They Make Me Sick - Blog Posts

A while ago some anon asked me to draw stangst, and today I finally deliver with it. My heart breaks into pieces every time I think of those 30 years the Stan twins spent in loneliness ;-;

Hey so i got brain worms for a bit with this prompt and started working on it....... but unfortunately the worms have left the station and so i have this sorry for it being unfinished :(

hope you like it anyways :D

Pain

A pain that was progressively getting more noticeable and this all encompassing pressure along his neck, mouth, hands, legs and shoulders were the first things Stan notices when he finally becomes aware of himself after being knocked out. The second thing he notices is that it’s starting to feel quite hot…or it's always hot, he doesn’t know; but what he does know is that opening his eyes does jack shit for helping him get his bearings in order. Though after shifting (read: flailing) around a bit Stan comes to the conclusion that he’s in the trunk of either one of Rico’s cars or some random car. Speaking of the fact that Stan left his car in an alleyway in some backwater town before Rico’s men found him. 

You should of just skipped town instead of staying for an extra day you knew Rico was still after you yet you stayed for what, a few hours of sentimental wallowing at the beach thinking about hi–

Stan shifted about some more; rubbing the rope that was around his wrists and ankles a lot in the process, trying to find where the trunk latch was. After a bit more shimmying and trying desperately to control his breathing he found where the latch was. 

The thing was though it was locked and unfortunately kicking it like stan had been doing for however many minutes… or has it been hours or days or wee– had done nothing but make his already ear splitting headache even worse as stan now starts to panic.

brea–

Fuckshitfuck Im fucking stuck in here they fucking locked me in here to die! Theyleftmetodieinhere to die in here either from starvation, dehydration or from boiling alive inthisfuckingcar

Breath–

He’s shifting more wildly now. Trying to yell, scream anything but it’s all muffled behind the cloth wrapped around his mouth digging into his cheeks.

Desperation in every movement as Stan trys and trys and trysandtrysandtrysandtrysan–

Breathe–

I gave them the fucking money i owed and it was stillnotENOUGH

The muscles in Stan’s legs grow more stiff the more he kicks.

I'm going to die here without those millions, i'm going to die proving pa right, that he was right that all i'm good for is ridding off of other people BETTER people’s coattails and bringing them down

BREATHE–

What would ma think? 

BREATHE–

Would she care? 

BREATHE–

What would Ford think?

BREATHE–

Would he be glad to not have the screw-up to think about when he’s DEAD

BREATHE–

Would he even care?

BREA–

THUMP

That’s when he hit something softer than the rest of this godforsaken car. Just behind where Stan hit his head in a blind panic was the backend of the backseat. It might be his only way out Stan thought numbly; his teeth already feeling phantom pain of what was about to come. 

The next however long was spent in a fog of numbness and all encompassing determination as he wraps his teeth around the looser piece of fabric on the backseat and yanks; choking on his gag in the process, but that didn’t stop him as he keeps yanking and yanking. Stan starts to feel copper in his mouth as the fabric rips off. A small victory as Stan continued this rhythm the whole way through the backseat. Find the weak spot. Tear. Find the weak spot. Tear. As Stan goes along, the cloth around his jaw starts to cut more and more into his cheek, digging further and cutting the edges of his mouth. Fortunately wareing down the cloth more as his teeth grind against the fibers of both the cloth and the backseat and allows Stan to be free from the gag. Not that he notices as he keeps going little by little chewing his way through the backseat of the car. The copper taste gets increasingly more potent and the smell of sweat, grime, and flesh make itself more known as Stan continues his onslaught, feeling chunks of something fall with the fabric and cotton he’s tearing out. 

There are no thoughts and no overwhelming feeling as Stan starts seeing more and more light while ripping through the seat. Just a need to keep going. To keep ripping and he’ll be free. 

For now at least.

When the hole to the backseat is bigger than his head; Stan uses his upper body strength to force himself through the newly made hole. Not caring how he got out, just that he did; cramming his shoulder the metal bits inside the seat scraping down his shoulder blades possibly  dislocating his right shoulder in the process, though Stan’s not entirely sure about it as he doesn't feel a thing; the numbness encircling his mind makes it quite hard to think or feel anything. 

Once out, the first thing Stan does is wrap his tied hands to the headrest of the driver’s seat back as flush as he can get before thrusting his body away from the headrest snapping rope around his in a violent manner taking a bit of skin off his wrists with the rope. Next was rope around Stan’s legs, this being a lot easier to get done as his hands were now free from the rope. Once done freeing his legs, Stan climbed over the center console and over to the driver's seat; stumbling as he went, then shoving his entire body weight into the driver’s side door, the door swinging out as if its owner didn’t care whether or not it was open or shut. Unfortunately that meant that Stan went flying out the door onto the hard dry ground. 

“Ah ‘uck” Stan groaned out as his face hit the ground.

Stan layed there for what felt like an eternity but was really only about 5 minutes; just lying there soaking up the feeling of the dirt beneath him. He needed to move, to figure out what was wrong, he needed to get help, there was so much blood he needed to move, but he couldn’t for the life of him get his body to listen. It was as if he was a guest to his own body barely feeling much, just an overwhelming feeling of numbness. Sure he felt that something was off with his body, the lack of teeth when he wrung his tongue against his gums and felt just that; gums, and his –what he’s pretty sure is very much dislocated– arm. He just can’t seem to get his body to operate the way he wants right now. 

Get up dumbass you got this far now just get up and keep moving  it’s not like anyone is going to come help you and if someone does come it definitely will not be anyone who would help you so. Get. Up.

Stan just couldn’t get himself to move even with his thoughts arguing about getting up he can’t seem to move.

Get up if you don’t know Rico’s buddies will most likely come back to see if their job was successful and if they see you out they will just shoot then and there GET. UP.

And by some outward force of will or just the thought of Rico’s men coming back at all seems to be the motivation his body apparently needed to start moving. Slowly, like an ancient mechanical robot Stan slowly got up from the ground, feeling a little–…or a lot Stan didn’t know– light headed he started moving in a direction not caring where he was going just that he was and maybe if he was lucky– like lucks been of his side so far –he would find a phone box to call someone to help him.

What was about and hour of hobbling in one direction, not including the times he took a break to go and spit out a wad of blood out of his mouth; he’s pretty sure he also spat out a few more teeth as well but that was neither his problem nor did he care right then and there. Stan found a small gas station, just a dingy looking thing not that Stan can complain at all given the life he lives or he guesses barely lives Ha.Ha. Anyways the gas station was nothing much just a two way pump spot for two cars use which was situated right next to the road and a corner store just a little ways away from the pump spots. Right next the corner store was the phone box he was looking for.

Huh guess my luck hasn’t run out yet… yippee..

Stan didn't even realize he even moved until he’s already at the phone box and the phone– now in his hand –was ringing.

*Hello this is 911 speaking what’s the emergency* 

Stan takes a breath before he tries to explain that he needed help. It took a couple tries as he was stuttering so much. As he is trying to explain he gets interrupted

*Sorry what was that i couldn’t quite hear you*

Stan blinks at that.

Of course they can’t hear you dumbass, you don’t have any teeth to help you speak properly

So instead of trying to talk again –because trying to talk the first time took a lot out of them just for the person on the other side to not understand was draining him– he tried tapping morse code. It was not one of the many skills he picked up on in his life as a ‘traveling salesman’ but one he picked up back when he was still someone to somebody even if it was just the lesser, dumber, version of them. Back when the better him; his brother even bothered to teach him stuff, though granted when they decided to learn it they mostly used it to cheat on tests, but it was the fun of it that mattered and honestly still helps him to this day like this call… which he should probably be paying attention to what they were saying shouldn’t he.

*Listen sir if you aren’t going to be taking this seriously then i will have to end this call*

Nonononononono was all stan thought as he frantically taped and scraped the mic portion of the phone trying pleading silently that they would know what he was desperately trying to say. He was so absorbed in trying to get this person to hear him, to understand him, to help that he didn’t notice the person on the other side of the phone disconnected until about two minutes later. Stan slumped, feeling ready to fall over at any moment but he had one other person to call. Stan fished into his threadbear hoodie looking to see if there was any change in it that Rico’s guys didn’t grab, to find just enough money left to call one other person.

Should he call ma? no..no he didn’t wanna give her anymore of a reason to think lowly of him or worse get worried….maybe sher–

Why don’t you stop being a pussy and call HIM you know he can help

No he can’t do that to him, besides who’s today he will call this time?

You know that’s a bullshit answer he always answers

Was he really sure of it or was it delirium talking, he has been losing a fair bit of blood

Just call him, what's the worst that can happen? He just confirms all your fears? Just. call.

It seems that Stan just loves making his own life worse as he begins to call a number he’s put in multiple times throughout his time as a grifter. He just hopes this time he’ll have the courage to talk this time.

It was a calm night in Gravity Falls. The sky was clear, the moon was at its fullest allowing moonlight to shine wonderfully down onto the foliage surrounding the sleepy little backwater town. Well mostly sleepy, as the lowly scientist was still sitting at his desk writing in his journal his seventh cup of coffee of the night, sitting getting cold as he absorbed himself in his work. For the past four ish years he’s been working as a field researcher trying to find why Gravity Falls is such a hot spot for the weird and unusual. 

Which is what he was working on, he recently talked to some of the locals about anything that could lead him to the answer that he was looking for. One of the locals said that he was talking about a cave system that may or may not have ancient writings in them. Ford was writing down what they had told him when he got interrupted by his phone ringing. 

He was half attempted to just ignore it.

If it’s important they will have to leave a message

He went back to writing thinking about possibly going to go check the cave out tomorrow if the weather was still nice tomorrow. But his mind kept going back to the phone and about halfway into the third ring Stanford picked up the phone.

“Hello this is Stanford pines.”

….

….

…..

He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone, just breathing and the low rustling of the wind in the background.

“Ok i’ve about had enough with your prank calls! If you don’t have anything to say then I firmly demand that you lose this number. I have important work that needs to be done and can’t be here wasting my time on someone who won’t even respond back. Good day or night in this case–”

It was then, when he was about to hang up that he heard it. Tapping. Tapping and scraping in a pattern that felt familiar to him. It’s morse code.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

The pattern was heard repeatedly through the phone as Ford scrambles to grab a piece of paper and starts writing down each letter to the corresponding rhythm.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

H-U-R-T

Okay okay so the person on the other side of the phone is injured in some way. How much Ford didn’t know, he also didn’t know why they didn’t just call the authorities but that was a question he could ask after he finds out first; where they were hurt, where they were so that he could get a hold of some who could potentially help. Hopefully. 

Ford repositioned his phone so it was more comfortable for him as he wrote the person's answers to his questions.

“Okay, so you say you’re hurt, could you tell me where it hurts?”

….

….

There was a bit of shuffling that was picked up through the phone like the person on the other side was weighing something before an onslaught of tapping and scraping was heard.

Scrape scrape – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap

M-O-U-T-H

….

Tap tap tap – tap tap tap tap – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape –

S-H-O-U-

A pause, a hum before…

Tap – tap tap tap scrape – tap – tap scrape tap – scrape tap scrape scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap – tap tap – scrape tap – scrape scrape tap

E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G

GO MY PIGEONS, DELIVERY MY IDEAS

GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. OKAY.

What if, and stick with me, WHAT IF

Ford, in one of the many “prank” calls he gets, he hears something this time. Not just anything, tapping.

At first he’s like “bruh” and goes to hang up the phone, but his naturally curious mind stops him. This tapping feels too organized, too put together.

It’s Morse code.

Ford grabs a piece of paper and a pen and stars scribbling out letter after letter.

It’s just the word ‘hurt’ over and over again.

Ford gets a bit freaked out, but he starts talking, asking what happened, WHO this is. The who and what happened doesn’t get answered immediately, he finds out it’s Stanley of course.

This all just takes place after Stan chewed his way out of the trunk of a car and his mouth is fucked up seven ways to Sunday and can’t communicate besides tapping. The police hung up pretty much immediately, Stanford was the only one he knew of that would understand Morse code.

Blah, blah, blah, hurt/comfort for both my blorbos.

Fiddlestan Anon I cannot find your ask but here u go

God he is so girl dad coded! I love them so much 🥰 ❤️😊

I'm sorry, but.....

Tw: Pedophilia, zoophilia and incect mentioned.

I hate proshippers/darkshippers so fckin much. You guys are disgusting. You're like, "But these are fictional characters!!" however, technically you are supporting this crap. Stop portraying yourselves as victims, you are just disgusting people who sexualize incest, pedophilia, zoophilia and etc. It's like violence against animals. First animals, then people. I absolutely despise you all.

Stop that!

Some silly little sketches of silly little guys. Sorry the coloration is weird, my phone camera is kinda garbage :p

Also i reference this really good fiddauthor fic in the first pic :)

Not sure if they have tumblr

Why do you persist? After everything I’ve done.

Because I promised you!

jon calling sam "sweet fool" is so romantic and cute im sorry, is so boyfriend coded

It is killing me....

༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

My Head Is Made Of Flowers

i slightly like how this turned out and i wont be able to finish it until like next week if i even still want to by then so i thought i might as well post it <3 im already seeing mistakes but i am too tired to do anything about that

i'm in a prosenna rabbit hole, if you can't tell

soul fucking mates.

This edit is living in my head rent free

ShadowVanilla comic: "Embrace truth as we would embrace deceit"

ONGGG i finally finished this. it was fun to make? yes and NOPE my finger hurts

But i love shadowvanilla as you can see, so it was really worth it <3

ignore my sightly bad handwriting and my skills of drawing comics 💀 im still learning guys

CW: abuse, gore?, description of burning death

AO3

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Sunburn

“Ah… I wish you had found your new friend.” Sylris smiled and placed his crown on a pillow. “The imaginary intruder should be on the stacks too, don’t you think so? They were very disrespectful at us, my dear.”

Kenyan didn’t bother to answer, as she was busy trying to take off her rings, what at the moment seemed like an impossible task. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and her body was burning inside out.

Burning almost as much as she had burned those people.

The difference between them and her was in their innocence. They were people who begged for food. People who ran from a slavish job. People who fought to protect their family. People who denounced an injustice.

And she was a murder wearing a lavish long gown. Pampered by all, adorned with jewelry; an elegant example of holiness and grace to Martra.

Her nail bent over and she hissed. Blood was simmering from there, dripping down on the white skirt, and all she could do was stare at it. Stare at the red blur, at least, as her trembling wouldn’t let her focus on anything.

It was deeply awful. Herself, she meant. She was awful. She should be dead with them. Or better saying, they should be alive, and she should suffer the worst death in this world. That was all she deserved.

“Hurting yourself already?”

Sylris came from behind when she noticed his hand holding hers. His other hand had fell on her waist, keeping her close to him on this embrace.

“You know this won’t change anything, right?” he whispered against her pointy ear. “Hurt yourself or no, they’re still dead. Unmoving, unchangeable, permanent: that’s what death is. That’s what you did, my love.” He took her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers, one by one.

His voice was nauseating. His words made her skin crawl. His kisses were poison. And his hands? Treacherous, horrendous hands? Always knew where to touch, where to press, where to hold.

He had slid his arm around her belly, and her body faltered slightly over his. She shivered as her unsteady heart went out of control.

What kind of personal betrayal was it? How could her body lean upon the evil she despised the most? How could she feel anything other than hatred for this nasty creature?

But perhaps a monster called for a monster. Her other half would be like her half.

It was only fair.

Even so, she’d rather be alone forever than staying with him.

“Let me go, I’m tired,” she muttered. “I need to rest in my chambers.”

“Why not in mine? You’re shaking so much; it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to hold you, would it, love?” He turned her over, keeping them face to face. “Or are you thinking about staying with your pet at this time of night?” He smirked.

“He’s not my pet,” came the automatic answer. However, her throat tightened at the thought.

After their discussion, Hiélo came to say sorry a thousand times. His ears were flat, his tail dull, and hearing his voice cracking gnawed at her conscience; which led her to accept his apologies. But, honestly? She didn’t want to. For some reason, she only wanted to be mad at him a little longer. She only wanted to have time to organize her feelings and find a proper reason to forgive him.

But since when did she have a choice? How could she be mad at the person who was trying to love her despite her actions?

She swallowed dry. “Hiélo won’t be there, I promise. I won’t call him.” She slowly took his hands off her. “I want to rest alone; is there a problem with it?”

His eyes scrutinized her wholly. It felt like being under a predator gaze, waiting to be devoured at each minute, counting the last seconds of her life— but then he let go of her waist.

“No, there is not. You can go ahead.” His hand lifted her chin softly. “Ask a maid to help you with the rings, okay? I don’t want to see my wife fingerless.” He chuckled and his face approached hers.

The knot on her stomach increased as she knew what was happening. Knowing didn’t make it the slightest better, so she shut her eyes and counted to five for what seemed an eternity. A hot, burning eternity. Hell itself.

Curse her head for getting lighter.

When he broke the kiss with that grin of his, she didn’t stay a second to hear him. Nothing good could come of that mouth, and she kept repeating it for herself as she stormed on the empty halls.

The heat was unbearably clinging to her, suffocating her lungs and expeling the oxygen left on her. And the tricky part of it? She could stop it, if she wanted. Her spiky halo was lightening the environment, and it was the blatant proof that her powers were acting over something, over herself. Warming, heating, burning until her head was spinning, until her gut was churning, until her skin began swelling.

And they had it worse. They didn’t have time to dwell in a little dizziness.

It was pure torture. Flesh tearing apart, splitting, and shearing from the bones; fire crackling and screams breaking through the space; the stench of coal and smoke flying in the sky… until there was nothing left to see—not even their ashes.

That was the power she held. That was the sin she carried.

Her insides unraveled midway her room, throwing up the contents of her stomach on a corner. She gagged and cried as her body fell its temperature, taking advantage of the unease to finally turn her furnace off.

Really, how could someone live like this? How could someone like her still be alive? Just who allowed her existence in this world?!

She should be dead. She should be dead. She. Should. Be. Dead.

But as she wasn’t, she raised from her place and stumbled forward.

You´ll be

okay...

...And i will be too.

For a long time, even after Regulus first started attending Hogwarts and acting cold and heartless, Sirius could view him as nothing but his innocent little brother who cried once when he accidently stepped on a butterfly. For him, he was still little Reggie, who looked up to him and went to curl up next to him in bed whenever he had a nightmare. That's why his world came crushing down when he learned about the Death Eater Mark ("how could you not have fucking known Sirius, EVERYONE knew" Bellatrix had laughed and screamed in his face). He truly couldn't understand how or why his little brother turned into a monster so he just decided to ignore the existence of their shared memories of love all together replacing them with this new horrific human being that he made out Regulus to be

The way I know my satosugu brainrot is bad bad is that I went to the pharmacy today and saw a black toothbrush next to a white toothbrush and got teary eyed because they reminded me of gojo and geto.

PEOPLE DIED

i know ive already posted multiple times about this parallel, but i realized these scenes use almost the exact same wording

auroras dreams led her to prince phillip. fairy godmother believes rikus dreams will lead him to sora.

like. its so one-to-one that if this isnt intentional, WOW. thats a hell of a coincidence!

(hint: its not a coincidence)

Somehow not paralleling Sydney’s panic attack with either of Carmy’s makes me even more sick than directly paralleling the scenes would’ve. Because what do you mean you’re going to show Syd desperately searching for a grounding, something to bring her back to earth and then cut away to Carmy a thousand miles away both mentally and physically, still running from everything whereas Carmy sees/ hears Syd and almost immediately calms down. Are you trying to tell me that Syd is always, always there when he needs her to be and that Carmy can’t even be there when she needs him the most is that what you’re trying to tell me Storer??