“Over Here We Have Our Latest Experiment C1TR4 They Are A Humanoid Cyborg Feline, They Have Enhanced

that goddamn pig

I got some amazing Watchdog Ford fanart from the lovely @maztak and got permission to post it! Just look at this smug little shit, he's definitely plotting against some poor Ford rn.

Thank you again for the stellar art Maz!!!

𝓢ᵒ๓ᵉｲђιɴ𝘨ꮥ wrᴏ𝗇Ꮆ…

This lovely piece was inspired by this song:

You know this was inspired by those fidget slugs and honestly its one of my favorite things I ever drawn

As much as I lovelovelove Mystery Trio AUs- these three unhinged men should NEVER spend any amount of time together in their prime if you want any peace and quiet.

Someone merely mentions the ides of stealing *something* from a government facility? Stan's warming up the El Diablo that he's already taken the tags off; Ford somehow already has the blueprints to the building and Fiddleford has a handheld lock picking device that also knocks out the signal on surveillance cameras.

Ford finds it logical to use essentially chemical warfare on the guards they didn't know would be patrolling as he blows idk, fairy dust, in their faces. Stan notices that several of his personas' wanted posters are up in an office and he stuffs them in a paper shredder as they walk by not because he is embarrassed but because they weren't even good artist renditions of what he looked like. Fiddleford of course finds alien tech that the government officials are testing and pockets in, knowing it will come in handy for his next giant robot.

As they head back to the Shack Stan jokingly suggests knocking over a bank and Fiddleford nonchalantly says they don't need to, he built a printing press the other week. Ford nods, as if this is a completely reasonable response and Stan has never felt closer to his brother.

Sweater town

Childhood Bites Chapter One: The Taste of Something Forbidden

⚠️TW: Blood⚠️

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Glass Shard Beach was never truly quiet. The waves crashed against the shore, the salty air thick and ever-present, while the laughter of kids carried on the breeze. But beneath the carefree energy of the season, shadows lurked. For twelve-year-old Ezekiel “Zeke” Cutter, summer was supposed to be an escape. A break from school, from expectations, from the gnawing hunger he didn’t fully understand.

He had always been close to Stanley and Stanford Pines. They were his best friends—the only ones who really mattered. Stan was the loudmouth, always getting into trouble, always bruised but never broken. Ford was the brain, always thinking, always planning. And Zeke? He was the protector, the one who made sure no one messed with them. Which is exactly why, when Campelter started picking on them, Zeke saw red.

Campelter was the worst kind of kid. The kind that smelled like sweat and cheap cologne, who thought he was better than everyone because he was taller, meaner. He had it out for Stan from the moment they met.

“Hey, loser! Where’s your freak of a brother?” Campelter sneered, shoving Stan forward.

Stan stumbled, barely keeping his footing. Ford wasn’t around to bail him out—he was probably off reading somewhere, oblivious.

Zeke clenched his fists. “Back off, Campelter.”

Campelter just grinned. “Or what? You gonna cry about it?”

Zeke’s breath hitched. He could hear it—his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something deep, something hungry.

Stan’s lip curled as he stepped forward. “I can handle myself, Zeke.”

But Zeke wasn’t listening anymore. Campelter shoved Stan again, laughing, and something inside Zeke snapped.

It happened fast. One moment, Zeke was standing still, watching Campelter grin like he ruled the world. The next, his body moved on instinct. He lunged, teeth bared, sinking them deep into Campelter’s arm.

The taste—

It was—

Indescribable.

Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, coating his tongue. Campelter’s scream barely registered as Zeke bit down harder, his entire body trembling.

Then, just as suddenly, he let go.

Campelter stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm, eyes wide with terror. “WHAT THE HELL, YOU PSYCHO?!”

Zeke wiped his mouth, breathing heavily. His head swam, heart racing. What…what had he just done?

Stan and the other kids just stood there, frozen.

“Zeke…” Stan whispered, eyes darting from him to Campelter’s wound.

“I—” Zeke swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

“You BIT me!” Campelter howled, staggering backward. He was bleeding badly, but it was just a bite. It wouldn’t kill him.

Zeke’s stomach twisted. Not in guilt. Not in fear.

In hunger.

He ran. Didn’t wait for Stan. Didn’t look back. He sprinted toward the bordwalk, lungs burning, hands shaking. His mouth still tasted like blood. It wasn’t disgusting. It wasn’t wrong.

It was good.

But it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal.

Zeke gripped his head, breathing hard. “No, no, no. I can’t—I won’t—”

But he wanted no he needed more.

And worse?

He knew exactly where to find it…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

To Be Continued…

The Forgotten Pines

👁️⃤

* ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The Mystery Shack was alive with the usual sounds of summer.

The front door jingled as tourists came and went, their voices blending into the background noise of the gift shop. Dipper was at the register, struggling to explain to a skeptical customer why the so-called “Real Bigfoot Toenail” was definitely authentic. Mabel was draped over the counter behind him, doodling in her journal and occasionally chiming in with exaggerated claims to boost sales.

Soos, humming to himself, was fixing a squeaky floorboard near the entrance while Wendy leaned against the doorway, idly twirling an ice pop between her fingers. It was, by all accounts, an ordinary afternoon in Gravity Falls.

Inside the living room, however, things were much quieter.

Stan lounged on the couch, flipping through TV channels with his usual dissatisfaction.

“Two hundred channels, and they’re all garbage,” he grumbled, clicking past an old western, a soap opera, and a conspiracy documentary narrated by a guy who definitely sounded like Ford.

Ford, seated nearby, barely acknowledged him, too engrossed in one of his notebooks. His brow was furrowed, his pen tapping absently against the page as he reviewed old calculations.

It had been a year since Bill Cipher’s defeat. A year since the Rift was sealed, the universe restored, and Ford had finally come home. For the first time in decades, life had slowed down. No interdimensional chaos. No apocalyptic threats. Just family.

And for the most part, it was… nice.

Until the ground shook.

The vibrations rattled the entire shack, making the overhead lamp sway and knocking a picture frame off the wall. The twins heard it from the gift shop, their heads snapping up in alarm.

“Uh… was that an earthquake?” Dipper asked, already reaching for his journal.

“Or a ghost earthquake,” Mabel suggested, eyes wide with intrigue. “Which, statistically, is way less likely, but way more fun!”

Before they could speculate further, a faint blue light seeped between the floorboards, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.

Ford froze.

His breath hitched as his gaze shot toward the basement door.

Stan noticed. His brother had the exact same expression he’d had the day they first activated the portal.

“…Oh no.” Ford’s voice was barely a whisper.

Then, without another word, he bolted.

“Hey! What the heck is going on?” Stan barked, scrambling off the couch. But Ford was already halfway to the basement.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances. That was definitely not a good sign.

“C’mon!” Dipper grabbed Mabel’s wrist, dragging her along as they chased after the two older men.

Ford practically threw open the basement door, his heart hammering. His stomach twisted as he took the stairs two at a time.

Please don’t let it be what I think it is.

But the moment his feet hit the basement floor, his worst fear was confirmed.

The portal was active.

The impossible blue glow bathed the room in eerie light, reflecting off the rusted machinery that hadn’t been touched in over a year. It should have been destroyed. It should have been gone.

And yet—

A figure stepped through.

They moved slowly, deliberately, as if unused to solid ground. A thick, tattered cloak clung to their thin frame, hood pulled low over their face. Their boots—patched and worn from years of use—scuffed softly against the concrete as they took another step forward.

Stan and the others arrived just in time to see them emerge fully.

The tension in the room thickened. The air felt wrong.

Then the figure raised their head—

And Stan’s heart nearly stopped.

The hood fell back just enough to reveal a familiar, shaggy mullet, streaked with premature gray. Haunted, chocolate-brown eyes flickered between them, distant yet hyper-aware, like a cornered animal assessing its surroundings. Their posture was stiff, defensive, shoulders hunched slightly inward.

They weren’t just thin. They were scarred.

Burns, jagged and cruel, peeked out from the frayed edges of their gloves. The faint outline of an autopsy scar was just barely visible beneath their turtleneck.

But worst of all…

The jagged, glowing marks around their wrists and throat.

Stan swayed slightly, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

“…Lee?”

The name barely made it past his lips, his voice raw and disbelieving.

Ford was silent, his entire body frozen in place.

At the sound of his name, Stanlee flinched.

His hands twitched, one instinctively moving toward his forearm, where an old tattoo was partially hidden beneath his sleeve. His fingers pressed against it—an old grounding habit, though his hand still shook.

His breathing was too fast. The glow of the portal cast shifting shadows across his face, making it hard to tell if he was trembling from exhaustion or from something deeper.

Then—a flash of movement.

A photon pistol was in his hand before anyone could react, the barrel leveled directly at Stan and Ford.

Everyone froze.

“WHOA, HEY—OKAY!” Stan threw his hands up immediately. “Easy there, runt!”

Ford’s heart clenched. The way Stanlee held the weapon—his grip too tight, his stance unsteady—it wasn’t aggression. It was fear.

“Lee,” Ford said carefully, keeping his hands where Stanlee could see them. “It’s us. Stanley and Stanford. Your brothers.”

Stanlee didn’t lower the gun.

His shoulders shook. His fingers twitched. His breathing was too fast.

The blue light of the portal flickered across his face, illuminating something new—

The faintest glisten of tears.

“…I can’t trust this,” Stanlee rasped. His voice was barely there, hoarse from years of disuse, but the raw emotion in those few words shattered something inside Ford.

Stanlee’s hand shook violently.

Then—

“…You can trust us,” Mabel’s voice, softer than usual, cut through the thick tension.

Stanlee’s eyes darted toward the source—two teenagers. One with an earnest, hopeful expression. The other, a young man with hesitant but intelligent eyes, scanning him carefully, as if trying to understand him.

They weren’t illusions. They weren’t tricks.

They were just kids.

Real kids.

His grip on the gun loosened. His posture sagged, years of exhaustion crashing into him all at once.

The pistol slipped from his fingers.

And the moment it hit the ground—

Stanlee collapsed.

Stanford managed to catch his little brother before Lee could hit the floor

Stan quickly moved to support him as well, gripping his brother’s shoulders firmly, grounding him.

Stanlee trembled violently. His fingers curled into the fabric of Ford’s coat, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Don’t leave me again,” he whispered, the plea barely audible. “Please…”

Stan’s face crumpled “Aw, kid…” He pulled him in, his grip fierce but careful. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re home, Lee. You’re home.”

remember in carpet diem after stan took ford’s glasses from his room he spent part of the episode just stroking them, lost in thought

and then hid them from sight and mind because he didn’t want anyone else seeing him reminiscing so tenderly over one of his brother’s old belongings

because i do

i never forgot

billford animatic i made to the song 'confrontation'! ^^