?

Evelyn? the girl who took you in when you were on your last legs. Evelyn, the woman who would make flower crowns out of burning blossoms for you and her on summer days. Evelyn, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly when it was in the house being a nuisance, and instead held it with a wood carved cup and paper underneath to let back outside? EVELYN who would give the worst criminals a chance. THAT EVELYN!?!

The thought of her, losing her, especially in this way, makes you thirst for something more. 

Something deadly 

For them to not only disrespect her as a person and not view her as a person is despicable in its own right. But to take her out of this world!! You feel something equally worse than rage, something that screamed murder, that screamed blood, and to hurt hurt HURT!

Next thing that happens the person behind you starts screaming and coughing up blood. So much blood the pool reaches to your kneeling body. The mayors - you figure from the screams- “bodyguards” become worried, one of them asking behind you,

“What did you do, WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO!!”

“oh?”

You ask while lowering the body (Evelyn's body, she’s dead SHE’S DEAD), turning around to face the “guards”, cocking your head, face already morphed into an almost doll-like smile nearly able to hide your burning rage. 

“What did I do?” 

“Well you see, what I did there is what you will all experience when I'm done with you”

The crowd begins to whisper words and share worried glances at each other waiting anxiously for someone, anyone to be brave enough to ask the question they’re all thinking.

“What is it?”

The only other “guard” who isn’t coddling the mayor is the only person to ask the question. Silence stretches for what felt like hours but was more likely minutes just waiting for you to answer their question. Fearful of what you might say. You wait to answer even debating on whether or not to even answer their question. You make your decision after what was really minutes. 

You turn to the guard, and you answer.

“Death”

The crowd gasps clearly distraught by the answer, however most too scared to speak some foolish ones screamed profanities however those to soon die down to nothing. The guards stand guard around their ruler in fear of what else you might possibly do to their mayor. It was almost cute if not for the anger you still feel. You turn to the crowd still not finished with your speech.  

“AND YOU ALL HAVE 24 HOURS TO EVACUATE THIS PLACE BEFORE I BURN THIS PLACE JUST AS YOU HAD DONE TO MY BELOVED, MY WORLD!!” You nearly scream this out loud, your voice cracking ever so slightly. You feel your voice might rip open and stop making sound.

“AND EVEN WHEN YOU ALL THINK YOU SAFE I WILL COME FOR EACH ONE OF YOU AND KILL YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES!” you feel anger swelling up inside you, you almost can't breathe. You try taking a mental breath but the images of her still burn brightly in your mind you give up.

“TAKE THIS AS A LESSON TO NEVER AND I MEAN NEVER TRIFLE WITH THE MOTHER OF STARS! SERVANT OF DEATH AGAIN!!” you feel as though your body is shaking immensely as you pour your soul out helplessly hoping someone will listen. 

But no one ever listens

You turn back to the mayor, no longer the doll-like face before now a void with hundreds of thousands eyes nearly covering your face staring. back. at. him.

“This is not the end, but the beginning of your end.”

And as if she was never there the ‘witch’ vanishes leaving the town with dread for the inevitable. 

Most don't leave that day, most not believing what she said. And with their decision they never leave again, the town seemingly still burning to this day. However those who did leave and did listen, those people lived in constant fear that one day she may come back and take their lives once more…..

And for Evelyn's body, may she rest under the burning blossom tree. Forever to burn elegantly.