First Chapter of the Evil Stan fic is out now!

"The Costs of Our Hubris Chapter 1: Eyes and Sockets" is out on my AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49386823/chapters/124630234 Original AU made by @ahkaraii here on Tumblr! Shoutout to @koraesdoodles for being my wonderful beta-reader and dealing with my dyslexic ass abashdanshaha The chapter below the cut for anyone that wants to stay here on Tumblr:

Thousands of clashing colors swirling far above, a symphony of bellows swirling in coils worming its way through mind, body and soul. It thrummed in his ribs and escaped through his marred and mangled mouth in droning snores. His body sprawled out and writhed into a lifeless form, shaded by the pale and dusted rocks basked in the blooming presence of a God so sweet. Stanley Pines was sleeping. A horrible noise echoed in the winds around him, blowing and shifting in random directions, the skyline highlighted in natural disasters of all forms. Beautiful, colorful chaos. Home. The serene scene was broken by the pounding of fists, the shrieking of demons and cackling of others. One eye opened wide, and he woke up swinging. Hands outstretched to blackened rose thorns, body acting before mind as he tackled and raised a hand to the one in front of him, a wry and wild look in his gnarled, scared face. The cackles around him were all consuming, some egging him on, others telling him to knock it off, all while the one underneath merely stared. 

It wasn’t until Stan broke out into laughter of his own that the scene unwound. He sat back on his haunch to snort and giggle, arms wrapped tight and sharpened finger tips digging into his sides. “Nice nap, Fishie?” Teeth chattered, stumpy flesh-pink arms prodding and poking at him. The others chided in, all poking and pulling but he didn’t seem to mind, laughter dying slow as he started to reciprocate. 

“Always!” he growled, grabbing Pyronica by the horn and 8-Ball in a chokehold, the rest jeering as the two struggled. The largest of them shoved the three forward, the large purple loaf gesturing forward, his party hat shifting with every movement. Huffing, Stan let go of them, staring up at the sky. “Why’d ya wake me?” he asked, walking with them, gait sluggish but his one eye wide and alert as the other stayed hidden behind bandages as he wasn’t blessed enough to show it yet, there was no need too. No one to intimidate.

“Boss wanted to see you, Fishie” Keyhole slapped him hard on the back, earning a wry grin.

 “Time t’ head out already?” Stan asked. If he were honest, he would be upset. He hated leaving. He loved returning, sitting with them all jeering, sharing stories of destruction and chaos, impromptu sparring matches devolving into rolling on the floor biting and mauling each other like rabid dogs on an abandoned island. 

Camaraderie in the finer things, cheating in cards and lying about it. The only positive notion of leaving being all of them leaping off this dying realm to claim planets in their illustrious ruler's name. He placed a hand on the three-sided sigil woven into the fibers of his garb upon which he was blessed, a silent prayer at the edges of his mind that a chorus of voices accompanied, a choir of twisted wants and dreams of which he prayed to see, lest his final moments be in the endless sea of bodies.

They were talking to him this entire time, of course. But he was not focused on them now. No, instead his eye was toward the sky, the beautiful swirling colors bleeding out into their distinct streaks from the swirling point, the very center, a throne of bones and black ichor that squirmed and writhed in the same waving dance as the blood in his veins. 

It was always such a treat, to stare up at everything you lived for. Sinking to his knees, he awaited to hear that shrill, echoing voice, the impending doom resting its gargantuan weight on his shoulders and pressing him towards the dry and crumbling ground as if he were nothing more than a measly tic on the body of a beautiful blood soaked dove. “GOOD JOB WAKING THE FISH BOWL,” a bright yellow light far above said, the golden glow of their God. All sound simmering to low murmurs as all rose to stand up straight, eyes of all kinds staring up in awe and utter devotion as he arose from his place on the throne and sunk down to rest just above them all. Bill stared at them all, a wide slit pupil gracing them with his presence. The clouds swirling above him, a halo bathed in the red hues of liquid vindication, the destruction of an innumerable amount hanging above him like trophies. “FISHIE FISHIE FISHIE WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO?” He swirled around them all like a cluster of vultures, snapping and snarling and starving, eye unrelenting and piercing into their very beings. The weight of power over his head was crushing, Stan's head lowering to a bow of respect and adoration as he spoke firmly. “Training for th’ day you release me again, Boss.” He kept his voice low, tone testy and stricken in fear-born respect. Forged in years of dismemberment and hard lessons taught through bloody knuckles and broken bones. “LETS MAKE GOOD ON THAT. YOU SEE FISHIE, THAT PLAGUE NEVER STOPS! THEY FLOOD MY WORLD BY THE MILLIONS EVERY SECOND, THEY GROUP LIKE PESTS! WILL YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM FOR ME?” 

A frigid three fingered hand pressed against the top of Stan’s head, and the man's eye narrowed. All they were doing was causing more harm. Boiling hatred in his chest that made his face hot and arms numb. The swirling of voices caught and caged between his ears howling and begging him to tear them apart. Rip limb from limb, eyes from sockets, drag them here to be judged for their crimes and made to bow in front of his God, the being who so graciously saved him. Gritting gnarled teeth, his entire body shivered in disgust. “Always.” It was definitive, a rage unquenching, curdled like milk boiling in the hot sun. 

“I DON’T WANT TO SEE HIDE OR HAIR OF YOU UNTIL YOU BRING ME THEIR SIX DIGIT HANDS, FISHIE. WE DON’T WANT CONSEQUENCES OF INSUBORDINATION, DO WE?” Bill was leaning against him now, thin arm wrapped around him like the embrace of an old friend. “Never.” He would not waver. He would not be sidetracked, nor blind-sided, he was better. He was stronger. They were weak, they were going to hurt thousands if he didn’t do it. “WHAT ARE YOU?” “I am a weapon.” 

The others, his family, colorful and chaotic all grinning at him like he had done a great service. Pride swelled in his chest upon seeing their gazes locked solely on him. This was home. He was going to miss it, he always did. How long would it be until he began to beg to come back? To the soot ridden wasteland, rolling around in dirt and salt as he scratched their backs so they could scratch his. He would make them proud. 

“THAT’S JUST WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR, FISHIE!” Bill swirled the glass in his hand, cane hooked on his neck. “NOW GO MAKE ME PROUD, OR DO I STILL HAVE WORK TO DO ON YOU?” His voice deepened, darkened, a threat laced in layers upon layers, the rumbling sound of a deity testing the will of his creation. “I will make you proud, Boss.” He gripped the sigil once more, an act of comfort, of guidance. He knew the way, so long as he let the Eye engraved into his being show him where to move. 

“THEN WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” His God howled and giggled like a child, the sound shrill yet melodic, as Stan took off running. 

Boots scraping against dry pale ground, fissures cracking and breaking apart like spider veins on an ancient being spanning as far as the eye could see. The only distraction in the endless sky of vibrant colors being the floating, suspended shrapnel of worlds long since lost to time, torn asunder and consumed to feed their dying prison, their dying world, their home. 

He wished to be the lucky one who gets to see their world change, to stand there and stare in delight as Bill carved an Earth of their own making, a party that never ended, a victory among millions shared in the red rivers of blood from all those who doubted and disobeyed, a thick desire in his disjointed heartbeat to see what was prophesied, be the lucky fish in the endless sea to gaze upon a future carved in their Gods image, to see him spread the lovely ichor of chaos and disjointed agony into every crack and crevice of existence itself. 

His destination was nearing, the drop off into the infinite void ever nearing, his hands reaching down to grip the edges as he slowed to look down, down into it. The black spiraling mass of destruction ripping and tearing at the chunk of world he put his every stake in. The thing that suspended them, kept them alive, its dying drones and grumblings heard in the white noise whispering into his eardrums, a thousand tongues he couldn’t understand murmuring promise and threat into his soul a sensation that made him writhe. 

Eye open wide, he awaited his chance. The blipping, pulsing echo of unbirth ripping apart to give wrought to a colorful light of another world; one to begin his hunt that he may not return from for years to come. The thought of jumping sparked fear in him, a force that ground its heel in his spine and forced cackling from his lips, a sound wheezing and uncontrollable as he sucked in air like it would be his last. Feet digging into the ground as chunks bore from the dirt and fell infinitely into nothingness. 

With a satisfied sigh at the painful thrum of life, he vaulted himself off the edge, wind blowing against him as a warning, strands of air holding his arms up and legs back, the screams of a lover trying desperately to hold its partner back from the indefinite emptiness. 

Closing his eye, he relished this, enveloped himself in the warmth of a free-standing exit. He hit the ground hard as he sucked in the damp air of a new world surrounding him. 

He did not know where he was, but he knew he had a purpose. He scrambled to his feet then dug his claws into the nearest wall to begin scaling it, its structure porous and alive. Thick strands stuck to him with every pull of his hands. It was soft, spongey. Mushroom, perhaps, he voiced to himself asking for agreeance in the disembodied horrors of his fragmented inner narration. 

They seemed to agree. 

Standing up tall, he stared down at the world below him. Thousands of people, creatures of all kinds, shambling to and fro. None looked like him. None were to be judged for crimes, lest Bill himself arrive to take the land by siege. 

Growling lowly, he had a feeling this hunt would take longer than normal. He found them all quite fast, usually. Yet here he could not see a single one. Scaling back down, he clung to shadows as he made his way through this new planet. He’ll find one soon enough. 

He was sure of it.