Well Here Is A Small Sneak Peek Into My Childhood Bites Au! And The Main Star Of The Show Is My Oc Ezekiel

Oh no it looks like Stanley upset Filbrick again… he hid in the closet Stanford finally found him and now he is gonna patch Stan up like the good brother he is

(I hate that man so much, who wants to kill him with me?)

(Ok i lied its not hypothetical…watch ou- too late)

A plus sized young man with black fading to a brownish red curly almost afro styled hair with bangs that usually covered his cognac eyes wearing a galaxy hoodie, a pair of worn ripped jeans, and purple sneakers was chasing after his dog(?) calling out to it trying to get it to stop but he’s not fast enough because the dog(?) has now tackled a person which just make the young man’s anxiety spike.

“Astral no! Down girl down!” He would call out looping his fingers underneath the dog’s(?) collar and yanking it back or at least attempting to, the strange dog seemed almost twice the size of a great dane “I’m so sorry about this sir, are you alright?” He would ask finally managing to pull the dog(?) off of Stanford only to then hold his hand out in an attempt to help the poor man up.

“I promise she means no harm she just doesn’t realize how big she is and just gets excited easily.”

Question Stanford, hypothetical how would you react if by chance you were tackled by a green and teal fur, with four magenta eyes, lime horns, sabertooth fanged dog(?)…hypothetically speaking of course! Ehehe

“I… what?"

"I mean… I should be fine with it as long as it doesn’t pose a threat to me, or my friends I suppose. That’s certainly an… unusual way to describe a specimen.”

"I don't think anything like it currently even exists, at least not to my knowledge."

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

God now they have a wizard to go with the cowboy! Why am i cursed with this damn ad!?

It makes me so uncomfortable 😭

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.

Crimson Collapse- the story behind Bakon’s scars

Trigger warning: gore and mentions of death

Setting: a few days before Stanford reached out to Stan.

(Old artwork at the end)

The job should have been simple—a quick in-and-out heist in a crumbling old building said to house a fortune in abandoned goods. Bakon and his crew had scoped the place out for weeks, but on that fateful night, things fell apart in the worst way imaginable. The building, far more unstable than they had planned for, became a death trap.

The air inside was heavy with the stench of mildew and decay, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the silence. Bakon moved cautiously, his flashlight flickering against the cracked plaster walls and rusted pipes that jutted out like jagged teeth. He could feel the structure groaning under its own weight, the faint tremor of instability rippling through the floor beneath his boots.

Then it happened.

The ceiling gave way in an instant, unleashing a hellish cacophony of splintering wood and screeching metal. Bakon didn’t even have time to scream. A massive beam crashed down, driving him to the ground as his legs folded unnaturally beneath him with a sickening snap. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and he let out a ragged gasp as sharp debris rained down, tearing into his flesh. A jagged piece of rusted rebar impaled him clean through the abdomen, bursting out of his back with a wet, nauseating sound.

The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced—an excruciating, fiery agony that sent shockwaves through his entire body. Blood poured from the wound in heavy gushes, pooling beneath him in a sticky, crimson puddle. He tried to move, but the weight of the debris was crushing him. His ribs bent unnaturally inward, cracked and splintered like broken glass stabbing into his lungs.

Bakon’s cries for help were hoarse and broken, each breath a struggle as blood filled his mouth. His flashlight had fallen to the ground, illuminating his twisted, mangled body in cruel detail. He could see the jagged bone of his shin protruding through torn flesh, the white stark against the red. His hands, trembling and pale, weakly clawed at the rubble pinning him down, but it was no use.

Minutes dragged into hours, and Bakon’s screams turned to whimpers, then silence. The blood loss was making him lightheaded, his vision darkening at the edges as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The cold, metallic tang of blood filled his mouth as he coughed weakly, spitting out a thick, congealed glob that stained the ground beside him.

He called for the others—desperate, pleading cries that echoed through the empty corridors—but no one came. His crew had abandoned him, fleeing the moment the collapse started. Even Stanley, the one person he trusted, was nowhere to be found. Alone in the suffocating darkness, Bakon’s thoughts grew frantic. Anguish and rage churned within him, mixing with the raw, primal terror of death creeping closer.

When they finally found him, Bakon was barely alive. His skin was pale and waxy, his lips blue, and his body convulsed weakly as his pulse flickered on the edge of nothingness. They rushed him to the hospital, the paramedics’ voices a distant murmur in his ears. He could feel their hands on him, the searing pain as they moved the rebar from his side, and the choking sensation of a tube being shoved down his throat.

In the operating room, his body gave out. His heart stopped, and for over an hour, Bakon was dead.

Death was not a peaceful void for him. It was cold, dark, and suffocating. Time warped, stretching into an infinite expanse of emptiness where Bakon felt the weight of his failures crushing him all over again. The silence was maddening, his own thoughts clawing at him like feral beasts. He was utterly alone, trapped in a limbo that felt like an eternity.

And then, against all odds, he was pulled back.

When Bakon woke, his body was a patchwork of scars and pain. Tubes snaked out of his arms, his chest, his throat. His legs were in heavy casts, and every shallow breath sent a sharp, burning pain through his shattered ribs. His face was gaunt, pale, and his sunken eyes stared blankly at the hospital ceiling.

The weeks that followed were a nightmare of their own. The physical therapy was brutal, each session leaving him sobbing in pain. His hands trembled as he tried to grasp a spoon, the simplest tasks requiring monumental effort. The rebar had shredded vital nerves, leaving parts of his body unresponsive, numb yet searing with phantom pain.

Worse still was the isolation. No one came to see him. He lay in that sterile room day after day, the hum of machines his only company. He thought of Stanley often, the bitterness festering in his chest. Stanley had abandoned him, left him to die, and now Bakon was trapped in this ruined shell of a body with nothing but his anger to keep him going.

Months later, when he finally left the hospital, Bakon was unrecognizable. His once-proud posture was hunched, his gait stiff and uneven as he limped out into the world. The scars on his face and body told the story of his suffering in jagged lines, and his eyes were cold, hollow, and filled with a simmering hatred.

Bakon had been given a second chance at life, but to him, it was no gift. It was a curse. And as he walked into the cold night, his mind turned dark with thoughts of vengeance. If the world had left him to rot, he would return the favor tenfold. And Stanley… Stanley the young man he loved will pay the price for abandoning him.

Funny enough that was who i was hoping i would get lol

May I propose this Picrew and this Uquizz?

@sennyside

@drowninnoodles (yes I'm using your Picrew MWEHEHEHEH)

Idek I'm bored this has prolly been done before

A special Valentine delivery for ya’ll ❤️😍

God I need this man to love and cherish me Who said that?!

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…

A light hue of red dusted across the teens freckled cheeks as he looks away feeling a little embarrassed “Ah r-right its just i have never met anyone else with the same condition as me well except for the heterochromia thing.” It seemed Asher would avoid making eye contact with Stanford when he spoke along with seeming to fidget with his lose sweater sleeve “Its a great honor to meet you Ford, I know I probably seem like some dumb kid and maybe i’m being too straight forward but it means a lot to me to have found someone like you I don’t really have anyone and while my sketches, journaling, and paranormal investigations keep me company it does get rather lonely…” as he spoke he seemed to realize that he has been rambling and probably saying too much to someone he just met “Ah geez I’m rambling aren’t I?” Asher awkwardly adjusts the collar of his sweater to which Ford would probably notice right away the jagged scar on the teens left hand.

(Please ignore my last ask I was wayyy too excited lol, anyways this is Asher the teenager I was talking about.)

“Hi! I heard that someone had Polydactylism like me I almost couldn’t believe it, I thought I was the only one! Especially with my mix of 6 and 7 fingers.”

"Ah, greetings!"

"Well… this is certainly a surprise! I knew polydactyly wasn’t exactly uncommon, but to encounter someone with a similar trait— that’s… quite remarkable!"